Smoke on the Water Read online

  “Sometimes she channels Yoda.” Becca shrugged, which made me laugh.

  It would have been nice to grow up together. I liked them.

  Raye rolled her eyes as I imagined a big sister might. No one had ever told us our birth order, but I knew she had been born first, Becca next, and then myself as surely as I knew we were sisters at all.

  “If we cast a spell,” she said, “we’ve cast the spell. So we need to do it where we want it done.”

  “You really want to go now?” Bobby asked, but he was already checking his service weapon.

  “Yep.” Owen pulled two rifles from the closet, handed one to Sebastian, who held it like a smelly diaper, then proceeded to pull out boxes of ammunition and stuff them into an empty duffel bag.

  “I’m not going to be any good with one of these.” Sebastian handed the rifle back to Owen.

  “Okay.” Owen tossed the rifle to Bobby.

  He caught it with one hand. “I’ll give you my pistol, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?” I asked.

  “In case he kicks Roland’s ass and he gets back up. You okay with shooting the creep then, Doc?”

  “I’m okay with shooting him now,” Sebastian said. “I just want to make sure I don’t miss.”

  “If he gets past us, he’s gonna be close enough so there’s no way you can miss. But we’ll do a few practice shots out back just for the hell of it.”

  “Maybe you should stay here,” I said. The last time Roland had been that close, Sebastian had gotten stabbed.

  “No.” Sebastian didn’t even look at me, though everyone else did.

  “But—”

  “No,” he repeated, this time meeting my eyes. I wasn’t going to change his mind; I saw that as clearly as I saw him. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, and you can’t make me.”

  “She could transport you to Delaware,” Bobby said.

  I hadn’t thought of that. Could I? Should I?

  “Don’t. You. Dare.” From the sound of the words, and the set of his jaw, Sebastian was grinding his teeth.

  Pru yipped, and Becca held up her hand. “She says we need him. He’s part of this, and Willow knows it.”

  Everyone looked at me again.

  “I haven’t caught a glimpse of this showdown. Not yet anyway.”

  Suddenly Sebastian was close enough to touch, looming over me—so big and strong and solid. “What have you had a vision of?”

  Did he suspect how many times I’d had a vision of him? Of me? Of us? Together.

  “Willow?”

  The way he said my name didn’t help me to stop remembering things that, right now, I shouldn’t. I closed my eyes, shutting him out. It was the only way I could think straight.

  “I saw you before I met you. I knew you were important, but I didn’t know why. That you would keep me safe, that you would save me. But I didn’t know from what.”

  “That’s informative.”

  I opened my eyes, shrugged. It was what it was.

  “Good enough for me,” Raye said. “Sebastian comes along.”

  I could have argued, maybe I should have. But the truth was, I wanted him there. He made me feel strong and whole, and while I’d risk my life to keep him safe, was it fair to risk everyone else’s?

  “I’ll be fine.” Sebastian brushed my fingers with his. I managed, barely, not to grab onto them and cling.

  “Roland isn’t going to have time to do anything to any of us before he’s barbecuing his nuts back in Hades,” Bobby said.

  “Or having his nuts barbecued for him,” Owen agreed. “I kind of like that image.”

  “I like the image of using his own athame to cast the spell that begins his end.” Becca held up the curved knife with the wolf head carved into the hilt that I’d seen in my visions.

  “Why would a witch hunter use the magical instrument of a fire witch?” I asked.

  “Christians have been appropriating pagan symbols and holidays for centuries.” Becca put the knife into a shopping bag, along with a stainless-steel bowl from the kitchen. I nearly suggested a first-aid kit, then remembered that Becca could heal us quicker than we could open one up.

  “For that guy to call himself Christian is stretching it,” I said.

  “Preaching to the choir, sister.” Becca winked.

  “What about the wolf carved into the hilt?” I asked. “It looks just like the ring Roland used to brand Henry and Pru.”

  “We don’t know for sure, but we think Roland or one of his minions snatched a fire witch, appropriated her athame, and carved the symbol in it to make it theirs.”

