Fair Game (Alpha & Omega #3)(62)
Author: Patricia Briggs

Gravely, he nodded. "I think that might be right."

She opened her purse and took out her wallet, and Charles could smell the magic from where he stood. Fae magic strong enough to make him sneeze, powerful enough to give him hope. She pulled out a little white card from her billfold. "I’m not exactly sure how to do this."

"Magic follows intention," said Charles, and Beauclaire gave him a sharp look. "Tell it what you want – and tear up the card to seal the deal."

"Since when did the Marrok’s son become an expert in fae magic?" asked Beauclaire – and Charles saw Goldstein look very bland. It was "the Marrok’s son" that had done it. Goldstein had heard that term before and now wanted to know what it meant.

"Since when did the fae give up information on the werewolves?" countered Charles silkily. Anna was missing: he didn’t care what Goldstein found out. But the fae would do very nicely to sate Brother Wolf’s desire to tear into flesh until it bled. Beauclaire, Brother Wolf decided, would be a worthy opponent, and once he killed something, maybe he could think clearly again.

Beauclaire took a cautious step back and Isaac eased between them. "You don’t want to do anything rash, Charles," he cautioned. "We’re all on the same team here."

"I wish – " said Leslie, drawing Charles’s attention away from the fae. "I wish…" She looked at Charles. "One lost puppy for another – but Anna is yours as Toby was mine. So I wish that as I lost my puppy, my dog that I loved, that Charles should find his lost wolf." She tore the card in half and the magic…did something.

Charles’s phone rang before he could figure out what the magic had done. Its sudden blaring ringtone that wasn’t the song it sang when Anna called him irritated Brother Wolf, who pulled it out of their pocket and crushed it to make it stop.

Everyone in the condo quit breathing – and Charles realized that his ability to speak coherently had apparently given them a false sense of safety.

"How long until it works?" he asked Beauclaire in a soft, soft voice.

The fae sighed. "We don’t even know it will work, werewolf. Something happened, but it wasn’t my magic in that card. Treasach tended toward subtle magic that snuck up behind you."

Another cell phone rang and Charles growled. Isaac pulled out his phone and started to hit the off button, but paused. "Four-zero-six is the Montana area code, right?"

He answered the phone before Charles replied, and clear as day Charles’s father’s voice came out of the speaker of Isaac’s phone.

"I have a feeling that my son is in a bad place," Bran said. "And I have made a habit of not ignoring my feelings – especially when neither he nor Anna are answering their phones."

Isaac gave Charles a nervous glance. "That’s right. Charles is here and Anna’s been taken by the murdering bastards we’ve been chasing. We have the FBI here, the two who’ve been working with us. And Beauclaire is present as well, the fae whose daughter we rescued yesterday."

It was a very good rundown of what was happening, Charles thought.

"Why isn’t Charles chasing down Anna?"

Brother Wolf growled.

"That’s not helpful, Charles," Bran said.

"He says he can’t contact her."

There was a very long pause and then his father said quietly, "Charles. Is it the same thing that was bothering you before you went to Boston?"

Charles couldn’t answer, wasn’t human enough to answer. He turned around and stalked to the far side of the room. If he hadn’t killed them, hadn’t executed those wolves in Minnesota, he’d have been able to find Anna before she got hurt.

"Before Boston…" said Isaac and his voice trailed off. "Oh, I know what you did before Boston, Charles. This could get messy," he said to the others, suddenly decisive. "I think we can work something out, but it might be better if you people, who are a little too easy to hurt, are out of the way. Would you mind waiting in the hall?"

"You have something to talk about that you don’t want us to hear," said Goldstein. "You don’t have to lie. We’ll go wait."

"I never lie to the cops or the FBI," Isaac said. He was being truthful, Charles noted somewhat absently. "Things might get pretty bad before they get better and I don’t want you hurt."

Isaac didn’t say anything to Beauclaire, but the fae said, "I think I’ll wait outside with the others. He’ll be easier without me here."

There was a quiet click as his front door was shut and another as Isaac threw the dead bolt.

"All right," Isaac said, and it took a moment for Charles to realize he was talking to Bran. "It’s just Charles and me – though Beauclaire hears just fine. He might be able to hear every word we say."

"Acceptable," said Charles’s da crisply. "Beauclaire is trustworthy – and he owes us a debt, if you’ve rescued his daughter."

Trust Da to know Beauclaire.

"Fine," said Isaac. "So am I reading this right and there’s something about that fu – " He caught himself, probably remembering someone warning him not to swear around Bran. Charles’s father was old, and though he could swear with the best of them (usually in Welsh) he generally preferred to avoid it. He could get pretty scary with underlings who had foul mouths. Isaac continued with slightly milder adjectives. "Screwed-up thing in Minnesota that Charles got stuck with that is somehow interfering with his bond with Anna?"

"I don’t know," said Bran. "Charles, is that what the problem is?"

Charles didn’t know Isaac well, and talking in front of him was akin to dancing naked in public. But if his father could figure out a way to help – and if he couldn’t, then no one could – then he would have stripped off his clothes and run naked down Congress Street in downtown Boston at lunch hour just to get a chance to talk with him.

"They’ve broken the link," Charles said.

"Who has?" asked Bran.

"The ghosts of the people I’ve killed who should have lived." He turned to look at his father, but all he saw was Isaac holding his cell phone open.

He smiled grimly at Isaac, who took a step back, and spoke to him. "Another man would probably have a mental breakdown – and blame all sorts of psychoses. But my grandfather was a shaman and he gave me the gift that allows me to see the ghosts of those I’ve wronged."

"So they are haunting you," Isaac said, his face quiet.

Charles hadn’t expected the Alpha to get in his face and call him a liar – Charles was the Marrok’s hatchet man, after all. But the simple belief he saw made him remember that Isaac’s grandfather could see ghosts, too.