Neither of them slowed—or sped up, either.

He pulled the Glock out of his waistband and loaded the clip. Their best weapon against the witches was likely to be the sword. He wanted Anna to have it, but he hadn’t taught her swordplay yet. If his da was going to continue to break out swords from his store of weapons, Anna needed to learn. But for now, it meant that he kept the sword.

“You still have your gun?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

She nodded. “Six bullets.”

Brother Wolf thought there were fewer than six witches waiting for them. Charles handed the Glock to Anna, too.

“This is a Glock 21. It’s a .45 caliber. Thirteen shots—there is not one in the chamber right now. You’ve shot this gun before.” She hadn’t liked it. It hadn’t fit her hand as well as her Sig did.

We could just kill them, observed Brother Wolf. There are three of them.

Anna checked the Glock herself, then tucked it next to her carry gun in the small of her back. “We don’t want to start a war,” she told Brother Wolf. “They don’t have anything to gain by our deaths—and a lot to lose.” She looked up at Charles. “They’ll know the Singer is dead, right?”

“Probably,” Charles said. “If it was feeding them power, that would have stopped the moment it died.”

They quit talking. Charles wanted to get this encounter finished as quickly as possible. He was tired and so was Anna.

He was, under the circumstances, unsurprised to find three witches standing next to the lake. He hadn’t expected that they would be standing in the ashes left by the Singer’s tentacle, and didn’t quite know why he found that disconcerting. He suspected they did not realize what they were standing in, and he had no intention of telling them. Who knew what mischief they could brew up with the ashes of the Singer?

One of the witches was the pregnant Ms. Hardesty, which he thought had been a mistake on their part. Her pregnancy gave them something they wanted to protect.

Brother Wolf snarled in his mind; he did not like witches. Especially when he and Charles were so tired. It made Brother Wolf worry that they could not protect Anna.

“This is private property,” Anna said. “You are trespassing.” It was better if Anna talked, because Brother Wolf might say something they would regret later.

Ms. Hardesty, her lips white, strode up to them while the others hung back. Either she was in charge, or she was rash. Since she was here, he was betting on the latter.

“You killed him,” she said, her voice low with rage. “You will regret that.”

“We told you our intentions,” Anna said. “Why are you surprised? The Singer was unfinished business that belonged to my family. Ours to deal with. You have no claim.”