  I suddenly liked the idea of using that particular item to end him too.

  *

  An hour later we stood on top of a ridge.

  “This is great,” Becca said.

  “Perfect,” Raye agreed.

  The land around us was flat. We could see what was coming for several hundred yards in all directions. A small grove of trees stood nearby, spaced far enough apart that it would be hard to hide within.

  Owen indicated the grove. “He won’t suspect anyone’s there.”

  “Sebastian’s not going to fit behind one of those tree trunks,” I said. From the size of Owen’s shoulders he wouldn’t either. Bobby might, but barely.

  “We’ll be in the trees.” Bobby pointed to the branches. “Higher ground is the best offensive position.”

  “There’s a reason taking a hill is so damn hard,” Owen said, “and why a lot of battles are won because of the terrain.”

  He should know. I liked the idea of Sebastian hidden in a tree so much better than the idea of him hidden behind a tree.

  “Ready?” Bobby asked.

  Everyone broke into couples. Even Pru sat with her back to us, staring at the air, head tilted. I assumed Henry was professing his everlasting love. I hoped so. On the one hand it was nice that they were still together after all these years. On the other, it kind of sucked that they couldn’t touch, kiss, or otherwise engage.

  Sebastian held Bobby’s service pistol. Before we’d left the cabin, he’d fired at a can a few times and hit it. There’d been a lot of backslapping and congratulations. I did not point out that hitting a nonmoving can was a lot different from hitting a moving demon. Right now, confidence might be our best weapon. It certainly couldn’t hurt.

  “Please be c—”

  Sebastian kissed me and not on the forehead. He planted one smack on my lips, and he used his tongue. Best kiss ever. I never wanted it to end. I clasped my fingers around his neck and held on.

  He put one arm around my waist and pulled me against him. He was so warm, so solid and real. He tasted like midnight and the heat of the sun. The scent of lime was faint, but his. A little tequila and a sprinkle of salt would explain the dizzy euphoria that came over me.

  Someone cleared his or her throat. We broke apart, our eyes caught. Together we smiled.

  A hand came between us and the fingers snapped. I met Raye’s gaze.

  “Let’s kill the creepy demon now, okay?”

  I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak just yet.

  “Did we ever decide what we’d do if he brings minions?” Sebastian asked.

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “The instant I see McHugh, I’ll shoot him,” Bobby said. “The minions will scatter, they always do.”

  “If they don’t?”

  Pru growled.

  “According to Mom,” Becca said, “the spell will bring him. He shouldn’t have time to collect anyone else, and if he does, Dad will take care of them.”

  “What’s a ghost going to do?” Sebastian wondered.

  “He’s the ghost of a powerful witch.” Raye indicated a good-sized boulder that was now hovering in thin air. It dropped, smacking into the ground so hard a puff of dry dirt lifted up then sifted down.

  “Okay, then,” Bobby said. “Any more questions?”

  The men strode toward the trees. Pru glanced back and forth
between them and us. Raye pointed after the men, so did Becca. She went with them and I was glad. We had magic to protect us; at least they had a wolf.

  Raye led us to the center of the ridge. “Becca, find a flat rock.” She held her hands about a foot apart. “At least this big.”

  Becca moved off, gaze on the ground as she searched.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “Natural altar. The crones had one in the vision, we need one too.” Raye pulled the athame and the bowl from the bag and handed me the latter, for which I was glad. I didn’t mind the idea of the athame being used for blood magic, but I didn’t want to be the one letting the blood.

  Becca returned with the flat rock and set it on the ground. Raye dropped down, sitting cross-legged next to it. Becca and I did the same. Raye pointed with the knife to the bowl in my hand, then tapped the top of the rock. I set it there.

  “Okay. We chant, then we bleed, then the fire.”

  My heart was beating so loudly her words seemed faint, or maybe her voice was. She looked as pale as I felt.

  “We didn’t bring a match or a candle,” I said.

  “Don’t need one.” Becca traced her finger through the air and flame followed.

