Just like seeing the Were enter the brothel, it was pure luck Raoul had caught the faint trace of a werelion’s scent on Farold’s driver, Gulzar, and with a few questions, a touch of feigned admiration, the tattooed criminal had bragged about trapping two brothers not far from Oakland and turning them into monsters to run the maze.
That one of the created weremen ultimately escaped while the other remained… Raoul could easily guess the reason Levi had ambushed the trapper’s truck. And that reason, coupled with the guardsmen’s failure, had formed the seed of an idea that would ultimately lead to him returning to his father’s compound and mate a wealthy man.
Learning the healer was missing only added greater strength to Raoul’s plan, though now he modified it, using her as well as what he thought he knew of Levi’s motives to bait the trap.
“If she’s in the possession of the maze owner, I might be able to help free her,” Raoul said.
“How?”
Raoul glanced around the room, only partially pretending a wariness of being overheard. But when Levi didn’t suggest they go somewhere to talk privately as he’d hoped, he forged ahead.
“A year ago my brother traveled here by the same route I was taking when you came across me,” Raoul lied, laying the groundwork. “I think he ended up in the maze. From what I’ve been able to learn, he might still be alive. I’ve heard the maze owner is hunting an escaped prisoner whose arms are tattooed with the names of those he’s killed.”
Levi abruptly stood. “Follow me.”
Raoul hid his smile as he followed the lion out of the bar and into a small office space. As soon as the door closed, Levi asked, “Anton wants the prisoner who was bound to the chair?”
“Yes.” Raoul shivered for effect before embellishing with lies. “I was there when he was brought to the trapper’s compound. The settlement where he was finally captured was afraid to execute him. They thought he was most likely demon-possessed.
“I heard one of them say they’d used the warded collar around his neck to hold the demon inside the prisoner, but they were afraid it would be freed once he was killed. That’s why they offered him to the trapper and paid for him to be transported to Oakland. They’d heard the maze owner has an enslaved demon who hunts. They thought like would kill like.”
Raoul licked his lips, his eyes meeting Levi’s then skittering away for effect. “I heard what you said in the truck. You thought the prisoner was dangerous and should be left with keys to free himself and go his own way. He smelled human enough to me. But it could be because of the collar. When your companion, the one bearing a church’s brand, insisted on freeing him, I thought the churchmen and the settlement police who gave him to the trapper must be right about him being demon-possessed. Then when I heard the maze owner was searching for him and also for the woman—”
“Anton is searching for the woman?”
Raoul retrieved the paper he’d first seen when he went to the maze. He passed it to Levi, reliving his surprise at recognizing her and seeing she was worth money to the maze owner.
As the lion unfolded and studied the reward offer, Raoul sought to close the trap he’d carefully constructed. “If I didn’t think my brother was alive, I’d leave Oakland and never look back. But if there’s a possibility I could free him by exchanging the woman or the escaped prisoner… They’re human. And except for the healer, I’ve never met one whose life is more important than a Were’s.”
Levi glanced up from the paper. Molten gold eyes seethed with turmoil. “Anton and Farold can’t be trusted.”
Which was not the same as warning Raoul to stay away from the human with the brand. Raoul only barely contained his jubilation. “I have to take a chance on being able to keep them from double-crossing me. I’d never forgive myself if there was a possibility of freeing my brother and I didn’t take it. I’ll try to include the healer in the trade even if I’m only successful in recapturing the prisoner and not his branded companion. I owe the healer that much.”
Levi crumpled the paper in his hand, balling it in his fist. “I need to get back to work. You won’t catch the prisoner by yourself, and if you involve the maze owner, you’ll end up in a cage. There’s a bar in this section of the red zone. It’s got a skinned human nailed to the front of it. Ask around and you’ll find it. Meet me there an hour before sunset tomorrow.”
Raoul hid his smile and managed to keep it from his voice. “I’ll be there.”
Sixteen
ARAÑA stood at the window and witnessed the dawn slowly pushing aside the darkness and weakening the predator’s claim to the outside world. The night had seemed interminable, a heavy shroud imprisoning and suffocating her, trapping her in fear and worry and guilt.
Tir should have been back by now. But she couldn’t wait or go in search of him or even leave a message, for fear of leaving a trail.
The bread and cheese they’d set aside for breakfast remained untouched, her stomach too tense, her nerves strung too tight to eat. The vision image of Levi’s death assaulted her. Failure and guilt tried to crush her.
Araña turned away from them. She knew what she had to do, and she would do it.
Finding the house belonging to the Wainwright witches was easy. The first person she approached for directions provided them.
The house was in the center of the area set aside for the gifted. Dark stones surrounded dozens of tiny windows. Dew caught on elaborate glyphs carved into door and window frames.
A short, wrought iron fence marked a boundary and warned with more sigils that the area was protected by magic. Underneath it ran a ley line.
The ground hummed with it and power licked through the soles of Araña’s shoes like a blue-white flame sending nervous energy through her. It danced along her senses with a hint of fire, but not enough of it for her to imagine she’d ever dare to summon it.
She touched damp palms to the knife hilts before opening the wrought iron gate and walking to the front door. A thick brass gargoyle with a ring held in its mouth served as a door knocker.
With a thought, she felt the spider hovering over the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. Araña grasped the gargoyle-held ring and used it.
The door opened immediately, as if the woman standing behind it waited only to see if Araña’s courage would fail at the last instant. “I’m Annalise,” she said, though the gray streak in otherwise black hair had already identified her as the Wainwright witch who’d met with Rebekka.
“I’m—”
“Araña.” The witch’s eyes flicked to the spider. “Come inside. I’ll show you to the parlor.”
There was no true choice. Araña stepped across the threshold, expecting to feel the same pulling at her soul she’d experienced when she crossed the wards protecting the occult shop. Instead she felt a parting, like stepping through a curtain of finely spun silk.
Annalise closed the door, her eyes going to the spider again before saying, “This way.”
Araña followed her down a hallway etched with sigils and whose walls were lined with prewar artwork, paintings of naked men and women dancing. Worshipping a goddess who was of the earth. Coupling in rites of fertility that predated any church.
The witch stopped in an open doorway, motioning for Araña to go inside. Araña took a single step and saw the old witch from the bus stop, the one who’d sent Erik and Matthew to their deaths.
Rage engulfed her, flash-fire fast and equally hot.
The knives slid from their sheaths without her making a conscious choice to draw them, but once they were in her hands only a single desire dominated.
Vengeance.
Araña moved forward, uncaring, unthinking about what protections the witch might have in place.