Page 14 of Werewolves and Witches AU

“Nah, mate. You get me wrong.” He shows Guardian his hands in a surrender motion. “Like, she was an actual fiend, you know, of the demon variety? Bear and I had her cornered in a flooded staircase, and she took a human skin to fight her way out.”

Bear, smiling, nods in encouragement. “And you could tell Guardian everything about both her physical forms? Her stature and mannerisms?”

“One hundred percent. She was iconic in both. I mean, six arms with those pincer-like barbed hooks for hands…” He presses all his fingertips together into a point and makes stabbing motions with them. “But they transformed into long, pointy-tipped, burgundy nails, and shiny silver bracelets. If you’d met her in human skin, you’d never have known she—”

“But you remember the mission? The intel she had?” Bear interrupts.

Thriller cracks out laughing and claps his hands like a kid. “Mate. Honest to god, I’ve never seen anything like it. So, picture Bear and me in this flooded stone stairwell in the stinking Venice underbelly, and she has this pendant—which isn’t a necklace at all but a flash drive—and she fucking swallows it.” He stops laughing and sits up, suddenly sombre. “Had to break my claws out to eviscerate her and retrieve it.”

“This is what doesn’t make sense, Ranger.” Bear turns back my way. “Even at the height of having one of his…” He waves vaguely in Thriller’s direction. “He remembers exactly what that intel was, where it was, what form it took, and what form it ended up in. And you’re telling me that our beloved General—the greatest of us all—can remember everything about this witch from two thousand years ago, but not what this magical artefact is? What it looks like or does?”

“Aye.” I scrub my hand over my face and scratch through the short beard hairs. “For all the intel we have, the Luna del Lupo might not even be a trinket at all.”

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Guardian’s not-at-all-ominous comment drifts through from the back of the truck.

“Aha, finally!” Delilah cuts in. “For people who specialise in protective wardings, the Witches Council really do need better firewalls.” He turns his laptop screen so we can see. “This building is a front.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I could’ve told you that when we first pulled up,” Thriller pipes up.

Delilah ignores him as if he never spoke. “The Target is home to the Raleigh Coven.”

I take off my sunglasses, hooking the arm into the neckline of my T-shirt, and stare hard—again—at the single-storey building in front of us. Our Target is at the end of a row of six retail units. Its windows are covered with yellowed newspaper sheets that are taped into neat rows and block any view in or out.

Bear snorts a laugh. “So, we’re meeting with a witch they wouldn’t name, about an artefact they can’t describe, inside a coven? I’d like to know how this witch was identified when we have so little intel.”

My wolf comes forward. We might be the General’s specialist military unit, but the Dogs of War are my pack. I’m their alpha. They look to me to keep them safe.

“About that…” Delilah clears his throat. “The General’s Office didn’t give us the informant’s name, but I can. Meet Georgie Hoffman. Not a witch, but handfasted to one. Her spouse is the Raleigh Coven’s Historian.”

“Not a witch?” I ask, turning the laptop my way. “Admiral Guerrieri definitely said the word witch. Are ye sure?”

Delilah’s glare cuts through my consternation. “As a sign of my deep respect for you, Ranger, I’m going to pretend you never asked that.” He snatches back his laptop. “When the Intelligence Corps infiltrated the Witches Council, they had about as much to go on as we did: a pretty witch and an artefact named the Luna del Lupo. Their search entries in the Council’s database are all here—they really do need to train them better in the art of discretion. Still, makes my job easier.”

He brings up an image: an email sent to all coven Historians registered nationwide.

Brightest Blessings,

Fellow Historians, this is a formal request for your assistance. The International Archive for the Collective History of Witchcraft is looking for a missing inventory item. Catalogued as part of a private collection, the Luna del Lupo was confiscated during the occupation of the Allied Countries in the 1930s. When the collection was rediscovered in the 1960s, the Luna del Lupo was missing.

Beyond its name, and that it dates to Roman antiquity, there is no further description of the item. Could the Luna del Lupo be among your collection?

The IACHW is offering a large monetary reward for its safe return to our collection. If you think you might have it, please contact us.

I laugh, incredulous. “That’s how they gathered our intel? Sent a fishing email baited with money? Christ, it’s no wonder the Admiral was tight-lipped.”

Delilah scoffs. “They had quite a few responses, as you’d imagine, and Georgie’s is where they sent us.”

“I guess when this is a bust, they’ll direct us to the next idiot on their list.” Thriller groans from the back seat. “Can’t fucking wait.” His legs bounce.

Glancing at Guardian in the rearview mirror, I nod in response to his unvoiced questions. Yes, this mission needs to be over already. Yes, we could do without stepping foot inside a coven. Yes, we’d better hope that whatever intel this Georgie thinks she has pans out, or else…

“The good news…” Delilah’s cheery voice, and the sudden snap of his laptop closing, cuts off my thoughts. “The Raleigh Coven are late starters. Breathworks is their first listed calendar event today, and it doesn’t start until oh-ten-hundred hours.”

I check my watch… 09:07.

Tuesday’s loud knock on my window aggravates Thriller’s wolf, and a low growl rumbles in his chest. I lower the window. “Only one heat signature detected inside the shop,” he confirms.

My head drops back. Finally, some good news.