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  In one swift movement, Sebastian sat up, hauling her with him. Releasing her, he rose and started pacing the square room, only to stop and stare at her expectantly, a hand pulling through his hair. “Well?” he demanded impatiently.

  Briony told him every aspect of her dream-that-wasn’t-really-a-dream. Her vivid memory of the horrors she’d witnessed, as if it had been a true, waking nightmare, only solidified her confidence that it was a vision.

  By the time she was finished speaking, she was surprised Sebastian hadn’t worn a hole through the floor. Without her ability to see his emotions as clearly as she could see his hair color, his intelligence was that much more apparent. His sharp eyes were so bright, she could practically see his rapid mental calculations as he paced relentlessly.

  “So every creature in New Orleans—” Sebastian began.

  “—possibly the world,” she interjected.

  “Every creature, ever, is going to die unless we do something. Who’s behind this?”

  “I would tell you, but it might kill me.”

  From her perch on a pile of blankets neatly stacked on a cozy red chair, Gris-Gris hissed, leapt to her feet and padded over to where Briony sat cross-legged on the bed.

  Eyes glowing unnaturally, she raised her paws to Briony’s throat.

  That quickly, Briony couldn’t breathe.

  Gris-Gris backed away slightly, lying down with her side pressed against Briony’s, but her throat remained cut off. Black spots appeared before her eyes, and she thought she heard a slamming sound accompanied by Sebastian’s exclamation of, “What the hell did you do to her,” before she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 10

  SHE woke up to Gris-Gris purring on her bare legs, looking like a smug, hairy loaf of a cat.

  Sebastian sat beside her, his hand clasped with hers.

  “Gris-Gris tried to undo the gag spell for you, but decided against it when it realized it would’ve alerted the warlocks to its removal.”

  Briony nodded, wishing she could be free of Radburn’s spells even as she understood why they had to stay.

  “We have no reason to draw any more of their attention to us,” she murmured.

  “Right. Now we have to find a way to stop them.” Sebastian’s words were cool, confident, but Briony wasn’t fooled. Stopping a float of warlocks was akin to jerking the earth off its axis: a nearly impossible task.

  “What you need is to talk to Noam, the High Witch of our coven,” Briony said thoughtfully. “Her husband was killed by warlocks, and she’s put up such a fight against them, they rarely bother us anymore. Besides, it’s become law for us to report any communication with warlocks. My coven will want to know what happened yesterday.”

  And they did.

  An hour and a half and an unsuccessful search for Emmanuel later, they stood in the old church the coven now used as its meeting place. Once inside, the stained-glass windows depicting angels and Jesus doing good deeds were the only indication of what the building once was. All of the pews were gone, replaced with soft floor cushions. Natural light shone down from the skylight, replacing the vast majority of the ceiling.

  Briony smiled, thinking of the ceremonies that took place here in full presence of the moon and stars.

  Cynthia, Harry’s mother, was the first to spot them. The only witch in the room, she seemed to be researching something, flipping through pages and copying them with a snap of her fingers, forming a neat stack beside her elbow.

  Briony’s heart clenched when the witch’s expression changed from relaxed to guarded in the span of a moment.

  “You know you’re not allowed here, Briony,” she said in a low tone, setting aside her ancient-looking book. “Neither is he.”

  Sebastian’s inquisitive gaze bored into her, but Briony didn’t answer his silent question.

  She didn’t like talking about her exile from the coven. She deserved the punishment, having consorted with a warlock, but the memory of naivety still filled her with deep regret for placing the people she loved in danger.

  “Cynthia, this is Sebastian, Harry’s boss at the brewery.”

  Instantly, the woman lit up, her smile taking over her face. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my boy.” Gratitude thickened her voice, filling Briony with warmth for the man standing beside her.

  “You’ve changed his life, you know,” Cynthia continued. “And ours—because of you, we were able to get Moonlight Jams up and running, and now we have one hundred kids who come in to play music every day after school. We’re able to feed them a good dinner and give them something for their parents too, all while keeping them away from activities teenagers shouldn’t be involved in.”

