Charles wasn’t worried about Erasmus or Dr. Underwood, but the nurse was a different matter entirely. As Erasmus collapsed back in his chair and Underwood straightened, smoothing out his jacket, Charles put himself between Anna and the nurse. He pushed Anna (gently) to the edge of the concrete platform they stood on.

Mary Frank invaded the space in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. He still could not smell the black magic stink, but his skin and spirit knew what had created this place, what kind of witch she was.

And still, in his prime, Erasmus could have destroyed this witch with a few words. Now he subsided in the chair, listing to the left, dull-eyed and drooling a little out of the corner of his mouth.

“Were we being bad?” the nurse chided, straightening the blankets. She looked at Underwood and raised an imperious eyebrow. “We’ll just head along to our room,” she said. “It’s time for Mr. Green’s constitutional.”

There was a bite to that last word, and Daniel Green, who had once been Daniel Erasmus, began to sob and mumble. As his eyes fell on Anna he said, “Help me, please. Such a nice lady. Help?”

Anna stirred, and Charles put a hand on her shoulder and made a soothing noise as the nurse rolled her victim up the garden path. Anna glanced up at him and he could almost read the words in her face.

Are they doing what I think they are? Why don’t you stop it? Why don’t you want me to stop it? The man I love would not let a helpless old man be tortured.

What she actually said was, “Charles?”

He touched her face lightly. “I knew him before,” he told her.

She took that in and gave him a shallow nod. Trust, he thought, but verify. Her face told him that he owed her a good explanation when they were out of here.

CHAPTER

9

“Ms. and Mr. Cornick, I believe you agreed to speak with me,” Underwood said after Daniel and his nurse were well on their way. “Let me take you to my office, where we can talk uninterrupted.”

He turned and headed out on a trajectory that wouldn’t lead him to the path they had originally taken from the main building, making the assumption that they would follow. Which was a safe enough move, if not for the reasons Underwood expected. Brother Wolf all but purred with anticipation.

Anna followed him without demur, and Charles could see the frail net of Underwood’s magic clinging to her, though it thinned more as the spellcraft worked in the garden fed upon it. Even at full power, Underwood’s spell was indirect, relying upon cooperation from the person it was laid upon to have full effect. It was something Anna herself could have broken if Underwood had been asking her to do something she was actually opposed to doing.

Underwood’s assumption of their compliance told Charles that the doctor hadn’t realized Charles had largely neutralized the magic Underwood had been trying on Erasmus. If he had, he would have realized that Charles might be more than he could take on by himself. The desire to keep Underwood in the dark had been the reason Charles had kept his own working subtle. After watching Underwood trying to calm the old man, Charles could see how the doctor might think it had been the old witch himself who had pushed back Underwood’s magic.

The predator in him took note that Underwood was so unskilled that he didn’t understand his spell had not been able to dig into Charles at all. That hadn’t been anything Charles had consciously done, but such a weak construct stood no chance against Charles’s natural shields.

Charles didn’t like leaving Underwood’s influence attached to Anna, but he didn’t want a confrontation just yet. Underwood was no threat. But the garden . . . that was another matter. He knew that most people who could work or sense magic thought of it as a lifeless power, but he’d been taught by a man who understood that the world was full of spirits, of life. Charles was sure that the garden, whatever the witches thought they had, was a living being.

If he and Underwood had a fight out on the stone walks of the garden, he wasn’t sure either of them would survive intact. Even Brother Wolf acceded to Charles’s judgment in leaving Anna bespelled, because fighting on uncertain ground was better avoided.

And it was necessary to find out what Underwood had in mind, what he wanted from them. Charles didn’t like to think there was any kind of connection between the witches running this place and whatever had happened at Wild Sign. Black witches were not a fate he would wish on anyone.

Except Daniel Erasmus, Brother Wolf reminded him.

But the hungry expression on Erasmus’s face as he ranted about the power his granddaughter had robbed him of highlighted the fact that the witches in this place might have a reason to be curious about Carrie Green. If the werewolves were going to find themselves going up against witches as well as the Singer, it would be a good thing to know.

Charles paced behind Anna, occasionally blowing the garden’s tendrils of power away from her when they attempted to brush up against her skin. They were welcome to Underwood’s spellcrafting, but he would not allow them to try to feed upon Anna. Anna was not witchborn, so probably the spells in this garden would have done her no harm, but Charles saw no reason to risk it.

The garden made no attempt to touch him.

* * *

*

FROM THE VANTAGE point of the window of Underwood’s second-floor office, the hungry garden looked like nothing more than a well-tended green space. Outside of admiration for its outstanding design, the view elicited nothing more worrisome than the realization of how much money this place spent on labor to keep such an extensive space better groomed than a golf course.

Unless someone was like Charles, who could feel its soothing power reaching through the walls of the building. Funny how Anna, doing basically the same thing, made Brother Wolf content and peaceful, while the garden kept him in a state of near violence. Well, that and having to leave Anna under the influence of Underwood’s magic.

Underwood’s room was obviously designed to facilitate meetings with wealthy people who needed their problem responsibilities dealt with. Everything from the rich leather chairs to the subtle scent of tobacco was designed to inspire confidence.

“Please have a seat,” Underwood said.

Anna perched on one of the leather armchairs, but Charles ignored Underwood’s suggestion and stood behind her. He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing the skin of her neck.

With that touch, Charles swept away the last of Underwood’s spellweaving. It was not a great feat to give Anna a little protection at the same time, and it soothed Charles. If someone else wanted to bespell her, they would have to make a real effort now.

Which we will not allow, stated Brother Wolf.

No, they would not.

He waited for Underwood to react to Charles freeing Anna. But he’d overestimated the witch. Underwood continued pulling out his chair and settling in it without pause. He straightened his desk in a manner that seemed to be calculated to prove to himself that he was in control of the situation.

When he looked up, his friendly, fatherly persona was intact. Then he saw Charles standing behind Anna and frowned a little, as if surprised that Charles hadn’t followed his directive.

It might be, Charles thought, that with this place steeped in so much witchcraft, Underwood just wasn’t sensitive enough to tell what was going on with his own spells.

Such an unobservant man, noted Brother Wolf, working in a place like this is doomed. If we kill him now, we would just be doing him a favor.

Brother Wolf was a lot more talkative than usual. Charles couldn’t figure out if it was the emotional upheaval of the Singer’s attack on Anna or Underwood bespelling her—or if it was a side effect of all the magic in this place.

This is a very interesting place, Brother Wolf enlightened him. I have hope that we will kill some witches here before we go. This one would do.

“Anna and Charles Cornick,” Underwood said. “Your names are familiar to me. Very familiar.” He gave Anna a sad-eyed look, and a soft billow of magic puffed out to land upon both Anna and Charles. “Carrie Green was an only child and she was not married. You are not her sister-in-law. But the Cornick name is well-known among people who are witchborn.”

“Is it?” said Anna, who was, hit by Underwood’s magic, supposed to feel guilty. But for now, her politeness looked close enough to guilt for Underwood, because he looked faintly satisfied.

“Charles Cornick, the scourge of werewolves, the Marrok’s assassin—and the woman who rules him,” Underwood said.

Was that what the witches were saying about his Anna? True enough as far as that went. He wondered who else was saying that. Maybe that was why the FBI agents had concluded that Anna was the Marrok. If Anna had wanted to rule them all . . . Well, Charles couldn’t see his da giving over the care of his wolves to anyone while he lived, but Da listened to Anna. They all did.