Steady, I tell my antsy wolf. I block his growl from tunneling out of my mouth. I’ve never been afraid of an old lady before, but there’s a time for everything new and unusual.
“As a hostage?” Marian’s head quivers with rage in the manner all elderly tremble when their emotions get the better of them. “A pet? I ought ta snap ma finga’s an’ pull the truth straight from ya mouth.”
Jinx rolls her eyes and looks at me meaningfully. “She can’t do that. Not without a potion.”
The woman gasps and glares at the back of Jinx’s braided hair.
“Is she sure?” Cinder murmurs to me. “Because her words taste like lies.” His lips barely move, his body stiff with uncertainty. I can feel it through the pack link and know his wolf is as anxious as mine.
“That mouth of yas has always been trouble,” Marian hisses. “I ought ta whip togetha’ a little potion just for you, too. Ya be foamin’ soap bubbles from ya mouth for days.”
Jinx snorts. “I doubt you can stand long enough to stir two potions. Maybe I should help. If we must do soap, at least make it chocolatey or something. Perhaps a hint of mint?”
What are you doing, Jinx? I growl in my own head.
The old woman’s finger wags, and she waddles closer to the edge of the porch. I cringe, waiting for the threats to be made real. She radiates power similar to Sara’s, and I know deep in my wolf’s bones she’s not to be messed with. I can smell her power, a tangible thing, and taste it like she’s forcing it down my throat.
“Jacob,” Cinder warns.
“Wait,” I whisper back.
But then, as Marian invades the girls’ space, the old witch grins, cackles, and holds out both frail arms. Cinder inhales sharply, and I cock my head to the side.
“Welcome home,” she coos.
“I’ve missed you,” Jinx says to Marian, and Sara’s frightened demeanor evaporates with a wide grin. They wrap their arms around her thin body and hook their chins over her shoulder in an embrace.
“I have no idea,” I whisper to Cinder’s unspoken question, blinking in confusion. What the hell just happened?
Arm in arm, Sara ushers Marian back into the house, the two holding a quiet conversation I’m too stunned to hear. They leave the door ajar as the darkness of the home swallows them.
Jinx puts her hand on her hips and looks down at us from her porch perch. Her toothy smile is mischievous, and my nostrils flare. Was this all a joke to her?
“Are you two coming,” she says. “Or do you want me to grab a tent and pop it up next to the garden?” Her tone is playful, and behind her, Sara pokes her head back through the open doorway, grinning shyly.
Cinder slaps me on the shoulder. “Over the hill and through the woods.”
I grunt, peeved we were part of some sort of prank. They may find it funny, but I didn’t. Marian is more of a wolf than I am. A predator. To my wolf . . . this prank was dangerous.
Lifting his leg to take the first step up the porch stairs, Cinder is flung backward. I barely move out of the way as he flies past me, and his scream of surprise rings in my ears. He thumps on his rump two feet behind where I was standing, right in a patch of prickly weeds.
“What the hell?” he shouts, quickly gathering himself to his feet. The women roar with laughter, Jinx bent over and bracing herself with her knees while Sara clutches her stomach.
Snarling, Cinder dusts off his pants and demands, “What the hell was that?”
“The – ward –” Jinx says through heavy breathing. She wipes at the tears streaming down her cheeks and stands to full height once more.
I quirk a brow. The entire ordeal was anything but graceful, and the way Cinder landed replays over and over in my head. A grin spreads across my face as the weight of the earlier almost-confrontation fades. He was a flying bag of bones and dropped just the same.
I wonder how many witches saw that from inside. It was calculated, and if I had to guess, it was what Marian and Sara were whispering about. When did the girls come up with this prank?
It doesn’t matter because, by the look on Cinder’s face, he has every intention of paybacks. I’d like to see him try.
“How are we supposed to get in if we can’t get up the stairs?” I ask.
Still chortling, Sara wanders back onto the porch. She’s barefoot now, having kicked off her tennis shoes inside, and her highlighter pink toenails shine. “Come here,” she waves to us.
“Absolutely not,” Cinder snarls. He backs away, crossing his arms.
Sara scoffs. “Oh, stop it. If you want in, you have to pay the toll.”
“Pay the toll?” I bark. “And that is?”
Jinx holds up a hand and pinches her thumb and index finger together. “A tiny, tiny sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice?” I ask disbelievingly. “Can’t you remove the spell?”’
Jinx shrugs. “Sure, but the spell has been in place since this house was built. Removing it would be easy but resurrecting a new one would take some time. It’s easier just to pay the toll.”
With a wiggle of the eyebrows, Sara murmurs a spell, and the ground rumbles. Vines snake through the cracks in the porch boards and wave, suspended in the air in front of us. They bring the smell of fresh rain, an inviting scent for something that could easily be used as a weapon. There are thorns on them too, at least an inch long.
Cinder and I stare at the thorns and blink our refusal. Jinx sighs dramatically, jumps off the porch, and grabs my hand. She drags me forward and thrusts my palm at the vine. The vines move at their own accord, seemingly alive, and I hiss as a thorn stabs into my palm.
A line of blood wells across the tiny prick. She yanks me forward, smearing it across the bottom step stained with the blood of many others before me. I hadn’t noticed it before.
There’s a shimmer that swells over the house, gold and barely detectable under the descending sun’s glare. Then, sounds can be heard from within. Women talking to women. The clink of porcelain being sloshed around in water. A clock ticks the time as if knowing I stand here dumbfounded.
The scents come next. A heavier aroma of burning sage threatens to make me sneeze. The distinct scent of each person within. Fresh lavender mixed with other vegetation and the lingering odor of their last meal makes my stomach growl.
Awed, I glance at Jinx. “The toll is blood,” Jinx murmurs, folding my fingers into my palm in a loving way. “The sacrifice is never as big as fairytales portray.”
“Blood?” Cinder asks, looking over my shoulder. He hadn’t noticed the change. He still peers at the house as though it’s vacant.
Sara nods, her chin in her hand while her other arm, draped across her middle, props that elbow. “Blood can tell a long story. Where you came from, what you’re feeling, what you’ve endured. Even your intentions. By freely giving the ward your blood, the magic can spell out your purpose here, quite literally.”
“Spell, as in magic spell?”
“Yep.” She smiles down at him, a small tug of the lips.
“So, anyone who crosses these steps has to give,” he hesitates over the next word, “blood?”
“Cinder, I swear if you continue being a baby, I’ll slice your palm open myself,” I threaten. I’m ready to get this over with, and so far, we’re waiting on him. Heading into a coven’s home, which brims with powerful witches, isn’t my idea of a fun night.