  “You teach high school kids how to play instruments?” Sebastian sounded impressed.

  Cynthia exchanged an amused look with Briony, giving her hope the other witch may be able to forgive her after all.

  “We charm the instruments to play whatever the child wants it to. Over time, the instrument itself guides their hands to the correct places and beats, so by the time the charm has worn off, the child is just as good at playing as he thinks he is.” Cynthia grinned.

  “It was Harry’s idea,” Briony added. Cynthia nodded proudly.

  Sebastian laughed. “If you need any more funds, let me know. All I ask is that you throw in a charmed twelve-string guitar. I can work with six strings, but twelve have always given me trouble.”

  Cynthia positively glowed. “It’s a deal.”

  “I believe it’s my job to make deals with werewolves.” A frown prominent on her severely thin face, Noam strode into the almost-empty room, the witch’s aura of authority apparent to Briony despite her lack of power. “I sensed a human and a werewolf, but instead I’ve found a talisman, a dying witch and a conduit in the form of a cat.”

  She turned to Briony. “What in the hell have you done this time?”

  Before Briony could respond, Sebastian stepped forward and introduced himself.

  “Actually, I’m the one who infiltrated the warlocks’ castle, exploded a turret and stole their conduits. Briony saw a future where the warlocks exterminated all creatures. Is that something you’d be interested in changing?”

  He spoke in a tone of voice she’d only heard once before, when he was speaking to an employee threatening to sue after being fired. After his conversation with Sebastian, Briony was confident the man never bothered to hire a lawyer. Sebastian had a way of effortlessly making those around him feel small and unintelligent, a gift he rarely exploited.

  Noam, however, wasn’t a human man with a self-interested agenda, and she wasn’t intimidated by Sebastian in the least. That is, she seemed coolly unimpressed on the surface. Without the ability to see her aura, Briony couldn’t read the emotions the High Witch kept hidden from view.

  She felt blind, vulnerable, without the power she so completely depended on.

  “So Briony didn’t come crawling to you, begging you to break her betrothal with Radburn?” Noam’s eyes were narrowed, her expression condemning.

  “I did.” Briony had never told anyone at the coven that she wouldn’t ask for help. On the contrary, she’d been clear about her intentions to set the werewolves against the warlocks.

  That was the reason Noam exiled her, for blithely ignoring her order to keep the werewolves out of business that concerned only the witches and warlocks.

  Noam stood almost a head taller than Briony and only an inch or so below Sebastian’s height, yet she still managed an impressive attempt to look down her long, straight nose at both of them.

  Now, without seeing the revealing swirls of color around her, Briony could see why no one in their coven ever disobeyed Noam. Still, she could produce no fear for the woman.

  “I don’t care what she told you, what they did to her, or what you saw with your own eyes while you were in their castle. You won’t make another move against them, not if you want your pack and loved ones to
stay alive.” Noam’s words were as sharp as any sword, biting Briony with indecision. Did she make a mistake in involving Sebastian?

  No. His pack deserved the chance to fight back, rather than to be faced with a surprise attack with the potential to end them all. The werewolves were strong, but they couldn’t fight to their full potential. They hadn’t been able to for hundreds of years.

  “Do you not understand? We’re all going to die unless something is done. They’re weakened without the conduits. This may be our chance to finally fight back and win.” They couldn’t win. There was no way beings such as them, creatures with so little value for life, would win the battle for supremacy over Earth.

  The Rule of Three may be a tale to tell children, but karma existed. Someday, it was going to bite Radburn and his warlocks in the ass.

  The other creatures could be that source of karma, overpowering the warlocks and taking their fate back. Briony didn’t want to think about what would happen is they failed.

  “We’re going to die anyway.” At Noam’s words, the pages Cynthia had returned to began to smoke and char at the edges.

