Fair Game (Alpha & Omega #3)(41)
Author: Patricia Briggs

Brother Wolf grunted in satisfaction. He liked it when their mate got possessive and asserted her rights over him. So did Charles.

"Go ahead and smirk," she said, seriously, though her body was relaxed against him. "Just keep it in mind. Maybe you don’t have to fight all of your battles alone."

"I’ll remember your words," he told her with returned seriousness, though he pictured Anna taking her grandmother’s rolling pin after the ghosts who haunted him, and it made him want to…smirk again.

"That’s better," she told him smugly. "No more brooding."

And she was right.

The boat swayed a bit as both Isaac and Malcolm moved suddenly and there was a zing of expectation in the air.

"About time you got here, woman," Isaac called out in tones of real affection.

Startled, Charles looked over to see a woman walking down the pier to where their boat was docked. She was taller than average, taller than Isaac, who had vaulted up off the boat to trot down the pier to greet her. He kissed her, leaning into it, lingering.

"He’s sleeping with the witch he told us was too devious to be trusted to gather information from Jacob’s body?" said Anna, sounding disgruntled.

Charles laughed and pulled her closer so he could put his chin on top of her head. "Gutsy," he said. "But he’s forgotten the first rule of the men’s locker room."

"What’s that?"

"Don’t stick your…" He didn’t need to be crude, so he corrected himself. "Don’t screw with crazy, no matter how pretty it is."

She snorted. "You don’t know her."

"I know witches," he said. "They are all crazy."

"What about Moira?"

Moira was the white witch who was on the Emerald City Pack’s payroll. Anna had met her a couple of years ago and they had become fast friends.

"Except for the blind ones," Charles allowed.

They watched as Isaac introduced his witch to the FBI agents as Hally Smith. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was striking with dark coloring, a long, elegant nose, and a wide, generous mouth.

Isaac helped her down into the boat. To Charles, she stank of black magic as she neared and he wondered how Isaac stood it. Moira, Anna’s friend, was a white witch. She generally smelled of the herbs, spices, and magic of her gift. Hally reeked of death, old blood, and ghosts.

The witch looked at Charles as if she could read his mind, which he knew damned well she couldn’t.

"Well," she said in a low, husky voice. "I’ve heard so much about you, Charles – "

Isaac made a noise in his throat and she smiled.

"Charles Smith. Look, we even share a last name. How delightful."

"Her last name really is Smith," Isaac told him.

"Convenient," said Anna. "People will think you’re lying even when you aren’t."

"But not you," said the witch, and Charles fought the desire to grab his mate and set her behind him where he could protect her better. "You and your kind can tell if I’m lying."

"Only if you aren’t a good liar," said Anna, half apologetically and half honestly. Being a good liar might keep a young wolf like Anna from discovering a lie, but an old wolf like Charles could almost always tell.

Anna continued to clarify matters. "If you believe your own lies or if telling lies doesn’t bother you, we can be deceived. In fact, we’re even easier to fool because so many of us assume we’re infallible. I, personally, am always careful not to underestimate how well people lie."

"I’ll keep that in mind." Hally smiled and accepted a life jacket from Isaac, then handed him her satchel, a waterproof canvas backpack, to hold while she put it on. There was an unspoken arrogance about the act that set Brother Wolf on edge: Isaac was neither her mate nor her servant whose service was to be taken for granted. She snapped the vest on over her serviceable wool sweater.

"Are you planning on lying?" asked Leslie Fisher with interest. Anna gave her a quick look and then glanced up at Charles. He let her see that it didn’t bother him, and she relaxed.

Hally’s smile deepened. "I don’t know yet. Isaac said you’d have some of Jacob’s body for me?"

Goldstein took the seat next to Leslie’s with his back next to the stern of the boat. He pulled out a Baggie from his life jacket pocket that contained a two-inch square of skin and a pinch of dark hair and handed it to Hally, who took it with the enthusiasm of a child being given a lollipop.

"Splendid," she said. "It would probably be best to wait until we are out in the harbor before I start to do magic. All I will get is distance and a direction, not the closest route there. It won’t last forever, so I’d rather wait until we’re somewhere it will do us the most good. Isaac filled me in" – she looked at Charles – "and promised me recompense."

She hadn’t been cheap. If it weren’t for the time factor, he could have had Moira and Tom fly out from Seattle for considerably less expense.

"Ten thousand," Charles agreed.

Leslie whistled. "No wonder we don’t consult with witches much."

"You pay for the best," said Hally smugly. "Shall we set sail?"

"Motor," Anna said, pointing at the stern. "No sails."

Chapter 8

Charles kept a close watch from the bow as Malcolm threaded the Daciana around boats and other assorted obstacles with all the sailing skill of a pirate and a cheery rendition of "The Mary Ellen Carter," a song about men reclaiming a sunken ship, whistled off-key. If Bran had been with them, doubtless he’d have joined in the song. Charles’s da loved impromptu concerts, especially with people who sang – or whistled – Stan Rogers songs, though considering the boat’s passengers, "The Witch of the Westmoreland" might have been more appropriate.

The rise and fall of the ocean made Charles’s stomach roil – another reason he didn’t like boats. Anna was kneeling on the bow as far forward as she could, with her face in the wind and a peaceful expression that made Brother Wolf want to kiss her feet and other places – if only he wouldn’t have thrown up the moment he bent over.

"Gets me, too," said Isaac, coming up from the rear of the boat. He braced himself on the wall of the console and talked in a voice nicely calculated to carry just over the noise of the engine, but not so loudly that anyone else was likely to hear. "Once I throw up, I’m okay." Then he raised his voice. "But I’m the Alpha of the Olde Towne Pack, damn it, and I can’t afford to upchuck in front of a bunch of strangers. They might find bits of that annoying salesman I ate last night."