Moment of Tooth (A Witch in Wolf Wood Book 4) Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by Lindsay Buroker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  1

  Lucky tore across the yard, chasing a low-flying robin that he’d caught sampling blackberries from the thorny patch at the edge of the lawn. Resounding barks announced his ferociousness to every rodent, bird, lizard, and snake in Wolf Wood. The robin flew up into a tree, which prompted Lucky to circle the house twice, as if he might scare up another bird, before recommitting to his original prey. He ran to the fir where the robin had alighted, placed his forepaws on the stout trunk, and barked up at the branches while vigorously wagging his whip of a tail.

  “Does he actually expect to catch that bird?” Wendy asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Morgen said, “but he delights in the chase.”

  She and Wendy were kneeling on flagstones in the lawn between the house and the barn with a witch’s grimoire open between them, instructions for how to set magical wards scrawled across the pages. When active, the invisible booby traps would zap any intruders who attempted to reach the house without an invitation.

  Wendy knew what to do without looking at the book, saying the chants and thrice tapping each spot with her wand, but she was also teaching Morgen so she would know how to reapply the magic in the future. The wards were supposedly strongest at repelling strangers for the first two weeks and faded after that, losing all potency after a month. Reapplying them each month would be a small price to pay to encircle the house and keep unwelcome strangers from barging in.

  “He’s a pointer, isn’t he?” Wendy asked, raising her voice to be heard over a crescendo in the upbeat music of a video game that floated out of her nearby frog-mural camper van to compete with Lucky’s barks. The mighty ferret Napoleon lay on his back on a nearby flagstone, as limp as a dishtowel as he slept through the noise. “I thought they silently sneaked into the brush, lifted a leg, and pointed their noses at their prey.”

  “He’s a Hungarian vizsla, which is a kind of pointer, yes. As you can see, his snout is pointing up at the robin.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “I’m just glad he’s not sharing his hunt with me telepathically.” Morgen touched her temple.

  Since she’d inadvertently made Lucky her familiar, he’d shared a lot of visions of him sticking his nose into gopher holes, into bushes, and—his new favorite spot—under the recently built back deck. The mice that lived in the crawlspace under the house visited it frequently, treating it like a covered lanai.

  The robin shifted on the branch and managed to drop a fir cone onto Lucky. That only incensed him. His tail wagged harder, and he barked louder.

  An angry squawk came from the cedar where Amar had mounted the nesting box he’d made for Morgen’s other familiar, Zorro. It had taken the owl a while to get used to it, but now he snoozed up there most days, unless a noisy neighbor woke him.

  Zorro’s head popped out of the hole, and he shrieked over at Lucky.

  “He’d better be careful,” Morgen said, “or he’ll end up with an owl pellet regurgitated onto his back.”

  “Gross. I’m glad I don’t have a familiar that likes to puke up bones.”

  “Yours is noticeably less vigorous.”

  “He has his moments. He likes to play.” Wendy picked up a yellowed wand that had been carved from ivory—or maybe bone—and handed it to Morgen. “Here. You try.”

  Morgen eyed the wand dubiously. It was one of three that she’d found in the house after Grandma’s death and not one she gravitated to, though she’d brought them all out. Thus far, she hadn’t come across many spells that required wands and hadn’t spent a lot of time studying them.

  “Does it need to be this one?” she asked.

  Wendy tilted her head. “I suppose not. It’s hard for me to tell what the properties of them all are—such information is usually handed down from one generation to the next—but that one is the most powerful.”

  “I’d prefer wood to bone or ivory.” Morgen tapped the other two wands, both made from wood, one lumpy and gnarled, as if it had been cut off a tree, and the other carved and sanded like a drumstick.

  Not that Morgen knew what to do with any of them. Unlike her grandmother’s staff, which she’d been able to use to whack enemies and take down gyrocopters, the wands did nothing when she waved them around and commanded, “Abracadabra!” Over the course of the summer, she’d learned a lot about magic and being a witch, but it would take a lifetime and then some to master everything. She wished Grandma were still around and could have taught her.

  “Bone tends to be a more powerful receptacle for magic,” Wendy said.

  “If you don’t mind wielding a piece of the skeleton of a previously majestic animal.”

  “I don’t.” Wendy shrugged. “I’m not a vegetarian. Anyway, I thought that just means you don’t eat meat.”

  “It does, but I’ve always been an animal lover, so I do my best to avoid things that harm them. See the seats in my car?” Morgen pointed toward her little electric vehicle parked next to Amar’s beat-up blue truck from the sixties. “Vegan leather.”

  Wendy raised her eyebrows. “What is vegan leather made from? Fake cows?”

  “I think polyurethane, but it can also be made from sustainable materials like cork, pineapple leaves, and apple peels.”

