Fair Game Part 13

Charles raised a challenging brow. "I'll tell you why, and you can come up with a good lie. One of the little water spirits told me that the boy was taken from an island and dropped into the harbor. She made sure he came to rest here, which was useful to us, but I think she did it because she didn't want the black magic to linger in her water. That kind of magic can attract some nasty things. It occurred to me that if his body still had enough magical residue to get Caitlin the witch all excited, then his death site might still have enough for a real witch to locate it-if she has a bit of Jacob to orient with."

"Water spirits?" said Leslie, sounding dumbfounded.

"That's his shaman heritage, not a werewolf talent," Anna told her. "I can't see them, either."

"I know the ME from my stint in Boston a few years back," said Goldstein after a moment of silence. "I'll talk to him. Maybe do a bit of blackmail if it comes down to it. And we can get a boat."

Charles shook his head. "No witch I know would be caught dead on an official boat with the FBI. It'll have to be one of Isaac's people."

"I'll call Isaac-and then Beauclaire," said Anna. "If we have a chance at finding his daughter, he'll want to know."

"Witches and fairies don't get along," Charles warned her.

"If his daughter's fate rests in the hands of a witch, Beauclaire will bring her flowers and kiss her feet," Anna told him with absolute certainty. "Besides, if we run into this horned lord, it might not be a bad idea to have a big bad fairy on your side-and the way he's dropping information without worrying about it either means he's crazy-or he's a really big bad fairy."

Charles looked at her, then tipped his head. "I trust your judgment."

Anna looked at Leslie. "But let's leave Cantrip out of it, okay? We'll have werewolves, witches, and fae-we don't need a hostile and frightened man who is as likely to take out allies as enemies."

"Besides, Heuter is a jerk," Leslie said. "And I don't know about you, but I don't want to be stuck on a boat with him."

"Exactly."

CHARLES DIDN'T LIKE the ocean.

He liked boating even less and despised the way the life jacket restricted his movement. The Daciana, the thirty-foot boat they were going out on, might be designed for offsh.o.r.e ocean fishing, but the center-console fishing boats like this one had never felt like they were really big enough to handle ocean weather.

The boat was barely big enough to hold all of them: he and Anna, the two FBI agents, Malcolm (the owner of the boat), Isaac (who insisted on coming), Beauclaire, and Isaac's witch (who was late). If they found Lizzie, they might have to tie her to the bow or make her swim for it. The only thing that would have made it worse was if the boat were handled by someone other than a wolf-it wasn't only the witch who would have balked at a police or federal boat.

"Charles," said his mate, coming up behind him where he stood alone in the bow, which was somewhat isolated from the rest of the little boat. Malcolm and Isaac were muttering about courses and fiddling with the instruments packed in under the little central raised deck that provided the only protected area of the boat. Everyone else had chosen to wait on the docks until the witch arrived.

He'd heard Anna approach, felt the slight sway of the boat. It had been easier to be with her when he was in wolf form. Brother Wolf was not torn; he knew that they could protect her from anything-but his wolf was like that: confident. Charles was not so sanguine.

The taint of the ghosts he carried was beginning to wear on him. One day soon Anna would look into his eyes and see the evil within him. He wished he could have stayed in his wolf shape, but talking to Anna without opening the bond between them was too difficult. And he couldn't open the bond for fear that the ghosts might use it to get to Anna. There were stories about that, about ghosts that killed all of the people close to the man who carried them.

It was easier to be wolf than human because their evil could not touch Brother Wolf. The wolf felt no guilt, because guilt was a human emotion.

Anna touched his shoulder. Charles didn't turn to his mate, because he couldn't face her while he was thinking of the evil he carried inside of him. Instead he looked over the starboard side of the bow and out on the water where the sun was setting in streaks of azure, silver, and faint gold. "It'll be dark before we get out on the harbor."

Anna made a sound of agreement. "I know this is not the time, but, watching you brood over here, it occurs to me that you have evidently forgotten something and I think I'd better remind you. I should have reminded you this morning."