  That also explained why Raye was using the athame when it was the magical instrument of a fire witch; Becca had to bring the fire.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “I’m not used to it yet either,” she said.

  “I’ll do the chant first.” Raye glanced at me and Becca in turn. “Then you repeat.”

  “They called their master,” I pointed out.

  “I am not calling anyone ‘master,’” Becca snapped.

  “I’ve summoned a spirit before.”

  “Henry,” Becca said.

  “Yes. Names have power. We’ll use his. Summon Roland McHugh. Everyone ready?”

  She was getting impatient. Couldn’t blame her. The sooner this was over, the sooner we … I had no idea. But I still wanted it over.

  “Come to us. We summon thee, Roland McHugh.”

  On the second round, Becca and I joined in. The wind stirred. I swore it whispered along with us.

  Raye snapped her fingers. Becca offered her arm. I did too. We continued to chant as she cut Becca, then me, then herself. It didn’t even hurt, or maybe I was just too distracted by what happened when our blood merged together in the bowl.

  It swirled on its own. No one was touching it, and the wind wasn’t strong enough to cause that much movement. In the center, I saw McHugh. He’d changed from his Pilgrim outfit into jeans and a black button-down. Expensive athletic shoes had replaced his ancient, handmade footwear. He stood in front of a group of people. From the expressions on their faces—rapt, worshipful—they were minions. He lifted his arms. They fell to their knees, bowed their heads.

  We continued to chant. This time when we said his name, he stiffened, glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened. He seemed to see us. I heard the crackle of flames an instant before Becca zapped the bowl of blood with fire. We said “Roland McHugh” a final time.

  The flames shot up, dancing and crackling. When they died, Roland was close enough to touch. The three of us scrambled to our feet.

  “I killed you.” He glared at Becca.

  “Not good enough.”

  His coat fit funny. It wasn’t until he pulled out the concealed weapon that I understood why.

  “I’ll get it right this time.” He pointed the gun at her.

  Becca growled and burst into flames.

  The gunshot made me cry out. But Roland jerked and turned toward the trees. A second shot made him jerk again. I waited for him to fall, but he didn’t.

  The flames around, in, through Becca died. A wolf the shade of cinnamon, with Becca’s eyes—more green than hazel now—had taken her place.

  Roland shot her, and she staggered, fell. An instant later he flew through the air and landed several feet away with a good, solid thud; the gun skidded over the cliff.

  Raye and I fell to the ground at Becca’s side. She was still breathing. Thank God. How were we going to heal her when she was the one with the power of healing?

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Which what are you talking about?” Raye returned. “The one where the demon asshole didn’t die? Or the what where our sister became fire and then a wolf?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She laid her hand on that wolf and motioned for me to do the same. The instant I did, the bullet that had gone into Becca popped out. She sprang up as if she’d never fallen down, then loped after Roland, who must have gotten up while we were occupied with Becca. Not surprising that being slam-dunked by a ghost hadn’t hurt him any more than being shot twice.

  Pru joined her and the three of them went over the ridge. Raye and I stood so we could see them racing across the open expanse of flat land all around us.

  Then Roland disappeared. One second his tennies were being nipped at by our mother, and the next he was nowhere to be seen.

  *

  “Holy shit.” Bobby dropped out of the tree and started to run.

  “This is not good.” Owen landed and sprinted after him.

  “Do you think we should have used silver bullets?” Bobby asked.

  “Those were silver bullets,” Owen answered.

  Sebastian followed without comment. What could he say? Disappearing demons. Silver bullets. A woman who burst into flame, then turned into a wolf. He was pretty much out of words at the moment.

  They reached the two remaining women, who were bleeding more than Sebastian liked. He snatched the bloody athame and used it to slice the bottom third of his shirt into strips for bandages.

  “A first-aid kit would have been useful.” He tied the strips around their wrists.

  “Becca was supposed to heal us.” Willow sounded as dazed as she looked.

  “Then she ran off on four paws before that happened.” Raye sounded a bit better. She’d been doing this longer than Willow had.

