I zoom in on Grace's face with my thumb, tracing the curve of her cheek through the screen. A poor substitute for the real thing. The longing to touch her, to breathe in her unique blueberry scent claws at my chest.
Being apart is agony, growing worse with every hour.
"She'd be safer with me."
Fenris growls his agreement. If it wasn't for the strangeness of this place, he would have run to the hospital, doing his damnedest to sneak in regardless of their position on animals.
I scroll through previous messages; it's been hours since Lyre contacted me, leaving me reliant on the Fiddleback contact, a nurse at the hospital who sends photos like clockwork but offers no real information.
Of course, Grace is sleeping. There isn't much to report. But it still rankles.
My jaw tightens. This arrangement is intolerable. Once I get Grace to Lycan territory, under my protection, surrounded by people I trust...
A hiccup breaks my concentration.
The warlock, or wizard, or whatever he is, kneels before me, a pathetic sight with his trembling hands clenched atop bony knees. Thom keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow.
"Look at me when I speak to you." His groveling only makes my distaste for him grow.
Thom's head jerks up, his glasses sliding down his nose. Behind the tinted lenses, his eyes hold a strange, foggy quality. The familiar, harsh scent of fear radiates off him like waves.
"Explain it again." I set my phone face-down beside me. "And this time, make sense."
"Y-yes, Your Majesty. Er, High Alpha." A full-body shudder runs through him. "There's something interfering with the magical currents in this region."
"What kind of something?"
"I… cannot say, High Alpha. It's old. And s-strange. Not natural." His voice cracks.
"Define strange."
"As I've explained before, magic has signatures. Textures. Like scent, for you." His hands shake, the knuckles turning pale, despite my reasonable attitude as I listen to his explanation for a second time. "Normal magic is clean. This is messy. Like a blurry photo. Or static."
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You said it was interfering with Grace's location earlier."
Thom nods.
"But it's stronger here?"
He nods again, his head jerking like a puppet. "It's concentrated here. I thought it was s-strong near the c-campground, but…"
"Stop stuttering."
"Y-yes, High Alpha."
Rubbing at my eyebrow, I sigh. "And you don't know what it could be? How do you know it's old?"
"It just feels… old." The copper wires of his glasses catch the light as he swallows.
"Could it be some sort of trap?"
"No." For the first time, his voice carries conviction. "Not a spell. It's older. A presence. Something which affects everything inside of its boundaries."
My nostrils flare, testing the air. All I smell is the stale emptiness of this staged house, the wizard's fear-sweat, and a faint chemical tang clinging to the new furnishings, almost plastic.
"And this affects your tracking abilities how?"
"It's like... trying to see through m-murky water." His fingers twitch, his confidence already gone. "Signals get lost. Distorted. When I tried to focus on your... on the girl, there was... interference."
