“She’s phaanon,” I finished for him. He wasn’t the only one who could connect the dots.
“And she’s right here,” an older woman’s voice called out. “Waiting for you two to find some manners.”
Ace jerked back and we spun to face the new speaker. An old woman stood outside the cabin. The hood of her long maroon cloak cast a shadow across her face while the tattered hem brushed the mossy ground.
“Hecate,” Ace said in a way of greeting. The woman pulled her hood back. Her wrinkle- lined face showed the passage of time, but her piercing blue gaze gave her an ageless, almost youthful appearance.
Ace turned toward me and held out his hand. “This is?—”
“I know who this is.” Hecate narrowed her gaze as she peered at me. “What I’d like to know is why you’ve brought a daughter of Mab to my doorstep.”
Daughter of Mab? I’d heard that before…
I shook the memory away and focused on what was important for this moment. Surviving. This woman’s reputation proceeded her in all the cautionary children’s tales. Hecate, the goddess of witches, would grant wishes of scorned women, but her gifts always came with an unexpected cost.
Ace had delivered me to her, all right, but he forgot to wrap me in a bow.
“I’m not a scorned woman,” I blurted out.
Hecate scoffed. “I should hope not. There are more important things to life than wasting time and energy on a man who doesn’t want you.”
My brain stuttered. She wasn’t wrong…
But I wasn’t expecting life advice to come from a woman who looked like a storybook villain.
“Why are you here?” Hecate asked.
Ace cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Stepping closer, I waved at Nala. “I’m here for my familiar. Ace said you might be able to help.”
Her gaze sparked and she leaned forward. She sniffed and jerked her chin up. “What’s wrong with her?”
“We’re not sure. She was struck with a poisoned arrow.”
“Do you have the arrow?”
I reached for my quiver to pull free the arrow I’d collected from the other side of the portal.
“Yes,” Ace said, surprising me. “I snapped the arrowhead off.”
Using a cloth, he dug into his pocket and pulled out an arrowhead, careful not to touch the poisoned metal.
The metal.
It wasn’t the poison he feared touching, it was the iron.
My mind frantically reeled through my memories, searching for times he’d handled weapons or any other form of iron.
I couldn’t recall a single memory of him touching iron. He always had someone else make his arrows growing up. And I didn’t know where he sourced his weapons now. Maybe he simply wore gloves.
But if he couldn’t touch iron, how come I could?
“Mouse?” Ace’s deep voice interrupted my spiralling thoughts. “Are you okay?”
I shook away my many questions and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yes, of course.”
“You two should come in,” Hecate said. She hesitated and looked down at Nala. “Bring her, too.”
