Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 111

Chapter 111: Jack-Eye: You’re Not Special

JACK-EYE

Three hours of silence is my limit. I fiddle with the volume dial just to give my hands something to do. Something like not sliding through the messy bun Lyre’s created out of her rainbow-colored hair.

“So… sleep. That’s still a thing, right?”

She doesn’t look at me. “I’m fine.”

Okay.

The temperature in the car drops ten degrees with those two words. Not literally—though with Lyre, you never know. I clear my throat and lean back in my seat.

She’s been like this ever since Grace called. That girl has a talent for finding trouble, and it rivals Caine’s talent for making enemies. The fact they’re bound together is cosmic irony.

She seems sweet, though. Sweet enough to keep a feral witch like Lyre loyal to the girl.

Am I jealous? Maybe a little.

“Where are we headed, anyway?” I keep my voice casual, fishing for any reaction beyond her stone-faced focus on the road.

But it’s not Lyre who answers, damn it.

“We’re circling back toward where we started, actually.” Thom’s voice pipes up from the back seat, so eager it makes my molars ache. “The ley lines around the Fiddleback territory are fascinating—they twist in ways I’ve never seen before. The mana flow creates these… these beautiful rivers of light that intersect and diverge. I can actually see them now, which explains how my tracking works. It’s like the signature leaves ripples in the—”

I grit my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack. I don’t need a lecture from the wizard-who-couldn’t. Especially not when he’s answering for her like they’re some kind of team now.

The way he looks at her—like she hung the fucking moon and stars—makes my skin crawl. Like she’s his personal goddess because she did some magical party trick with her lips.

He goes on for a couple more minutes, nerding out to this bizarre magic science I don’t understand, before finally ending with, “Anyway… who are we tracking, exactly?”

Lyre answers without emotion. “Someone’s hair was on the body. We’re tracking them.”

“There wasn’t enough energy in the strand for me to track, though.” He sounds like a confused fucking puppy. Not a brain cell in his nerdy little head.

Her eyes flick up to the mirror, then back to the road. “That’s why I gave you a boost.”

The wizard makes a soft “ahh” sound, disappointment dripping from that single syllable, and something in me snaps.

“What, think she kissed you because you’re special?” I ask, sarcasm coating every syllable, with an undertone of bitter jealousy.

Thom clears his throat and leans back in his seat.

I don’t even fully understand what she did—some weird magical energy transfer that required mouth-to-mouth contact, I guess—but the thought of the sniveling little wizard believing she wanted him makes my blood simmer.

Lyre glances in the rearview again, catching Thom’s slumped posture. Under her breath, just barely loud enough for me to catch: “Humans are so fragile.”

A tiny flare of triumph blooms in my chest. No interest, then. No threat.

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