The Black Wolf
“They only react to evil. To corruption. Which, as you know, demons tend to carry like perfume.”
He smiled faintly.
“Okay,” I replied quietly, unsure whether I was accepting a gift or a burden.
He carefully packed the candle and the flower into a plain brown paper bag, folding the top with a strange kind of reverence before handing it to me. I tucked it into the inside of my coat and left the shop, pulling the fur tight around me as I stepped back into the cold air.
But halfway home, I felt it my wolf stirred.
It was faint, a twitch under my skin, like the brush of wind through tall grass. She hadn’t responded to anything since the Heartstone. Why now? Had something in that shop awoken her?
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