He did turn to her then. Like him, she was staring off into the distance, her shoulder brushing his like the wings of a b.u.t.terfly.

"What's that?"

"You are mine." She didn't look at him but her hand closed possessively over his on the rail of the boat. Her voice was soft and without emphasis; not even werewolf ears would have heard her ten feet away. "Your ghosts cannot have you, Charles. So exorcize them before I have to." The last was a clear order, sharp as a shard of ice.

Brother Wolf grunted in satisfaction. He liked it when their mate got possessive and a.s.serted her rights over him. So did Charles.

"Go ahead and smirk," she said, seriously, though her body was relaxed against him. "Just keep it in mind. Maybe you don't have to fight all of your battles alone."

"I'll remember your words," he told her with returned seriousness, though he pictured Anna taking her grandmother's rolling pin after the ghosts who haunted him, and it made him want to...smirk again.

"That's better," she told him smugly. "No more brooding."

And she was right.

The boat swayed a bit as both Isaac and Malcolm moved suddenly and there was a zing of expectation in the air.

"About time you got here, woman," Isaac called out in tones of real affection.

Startled, Charles looked over to see a woman walking down the pier to where their boat was docked. She was taller than average, taller than Isaac, who had vaulted up off the boat to trot down the pier to greet her. He kissed her, leaning into it, lingering.

"He's sleeping with the witch he told us was too devious to be trusted to gather information from Jacob's body?" said Anna, sounding disgruntled.

Charles laughed and pulled her closer so he could put his chin on top of her head. "Gutsy," he said. "But he's forgotten the first rule of the men's locker room."

"What's that?"

"Don't stick your..." He didn't need to be crude, so he corrected himself. "Don't screw with crazy, no matter how pretty it is."

She snorted. "You don't know her."

"I know witches," he said. "They are all crazy."

"What about Moira?"

Moira was the white witch who was on the Emerald City Pack's payroll. Anna had met her a couple of years ago and they had become fast friends.

"Except for the blind ones," Charles allowed.

They watched as Isaac introduced his witch to the FBI agents as Hally Smith. She wasn't beautiful, but she was striking with dark coloring, a long, elegant nose, and a wide, generous mouth.

Isaac helped her down into the boat. To Charles, she stank of black magic as she neared and he wondered how Isaac stood it. Moira, Anna's friend, was a white witch. She generally smelled of the herbs, spices, and magic of her gift. Hally reeked of death, old blood, and ghosts.

The witch looked at Charles as if she could read his mind, which he knew d.a.m.ned well she couldn't.

"Well," she said in a low, husky voice. "I've heard so much about you, Charles-"

Isaac made a noise in his throat and she smiled.

"Charles Smith. Look, we even share a last name. How delightful."

"Her last name really is Smith," Isaac told him.

"Convenient," said Anna. "People will think you're lying even when you aren't."

"But not you," said the witch, and Charles fought the desire to grab his mate and set her behind him where he could protect her better. "You and your kind can tell if I'm lying."

"Only if you aren't a good liar," said Anna, half apologetically and half honestly. Being a good liar might keep a young wolf like Anna from discovering a lie, but an old wolf like Charles could almost always tell.

Anna continued to clarify matters. "If you believe your own lies or if telling lies doesn't bother you, we can be deceived. In fact, we're even easier to fool because so many of us a.s.sume we're infallible. I, personally, am always careful not to underestimate how well people lie."

"I'll keep that in mind." Hally smiled and accepted a life jacket from Isaac, then handed him her satchel, a waterproof canvas backpack, to hold while she put it on. There was an unspoken arrogance about the act that set Brother Wolf on edge: Isaac was neither her mate nor her servant whose service was to be taken for granted. She snapped the vest on over her serviceable wool sweater.

"Are you planning on lying?" asked Leslie Fisher with interest. Anna gave her a quick look and then glanced up at Charles. He let her see that it didn't bother him, and she relaxed.

Hally's smile deepened. "I don't know yet. Isaac said you'd have some of Jacob's body for me?"

