Behind them, called by Anna’s words, the door opened, revealing a slender woman of much less than average height. She wore glasses, red lipstick, and a suit that seemed like it was supposed to make her appear businesslike—but actually made her look like a teenager playing dress-up.

Warned by Charles’s abrupt grasp on the back of her chair, Anna picked up her feet. Charles dragged her chair around so that both of them had their backs to a wall and a good view of the witches. Anna put her feet down delicately as he released the chair.

“Well, hello,” Anna said to the newcomer in dulcet tones. “Are you in charge around here?”

For a moment Charles could see the newcomer consider a “Who, me?” response, and then her personality lit her face. She gave him a wicked smile. Him, not Anna. Her mistake—and an interesting one for a witch to make. Exactly the opposite mistake Underwood had made.

Wolves were pack animals. It made them stronger. Both of them were dangerous.

“Not me, precisely,” the witch said. “But close enough.”

She looked at Underwood. “You are lucky that Mary Frank thought to tell me Daniel Green was to have visitors and who they were.”

Underwood had gone white and he sat very still. If Charles hadn’t been able to feel the woman’s power, Underwood’s reaction would have warned him.

“Carrie Green was something of a puzzle,” she said, returning her attention to Charles. “It was inevitable that she would draw attention among the”—she glanced at Anna—“underlings. He is right about this: we certainly took notice of her sudden elevation in power without accompanying corruption. We all make choices. We give up some things for power. It is”—she smiled again—“a little bit enraging when someone seems to gain the prize without the sacrifice.”

Is she trying to charm us? asked Brother Wolf. Does she think we are stupid?

Anna waited, giving Charles a chance to take over, since the newcomer was addressing him. He chose not to. When he didn’t say anything, Anna spoke. “What do you want from us?”

“That is a proper question,” the witch said, still speaking to Charles. “First, I will deal with my problem.” She looked at the man behind the desk and sighed.

She walked past Charles and Anna. And as she walked, Charles noticed the way she balanced her body and the way the excellently tailored clothes were a tad bit loose around her waist. She was pregnant.

Well, that put a fly in the ointment. Charles had no qualms at all about killing a black witch—but a baby … a baby changed things.