“It was Walter,” I say. “I think he got in my head somehow. I didn’t even know he could do that. He made me watch ... I saw ...” Tears fill my eyes at the thought of Jasper burning to death in front of me.
“It’s okay,” Omar says, one hand on my cheek, the other a stabilizing presence on my shoulder. “Don’t think about it. He got in your head, he was trying to trick you.”
My breaths are coming short and fast.
“Breathe, Max,” Mia says, rubbing my back. She and Olivia are perched on either side of me, keeping me from toppling backward. “Breathe.”
I do and slowly I’m able to calm myself down, my heartbeat—which had been ratcheted up by about a million percent—returns to an acceptable pace.
Meanwhile, Olivia is looking over my head, at Mia and Omar. “What do we do now? He can’t go back there.”
“It’s okay,” I say, before anyone can respond. “I don’t need to. I know where Mal is.”
We form a little convoy. Omar and I in Jasper’s car, tailed closely by Mia and Olivia. It’s not a signal that they’re going to join us for the return journey to New York, but I’m glad they offered to escort us to Mal’s. Olivia said they were coming to keep us out of trouble. And after what went down with the rogue alphas, I’m not mad about it.
We coast through miles of forest, tall pines whipping by on either side. Omar has one knee pressed against the dash and is tapping along to the radio on his thigh. I blink and shake my head to keep alert.
The drive so far has taken about five hours, and we’re not there just yet. Tired is an understatement.
Before Walter interrupted, I was narrowing in on a region just on the outskirts of Kisatchie National Forest in Louisiana. And when Mal’s voice calmed me down, pulling me back to reality, I was able to pinpoint her location. As I’ve driven I’ve done my best to keep tabs on her location, holding her thread in my mind without opening myself up to Walter again, and letting it guide my hands on the steering wheel.
It’s dark by the time we pull off the main roads, heading down winding dirt paths for about another forty-five minutes, before finally we pull up outside a two-story house, with shutters on the windows, a veranda with swirling wrought iron railings, a steep corrugated roof, and vines crawling all over the clapboards. Under the hanging branches of a magnificent willow, I put the car in park and step out.
The air is warm, humid, thick with the sound of bullfrogs, crickets, and cicadas. Fireflies dart between the dangling willow branches like tiny sparks of magic.
“This is the place?” Olivia asks, shutting the door to her car.
“Must be” I say. “But I don’t see any lights on.”
The windows are all dark.
“Is she here?” Omar asks.
I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose, preparing to open my mind, but an intriguing smell catches in my nostrils, something delicious, savory, and spicy. I open my eyes.
“You know how good she is at hiding her consciousness,” I say, remembering the rogues at Sanc and how they were able tocloak their minds. “But nothing could hide that delicious smell. Come on.”
Omar, Mia, and Olivia share confused looks but follow me as I head not for the front door but around the side of the house.
Grass and reeds grow tall against the siding, but a path has been mown through them, curving toward the back of the property.
When we turn the corner, I spot Mal and someone else, another woman, looking like a couple of fairy-tale witches as they sit next to a fire with a large pot suspended above it on a metal stand, their faces lit by flickering orange light.
“Is that ...?” I ask, trying to make out the second woman, the one stirring the massive cauldron, but before I can finish Omar has started jogging toward her.
“Agatha?” he calls.
“Wait, what?” Mia says. “Agatha is here?”
The three of us head to the fire, where Omar is buried in Agatha’s big, frizzy hair and the thick, cushiony collar of her knitted cardigan. Mia is next for a hug while Olivia and I hang back. Mal turns to catch my eye.
“Welcome Blood Wolf, looks like you found us.”
There’s a glint of mischief in her eye that might just be the fire, but I’m pretty sure she knew we were coming. Why else would she have made so much food?
The smell that drew me back here is wafting off the pot in great waves, and one glance inside has my mouth flooding with saliva. In the pot is a stew with big chunks of stringy meat floating next to celery, carrots, and potatoes, as well as some leaves and what look like twigs, plus other herby additions I can’t identify. It must be spiced and seasoned to perfection because the tangy, savory scent coming from it is almost too much to bear. I guess Agatha really is a witch.
“It’s good to see you all,” Agatha says, releasing Mia and looking my way. “I’ve heard all about how far you’ve come, Blood Wolf. I’m so proud of you.”