  Cynthia leapt from her chair, gasping. The metal was also heating, turning from silver to an increasingly bright shade of orange.

  “Really, Noam? You get pissed at them and decide to burn my butt?” Glaring at Noam murderously, Cynthia took her notes and book to settle on the floor, leaving her work to hover in the air until she moved a lap desk underneath.

  Noam ignored the other witch and played with the sapphire pendent that always encircled her neck, an action that always went with a sliver of barely perceptible apprehension.

  It was enough of a giveaway to further Briony’s convictions.

  “I know we’ll all die someday, especially if we can’t find a way to keep the sun from dying—although, I’m confident we will—but this is our time to finally step out from under the warlock’s shadow. Before they became ruthless killers, we were unstoppable. If you remember, when Big Mama was High Witch no other creatures threatened us. New Orleans was peaceful.”

  Even the humans seemed to pick up on the evil the warlocks emanated. As they reached their height of power and increased in number, the human crime rates rose with them.

  “I won’t discuss this with you,” Noam spat. “Neither of you are members of this coven, and deserve less than nothing from us.” She leaned down to whisper to Briony, her thin lips twisting. “If I were you I’d get your affairs in order. Whether we die or not, you won’t be around to see it.”

  Noam looked meaningfully at Briony’s hands, which appeared noticeably more aged than the rest of her body.

  Sebastian took her hand, meeting Noam’s steel-gray eyes. “Are you telling me you’ve prepared your coven for genocide?”

  “No.” Cynthia watched Noam as she spoke. “She’s said nothing of this to us. As far as our coven is concerned, the warlocks remain a danger, but one we’re well protected from. Is that a lie?”

  “Absolutely.” Noam craned her neck in time to see Gris-Gris race across the room. She wasn’t chasing anything visible, likely a spirit or a loose spell.

  “I want the conduits. A werewolf has no place owning them, and a human certainly shouldn’t be exposed to such energy. You’ll leave that creature here.”

  Gris-Gris stilled. In a move that was far from natural, her head turned to face Noam. The rest of her body remained poised to attack her prey.

  “They say they’re content staying with us,” Sebastian said, his head slightly cocked to the side. “They also said they’re happy to show you the spell they’re about to catch—once they empower it, it’ll become a weapon so deadly nothing will remain of this church once they’re finished.” He paused. “Except for Cynthia. They have no issue with her. One of the men likes the color of her hair.”

  Cynthia blushed, her hand rising to her copper-colored curls.

  “Fine.” Noam’s lip curled at the conduit, who’d turned back to her mark. Lunging forward, the cat lifted both her paws, stopping when the air between then began to spark.

  For a moment the animal shimmered brightly, blindingly, like a feline disco ball.

  Then Gris-Gris was back to her regular self, slinking along the floor after a new target.

  “The next time you come here, there will be a spell warding against your entry. It wouldn’t kill a witch, but it’ll certainly have the ability to kill a human like you.” Noam turned to Sebastian. “Do anything else to piss me off, and I’ll exile Harry.”

  Cynthia gasped.

  “You wouldn’t kill me,” Briony argued. Many decades ago, Big Mama had treated Noam like her own daughter, who’d died giving birth to Briony. Her father, unable to take his grief, had disappeared soon after, leaving Briony to be raised by the only family she had left.

  Noam and Briony had never been close, but she and Big Mama trusted each other, or so Briony thought. Her grandmother had even defended Noam’s decision to keep Briony from the coven. “What do you expect of her?” she’d said wearily. “You’ve directly disobeyed the High Witch’s orders. To allow that would make her weak, and weak is something Noam Conture is not.”

  Despite the coven turning their backs on her, Briony hadn’t thought Noam capable of murder. She still didn’t, and wouldn’t believe it.

  If they killed so indiscriminately, what separated them from the warlocks?

  Noam’s expression softened, the lines around her pursed mouth smoothing. “No, I won’t kill you; your foolish actions already have. Now leave us to live the last pieces of our lives in peace.”

