Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,41
spirit was the boy’s? Did he recall his previous life as a human? Did he remember stealing into my dreams? Crawling close to me? Licking my fingers?
Something brushed past me again on the stairs. Closer this time. More aggressively.
Slowly but surely, I was learning to pay closer attention to the little things. For example, did whatever brushed past me seem to want to rip out my soul and sup upon my guts? The answer to that question was a disturbing and resounding yes.
“Get in line, buddy.”
And yet there was nothing magical about the energy from the entity that had, if Ruthie was correct, followed me from the witch bottle. It was more like a shadow. A poor replica of what it had once been. An echo. Either way, Sir was angry and wanted my blood. Ingrate. I’d set him free, after all.
I found Roane on the back porch, feeding wolves of all things. Watching him from the glass door, I started to step out until I saw the wolves emerge out of the trees and into the low light of dusk. Done filling a huge bowl with raw meat and bones, he set it down and backed toward the door.
Without looking away, he reached behind him, opened the door, and took my hand.
Clearly, I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought.
He tugged, encouraging me to come out.
The wolves padded forward, heads down, gazes wary.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, mesmerized. “My presence is worrying them.”
He pulled me beside him and draped an arm around my waist. “Just give them a minute.”
“They’re beautiful.” Five in all, they were all shades of gray. A couple had patches of black. “I didn’t think there were any wolves left in the state.”
“There weren’t. Not in the wild. These are escaped wolves.”
“Escaped?” That wasn’t suspicious at all. “Escaped from where?”
He lifted a muscular shoulder. “Here and there. Mostly zoos. Possibly from people who obtained them illegally.”
“And are you one of those people who obtained them illegally?” I slid him a sideways glance.
He, in turn, gave me a once-over. “You wearing a wire?”
“An underwire. It gets horrible reception, though, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Maybe I should frisk you.”
Maybe he should. An exhilarating heat pooled in my abdomen. I looked back at the wolves. “What if someone tries to trap them?”
“I’ve told them what to watch out for. When to come out. When to stay hidden.”
“You . . . told them?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice whiskey smooth.
“You speak their language?”
“Only when I’m in wolf form. And it’s more like a system than a language. Warning growls and such. I’ve simply trained them what to watch out for. Not that they didn’t already know most of it before I came along. They’re smart.”
A couple of the wolves hung back while others came into the circle of light coming from the porch to eat.
“I should go. I’m making them skittish.”
“Just give them a minute to get used to your scent.”
I resisted the urge to lift my wet hair and sniff. According to the bottle, I was supposed to smell like a Brazilian rain forest. Not sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.
“It’ll mix with mine. They’ll be okay.”
Sure enough, the last two came forward after a couple of false starts. They would ease closer, then jump back and study us until, slowly, they inched toward the bowl, took out a meat-laden bone, and tore off into the dark.
“I’m still worried someone will hurt them. Humans can be such dicks.”
“Me, too. Your grandmother protected them for me. But when she died, I’m assuming the protection spell she had over them evaporated the way the one she had over you did.”
“Has she re-upped it since her . . . reawakening?”
“Nah. She’s got a lot on her plate right now.”
I made a mental note to talk to her. Then I made another mental note to pay attention to my mental notes. I so often ignored them. “Has she told you her theory about the boy? About you?”
After a long pause, he answered. “Yes.”
“Do you think she’s right?”
“Yes.”
I turned to him. “Really? So, in a way, the boy did survive?” Somehow that made the whole incident slightly less soul-crushing.
“I think so. I had instances growing up where I remembered things. Things I couldn’t have known. It had to be him. I have to be him.”
“You didn’t talk until you were seven.”
He seemed to bristle.
I squeezed his hand. “Roane, I wasn’t judging. I would never.”