  “Did you know she could shape-shift?” Willow asked.

  Raye shook her head. “It’s one of the powers of a fire witch, but she insisted she didn’t have it.”

  “She does now,” Sebastian said.

  “Problem is…” Raye frowned as the wolves returned and stood between Bobby and Owen. “Does she have the power to turn back?”

  Becca whined, twitched, pawed the ground. She did not become a woman again.

  “Can you hear Becca like you hear Pru?” Owen asked.

  Raye shook her head. Owen cursed.

  “Pru,” Raye said, “help her.”

  Pru huffed.

  “Dammit.” Raye kicked the grass.

  “What?” Owen sounded a little panicked.

  Sebastian didn’t blame him. It was going to be difficult to have a life with a wolf, though Henry had managed it. Then again, he didn’t have a life with her, he was having his death with her.

  “Pru’s not a werewolf.” Raye lifted one shoulder. “So she can’t help.”

  “Becca’s not a werewolf,” Owen snapped.

  “Edward would beg to differ,” Raye said. “She was shot and she didn’t die.”

  Bobby picked up the bullet that still lay on the ground. “Not silver.”

  “Not helping.” Owen snatched it from Bobby’s hand. “Becca can heal. That’s a witch trait, not a wolf one.”

  “Having people eyes in the face of a wolf is very werewolfy,” Raye said.

  “Pru has the same.”

  “Pru didn’t change from a woman to a wolf.”

  “Yeah, she did,” Owen muttered.

  Technically Pru had died and been reborn a wolf, but Sebastian decided not to point that out. Owen was upset enough.

  “Who’s Edward?” he asked.

  “Someone who can’t see her like this.” Owen went to his knees and put his arms around Becca’s neck. She whined and licked his cheek. “He’ll kill her.”

  “What?” Sebastian blurt
ed. “Why?”

  “Edward Mandenauer is the leader of the Jäger-Suchers, and the greatest werewolf hunter of all time,” Bobby said. “He shoots first, finds out if he should have later.”

  “He shot Pru,” Raye said.

  “And he’s still breathing?” Sebastian asked.

  Raye’s lips twitched. “Barely. In his defense, she does look like a werewolf, and he’s seen a million—give or take. He knows better now.”

  “About Pru,” Owen said. “Not Becca.”

  Bobby pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Franklin. Tell him the skinny. See what he can do.”

  “No Edward,” Owen said.

  “No Edward,” Bobby agreed.

  Chapter 21

  I felt dazed—whether from the aftereffects of the spell, the blood loss, the shift in Becca—ha-ha—or the realization that our plan was toast, I didn’t know. Whatever it was, when Sebastian put his arm around my shoulders, I leaned in not only because I wanted to, but because I had to.

  Bobby ended his call with Special Agent Franklin. “He’s on his way.”

  “Alone?” Owen asked.

  “He’s bringing his wife. She’s some kind of werewolf expert.”

  Owen threw up his hands. “Becca is not a werewolf. What did he say about Edward?”

  “Not coming. At least not yet. He’s with Cassandra.”

  “Where?”

  Bobby frowned. “New Orleans.”

  “Is that a problem?” I asked.

  “I hope not.”

  I glanced at Raye, who shrugged, then shook her head. I didn’t have to read her mind to know what she meant. We had enough problems of our own without bringing in new ones. If there was an issue in New Orleans, the folks in New Orleans would have to handle it. Bobby was no longer NOPD.

  “Let’s get back to the cabin where I can clean those wounds,” Sebastian said.

  No one argued. I think we all wanted to get out of the open.

  In the Suburban I almost stopped Bobby from driving off. One of the seats was empty. Who were we missing?

  Then I remembered Becca wasn’t using a seat anymore. She was in the back, staring out the window with Pru. As I watched, the black wolf turned her head and nuzzled the red one. Envy spiked, so sharp it was painful. Raye took my hand. She was watching them too.

  “How did Roland disappear?” Sebastian asked.