The bell over the door is the old kind, a brass bell on a spring. The store smells like alfalfa, molasses, and dust. Shelves of supplements, stacked bags of feed, a wall of fencing supplies. A woman behind the counter is pricing salt blocks with a grease pencil, working through a stack with the efficiency of someone who’s done it ten thousand times.
She looks up. Mid-forties. Broad shoulders, sun-weathered skin, dark hair pulled back with a clip that’s losing its grip. Hands that know work. Eyes that know more.
“Help you?”
“I’m looking for the twelve-percent sweet feed. The one with the beet pulp.”
She sets down the grease pencil. That’s the phrase. Brenna’s people don’t use codes that sound like codes; they use things a person would actually say in a feed store.
“I keep that in the back. Give me a minute.”
She flips the counter pass-through and walks toward the storeroom. I follow.
The back room is stacked floor to ceiling with inventory. Margaux pulls the door shut behind us and turns around and looks at me the way you look at someone you’ve been waiting for; not with warmth, exactly, but with the specific relief of a person who’s been holding information too long.
“You’re Willow.”
“I am.”
“You look like her. Around the jaw.” She means Brenna. People who know my aunt always see her in me. I don’t know if I like that or not. “You need water? Coffee? I’ve got both.”
“I’m fine. What do you have for me?”
She leans against a pallet of feed bags and crosses her arms. “Few days ago, a woman came through the co-op next door asking about day work. Ranch hand stuff—fence repair, stock work. She had a boy with her, maybe twelve. Paid cash for gas and didn’t give a name.”
My pulse picks up, but I keep my voice level. “What made you notice her?”
“She smelled like pack. Not local pack. Something different. Charged. And she was scared in the way people are when they’ve been scared for a long time and have gotten used to hidingit.” Margaux’s expression doesn’t change, but her voice drops a notch. “My husband’s a wolf. I know what hunted looks like.”
“Where did she go?”
“East. The kid behind the co-op counter pointed her toward Cedar Falls. Said the ranches out there always need hands.” Margaux pauses. “I wish he hadn’t. But the boy’s human and didn’t know better. I asked around about her after. Quietly. A buddy of mine hauls cattle through that part of the Hill Country. He said he saw a woman matching the description working fence line on one of the properties outside town. Couldn’t say which one.”
Cedar Falls. I note the name.
“What do you know about the packs there?”
Her mouth thins. “Forrester territory. The family’s held that area for generations. Traditional wolves. They run the town, the ranches, most of the commerce.” She looks at me directly. “They don’t like outsiders, they don’t like questions, and they especially don’t like wolves they can’t place.”
“Purist?” I ask.
Her mouth sets in a grim line as she nods. “If your family went in there, they’re either hiding very well, or they’ve already been found.”
“Anyone else come through? Other families?”
“Not that I’ve seen. But I’m one woman with a feed store. My reach goes about sixty miles in any direction, and it’s thin.” She pushes off the pallet. “I put together a bag for you. Supplies and a map with the local pack boundaries marked as best I can figure them. It’s in a feed sack by the back door. Load it like you’re loading a purchase.”
Good thinking. I nod.
“One more thing.” She holds my gaze. “I’ve been passing information for Brenna for two years, and in that time, I’ve learned not to ask questions I don’t need answers to. But I’mgoing to ask you one.” She waits until she’s sure I’m listening. “Those people… if they’re yours, and you go in after them, are you ready to face what might be after them?”
I think about the three families who vanished. The silence where their bond-threads should be. The two years I spent holding Ravenclaw together while the world that was supposed to protect us looked the other way.
“I’ll manage.”
Margaux studies me for another second. Then she dips her chin briefly. Not like she believes me, but like she’s decided it’s not her job to stop me.
“Feed sack. Back door. Don’t come here again unless you have no other option. If you need to reach me, use a secure line.”