Goldstein took the seat next to Leslie's with his back next to the stern of the boat. He pulled out a Baggie from his life jacket pocket that contained a two-inch square of skin and a pinch of dark hair and handed it to Hally, who took it with the enthusiasm of a child being given a lollipop.

"Splendid," she said. "It would probably be best to wait until we are out in the harbor before I start to do magic. All I will get is distance and a direction, not the closest route there. It won't last forever, so I'd rather wait until we're somewhere it will do us the most good. Isaac filled me in"-she looked at Charles-"and promised me recompense."

She hadn't been cheap. If it weren't for the time factor, he could have had Moira and Tom fly out from Seattle for considerably less expense.

"Ten thousand," Charles agreed.

Leslie whistled. "No wonder we don't consult with witches much."

"You pay for the best," said Hally smugly. "Shall we set sail?"

"Motor," Anna said, pointing at the stern. "No sails."

CHAPTER 8.

Charles kept a close watch from the bow as Malcolm threaded the Daciana around boats and other a.s.sorted obstacles with all the sailing skill of a pirate and a cheery rendition of "The Mary Ellen Carter," a song about men reclaiming a sunken ship, whistled off-key. If Bran had been with them, doubtless he'd have joined in the song. Charles's da loved impromptu concerts, especially with people who sang-or whistled-Stan Rogers songs, though considering the boat's pa.s.sengers, "The Witch of the Westmoreland" might have been more appropriate.

The rise and fall of the ocean made Charles's stomach roil-another reason he didn't like boats. Anna was kneeling on the bow as far forward as she could, with her face in the wind and a peaceful expression that made Brother Wolf want to kiss her feet and other places-if only he wouldn't have thrown up the moment he bent over.

"Gets me, too," said Isaac, coming up from the rear of the boat. He braced himself on the wall of the console and talked in a voice nicely calculated to carry just over the noise of the engine, but not so loudly that anyone else was likely to hear. "Once I throw up, I'm okay." Then he raised his voice. "But I'm the Alpha of the Olde Towne Pack, d.a.m.n it, and I can't afford to upchuck in front of a bunch of strangers. They might find bits of that annoying salesman I ate last night."

Charles scowled at him. "Thanks for the visual."

Isaac threw his head back and laughed. "You're all right, man. Malcolm says he's headed to a spot that he thinks is pretty much a clear shot to most of the islands. There are also lots of abandoned warehouses along the sh.o.r.eline, thanks to the crumbling of the fisheries around here. Lots of places to hold and torture people without anyone hearing. You really see Indian spirits and talk to them?"

"Spirits," corrected Charles. "Nothing Indian about them other than we believe they exist and most of you white-eyes don't. Yes."

Isaac cackled. "I can't believe you just called me a white-eye. Better than a pale-face, I suppose, but it just seems so Bonanza." His face softened. "My granddad, he could see ghosts. When he was really old, he would rock in this old, dark wood rocking chair and tell us kids about the murderer who haunted the house he grew up in and tried to make his life h.e.l.l when he was too young to read and write."

"Ghosts are different from spirits," Charles said. Yes, howled the ones who haunted him, tell him about your ghosts, make us a little more real every time you speak of us, every time you see us or think about us. Tell him that ghosts of people you kill can come back and kill the ones you love if you are dumb enough or too clueless to figure out how to set them free.

Charles had to wait a moment before he could continue, and disguised it as his motion sickness from the boat ride by swallowing heavily. "The spirits I see are more...a way for nature to talk to those with the eyes to see and the ears to hear. They never were human. I don't see ghosts"-Liar! cackled one in his ear-"not the way your granddad did, but I've met a couple of people who do. Not an easy gift."

"My granddad, he was a tough old bird. I'd guess he was tough even when he was five years old and faced down a haunt no one else could see." Isaac grinned. The sun was down now and his teeth gleamed in the light of the waxing moon. It was two days until full moon. "Tough like me."

Tough and stupid, thought Charles with a sigh. "You are sleeping with the witch?"

Isaac smiled whitely. "Yessir. And she makes me breakfast in bed, too."