  Wendy blinked. “Every time you get in your car, you’re rubbing your butt on apple peels?”

  “I might be.”

  “How does Amar feel about your lifestyle choice? He and the other werewolves seem to go hunting almost every night. Doesn’t he come back with gristle between his teeth? What about when you kiss? Does he have meat breath?”

  Morgen blushed at the realization that Wendy was aware she and Amar were kissing now. They’d almost done more than kissing the night of the demon summoning, but he’d suffered numerous broken ribs in that battle and was still moving around gingerly.

  “His breath is fine, and I don’t probe his teeth with my tongue when we kiss.”

  Though now that Wendy had brought up that imagery, Morgen thought about giving Amar some nice mint floss.

  “I wouldn’t mind having someone to kiss,” Wendy said wistfully. “There’s hardly anyone my age in this town. It’s all old witches and retired tourists.”

  “Some of the Lobos are in their early twenties,” Morgen said, thinking that might work for a nineteen-year-old. The werewolves were rough around the edges, but the one who fancied himself a chef—José Antonio—had some charm, and he almost never wandered around the worksite in a
wife-beater tank top with pit stains.

  Wendy leaned back abruptly enough to startle Napoleon. “Date a werewolf? Me?”

  “I only brought it up as a possibility.”

  “My sister would kill me,” Wendy said, even though she’d left the home she shared with Olivia and hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. “Besides, that’s super cringe. Witches don’t date werewolves.”

  “You were in the hot tub the other day with José Antonio.” Morgen waved toward the deck where the Jetmaster 3000 hummed, waiting for someone to peel back the lid and put it to use.

  “That wasn’t a date. I was sitting in it for therapeutic benefits.”

  “While a werewolf was also sitting in it for therapeutic benefits?”

  “Exactly. He was way on the other side from me.”

  Way? Morgen had been in that hot tub. Though it purportedly seated six, that couldn’t happen without a lot of knee bumping.

  “Anyway,” Wendy said, “Napoleon worried I was going to drown, so I shouldn’t go in there again. Here. Let’s focus on the wards. The ones I’m setting are the best I know. They’re designed to affect all living beings, even the magical. The only thing they don’t work on is machinery.”

  “So… I’m not protected from a robot uprising?”

  “Nope, sorry. Cars can go through, too, but if there’s a driver, he or she would be zapped.”

  The front door thumped, and Morgen’s sister Sian appeared, wearing a robe and fuzzy purple unicorn slippers. She descended from the porch and padded out to them with three coffee mugs pressed between her hands. Lucky, who’d given up on his barking, trotted over to help. Or possibly to get in the way and trip Sian.

  Morgen rose to block him and help with the mugs. “Thanks, Sian.”

  Lucky waved his nose in the air, sniffing toward the steaming coffee. He’d never shown an interest in sampling from Morgen’s mug, but milk—or, knowing Sian, cream—had turned her sister’s cup a lighter shade of brown.

  “Dogs don’t drink coffee,” Morgen whispered to him.

  Lucky wagged, somehow managing to whack both of them with his tail. The breed standard was to have the tail partially docked, so it was less likely to be damaged during hunting, but Morgen hadn’t wanted to have that done, since it seemed cruel. Sometimes, she wondered if the docking was preferred less because of hunting and more because vizsla owners didn’t want their wine glasses, coffee mugs, and cans of soda knocked on the floor every time their dog wandered through the living room.

  “I did not know if your roommate would wish a mug—” Sian glanced toward the apartment above the barn, “—but there’s more coffee in the pot if he does.”

  “Do werewolves like coffee?” Wendy wrinkled her nose as if that were a strange thought.

  “He’s a perfectly normal human being when he’s not in his furry form,” Morgen said, though that wasn’t entirely true. Amar had admitted that he had sharper-than-average hearing and a keen sense of smell, even when he stood as a man. Based on the fights she’d seen him survive, and the ropy muscles that were always on display when he wore nothing but a leather vest over his torso, she suspected he was stronger than typical too. He was definitely sexier than typical.

  Morgen smiled into her mug as she took a sip.

  “I’m not sure I’d call him normal,” Wendy whispered. “He’s very ferocious, and he glowers at me a lot.”

  “Do men not typically glower at you?” Morgen asked.

  “No, I’m super cute.” Wendy grinned at them. With her freckles, brunette hair in pigtails, and daisies painted on her toenails, that was a fair assessment. “I don’t know why he would glower. It’s a mystery.”

  Sian sighed and looked at the sky, as if discussions of physical beauty and normality were beneath her. “Speaking of mysteries, why is there a basket full of berries, toadstools, and twigs on the counter next to the coffee pot, Morgen? If it’s supposed to be potpourri, it’s musty.”

  “If it were potpourri, it would be in the first-floor bathroom that the werewolf contractors were using while they did their work.”

