Which was a problem. Despite all the developments between them, little had changed outside their relationship.
Before, she hadn’t worried too much about his misguided intent to transform her. As long as she had her blade, she could prevent him from turning her against her will. But if they were ever going to share a meaningful future, Munro needed to be a male who understood why the choice had to be hers.
And why Ren must eliminate a key player in his own plans.
The Night War demanded the sorceress’s death. If Ren secured the Ring of Sums before taking Dorada down, then all the better, but it wasn’t a requirement.
Which meant Ren needed to drag Munro to her way of thinking before her blade flew—or the wolf might not ever forgive her.
FORTY-THREE
Andoain, House of Witches Coven
New Orleans
“I do not know one thing,” Nïx the Ever-Knowing mused aloud. “Why my friends implore me not to tell bedtime stories to their offspring. I’m utterly ace at it.” Confused look. “Or ass at it. One or the other. Or both!”
As she regaled her audience—half a dozen young witchlings and a bat—with a heartwarming tale, they hung on her every word, slurping juice boxes with widened eyes. Even Bertil, Nïx’s bat, held a box in his tiny talons.
“What did Slimeator the Gutsucker do next?” asked Ruby, a seven-year-old witch with a pleasingly big attitude. She’d been a prisoner in the Order’s installation, losing her mother to them. But with some help from a very special Valkyrie soothsayer, she’d found two doting adoptive parents.
“Accessions giveth and taketh. As do I.”
“What’s that, Nïx? Are you talking to yourself again? Get back to the story!”
“Ah, yes.” In a dramatic voice, Nïx continued her uplifting bedtime tale: “Slimeator clawed open the industrial polluter’s stomach cavity and plunged his wrinkly extraction probe inside the grisly wound. The man shrieked, his limbs juddering as Slimeator sucked the guts from his body like you would a spaghetti noodle.” She made a Hannibal Lecter-esque sucking sound. “Sucking . . . sucking . . . all fifteen feet of intestines, inch by bloody inch, until the polluter screamed his last.”
Though Bertil happily drank on, for some reason the witches all set away their juice boxes.
Nïx sighed, “The mysteries of children.” With a clap of her hands, she said, “Anyhoodles, this is why Slimeator gets a holiday card from yours truly every year.”
The witches erupted with questions: “Does Slimeator get enough vitamins from guts?” “Does he gutsuck witches?” “Am I getting a familiar for my birthday?”
Ah, one of the witchlings intended to cash in on Nïx’s foresight. Before the rest clamored to have their futures told, Nïx said, “I have to go soon. Among a thousand others, a wolf and a cambion stalk me. And I stalk Dorada. And she stalks that wolf’s twin. And he stalks his mate, hi-ho the derry-o. And an archwarlock stalks her. And she is about to get cozy with death! Is that now or in the past? Or in the future? Who can tell! But before I leave, I have a question. Do you know the difference between varsity and junior varsity?”
They blinked.
“Okay. How else to ask you to be on my team?” Nïx tapped her chin with a pink claw. “Did you know that a baby snake isn’t actually more dangerous than an adult one?”
“Of course we do!” Ruby squealed, her green eyes excited. “Witches love snakes.”
Another added, “Eve was a witch, you know. She took the apple because the devil was a serpent!”
A third said, “And also ’cause she wanted the apple. Witches like apples, and we’re greedy!”
Nïx chuckled with vacant eyes. “Just one of the reasons I adore your species so. Not to mention your handy-dandy spells.” The blankness in her gaze vanished, replaced by silvery shrewdness. “What if I told you that, unlike snakes, baby witches can be more dangerous than adults? And that I will want you to be very much so in a few upcoming battles? You’re to be on my varsity squad!”
The girls shared a look. Then Ruby collected her juice box. “We can totally help you out, Nïxie.” She took a casual slurp. “But it’s gonna cost you.”
FORTY-FOUR
Deep in the Cursed Forest
six days later
There was no denying it; Munro had altered their course.
All afternoon he’d been diverting them from the north—which he believed was the way to Dacia. Why?
After that demon attack, Ren had begun trusting him. Why didn’t he trust her? When will he start treating me like a partner? she wondered, even while she schemed to complete a secret mission.
He glanced over his shoulder, noticing she’d slowed. “You want to take a break? Looks like a good spot.” They stood atop a woodsy vantage that overlooked a valley draped in fog.
With a nod, she removed her conjured canteen from her bag. Though Munro had carried her for most of these days, she’d wanted to walk this afternoon. Her pace must frustrate an immortal like him, but he was patient with her.