Page 65 of Wolves’ Witch

Isobella bit the inside of her cheek. Would it change things if they knew? If what she suspected was true. Would it ease the guilt Aubert had carried around for so long? Edmond’s too. He hid it better than his brother, but it was there. Beneath his easy smile, and witty quips. “I think you’ve had a more recent experience with Cordelia than that.”

Edmond and Aubert shared a look. “Sabine,” they said in unison.

It was uncanny the way they always seemed to know what the other was thinking. How they could share a look and instantly be on the same page. Did they realize how often they did that, or was it something that came naturally to them?

D’Artagnon swiveled in his saddle to face them. “You think Cordelia had something to do with Sabine?”

Again, the shared look. As usual, it was Edmond who answered.

“It feels different with Isobella. I would not want any other male touching Isobella, but Aubert…” Edmond shrugged. “It does not bother me at all. With Sabine, I wanted to rip his throat out.”

D’Artagnon cocked an eyebrow at her. “You think that could be Cordelia’s doing?”

Isobella nodded. “I do. If you’re right, and she’s behind the pack splitting into three, then the divide-and-conquer method is something she’s used before, and successfully. But I don’t know for sure it was her, and the only people who know the truth are Cordelia and Sabine. And Sabine is dead. It’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

D’Artagnon’s expression clouded over, and his frown deepened. “There is something I do not understand. Gaharet mentioned it this morn. If Cordelia is as powerful as you say, why has she not attacked us directly? Why play these silly little games? Why not mount an attack when the pack was broken into three? We would have been vulnerable. She might well have succeeded in wiping us out.”

“And when Lance used Renaud to kill us off,” added Aubert.

“We are vulnerable still, yet she uses others to attack us.” Edmond ticked them off on his fingers. “Didier, Faucher, the comtesse, Lance.”

They were right. Cordelia had done the same thing in San Francisco. It might have been her plan, her cottage in the forest and her wards preventing Annabelle’s escape, but it was Dutton and the Faucherians who’d kidnapped her stepsister. The Faucherians who’d kidnapped Melinda, too. And it was Douglas and the Faucherians who’d tried to stop Isobella from coming back in time, not Cordelia. She’d assumed it was because Cordelia was old and frail. But here, now, she was in her forties at most. Was there a limit to her power? Isobella had seen the spells in that grimoire. If it were hers, then Isobella didn’t think Cordelia had any limits when it came to causing pain and destruction.

The three werewolves stared at her, all eager for answers she didn’t have. Fat lot of good she was to them. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why. But there has to be a reason. Something must be stopping her.” Her gut was telling her it was important. That knowing it would give them an advantage. “If Constance and I put our heads together, we might come up with an explanation.” And a plan for taking the old witch on.

Defeating Cordelia wouldn’t be easy. Twenty-first-century Cordelia had known someone from their coven was coming here, because she’d already lived it. She’d have made her own plans. Isobella would bet her life on it Douglas was a key part of those plans.

Edmond gathered his reins. “We will do what we came here to do. Take care of Didier and Douglas. Then we will worry about Cordelia.” He urged his horse forward. “Best we get inside the village before they shut the gates. I have no wish to take Isobella in through the other way.”

They slipped through the gate of Langeais, mingling with the occasional peasant or merchant. To avoid attracting attention, they left their horses in the tanner’s stable for a few silver coins, then Remi beckoned them down a narrow street. They followed him past peasants’ mud huts and a noisy alehouse, the foot traffic thinning the further into the rabbit warren of streets they trudged. With each turn, the houses grew more and more dilapidated, the streets grubbier and the passersby leaner and meaner. There were few lamps in this area, spluttering, casting meager circles of muted light, the occasional orange glow from cooking fires seeping from beneath ill-fitting doors and shutters. Isobella pulled her traveling cloak tighter, warding off the night chill, and edged closer to Aubert. He took her hand in his and gave a gentle squeeze.

Remi jerked his chin toward a hut with a door barely hanging on by one hinge and a broken shutter, then kept walking. He pulled them into a narrow alley, and they huddled against the cracking mud-brick wall. A noise startled her, and Isobella scanned the street. A rat. She clenched her lips tight. Werewolf sight could be a blessing or a curse.

Aubert dropped her hand, and she mourned its absence, the slide of steel loud on the night air as he unsheathed his sword.

Remi grabbed his arm. “Wait.” He kept his voice barely above a whisper. “I have someone watching the place. I will go and talk to him. Find out if Didier and Douglas are inside.”

“Good to see our coin is not going to waste,” drawled Edmond.

“It will be worth every bit. Douglas and Didier might not be the only ones in there. Our friend might not be the only one watching. Wait here.” Remi disappeared into the dark without a sound, not even a stumble, navigating the dark as if he, too, were a werewolf.

Isobella stared at the rundown cottage. Everyone on this trip was far more capable than she was, and their biggest challenge was yet to come. When they confronted Didier and Douglas, it was Isobella who would have to step up. Isobella, green witch and nurturer of plants, against the son of the biggest, baddest witch she had ever known. And her ex. A man who knew all her flaws and insecurities. No doubt he’d use them against her now if he had to. Douglas had never seen her as his equal in witchcraft, and there was every chance he was right.