Charles liked this young, tough Alpha, so he wanted to warn him. "Black witches are untrustworthy lovers."

"I get that," Isaac said. He shook his shoulders to loosen them. "I'm a werewolf; I can't afford to be delicate-but I could never fall for a woman who tortures kittens to make love potions, even if she doesn't do it around me. She's just scratching an itch and I'm enjoying it while it lasts-and I'm clear with her that's all it is."

"Women hear what men say," Anna said without turning around. "That doesn't mean they believe them. A witch isn't anyone to screw with, Isaac, and they get as possessive as any other woman. You're beautiful, strong, and powerful-she's not going to let that go easily."

"Are you trying to steal my man?" Hally didn't seem to have any of the trouble the rest of them did moving about the bouncing boat. And she was good at sneaking around because Charles hadn't noticed that she'd gotten up from her seat to round the opposite side of the console. She still had her satchel-and was holding the Baggie next to her face as if it held a rose instead of a piece of dead boy's skin.

Anna kept a hand on the railing and rolled to sit with only one hip on the ledge at the bow so she could face the witch. His mate smiled one of her big, generous smiles. "No. Just warning him about sleeping with dangerous things. Tigers are rare treasures-and they will eat you and not give it a second thought."

The witch preened, her ire sliding away. His Anna was so good at managing people-him included. It was a good thing that the witch was looking at Anna and not Isaac, because Isaac had clearly heard what Anna had said, too. And when an Omega talked, the wolf listened no matter what the man thought. Isaac looked like he'd been slapped.

"Tigers need to be wary around wolves," Charles said, to keep her from looking Isaac's way.

Hally narrowed her eyes. She reminded him more of a snake than a tiger-they were beautiful, too, beautiful and cold survivors, killing with poison rather than fang or claw.

"You are sticking your nose into places they don't belong, wolf," she said, as if she thought he ought to be worried about her.

Hally had overstepped, and so Brother Wolf met her eyes and let her see that they had killed more powerful witches than she was-and that it wouldn't bother them to do it again.

She swallowed and stepped back, stumbling when a wave threw her off balance.

"You scratch whatever itches you choose," Charles told her, his voice cold and quiet. "Enjoy yourself. But at the end of the day, you remember that Isaac belongs to my father-and to me. He is necessary to us as you are not. You will leave him unharmed or I will hunt you down and destroy you."

She hissed at him like a cat. When he just stared at her, Hally scrambled ungracefully around the far side of the console, out of his line of sight.

Isaac was watching him, his eyes bright gold. And then he tilted his jaw, exposing his throat. Charles lunged forward and nipped him lightly before releasing him.

From the back of the boat Beauclaire watched them with inhuman eyes, and Brother Wolf wanted to teach the fae man respect the way he'd just put the witch in her place. The moon urged, the ghosts in his head howled...and Charles took a half step away from the gunwale railing.

"You made yourself an enemy," Isaac said, his voice quiet and soft, distracting Brother Wolf. Beauclaire dropped his eyes at last and the moment was gone.

"She is a black witch," Charles said, equally quietly. "We have always been enemies. For right now, we are aimed at the same target; that is all. If your target is pleasure and you're sure that's what hers is, too, that's fine. Just remember-a black witch doesn't love anything but power."

Isaac swallowed and looked away. "White witches are just food for the rest. Hally had a sister who died when she was sixteen because she refused to take the black route to power. A big, bad wicked witch ate her down."

Charles nodded. "You can admire the survivor-but Hally did survive. She'll make sure she always survives. You better make sure that the same is true of you."

The little boat slowed; the engines quieted. The sky was inky except for the silver moon and the thin ribbon of cloud that crossed between them and her.

"Here," said Malcolm unnecessarily.

The witch took her satchel and the Baggie Goldstein had given her and climbed up the aluminum ladder to the fishing platform above the console. It was the best place to do it-a flat open surface on a crowded boat-but Charles was sure that the witch knew and enjoyed the fact that the height put her onstage and made the rest of them her audience.