The carving of a pack of wolves was familiar. Beautifully made out of one knotted and gnarled burl, it was old, the curves and dips of wood darkened by years of hands touching it. Those wolves almost fully free of the burl were carved fine and elegant: exquisite. The ones hidden within the rugged knots of wood, were howling and wild.
But it was the small black wolf in the center of the carving that really drew the eye. That wolf looked like it could move at any moment, come alive and shake off the wood surrounding it to run, to hunt. That small black wolf was Granny Wolfe, the matriarch of Ordinary’s pack.
“Oh, Jame. The Heartwood?” I glanced up at him. “I did a drive by last night, went through the pit.”
“Why?” The word was drawn out, even. He tipped his head just a little, waiting.
For a moment—just a split second—my mind went blank. WhyhadI been there so late? What was I doing driving around when I should have been home, in bed, asleep?
Then that moment washed away, the doubt, the tiniest tick of panic, all gone almost faster than I could process.
Jame was frowning now.
The memories came back to me, though they seemed foggy, at a distance, as if I were seeing myself from the outside.
“I saw a flicker of light through the office window where it shouldn’t be. I checked it out.”
“And?”
I pulled on memories that felt sticky and unclear. Why was this so hard to remember?
“No one was there. I couldn’t pin down exactly where the light had come from, but I tried the door. It was unlocked.”
“Unlocked?”
“No. Wait. It wasn’t unlocked.” I frowned. Something felt wrong about that. I had been there just hours ago, really. Drove the main area, checked the parking. Got out of the car and checked the office. First, with my flashlight through the window, then I tried the handle.
It had stayed shut, right? If it had been open, I would have gone inside. And I didn’t go inside. Had no memory of that.
The only thing that had happened was I got out of the car, tried the door, got back in the car.
Everything had been fine. Everything had been normal.
“So which was it? Locked or unlocked?” he asked.
“Locked.” I met his steady gaze with one of my own. “I didn’t see anything missing. The Heartwood was on the mantel over the fireplace like it always is.”
“You noticed it there, or thought it was there?”
“Know.”
“So you saw it there.”
“I saw it there.”
“On the mantel.”
“On the mantel.” I smiled. “If you ever wanted to pitch in as a reserve officer, let me know. You’ve got the calm, slightly intimidating demeanor down flat.”
“So, here’s the thing,” he said, ignoring my comment. “It wasn’t on the mantel.”
Everything in me went a little cold and itchy. Something about this conversation wasn’t right. If reality were a sweater, it was wool that had shrunk so small it didn’t fit me anymore.
It was a feeling I’d been having lately. Ever since I’d gotten back my—rather beaten and bruised—soul that had been in the hands of a demon for over a year, I’d been…out of step somehow.
I knew there would be side effects to having my soul possessed by a demon. Everyone knew there would be side effects. But no one knew exactly what would happen to the soul of the person who could Bridge god powers into Ordinary when that soul had been in a demon’s hands for so long.
The possibilities kept me up at night.