  “Gross. They’re done now, right?”

  “I think so,” Morgen said. “I’ve got refinished hardwood floors, a roof that doesn’t leak, and a deck with a hot tub and outdoor kitchen. I can’t imagine what else this house could need.”

  Morgen hadn’t even asked for the deck or outdoor kitchen, but the Lobos had been so delighted that she could make them talismans that kept witches from controlling them with magic that they’d overachieved. Having since made the talismans for the whole pack, Morgen didn’t feel quite as guilty about accepting all the free work. As Amar had assured her many times, it was more than a fair trade.

  “I collected those items from Wolf Wood on my walks with Lucky,” Morgen added. “I’m taking pictures of anything that seems unusual and isn’t in my witch database. I’m hoping I can find someone in the coven who knows what they are and can teach me.”

  Ever since Pedro had warned Amar that someone dangerous from their past had been spotted in the area, Morgen had worried that more trouble would befall them. The more she could learn, the more capable a witch she could become. And the more she could help Amar if necessary.

  “One of the toadstools is glowing,” Sian said.

  “Yes, Wolf Wood is full of magical stuff. That’s why the witches want it left alone and not turned over to a developer. I got the water for that coffee from a mystical spring in the woods that Grandma believed had rejuvenating properties.”

  Horror blossomed on Sian’s face as she gaped down at her half-consumed beverage. “The water for my coffee is laced with bird poop, algae, and coyote urine?”

  “I put it through the filtration pitcher in the fridge.”

  “Those pitchers don’t do anything to protect against bacterial contaminants. All they do is filter some metals and chemicals that affect taste and odor.”

  “You don’t think that covers coyote pee?”

  Sian gave her a scathing look before setting her mug on the porch railing and wiping her hands. She poked in her pockets, as if she might find hand sanitizer in one. Given her predilections, she might.

  “I can pick up some bottled water at the store,” Morgen offered.

  She had no idea when the well water had last been tested, so it was possible that wasn’t a safer bet.

  “That’s not necessary, at least not on my behalf. I spoke to the director of science at the university this morning, and she believes she can get me into a lab position doing chimpanzee research. I’m waiting to hear back on more details and a possible start date.”

  “You’re leaving?” Morgen asked.

  She’d known her sister would have to return to work eventually, but it had been nice having her visit these last couple of weeks. Since Sian had spent most of the last decade out of the country doing field work, they’d barely spoken to each other these past years. Even if Sian was stiffer than a board and grumpy at how many housemates Morgen had ruining the serenity of what should have been a secluded house, she was the family member that Morgen was closest to—whom she most understood. And vice versa.

  “I am. I am not as enthusiastic as I would wish about the idea of lab research—studying structural, neurochemical, and electrophysiological abnormalities in the brains of chimpanzees is far from the work I was doing in Borneo—but—”

  Morgen’s phone rang, startling her. It was barely after eight, and since she was no longer employed and no longer married, she couldn’t imagine who would be calling her so early.

  Phoebe’s name popped up. Odd. Her mentor usually sent her raven Zeke to deliver messages instead of relying on mundane methods of communication.

  “Hi, Phoebe.” Morgen held up a finger to Sian, hoping she wouldn’t leave. She wanted to hear more about the job opening and if her sister would come up to visit on the weekends. It had taken some time—and a battle with werewolves in the vet’s office—but Sian had finally accepted that magic and lycanthropy existed. Mo
rgen kept trying to convince her to learn about her witch heritage. They’d been a good team during that demon fight. “What’s up?”

  “I have excellent news.”

  “You’ve received a new shipment of geodes from the desert?”

  “That was yesterday. No, Judith is here, the treasurer from the coven, and she said that she got your dues and you’re officially a member now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “We’re going to have our first meeting tomorrow, and we’d like you to join us.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Phoebe paused, listening to someone talk in the background.

  Morgen grinned. Given that some of the witches were horrible to the werewolves and a few had been making Morgen’s life miserable since she’d arrived in Bellrock, she shouldn’t have wanted to join them, but they weren’t all like that. Phoebe had been advising her and teaching her useful incantations, the president Belinda had acknowledged that the database app she’d made for the coven was useful, and they were all quirky and weird. Morgen, having fallen into that category her whole life, couldn’t help but be drawn to others like her.

  “You’re joining that cult?” Sian asked, her voice full of disdain.

  She was also in the quirky-and-weird club, but she didn’t seem to care if she had similar kinds of people to hang out with. Wild orangutans and neurologically damaged chimpanzees were more her cup of tea.

  “It’s not a cult,” Morgen whispered. “It’s a group of women with common interests that meets a couple of times a month. Like a book club.”

  “We do like books,” Wendy said.

  “That instruct you on mixing potions, making talismans, and summoning demons?” Sian asked.