Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 75: Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (II)

LYRE

"You have no authority here, Echo Witch." Her eyes narrow, as she steps back. Her feet are bare, and blood squishes between her toes as she steps in a small puddle of it. "This territory is claimed, these creatures are bound, and you have no standing to interfere."

I release the suspended blood with a flick of my wrist, letting it splash to the ground in a wet slap. "Claimed? By whom, exactly? Last time I checked, America wasn’t your playground."

"America." She snorts, circling me with wary steps. "You speak as if you have some claim to it. Where have you been, Lyrielle? Over a century of silence, and now you appear with demands?"

"You don’t get answers, Isabeau." I scuff one of her blood sigils with the toe of my boot. The symbol sputters and shudders as its magic fractures. "Why here? Europe’s full of dark little corners better suited for your brand of rot."

Her laugh is like gravel dragged across concrete. It’s always been unpleasant—an ugly sound to match her uglier soul.

"Perhaps I wanted a taste of American hospitality. The wolves here are so... accommodating."

I grimace. I’m sure she ran here with her tail between her legs, looking for fresh meat. Fed until she could walk upright again.

Rebuilding her strength must’ve taken effort. Not that it’ll help her now.

"Mmm." Her tongue drags over too-sharp teeth. "Such enterprising creatures. Always chasing more—time, power, life. Is it really so monstrous to give them what they want?"

I suspected as much the moment I scented her stench on the wind outside town. Still, the confirmation annoys me.

If she’s been feeding off the local wolves for long, the stink’s probably sunk into the dirt by now. This is the problem with her kind. They don’t just corrupt people. They rot places.

her nasty little claws have dug deep into this pack. Am I going

left in the old magic to help

me now. She’s both their captor and their

when the source of that arcana dries

Well.

pay with magic

the smeared blood sigil, each footfall deliberately placed to avoid the

gone from merchant to farmer. But even a glutton can’t eat the same thing

taking a step for every one of mine. "Your jokes weren’t funny then, and are even

always did have

here, Lyrielle? Who are you working for this time? Fate? War? Pestilence? I haven’t

to get rid of

"Do that, and I’ll let you continue your miserable existence. Leave no trace you were ever here. It’s simple terms. Even you should

it on a dozen

do about it?" Her French accent thickens, mockery curling at the edge of her vowels. "I’ve been here a

Her bloody footprints trail behind

your touch," she goads. "And your power."

come with brain damage, or have you

Her smirk falters.

gesture to the crumpled steel door I kicked in. To the puddles of blood she tried to weaponize. To her sputtering sigils.

"The part where I tore through your defenses like wet paper, or the part where I disarmed your attack with one hand? Is it my face? I do look younger than ever, but I’m not sharing my skincare