A chill wavered in the air as the witch curved her lips. “Don’t believe, girl?” she asked Angel.
The merc shrugged. “Spent enough time in the southwest to know you don’t stop when you see an old woman standing beside a deserted road, especially at midnight.”
“Perhaps an amulet,” the witch offered. “Protection against evil spells.”
“Keep it.” Angel’s fingers were firm around my elbow as she urged me away. “Fucked up shit,” she added beneath her breath. “Didn’t think it crept up here.”
“Why would anyone buy such a figurine?”
“To ward against her—the Wolf Woman. Never made sense to me.”
What made no sense was seeing witches in Westvale, not after Anson’s bragging about his wards keeping out the unwanted. But perhaps witches found the Carmag appealing for the same reasons the nymphs were uncomfortable: the weird sensations, the magic that went awry. I flexed my fingers, testing the level of faille energy building since Caerwen’s last massage. Under control, I decided.
Fallon was still negotiating for the pain reliever. I wandered past a flower vendor, relishing the change in the vibe; the female behind the display was a nymph. Perhaps her home territory was in the Carmag. I’d seen the elusive woodland nymphs around Sentinel Falls. The nymphs in the Sacred Pool, and the river nymphs like Lorriel, so not everyone had to return to Aine’s pocket. Only those like Caerwen and Effa, who’d settled in the wrinkle permanently. I’d need to ask them what the rules were.
But Angel had been at the Refuge. She’d brought in the refugees from Cariboo. She’d heard the stories, witnessed the wreckage caused by Amal.
I summoned a tight smile. “You told Grayson about the Cariboo?”
“The refugees told him.”
“But you were listening. What did he say?”
Angel picked up a silk scarf she would never wear, not with those delicate, feminine swirls of pink and gold. It clashed with the single blade she kept in the leather sheath at her hip.
She was a mercenary, had her own loss years ago, while still a child. How had she dealt with it—if she even had? Did she bury the grief the way I did? There’d been a moment, during the lament, when an emotion crossed her face, one I failed to define but would never forget, for the harsh, wrenching pain I saw in that moment.
The pain tugged at me, too, although my faille sensitivity might be kicking up again.
Angel’s silence had grown palpable. The female wolf behind the counter nearly snatched each scarf Angel touched, making a show of refolding the silks. Another spectacle filled with wolf arrogance, which was why I’d once resented wolves so acutely, the way they treated those who did not belong.
Earlier, Fallon had mentioned the financial arrangements; I had access to my bank account here in Westvale. She’d stuffed a black card in my purse even though I protested. I glanced toward Angel, then said pointedly, “We can check out the vendor across the space. Anything you want, my treat.”
The female behind her counter stiffened, but the soft laugh from Angel held enough of a warning for the woman not to curl her lip.
“You can’t honestly see me in silks,” the merc drawled, brushing around the displays and striding into the crowd.
I struggled to keep up. “You never answered my question.”
“Too many eavesdroppers.”
She wove through the booths with an uncanny grace, a sleek, calculating predator who amused herself through subtle intimidation. People who saw her coming stepped out of her way, jostling their bags and companions. The glittering overhead lights bounced off the glass ceiling to dance over the walls. Colors were a kaleidoscopic mix of yellows, oranges, greens, blues, turning the ordinary into the exotic.
We paused at a table covered with glass orbs, some crystal clear and others like giant marbles. I traced a finger over one with purple stripes. “What about this?”
The one-eyed skepticism Angel threw me was enough to have me smiling as I said, “Not your color?”
“You overcompensate when you’re nervous,” she murmured, while the warmth in my face ebbed. “Try too hard to be normal. Pretend you don’t care. But inside, you feel left out. Forgotten. You resent him for parking you here with Anson, doing nothing while he gets all the glory.”
“No eavesdroppers around?” I asked tightly.
“You wonder why he did what he did.”
Yes, I wondered. I wanted to know why, and I wanted it enough to swallow the anger and tag behind her like a damn pup when she turned, following a circuitous route. Angel moved with the assurance of someone who’d been here before—many times. Someone who sensed the dead ends, the cameras, the exits, the darkest corners and alleys. Who found her way out, or into hiding, without having to think about it.
We pushed through a door, stepped into the dark. Night had fallen, but Angel did not keep to the shadows. Within minutes, we were back in the crowded square. The girl with her violin still entertained those sitting outside the café. Distracted wolves on the way to somewhere else tossed coins into her case without pausing. But the crowds moved through the square with none of the congestion in the Farmer’s Market. The bumping bodies and raucous noises that irritated my nerves.
My lungs expanded as I inhaled, craving the night air despite the fishy taint from the Claw. I relished the cold against my skin after the humidity inside the crowded Farmer’s Market. But I wasn’t wolf enough not to shiver in the icy chill.
