Master of Smoke

commands.” The thought sounded distinctly dry.
    He didn’t waste any time. Joan was still preparing their tea when Tristan announced, “We’re here investigating the disappearance of one of our people, a shapeshifter named Smoke.”
    “And why do you imagine we would know anything about this ... person?” Calista Norman was a gray-haired woman who was thin to the point of desiccation, with a horsey face and an expression that suggested she’d been sucking on the lemon in her tea. A diamond broach the size of a saucer adorned the lapel of her steel gray Donna Karan suit, suggesting more money than taste, and her shoes were Prada.
    “Because he was fighting a werewolf the last time he was seen.”
    “There are many werewolves.” This from the plump matron who’d spoken first, whom Joan had introduced as Theresa Carington. Her blue eyes were hard and narrow in her soft, dimpled face. “We certainly do not know them all.”
    “This one is distinctive. He’s a sorcerer.”
    Calista Norman sniffed. “Dire Wolves can’t use magic. Not beyond transforming.” She lifted her teacup to her lips.
    “This one does. His name is Warlock.”
    The teacup froze.
    Theresa Carington didn’t even blink. “Warlock is a myth.”
    “So is Arthur Pendragon,” Tristan shot back. “So am I. Ask any human.”
    Calista had recovered enough to snort. “Humans are ignorant. We are not. And we tell you Warlock exists only in legends told to gullible children.”
    Belle tuned out the rest of the argument in favor of watching the girl Joan had identified as Miranda Drake. She sat quietly next to her mother, who watched Tristan as if she was waiting for him to detonate a suicide vest.
    Yet the girl seemed indifferent to it all. Defeated, for all her power, staring hopelessly into her teacup.
    Belle decided to risk a communication spell. “Miranda?”
    Amber eyes flicked to hers, widening in surprise. “Umm. Yes?” Despite her evident hesitation, her magical reply rang like a great gong in Belle’s mind. Merlin’s Cup, the child has power.
    “How is it that you can use magic when other Dire Wolves can’t?”
    The girl regarded Belle warily, before flicking a glance at her mother. Joelle Drake was still fixated on Tristan. “I’m not your typical Dire Wolf.”
    “Neither is Warlock. What can you tell me about him?”
    “These women are lying,” Miranda said promptly. “Warlock exists, he’s extremely powerful, and he’s insane. He probably murdered your friend. Warlock doesn’t tolerate any opposition, and he’s extremely paranoid.” Naked hate burned in her amber eyes.
    “I gather you know him personally?”
    The girl snorted. “You might say that. He’s definitely got plans for me.”
    Belle frowned. “Are you in danger?”
    “As I said, he doesn’t tolerate opposition. And I don’t intend to cooperate.”
    Belle sat forward. “We can get you away from him, Miranda. We can help you escape to Avalon. The Magekind would protect you.”
    The girl’s hollow eyes widened. “You would do that?”
    “Yes.”
    Miranda’s gaze flicked sideways to her mother’s tense face, then to the surrounding Dire Wolves. “This isn’t the place to discuss it. Is there a way for me to contact you?”
    Cell phones did not reach into the Mageverse, of course, but there were ways around that. “I can give you a spelled gemstone.”
    Eagerness flashed across her face. “Yes! That would be perfect.”
    Belle had a number of such stones prepared in case she needed to give one to a lover. She carried several in her bag, along with various other magical odds and ends. Slipping a hand into her purse, she found one of the gems and willed it into Belle’s grasp. The girl’s fingers tightened convulsively as a smile of sheer relief broke across her face.
    “What are you doing?” Her mother stiffened as if goosed with a cattle prod, staring from Miranda to Belle. Her eyes narrowed on her daughter’s face. “Are you communicating with them?”
    “Mom, what are you talking about?” In contrast to her mother’s fury, Miranda looked no more than mildly annoyed. You’d never know she was lying through her teeth. “I’ve been sitting here not saying a word.”
    “Don’t lie to me!” Joelle sprang to her feet, glaring at Belle, fear and rage in her eyes. “You’ve cast some kind of spell on my child. Stop it!”
    “I’m not a child. I haven’t been a child in years.” Miranda rose to glower at her mother. “For