Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1) (35 page)

I halted, staring at one of the doors. Beyond, I envisioned the comfortable bed and spare decor. There would be books on shelves far above the reach of a wolf, waiting for humans to read.

I could smell the silver lining the walls and doors. A layer of steel kept it from hurting me, but for those within, there was no escaping its presence.

I shuddered. My wolf had been with me for so long I couldn’t remember what being a true human was like. But at the same time, I didn’t know what being a true wolf was like either. Time marched on, dragging me along for the ride without any regard for my comfort. The memories of before I had been changed faded away, leaving me with incorporeal fragments and ghosts.

Some memories would never fade away. I shook myself. I wished I could forget the years I’d spent locked away in my little cell with books I had read too many times, let out only when it was time for me to hunt and kill my own kind.

~*~

James said nothing more as he led me through a maze of corridors to a kitchen. The place was a blend of a b
utcher’s shop and a pet store with a fixation on bunnies. It was eerily quiet, with the glazed eyes of the rabbits falling on me without really registering the presence of hunters among them. I bared my fangs.

Some witch was likely tasked with the morbid duty of keeping the live animals quiet.

“Pick a rabbit or you’re getting goat,” James said.

I really needed to learn how to light people on fire with my eyes. No matter how hard I tried, my gaze did nothing more than increase the fear wafting off of the younger werewolf. I was almost tempted to change back into a human, but I suspected James would try to take my pelt for a trophy.

Wolves didn’t like when their prey escaped.

Snorting my disgust at the idea of hunting rabbits incapable of fleeing didn’t whet my appetite. Goat didn’t either, but James served it in chunks like it was fast food for canines. At least it tasted better and was confirmed to be actual meat.

I ate as fast as I could, growling between swallows. James stayed at a respectable distance.

Through the meal, the storm siphoned away my strength. It didn’t take long for my stomach to start protesting from eating too much. I sat back on my haunches and licked my muzzle.

“Finished?” James set the bowl of meat on the counter before heading for the door. I stood on my hind legs, and out of spite, grabbed a final piece of meat to carry with me.

Growling around my prize, I followed James through the prison complex to the elevator. Once back in the elevator, we returned to the fourth level of the basement.

A rumpled Doctor Harold glared at both of us. His lab looked like a war zone, with samples, Petri dishes, and equipment scattered on every available surface. “Now what?”

I dropped the chunk of goat meat on his shoe, baring my fangs in a wolfish grin.

“She’s either trying to thank you, or she believes you’re incapable of hunting on your own.” James didn’t laugh, but there was a slight waver in his voice.

“If you came down here for that, I’m skinning you, James.”

“I wanted you to check her for the plague’s progress.”

“Don’t bother,” Francine announced from behind me. I whirled, flattening my ears to my skull. I barked a warning. “Ah, my apologies, Lady Wolf. I will check her myself. There is still the matter of contamination I must deal with.”

“Contamination? You don’t mean the plague?” James cocked his head to the side with a puzzled expression on his face.

“No, I mean my sister’s magic contaminating her through spilled blood. It should be purged.”

“And why didn’t you do it yesterday?” Doctor Harold asked.

Francine sighed, shaking her head. “It wasn’t a problem yesterday.”

James crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against one of the larger pieces of equipment in the lab. “And it’s a problem today? I find this rather unbelievable. Bloody hell, Francine, at least be consistent.”

The witch’s smile was secretive.

“Cursed witches,” Doctor Harold muttered.

“Very well. Put the news on, Harold. I’ll show you my worries.”

“The news?” As one, James and Harold turned to one of the larger screens mounted on the wall. The doctor grabbed a remote and pressed a button.

“The weather channel will do.”

I backed away until I could see the screen. The pinpoint of heat in my skull strengthened, but there was still a sense of distance between me and the storm I was summoning.

The TV flickered on, revealing a reporter standing on a sunny beach, calm waves lapping at the pearl white sands behind her. To the woman’s right was a boarded cabana. “The storm that was supposed to hit in the early hours of the morning veered northward, leaving the islands with light breezes and calm sea conditions. Wary residents have yet to move back to the shores, but the emergency evacuation measures have been officially canceled. Back to you, Frank.”

“Thank you, Lisa.” An old man, a meteorologist I suspected, appeared on the screen. Behind him was a map of the east coast of the United States. One major cloud system hung over the middle of the eastern seaboard, centered over Virginia.

The spiraling arms of a hurricane reached for the coast. I sat down, throwing my head back with my ears pinned flat, wishing I could whistle.

James did it for me. “Bloody hell.”

“Turn it off, Harold. That’s enough,” Francine said. The doctor obeyed. “We’ve been watching the storm since it shifted course in the middle of the night. Not much good watching is going to do us, though. Unless it changes course again, it’ll be a direct hit.”

“But it’s November,” Doctor Harold whispered.

“Almost December,” Francine agreed.

“We don’t exactly get this sort of weather in London. What does it mean? What will happen?” James slid along the piece of machinery so he could stand near the door. “It’s pretty bad out there already.”

“It’ll only get worse. A lot worse, James.” Francine’s voice wavered, but I couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or fear. There was plenty of human fear and anxiety stinking up the place between the three of them. I cocked my head to the side.

Was the warm front I was summoning actually an entire
hurricane?
While it was past the normal end of the season, it wasn’t unheard of for one to form in late November or even early December.

“What will happen when that hurricane arrives?” James asked.

“The perfect storm,” Francine whispered with another shudder. The silence chilled me. “It’ll be like nothing we’ve ever seen or will ever see again.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” James paced across the room. “Is this something you’ve Seen?”

