Page 66 of Werewolves and Witches AU

His answering smile is wide.

Refocusing, I give him our mission orders. “We need to move. My laptop’s in my case. Ye’ve got approximately two hours to get us an exact address for a direct descendant. We should arrive in three.”

I hold his gaze until I’m sure he understands, before climbing through to the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

Magpie offers me his three-fingered Scout’s salute when our gazes lock in the rearview mirror.

24

Not A Stakeout

Rowan

“Oh my goddess!” Milo exclaims from the back seat, his face pressed up against the tinted window as we drive through the Robeson County neighbourhood he directed us to.

My wolf responds immediately. “What?”

The streets here are crowded; children of all ages run circles around mothers who gather in huddles. Scattered in between is the odd dad, preoccupied with his phone, and even rarer still are the grandparents who’ve evidently been roped into doing the school run. All of them are so caught up in their own lives that they barely spare us a glance as we drive steadily by, but I see them. All of them. Because while Time Guy isn’t using a Bluetooth or RF tracker, he is monitoring Milo somehow—and what if, as some kind of god, he can use people like we use technology?

I know what I saw through the kitchen window, and yet… he left no scent, no trail, nothing that my wolf could latch on to. However he’s tracking Milo, Time Guy is able to simply drop in and then vanish again the same way. Which means he could show at any time—even now, hours away from the Nest, while we’re strapped inside a moving truck. I clench my back teeth and check the time… 15:11.

“These homes are only a little more each month than what I pay for my single room back in the city.” Milo’s chatter is grounding and stops me from dwelling further on the scope of the threat we face. With a grunt of relief that his exclamation doesn’t necessitate immediate action, my body sags into the support of the leather seat.

“This is wild,” he continues. “If I sold fifty more boxes of…”

He pulls his face away from the window, and scoots across the back seat so he can lean through to the front. “What shampoo do you use?”

“What?” Briefly, I turn to take in his profile before resuming my search for the house number he’s identified as our new Target.

“Shampoo?” Milo’s slender fingers ghost over the tips of my hair. “You have it cut quite short—a military thing, I guess—but it looks like it might have a curl to it. Did you know that most shampoos—”

“Magpie…” I interrupt, purposefully using his codename to remind him that we’re on a mission. “One-two-nine-eight-seven Glenn Bridge Road, right?”

Deliberately, I crane my neck as if straining to see the tiny house numbers posted by the front doors.

“Oh, mhm. Yeah.” Milo, all long legs encased in ripped jeans and still with that exposed lean torso, climbs through the small gap between the front seats and drops into place beside me.

I adjust the mirror now that he’s closer, and catch sight of the state of the rear portion of the cabin. For someone whose only job on the drive here was to use a laptop for research, there’s quite the collection of things now strewn about.

My laptop—still on—occupies the seat directly behind me. Discarded beside it is my jacket that Milo once again used as a blanket when the cold leather of the seats didn’t agree with the ridiculously short-cropped hoodie he has on. Both of Milo’s zip-up boots…

I glance at his feet—odd socks. A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Did I expect anything different?

“Oh, there!” Milo points so enthusiastically that his fingertip presses against the inside of the windscreen.

He’s going to need some training in how to minimise his DNA trail. I cough to clear my throat, and shuffle in my seat. Thoughts like that are a distraction, at best.

Following the line of Milo’s arm, I maintain a steady but slow speed as we drive past a faded double-wide surrounded by a moderately overgrown box hedge.

“Wait. You’re going too far.”

Shaking my head, I explain, “Tactical observation one-oh-one, Magpie. Maintain secrecy through use of concealed positions.”

I pull the truck in further up the road, and adjust all the mirrors to keep our Target in full view. Milo slides down in his seat and offers up another one of his Boy Scout salutes—three fingers digging hard into his temple. Does he even know his country’s military salute?

Unable to suppress it, I chuckle lowly and shake my head. “At ease, soldier.”

Milo’s returning smile is blinding. The deepening glow of the afternoon sun’s rays cast him in bronze and transmute his usually silver hair to more of a champagne-gold. With every little move of his head, the longer strands shimmer in their newfound warmth. Not for the first time, his ethereal features conjure images of some fictional fae prince.