Touch of Evil - Cecy Robson Page 0,38

the results of Mirror fully kicked in,” she replies. “Now that we look the way we look, there’s no men and no more money.”

“And no food,” Farrah adds. “We haven’t eaten real food in a long time. Except maybe worms and scraps. They aren’t as bad as you might think.”

“Mm,” I say. “Una eats her lovers?” Again, more nods. “Is she a praying mantis of sorts?”

“Oh,” Farrah says. “That is one of the Mirror creatures she initially used.” She pokes Merche. “That explains a lot.”

It occurs to me then why these witches never developed their skills. Both are very naive and don’t strike me as overtly intelligent.

“Tell me more about Ted and Una,” I say.

“Who?” Farrah asks.

“Emme’s boyfriend,” Gerald offers.

“The wolf I went out with tonight,” I clarify.

“Oh, him,” Farrah says. She kneels at the edge of the pool and dunks her head into the water. Bubbles form along the surface. After several long and disturbing seconds, she lifts her head and splashes more water along her scales.

“Better?” Merche asks.

“Ya,” Farrah says. She rises slowly. “In another few days, I don’t think I’ll be able to leave the water.”

“Can we get back to Ted?” I interrupt.

Farrah glances at me, her body appearing more apologetic than her fish face. “Una didn’t want anyone around who might protect you. She wants you dead. Needs you dead, actually.”

It’s only because she says, “need,” that I start to understand. “Because of my power and who I know.”

“Yes,” Merche says. “If you’re not around and Una manages to hurt your pregnant sister, you won’t be able to save her. The Mate and her baby will die, and the dark ones will finally respect Una.”

Chapter Twelve

Emme

It takes a while for me to move. Rage has a funny way of keeping me in place. How dare she? How dare they?

“They won’t go after Celia.”

“She’s well protected by the wolf and his pack,” Farrah agrees. “But Una has a plan—”

“You don’t understand,” I snap. “She won’t go after Celia because I won’t allow it.” I permit my protective streak to come forward and vanquish that guilt that frequently haunts me, the one attached to blood and death. “My sister and her baby are going to live. No matter what I have to do, they will share a lifetime together. Every mother and child deserve as much.”

Merche shakes her head. “You don’t understand Una. She’s strong, vicious, as if all the wrongness from our strongest brethren collected into one being.”

“I don’t care. Whatever Una is, she won’t be enough,” I tell them. “I’ll kill her before she can think of attacking Celia.”

Neither appear to believe my words or think I have it in me. That’s their problem. Not mine.

“What’s her weakness?” I ask.

Merche averts her chin. “She doesn’t really have one,” she mumbles.

“Yes, she does,” I disagree. “Her magic is pathetic at best if she’s nothing alone. What else? We all have weaknesses. Tell me something I can use, and I may be able to help you out of this mess.”

Farrah splashes more water on her face and hurries to me. She motions to her features, her movements excited and hopeful. She might be smiling. Never mind, she found a worm to munch on.

“You can help us?” she asks between slurps. “You know magic—magic that can reverse all this?”

I watch what’s left of the worm disappear into her mouth. Not even a little bit, girlfriends.

“No,” I confess. “But Genevieve does.”

My words are meant to reassure them that I’m an asset and that I can help. That’s not how they take it. They cower. It’s then I notice Merche’s tail. She tucks it between her legs and backs away from me.

“She knows Tahoe’s Head Witch,” Merche squeaks to Farrah. “And she calls her by her first name.”

“She can hear you,” I say. “And, yes, I know Genevieve.”

“And she knows you, too?” Farrah presses. “You didn’t just meet her in passing?”

“Genevieve very much knows who I am,” I reply.

My relationship with Genevieve was always cordial. She respects us, especially Celia. But I’m neither a witch who reports to her nor someone required to grovel to win her favor. For the first time, I realize exactly how much other witches esteem and fear her.

“She’s actually very nice,” I add, trying to soothe their unease. I give it some thought when I take another gander at their, um, conditions. “To me.”

Farrah tugs on Merche’s sleeve. “The great Genevieve will kill us. She has to for the crimes we’ve committed.”

“Not necessarily,” I claim.

I’m starting