“First two toes,” Asil spat, coming to his feet in a rage that was undeniably real, for all that it had come upon him instantaneously. “How dare she use Sarai’s form for her illusions?”
Charles folded his arms. He was going to have to sit down soon, the pain was making him light-headed. “It’s not an illusion, Asil. Not unless an illusion can pass on lycanthropy. The rogue we found here is her first victim. She attacked him, and he drove her off-then Changed at the next new moon.”
Asil stilled. “What?”
Charles nodded. “There’s something strange about that wolf. She’s only solid sometimes. Anna hurt her, and she fled, but as soon as she was out of sight, her tracks and blood just stopped.”
Asil’s breath caught.
“You know something?”
“They were all dead,” he whispered.
“Who?”
“All the witches who knew…but then we all underestimated Mariposa.”
“Mariposa? As in butterfly?”
Asil’s eyes were black in the night. “I am not a witch.”
Which seemed like an odd answer to his question. Charles considered him. “But you’ve been alive a long, long time,” Charles suggested. “And Sarai was an herbalist, a healer, wasn’t she? You know some things about witchcraft. You know what this wolf is.”
“Mariposa is the witch. We raised her, Sarai and I,” said Asil starkly. “She came from a family of witches that we knew-my mate was an herbalist. She knew most of the witches in that part of Spain, kept them supplied with what they needed. One day a tinker came to our door with Mari; she was eight or nine years old. From what we gleaned later, Mariposa’s mother had only just enough power to protect her youngest daughter from the attack of another clan of witches. Her parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, and all were dead-and her mother, too. The tinker found the little girl wandering by the burnt remnants of her house and thought my wife would take her in, as he knew that my wife had done considerable trade with that family.”
He sighed and turned away, looking out over the narrow, dark valley below them. “That was a bad time for all of us in Europe. The Inquisition had taken a terrible toll just a couple of centuries before-and when it was over, the witches started fighting for power. Only Napoleon kept them from exterminating each other entirely.”
“I know the story,” Charles told him. The only Western European witch bloodline to survive the power struggle was the Torvalis line, which was interbred with the Gypsies. Witches still were born here and there into mundane families, but seldom had a tenth of the power of the old families. The Eastern European and Oriental witches had never established the kind of dynasties the Western European witches had.
“They guarded their spells from each other,” Asil told him. “So each family tended to specialize. Mariposa’s family was one of the greatest of the witch families.” He hesitated. “But she was only a child, and this was their greatest spell. I can hardly believe they entrusted her with it.”
“What was it?”
“Her family was said to have guardians on their grounds, great beasts who patrolled and killed for them- but never needed food or drink. It was rumored that they made them from living creatures-they had a menagerie.” He sighed. “Such powerful spells, as you well know, are never made without blood and death.”
“You think your butterfly used such a spell on your mate?”
Asil shrugged. “I don’t know anything. All I can do is speculate.” He sucked in a breath. “She told me, before we sent her to another witch for teaching, she told me that the only place she really felt safe was with Sarai and me.”
He paused, then said bleakly, “I was in Romania when it happened. I dreamed Sarai was being tortured and consumed. Her heart had ceased beating, her lungs could not draw in air, but she lived and burned with pain and power. I dreamed Mariposa consumed my love until she was no more. It took her a long time to die, but not as long as my journey from Romania back to Spain. When I crossed our threshold, Sarai had been dead for a while.”
He looked out to the forest, but his eyes were blind, seeing something that had happened a long time ago. “I burned her corpse and buried the ashes. I slept in our bed, and when I awoke, Mariposa was waiting for me-in my head where only Sarai belonged.”
He sighed, scooped up a handful of snow, and threw it off to the side. “I wasn’t Sarai, to be blinded by the child she had been. Besides, I could feel her madness. I knew when Mariposa decided she wanted me, so I escaped. I ran to Africa, and the distance helped thin the link. By that time I figured out that if I was too close, she could make me do whatever she wanted.” He opened his mouth and panted several times as if he were in wolf form and distressed.
“For years I waited, sure that she would die. But she never did.” Asil hugged himself, then turned and faced Charles once more. “I think it must be some side effect of what she did to Sarai, that she stole Sarai’s immortality as she stole our bond. I could not for the life of me understand why she’d do either-but if her intent was to create such a creature as her family was known for…it all makes sense. She watched her whole family murdered, watched her mother die protecting her from the spell designed to kill everyone in her home.”
Charles heard the sympathy in the other man’s voice and countered it with truth. “So she killed your wife, who had taken her in, protected her, and watched over her. She tortured her to death to provide herself with something that could protect her.” Black witch, his instincts had said-and black witches were a nasty bunch, one and all. “And now she wants you-probably for the same thing.”
“Yes,” whispered Asil. “I’ve been running for a long time.”
Charles rubbed his forehead again, but this time because he felt a headache coming his way. “And now you decided to come here and present yourself to her, gift-wrapped.”
Asil gave a choked laugh. “I suppose that’s how it seems. Until you told me she was here, I was still convinced that my suspicions were unfounded.” His face lost the touch of amusement, and he said, “I am glad I am here. If she has some part of my Sarai, I have to stop her.”
“I was considering calling Bran here,” Charles told Asil. “But I’m starting to believe that might not be the smartest move.”
Asil frowned.
“Who is more dominant?” Charles asked him. “You or me.”
Asil’s eyes had been darkening during their conversation, but at Charles’s question they brightened fiercely. “You. You know this.”
“So,” said Charles, staring him down until the other’s amber eyes turned away in defeat, “how did the witch, using your mate bond and your ties to the pack, control me?”
As soon as Charles went out to talk to Asil, Anna had begun her change. She needed to deal with that wolf with her tongue rather than fang and claw. He was too good at riling her mate-and Charles was still volatile from his encounter with the witch.
She didn’t give any thought to Walter until she was naked and panting in the cold night air. She might have had three years to get used to being nude in front of people she didn’t know well, but he hadn’t.
She glanced at him, but he had his head turned away from her and was staring intently at a nearby tree trunk, the perfect gentleman.
She quit worrying about him and scrambled into her chilly clothes and boots because she could sense Charles’s rising rage at Asil; Asil had put the Marrok and his pack at risk. But more than that, she was worried that neither Charles nor Asil realized how close Charles was to his breaking point. She found it curious that she did.
Boots on, coat on, Anna rolled out of their sleeping place and onto her feet. She didn’t bother with the snowshoes-it was still early night. She glanced at the waxing moon; only a few more days until full moon. For the first time that didn’t make her sick with anxiety. With Walter in wolf form at her heel she trekked across the bench where Charles and Asil waited.