Ravensong (Green Creek 2)

Gravel crunched under my feet as I followed the witch inside. The porch steps creaked before I walked through the darkened doorway.

Seagulls called just outside an open window. Farther on, there was the low rush of the tide washing against a rocky beach. The air was cool, and the house smelled of salt and fish and mint. Overhead, hung on strings from the ceiling, were the skulls of cats and small rodents. He was old-school magic, the type that always had a caldron bubbling as he rolled bones from a cup made from an ancient tree.

He was also completely out of his mind, which is why he was a last resort.

“What in the fuck,” Carter muttered after walking into the rather large skull of an animal I didn’t think I’d ever seen before.

“It’s certainly not the interior design choice I would have gone for,” Kelly whispered to him.

“You think? Nothing says ‘welcome to my murder shack’ like skeletons hanging from the ceiling.”

“Is that a jar of eyeballs on the shelf?”

“What? No, don’t be stup—that’s a jar of eyeballs on the shelf. Well, now I’m officially that person that shouldn’t have gone inside the house.”

Joe came in last. He crossed the threshold and his eyes briefly flared red.

The old witch stood near a cast-iron stove. He was stoking the fire inside. Embers sparked out, landing on his skin. He didn’t flinch. He closed the stove and put the charred poker next to it before settling down in an old recliner. He stared in my direction, head cocked.

“Don’t touch the jar of eyeballs,” Kelly hissed at his brother.

“I just want to see it—”

“What are they prattling on about?” the witch asked.

“Eyeballs,” I said mildly.

“Ah,” he said. “Yes. Those. Eyes of my enemies, those are! Scooped them out myself with a dull and rusty spoon. The wolves I took them from kicked and screamed, but to no avail. They were of the curious sort, much like yourselves, touching things that didn’t belong to them.”

“Eep,” Carter said.

Kelly covered his eyes with a hand.

I snorted, shaking my head.

Joe said nothing.

The old witch cackled. “Ah, youth. Such a waste.”

“We don’t mean to intrude,” I started, but stopped when he waved me off with a gnarled hand.

“Yes,” he said, “you did. You meant that specifically. It’s the reason you’re here. I may be old, Gordo Livingstone, but I can still smell the bullshit you always seem to sling. And don’t give me that look. You are nearly forty years old. Keep making that face and it’ll freeze like that. You’ll end up looking like me.”

I stopped scowling at him.

“That’s better,” he said. “You would think with your mate being back in Green Creek, you’d have learned happiness again. Though I suppose the events of the past few years took much of that away.”

The fire snapped and popped. The seagulls called. I began to wish we’d never set foot inside Birch Bay as I felt the eyes of my pack slide over to me.

He put a hand next to his ear. “What’s that? Nothing else to add? Then maybe we shall just sit here and wait until someone has the balls to say what they’re thinking. Lord knows I don’t. Lost those a few years back. Cancer, if you can believe it.”

Carter made a choking sound.

The old witch grinned. He still had a few teeth left. “Wolves. Bennetts, I believe. I’ve always liked the Bennetts. Foolish bunch, but their hearts were usually in the right place. Who do we have here?”

Kelly opened his mouth to speak but closed it when I gave a sharp shake of my head. I nodded toward Joe. He watched me for a moment, mouth in a thin line. Then he nodded and stepped forward.

The floorboards creaked, and the old witch turned toward him.