“What’s her weakness?” I ask.
Merche averts her chin. “She doesn’t really have one,” she mumbles.
“Yes, she does,” I disagree. “Her magic is pathetic at best if she’s nothing alone. What else? We all have weaknesses. Tell me something I can use, and I may be able to help you out of this mess.”
Farrah splashes more water on her face and hurries to me. She motions to her features, her movements excited and hopeful. She might be smiling. Never mind, she found a worm to munch on.
“You can help us?” she asks between slurps. “You know magic—magic that can reverse all this?”
I watch what’s left of the worm disappear into her mouth. Not even a little bit, girlfriends.
“No,” I confess. “But Genevieve does.”
My words are meant to reassure them that I’m an asset and that I can help. That’s not how they take it. They cower. It’s then I notice Merche’s tail. She tucks it between her legs and backs away from me.
“She knows Tahoe’s Head Witch,” Merche squeaks to Farrah. “And she calls her by her first name.”
“She can hear you,” I say. “And, yes, I know Genevieve.”
“And she knows you, too?” Farrah presses. “You didn’t just meet her in passing?”
“Genevieve very much knows who I am,” I reply.
My relationship with Genevieve was always cordial. She respects us, especially Celia. But I’m neither a witch who reports to her nor someone required to grovel to win her favor. For the first time, I realize exactly how much other witches esteem and fear her.
“She’s actually very nice,” I add, trying to soothe their unease. I give it some thought when I take another gander at their, um, conditions. “To me.”
Farrah tugs on Merche’s sleeve. “The great Genevieve will kill us. She has to for the crimes we’ve committed.”
“Not necessarily,” I claim.
I’m starting to lose them and work to steady my voice. “The witches, especially Genevieve, are part of our alliance, and we’re part of theirs.” I ease closer to them with my hands out. “If you help me, if you do all you can to get me out of this situation, I’ll speak to her on your behalf.”
“But you’re no one,” Farrah says. “You’re just the sister of the Mate who carries the Chosen One.”
Warmth encases every part of me, and despite the cold, you could likely grill a steak on my face. I straighten, allowing my anger to dissolve my passivity and give me the mettle I require. “If I was no one, you wouldn’t have a need for me, would you?” I ask. “But I am someone.”
Farrah rolls her eyes. “Who?”
All right. Now I’m mad. “I am the healer of the Wird sisters. I have the power to soothe and cause pain.” I clench my teeth. “And I’m the one who can crush you without ever lifting a hand.”
I use my force and give them a small shove to prove my point. My anger and desire to prove myself makes me a bit aggressive. They land on their tails, well, Merche, I mean. Farrah face-plants into the water. In my defense, I think she rather enjoys it.
It takes all that I have not to apologize and hurry to help them back to their feet. It’s hard to be kickass when my nature is to be kind.
I shove aside my gentler disposition, reminding myself this is not the time for compassion, and take several deliberate steps toward them. “I’ll speak to Genevieve, not as the pack alpha’s sister-in-law or the sister of the Mate, but as the friend and colleague the Head Witch of the Lake Tahoe Region has grown to admire.”
They jump when I point to the vampire. I almost jump too, stunned by their reaction. I clear my throat. “What about him?” I demand. “Why is he here?”
“He spotted me waiting for you,” Merche says. “Una sent me to hex your phone so you couldn’t call for help.” She stands slowly, careful to avoid facing me directly. “We were to wait for you to leave the bar and follow you. Once you got to the highway, Una had planned to take you.”
Merche assumed I’d be alone. “You didn’t expect me to be with anyone?”
“You’re never with anyone,” Farrah says. Her face remains under water and bubbles balloon and pop along the surface with every word. “At most, we would have to get rid of the Uber driver.”
Wow. To them, I was merely this lonely and pathetic young woman they needed to snag. It’s why they presumed Ted wasn’t my boyfriend.
Merche continues, unaware of the insult. “The vampire came after me. He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t made it to the beach and summoned Una.”
Gerald’s decapitated body huffs. “What did you expect?” he demands. “The master told me to kill anyone who tried to hurt the Wird Girls.”
“The master?” Merche squeaks.
Gerald laughs, his chest moving up and down while the sound echoes from his mouth. “Yeah, bitches. The master. You not only went after Aric Connor’s sister-in-law, you targeted a friend—wait, you are just a friend, right, Emme?”
“Yes,” I say, worried where Gerald’s headed with this.
“You’re not doing the master, are you?”
This time, I’m the one squeaking. “I have never been intimate with Misha.”
“She calls the master vampire by his first name, too,” Farrah bubbles out.
“Oh. Must be the other one,” Gerald reasons out lout. “Either way, you girls are fucked. You took me, and you took one of the women my master swore to protect.”
“This is why you’re here,” Merche squeaks to Gerald. She swipes away angry tears. “You couldn’t keep quiet.” She lifts her little nose, her attention returning to me. “When the vampire told Una you were under his protection, it infuriated her.”
I take in Gerald’s debilitated state once more. “I can see that,” I agree. I think matters through. “But why didn’t Una just kill him like she did Ted?”
Bubbles spume under water as Farrah explains. “Oh, because Una needs to eat,” she casually offers. “She tore Ted apart to feast, but