“It’s science,” Doctor Harold replied. “It’s history. While our situation is a little different than the storm in 1991, Hurricane Grace collided with storms in eastern Canada. It produced huge storms, spawned blizzards, and wrecked the eastern seaboard. It’s called a Nor’Easter.”

“I take it you’re a hobby meteorologist?” James muttered in a disgusted voice.

Doctor Harold grinned. “They made a movie about it, the storm was so bad.”

Blinking, James stared at the doctor. “Oh.”

“It works like this, though. Come here,” the gray-haired man said, gesturing to a stack of Petri dishes on the counter. He picked up two of them, handing one to James. The werewolf took the dish with a skeptical expression. “Hold that and make a counter clockwise motion with your arm and dish.”

James looked like an idiot moving his arm in a large circle in front of him. “Okay.”

“Go stand over there.” Doctor Harold pointed at the door. “Francine, go stand by the intercom.”

The witch obeyed with an amused smile.

“James, you’re a hurricane. You’ve formed off the coast south of Florida somewhere. Maybe closer to the Caribbean. Either way, you’re headed northbound and a little east. Just stand there for the moment.”

James fidgeted, still sweeping his Petri dish in a circular motion. “Okay.”

“I am an arctic born storm system.” The doctor, to my amusement, began sweeping his arm in a clockwise circle with his Petri dish. “Now, walk towards Francine, James. Pretend that she’s the Caribbean Islands or the Gulf of Mexico.” James took three steps towards Francine before Doctor Harold stopped him by clearing his throat. “Okay, you’re swerving towards me now because my winds are sucking your moisture and air in this direction.”

Twisting around, James diverted his path, walking towards the doctor.

Doctor Harold slammed his Petri dish against James’s. They hit the floor and bounced. “Bang. The perfect storm. Hold onto your britches, boy. It’s going to be a rough one.”

James shuddered, recovering enough to pick up the fallen Petri dishes. Both were cracked. “How rough?”

“People will die when their homes on the shore are washed away. Those who do not find shelter will freeze to death in the streets.” Francine swallowed, her throat pulsing with her racing heartbeat. “Some of them won’t be found until the spring, when the snow finally melts.”

The Inquisition outpost roused with the same determined energy of an angry swarm of wasps descending on a hapless foe. James went to oversee the werewolves. Doctor Harold hid in his lab. Without anyone caring what I did, I followed Francine. In theory, I suspected I could divert the hurricane or shift the blizzard elsewhere, but the autumn snowstorm was as unusual as an after-season hurricane.

The ease in which the hurricane had answered my call, barreling its way towards me across the Atlantic, led me to o
ne conclusion: Nature would’ve lured the system to me whether or not I had wanted it to come. The storm wasn’t entirely my fault.

Not
entirely
. I had hastened the process a little, in the same way a superior homing system on a missile ensured it hit its target within inches instead of feet.

Anyone in the detonation area wouldn’t care how accurate the missile was. Dead was dead.

Instead of checking me for her sister’s power, Francine ignored my presence. Floor by floor, she gathered men and women until some fifty people followed her to the first basement level of the complex.

“What’s the deal with the wolf, Coven Mother?” The young man who spoke looked no older than twenty, but his dark eyes were hard with the weight of years and experience.

I wondered if he had volunteered to join the Inquisition or if he had been forced.

“She has killed our sister, Mrs. Livingston, the Destroyer.”

Every eye focused on me. The anger I expected, both from myself and from them, didn’t come. I was too tired to feel much more than wary regard for so many witches nearby. The sharp tang of fear drowned out all other scents. I could almost hear their doubtful thoughts.

Which one of them would be next? Would I attack them for having come from the same coven as the Wicked Witch of the West?

I was too weary to be bothered with bearing my fangs at them.

As if sensing their thoughts herself, Francine waved a dismissive hand. “We have more important concerns. Within the next twelve to twenty-four hours, a category four hurricane will hit the coast of North Carolina. A few hours later, it will strike us directly.”

Silence answered Francine’s announcement. Their fear intensified, so strong it threatened to choke off my breath.

The old witch blessed her witches with a sad, understanding smile. “Come, my coven. We must do what we can to prevent this tragedy from happening.”

I put my ears back. Had I been human, had I a chance or even a choice, I might’ve told her the folly of her desire. I welcomed her to try to change the events I had triggered and nurtured with my strength.

“But what can we do?” a woman I couldn’t see asked. “We are witches, not weather workers. We certainly aren’t gods.”

“Weather witches, like wizards, are rare. Dangerous. Hunted. Wanted by all. But if we work together, we might be able to do something. Fire can be used to warm the air and dry out the clouds, no? We can raise up the earth to stop the sea. Those who work with water can ease the tides and stop the flooding. The winds can be calmed if we but try.”

No one voiced their doubts, but I could see it in their eyes and smell it in their fear.

Francine meant well, I suspected, but the others knew what she couldn’t see. The weather was not so easy to change, nor were the seasons. And in the conceit of those who were not burdened with my duty, they would try and they would fail.

The storm had only answered my call because nature
wanted
to follow its true course. When they collided, the snow, the wind, the rain, and the thunder would revert the weather and nature to its proper state. I had purged myself of all of the magic in my system in doing so.

And as the Caretaker of the Seasons, I had become nature’s tool. Maybe I could divert the storms and lessen the impact of the systems colliding, but I would pay for it with my life. Even if I had the power to, I wasn’t sure I would.