Marked By Magic by Christa Wick

Chapter Eleven

Esme satin the oversized chair with its matching ottoman that Denver and another wolf had wrestled through the room's narrow doorway.

Two wool blankets from supplies that the teams carried in their vehicles layered the chair's fabric. Iris and the latents had done their own cleansing, but Esme could still smell traces of Quentin's magic on the furniture. The dread that dark, alien power produced was offset by Oscar asleep in her lap, his small body curled in a ball and his head resting on her shoulder, a third wool blanket covering the two of them.

She stroked the boy's hair with one hand as she hummed the same spell her mother had used to subdue her as a child. Her other hand held a pencil pressed against a piece of paper. As she hummed, she tiptoed through Oscar's mind, seeing things he had seen. She started with the most recent—his run through the woods and the secret passages he had accessed. From there, she moved to happier times that they had both shared. Focusing on his relationship with Denver, she could also see the times she hadn't shared.

The day Denver bought him a fire truck.

The day Denver found him on the streets and rescued him.

She followed the trail back in time. This house, the other cubs. Not all of them survived. Those that did had learned where to hide when "Father" or his men came searching. They also learned the secret spots where Quentin hid things—like the books and papers they had never been taught to read.

Seeing that Esme hadn't added anything new to the map of the house for over five minutes, Denver got up from where he worked at the table and quietly approached. Oscar may have sensed Denver's movements, but his only reaction was to curl more snugly against Esme.

Letting Denver take the pad, she cradled the boy for a few minutes. From the first day of his rescue, he had always seemed to prefer every other female over her.

Lana was his favorite. Iris was second in line. He had definitely developed a young boy's crush on Joelle, who hadn't yet hit twenty. Angelica Cooper, the former Tennessee clan leader's wife, had fostered him before her husband died. Never having a child of her own, she had doted on the boy.

But there had always been a palpable level of detachment when he was with Esme. Now he felt glued to her. It made her heart hurt because she didn't know how much future she had left. The golem was dying and she could feel herself dying with it.

"Love, that song you're humming just turned really sad."

She looked up at Denver, then took a hard, guilty swallow. Fortunately, Oscar didn't seem to notice. He only perked his head up when Denver got down on one knee and held out the map Esme had drawn.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked the boy.

Pointing at the paper, Oscar indicated the room they were in. Then he read off some of the notes Esme had written.

"Papers…art I fa—"

Finding Oscar's perplexed frown adorable, Esme laughed as she told him the word.

"Artifact." Reaching into the pocket on her sweater, she pulled out the cryptex that Riya had given her before dying. "This is an artifact. It was given to me by the last great leader of all the clans. Her name was Riya and she was both a wolf, like you, and a witch, like me."

"Like Iris!"

"Sort of," she agreed, her smile remaining in place. She had hoped the witch-wolf was the answer to the clan's prayers. No doubt Iris was extremely powerful, but she was not All-Mother powerful. She did not have a psychic connection to wolves wherever they were, no matter how far from her.

Changing the subject, Esme nodded at the paper Denver held up.

"Do you think you can go on a treasure hunt with Denver?"

Oscar's mouth pinched as his fingers gripped more tightly at Esme's sweater.

"We could take some more wolves with us," Denver coaxed. "Let them carry the stuff while we have the fun of exploring."

A scowl flashed across the boy's face.

"Will they have guns?" he asked.

"Do you want them to have guns?" Denver said, knowing the wolves had not been unarmed for a single second since the mission began.

Oscar nodded vigorously.

"Then they will have guns," Denver agreed, his hand landing briefly on the boy's head to ruffle the thick, dark hair.

Esme could feel Oscar's reluctance as he nodded, his body slowly starting to pull away from her. His feet touched the floor. As Denver picked the boy up, Oscar immediately wrapped his arms and legs around him.

Following them toward the door, the creature tugging at her with each step, Esme snapped at Denver to stop.

"What's wrong, love?"

"His breathing," she answered with a nod at Oscar.

The boy looked up at Denver then at Esme. His pupils nearly eclipsed his irises.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" she asked. "The house is safe now, but Iris could go with you on the treasure hunt."

With each calming word she spoke, she internally begged him not to ask her to go with them. It wasn't possible—not with the reaction the golem's vibrations—her wails—would produce in the wolves and in Oscar himself.

"It hurts when it pulls," he said, his gaze moving between Esme and the creature. His expression looked one wrong step or statement away from crying. "It doesn't want to let me leave."

"Baby," Denver said to Esme, "maybe you're too far away from it now?"

It…

The word slightly grated, but she forced the feeling down. She didn't know what to call the creature and "it" sometimes slipped into her head, but never off her tongue.

"I don't think so," Esme answered, holding out her arms for the boy.

Oscar leaned to the side, his legs continuing to grip Denver until his arms were around Esme and hers were around him. She could feel the pull he experienced. It was not like her own. She suspected it was what the wolves felt, or perhaps the latents.

"Sweetie, I'm going to try to step out into the hall with you. This is an experiment and it won't last long. You don't have to act brave. If the hurt is too much, you tell me. In fact, I want you to grab hold of some of my hair with one hand."

"I don't want to hurt you, Momma."

Sadness and love surged through Esme at his use of the word. He had asked her earlier why she couldn't be his mother. After the long hours he had just spent on her lap, he had apparently decided she was.

"And I don't want to hurt you," she answered, the words hard to get out with the giant lump in her throat. "So you tug as hard as you need to so I know when it hurts."

Oscar's mouth crinkled. "The bad man liked experiments."

The next breath Esme inhaled filled her lungs like acid.

"Yes, he did," she agreed, fresh tears blurring her gaze. "But we can't stop him if we don't do a few experiments on our own. And I love you, my sweet cub. That means I will protect you. So will Denver. He's right here by us."

Oscar looked to Denver. Nodding, he gave the cub's leg a reassuring jiggle.

"Okay, Momma," Oscar agreed before burying his face against Esme's neck.

She slid a foot forward then pushed her weight onto it. She felt the creature's internal moan and the way that Oscar's delicate fingers curled a little tighter in her hair. Moving the other foot forward, she felt both boy and golem tighten and tremble.

"Take him back to the chair," she said, transferring the cub to her mate.

Denver carried the cub to the chair, then wrapped the top blanket around him as he started to shiver.

"It's simple," Esme answered when Denver looked back at her, every feature on his expressive face lifted with the question running through his mind. "I'm no longer the only one she wants to keep close."