  Emotions roiled in Briony’s gut, twisting her vocal folds so she couldn’t speak. She had been foolish. Had her actions damned them all?

  “Come on.” Sebastian took her arm lightly, steering them to the door. As they walked through, she couldn’t help but look back, try and feel some of the friendly magic the church had absorbed over the decades.

  She felt nothing, but she did catch Cynthia waving sheepishly. Briony raised a hand, grateful to have an ally in the coven apart from Harry.

  Outside, when she lowered her hand, she found a crumbled note waiting in her palm.

  It read: I’ll help you.

  * * * *

  That night, Sebastian called Harry to make sure the brewery was running smoothly. Of course it was, for which he was proud of Harry and his staff, but would it kill them to have one crisis they needed him for?

  “You could retire and we’d be fine,” Harry told him cheerfully.

  “The day I’ve retired is the day the ice caps finally melt and put New Orleans underwater,” Sebastian growled.

  Harry grunted, obviously disappointed he wouldn’t be in charge anytime soon. Sebastian laughed.

  “When we get past this shit with the warlocks, we’ll officially start that line of sour beers,” he promised. “That’ll be all you, with no input from me unless you ask for it.”

  “Seriously?” Harry’s voice hit a pitch so high Sebastian wondered whether it broke any of the glass growlers he had scattered around the brewery.

  “Seriously.”

  He hung up a moment later, once Harry assured him he’d call if there were any matters that might need his attention.

  The whoosh of the running shower had his attention now, or rather, thoughts of the woman inside. The smell of berries wafted in the air, explaining the red currant bit of the currant, chocolate and ivy scent that clung to Briony like a second skin.

  He’d never guessed that she’d been exiled, exactly like he and his packmates were.

  Seeing the pain on her face earlier had been excruciating. If he’s thought it would’ve made her feel better, he would have ripped Noam’s black heart from her chest.

  Only Briony never reveled others’ pain. He doubted she was even capable of hatred, another facet of the witch that made her so special. She was everything that was good, and as fragile as the most delicate of glasswork.

  It was why h
e left the brewery with Harry; he couldn’t bear for anything to happen to her, and now guarding her would be a full-time occupation.

  She’s human. The word twisted in his mind, placed there by the High Witch’s cold voice. It wasn’t the way he would have thought to describe her. Mortal, maybe, or cursed. But human? No. Immortals didn’t just become human.

  What if they could?

  Hope flared in his chest, for Briony and for all creatures. If her vision had been correct, and only she could prevent the warlocks from fulfilling their reprehensible plan, she had to be alive to stop it.

  And he may have found a way to keep her alive.

  “Is she truly human now?” he asked Gris-Gris, who was playing with the invisible ball of energy it had swiped from the coven.

  Humans don’t die by aging rapidly and turning to ash, a male responded. Gris-Gris flicked him a dry look.

  His heart sank. “So I can’t make her a werewolf?” If he bit her and she became were, she’d be immortal again. Hell, she’d be free of all the curses Radburn put on her and physically much stronger than she’d been as a witch.

  Gris-Gris sat up and cocked its head. I think you can, came a thoughtful female voice. Let us look into it. Other voices whispered their assent. The cat inclined its head and ran off, leaving a twinkling streak in its wake.

  The glimmering stripe faded away as quickly as it had appeared.

  Sebastian shook his head, thinking Briony would’ve loved that sight. When she’d had her powers, she practically emitted color and glitter.

  Not that her lack of abilities had changed her so completely. In the corner of the room were three cans of paint they’d picked up on the way back to the firehouse. Of course, they were all different colors: a brown the color of mahogany, the same metallic shade of silver Mary used in her paintings for Full Moon, and a vibrant, sky-blue Briony claimed matched his eyes perfectly.

  Watching grass grow and being chased through water by an angry kelpie were two things Sebastian would rather do than paint, but Briony was adamant about covering his beige walls.