Dust

XX

"Her name is Meredith," says Damien from beside me, handing me his phone. I examine the picture presented; a witch with raised cheekbones, hair a bright scarlet, and eyes as pure white as ice stares back at me. If I had to guess, I would say the woman—Meredith—is somewhere in her thirties, possibly younger than Mother. "Meredith Fenn. According to Sloane she's been causing problems."

I hand Damien's phone back to him, and he pockets it. The best part of hunting, the fight, has yet to come; if Sloane's briefing is correct, Meredith lives in some self-constructed cottage near the east side of the forest. The sunlight streams through the trees as they sway in the afternoon breeze, leaves crunching rhythmically underneath our feet. I feel bad for Dame; daylight missions aren't the best for him, since he has to cover himself up, but Sloane knows he's well equipped to handle his weaknesses. "What kind of problems is she causing?" asks Gael from the other side of me.

"The usual witchy illegal things," Damien replies. "Selling banned herbs. Using spells for evil. Bad juju, Gael."

For a second, Gael looks bewildered, but instead of questioning Dame, he just nods. I've noticed he's learning not to be surprised by anything, which is a good sign. "Okay then. So what are we supposed to do?"

"Go in there, handcuff her, get her back to headquarters. The usual hunter save-the-world things."

"Right," says Gael, nodding again. We continue our lonely march for what feels like an eternity, but still don't come across any cottage or cabin or any remote sign of dwelling. I'm considering convincing Damien to turn back when he suddenly stops us on our path, telling us to stay still and shut up.

After a few long moments of watching him survey the area with his usual intense gaze, I won't shut up any longer. "Seriously, Damien—what is it? Do you know where the cottage is?"

To my surprise, he doesn't shush me, just says, "Maybe," and motions for Gael and I to follow him as he begins walking again.

Knowing asking him to elaborate is a lost effort, I just follow silently behind him. He walks in a definitive direction, stopping every now and then to look one direction and then the other, then continuing. It's strange to watch Damien as his senses lead him; it's like he can focus on nothing else.

I suppose that's a good thing, because as we step foot into a tiny clearing in this ocean of trees, I lay eyes on the cottage. It's a squat and minimal structure, made of gray stone with dark wooden framing. The roof, of black shingling, spires above a window that sits above the door. Vines climb all around it, so much so that I almost missed it.

"Is this it?" Gael asks, only to get a hiss from Damien.

"Shh! There's someone in there...someone other than Meredith. I swear," Damien tells us, then creeps over near the door, plastering himself against the outer wall. Gael and I do the same, and I realize when I listen as best as I can that he's right: Meredith has company. The voices are muffled, but lucid enough.

"Do you want sugar in that?" a sweet, melodic voice says, clearly female. There's a faint clink, porcelain, maybe.

The reply is a guttural, scratchy voice that sounds as if it belongs to a man of old age. "No, that's fine. I've told you, Meredith, I'm not here for games."

There's silence, save for more clinking, before who I can only assume is Meredith speaks again. Her voice is low, quiet. "When are the lot of you planning to do this?"

"In a month, give or take," says the man. "Could be less, could be more—I have to speak with my brothers. I just need to know you'll do as we planned."

"And have I ever failed you, Cassius?" Meredith replies, and when I start to gasp, Damien's hand claps over my mouth. I shoot him a look of disapproval, but he's not focused on me. Cassius. The Commissioner? What would the Commission, any of them, have to do with an illegally practicing witch? "You doubt me. Last time's failure was not my fault—"