She shrugs, placing the last of the piles into the suitcase. The suitcase is as full as the makeup bag, and she shoves her weight against the lid to zip it closed. “You should drag them out into the open,” she grunts. “Play their game but with your rules.”
Dumbfounded, I say aloud, “The wolf and the knife.”
“What?” Sara half turns to me, frowning.
“My aunt.” I slump against the wall. “She told me a story about a wolf problem the tribe had. An old story. To get rid of a wolf, they stuck a bloody knife in the ground.”
“The one where the wolf came and licked the blade?”
I gesture with my hands and she suppresses a grin as she grabs Cinder’s empty suitcase and plops it on top of hers. “Yes, and he bled to death because the knife sliced into his tongue over and over again.”
Sara pauses, unzipping the suitcase flap, and I watch as her throat bobs in a thick swallow. “That’s so disgusting.”
“Sort of,” I admit, smirking. “But it worked.”
She drops the suitcase flap and props her hands on her hips. “What does this have to do with the here and now?”
Grinning, I square my shoulders. “It gives me an idea. Maybe going to the coven’s house will provide the privacy to do something other than find answers.”
I hastily explain my idea, and when I’m finished, Sara says, “It’s smart, but you’re going to have to convince Chip to keep this quiet.”
“Do you think he would?”
She shrugs. “Let’s find out.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jinx Whitethorn
“We could have taken one car,” I say to Jacob. He drives as if the car is made entirely of glass, and I know without a doubt Sara would have harped on him the moment we inched off the pack’s long, gravel driveway. Probably would have found a way to spell the wind to propel us faster. I bet she’s driving Cinder crazy in the car behind us, nagging like a cooped-up wife.
Curious, I look in the review mirror. Driven by Cinder, Sara’s car is only a few feet from our bumper, and Sara is glaring out her window from the passenger’s seat. Cinder wears a permanent grimace, both knuckles white as they grip the steering wheel tightly.
I can’t help but grin. Sara’s personality and temper are good for Cinder. And entertaining for me.
“I know,” Jacob answers, adjusting the car’s heat. “I thought some quiet would be good for us before you’re surrounded by . . . more people.”
Before I’m surrounded by everyone who lied to me my entire life, he means. Before I walk into my banishment. The truth will come out as soon as I step through the door if my mother hasn’t told everyone already.
The coven has no idea we’re coming – a suggestion made by Amelia. According to her, people have a harder time telling a convincing lie if they’re not aware they’ll be confronted about it. “That’s the only advantage you’ll have,” she had said.
A witch sleeping with a shifter and a skinwalker damn near mated to an alpha . . . I suppose we’ll know how this will turn out the moment we greet the high priestess. Marian has never been one to give false kindness, and she hates lies as much as I do.
Sara had wanted to arrive as one solid unit, too. By taking her car along, she worries it will give the witches the wrong impression. She has no plans to stay any longer than I do, and by parking her car in the coven’s driveway, she fears it’ll be easier for them to convince her that staying home is for the betterment of the species.
Rivalry will be our biggest feat, and behind my seat in my backpack, I can hear the pendant hum its agreement from within.
I look at Jacob and visually trace the planes of his face. His skin looks dewy in the evening light, and his posture is relaxed in the driver’s seat with one arm draped over the curve of the wheel. I get the feeling he’s pretending not to notice me studying him, but I don’t think he knows that while I may be studying his features, I can sense his spirit like an aura. It reminds me of when Damien was injured but more heightened. I can see it. Actually see it if I concentrate long enough. It’s a steady thrum and bright as the sun, telling of the fact that he truly is a good man. A good man who cares enough to wander onto the witch’s ground with me.
“What are you thinking about?” he finally asks.
“Your spirit.” He raises an eyebrow. He knows I can sense spirits and hear their whispers in the wind. The former is most certainly not a secret anymore. “I can sense it like I did Damien’s. It’s hard to ignore now that I know what to look for.” And that’s all I tell him because telling him that I can see it as plain as day would open up questions I’m not ready to answer.
“Is the tear in Damien’s spirit knitted back together?” I nod, and he rolls his shoulders thoughtfully. “Good. What do you think that means?”
“The tear?” I blow out a breath and look at the road stretching before us. “I think my aunt somehow did that.”
“She tore into his spirit?” he blurts disbelievingly.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Skinwalkers deal in animal spirits. Damien is part animal and most certainly has a spirit. She damaged him.” He’s silent for a long while, and when I look back to him, he’s chewing on the inside of his lip. “What?”
“Nothing. It explains a question I’ve had rattling in my head.”
“Oh?”
He swaps arms on the steering wheel. “I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t felt Damien’s pain when he was attacked. Do you think your aunt and the tear in his spirit had something to do with messing up the pack bond – the link that connected me to Damien?”
I shrug again. “Probably. It’s fixed now. Why does it matter?” A taut pause settles between us. “Does it frighten you?”
“Does it frighten me that you might be able to do that to a spirit? No. Does it worry me others, like your aunt, can? Yes. She may not have wanted Damien dead – or maybe she’s not capable of that – but she definitely wanted him incapacitated.” He spares me a glance. “I trust you, Jinx. I know you’d never do that to a living being. I know you care about people. Please don’t think I’m looking at you any differently for what you may or may not be capable of.”
“Thank you,” I whisper to him. He frowns at me in question. I breathe in a sluggish breath and exhale through my nose. “For having faith in me, I mean.”
Wetting his lips, he nods. His free hand grabs mine, and the warmth of his skin chases the chill.
“You’re so warm,” I moan quietly. I press his knuckles to my cheek.
“Perhaps you should wear more than a sweatshirt,” he chastises.
Although it’s still autumn, the daylight hours are thinning. It’s coat weather, and Jacob had warned me I’d freeze before we got there.
Leaning, he momentarily takes his hand from mine, turns the heat higher, and switches on my seat warmer. Goosebumps prickle my skin as the push of warm air feathers against my cheeks.
Grateful, I snuggle into my seat and interlace my fingers with Jacob’s again. Just in this moment, surrounded by the quiet rumble and the gentle rocking of the car, I feel like we could be the only two people in this world.