Page 33 of Werewolves and Witches AU

“Are the Postal Service looking for it?”

“Probably.” Then I remember that Milo’s a hedge witch with no profile on the Witches Council’s database. But if his story is true, then maybe it’s not them who are looking for him at all. Maybe it’s whoever broke into his flat. “The Package was marked for the attention of the Office of Time.”

Admiral Guerrieri clicks his tongue. “Yes. The Office of Time is… not your concern.”

“I don’t have time to hang onto Packages that aren’t my concern. I’ll leave it in a drop box for the intended recipient to collect. But I need ye to give me more than ye have.”

“Ranger, the General has been very specific…” The Admiral’s voice fades to the back of my mind when a tall man in a gaudy purple leather jacket, who matches the description Milo gave of his intruder, steps into the coffee shop.

I cut my gaze to Milo. The moment he spots him, the straw falls away from his lips—a genuine and instinctive reaction that lends him credence.

Ignoring the Admiral entirely now, I switch to my messages with the Dogs.

Guardian:

No remains. Carnage. Struggle evident.

No remains.

My wolf pushes forward, and I straighten under the shade of the tree. Milo’s heartbeat is sky-high, but outwardly there’s zero indication. That level of fear is all the proof of identification I need.

The intruder must use magic because suddenly the barista, and the water that pours from the tap as she rinses the blender she used to make Milo’s coffee, freezes in place.

Turning to Milo, he says, “You have the Luna del Lupo; that’s the only way you could have evaded my magic. And you’re going to give it to me.”

15

Luna Del Lupo

Milo

The Luna del Lupo is the magical trinket that Ranger and his Dogs quizzed me about until my brain turned to chicken noodle soup.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry despite the half-drunk coffee on the table between us.

How did Time Guy find me?

My fingers hover over the contacts list in my phone, but who am I meant to call? Like the idiot I am, I willingly walked out of a safe house filled with hulking alpha werewolves—and a terrifying omega wolf—without so much as a single phone number to call in case of an emergency. And this is very much an emergency.

Not daring to shift my gaze from that Emperor Nero style bowl haircut in front of me, I internalise my facepalm.

He’s no longer wearing the cape, at least, but he and that bold purple leather jacket are blocking my only route to the door.

When his deep brown eyes, tinged with an inhuman red colour, strafe right to check on the barista, mine do the same. But his magic has turned her into some sort of living statue. Everything, apart from me and Time Guy, is as frozen as the ice in my drink.

Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of just how resonant living is: of the blood rushing through my veins, of my lungs deflating in a whoosh to communicate my overwhelm, and of each pump of my heart that fuels the sparks of the millions of thoughts that crowd my brain. Too loud. Too much.

“I don’t have all day, Warlock. I searched your accommodation, but it wasn’t there. Which means you have it on you—hand it over.”

What are the chances that two perfect strangers would accuse me of having this same artifact twice in one day? I chew on my bottom lip, and intuition churns my stomach. That is the kind of coincidence that witches are taught to pay attention to.

Ranger never did say why they were looking for it, or what it did, but Time Guy just did. Sort of. Apparently, it’s the only reason his magic didn’t affect me. The same magic that he admitted to using on Sarah and the Lost Colony. The same magic he tried to use on me this morning.

My mouth drops open.

Time Guy reaches out with an impatient hand, and his sleeve rides up his arm with the motion. There, around his wrist, are five perfectly formed bruises that mirror exactly where he’d grabbed me earlier.

“I… erm, don’t…” I sit a little straighter. “No.”