Dead Heat (Alpha and Omega) - Patricia Briggs Page 0,60

figured out why,” she told Charles in a voice that would not carry across the room over Yo-Yo Ma’s cello. “My stepfather is”—another glance at the girl—“one of you. When I was ten, you came to talk with him about his … friends. We lived in Cody, Wyoming. I know who you are and I know you don’t live in Scottsdale. Your moving away from Montana would have been big enough news that my stepfather would have told me.”

He didn’t remember her, though he had indeed gone to Cody about a decade ago and removed an Alpha who had lost control of his wolf. He’d gone to talk individually to all of the wolves in the pack. Some of them had been married, with human families.

“You don’t live here,” she said. “You don’t have children. So why are you here?”

He took in a deep breath, to make sure, then turned at Brother Wolf’s steely determination to face the child who was still wiping down the same board, which had been clean for a while.

“We are here to speak with her,” he said.

The child froze. Then straightened and turned awkwardly around.

Beside him, Anna, too, had stilled.

“This doesn’t concern you, wolf,” the child said in the voice of a five-year-old.

“Chelsea Sani belongs to the grandson of the Alpha of the Salt River Pack,” he told her. Miss Baird already knew about werewolves, and about secrets. She would not tell other people of Chelsea’s connection to the pack. It was important to let the fae know where it had erred. The pack was a deterrent that would keep Chelsea and her children safe. “You picked the wrong victim, protected by the pack and by the Marrok.”

The creature’s face twisted in an expression that didn’t belong on a child. “No werewolves. That’s the only rule. Mackie’s mother is not a werewolf. Mackie is not a werewolf. Mackie’s brother is not a werewolf.”

“They belong to us,” Charles said, noting that the fae was more interested in Chelsea as Mackie’s mother than as a person herself. That indicated the attack was actually focused on Mackie. He walked toward the child, keeping her attention on him and not his mate or the human woman who was more vulnerable than either of them.

He could smell fae magic; it permeated this room, where this fae had apparently been playing at being five years old. But the smell didn’t get stronger as he approached her. Also, he detected only magic and not the fae herself. Had she disguised her scent somehow? But then why not disguise the magic, too? And what was she doing with the magic he could feel as a steady presence?

She snarled soundlessly, backing away from him before he got within touching distance. “No. She wasn’t a werewolf. Fair game. Fair game. Witch but not werewolf. I could kill her, the rules say.” She still sounded like a five-year-old.

“Amethyst?” said the teacher, sounding afraid.

“Amethyst is mine,” said the child in a sharp bark of anger. It was said with the same degree of possessiveness that Anna had just used with the four-year-olds’ teacher. “You can’t have her. She’s mine.”

Charles knew what it was. It had given the game away with its last two words.

If Amethyst wasn’t the one who was talking to them, there was only one thing a creature who looked and spoke like Amethyst could be. The reason he could not smell the fae was that there was only magic here.

“Riddle me questions,” Charles said, chanting the old words slowly. “Riddle me rhymes. Riddle me swiftly, I’ve said it three times. By threes and by custom you dare not deny. I bind you to answer and compel your reply.”

“Riddle say, riddle say,” it said, as it had to, being what it was. “Riddle say me, and I will answer thee.” Fae magic and the fae themselves were constrained by rules that allowed magic to exist in a world where magic was a rare thing. Riddles needed to be answered.

“What walks like a child and talks like a child and is left by the fae in the child’s right place?” Charles asked in a singsong voice that was part of the draw of the riddle. “What curdles cream, makes sick the cows, what makes a mother moan? What hides like poison and rots away family and home?”

“A fetch! A fetch! A fetch!” it answered, and as soon as the third response had left its lips, the child disappeared and a bundle of sticks fell to the