Charmed Wolf

willingly, hiking up my pants so more fungi and roots could slip into my shins. “Guardian, may I beg a favor?”
A sharp rock wriggled upward out of the soil. An answer—yes, but I’d be expected to pay for the gift.
That was expected. Using the rock’s edge, I sliced the tip of my index finger, squeezing three drops of blood onto the soil. The sullied rock, when I set it down beside me, disappeared back into the earth.
“Thank you, Guardian.” This time, I tilted the sample bottle and let a drift of glitter spill into the moss I knelt beside. “I need to know if this glitter has been impacted by fae. Can you tell me?”
Off to one side, the unicorn browsed on twig tips, its hindquarters turned toward us. I got the impression it wasn’t entirely comfortable around the Guardian. The flick of its tail suggested I hurry up.
The unicorn isn’t my business, I reminded myself. Right now, neither were the tasks waiting for me back at the factory. The Guardian wrapped itself in no-time, and the more I fought against the endless present, the longer this would take.
So I cleared my mind and relaxed while the Guardian’s threads seeped into my skin. Waited while the unicorn grazed and the Guardian—I hoped—assessed the glitter sample.
Minutes or hours later, a word rang in my head like a gong. “Yes.”
I jolted. I hadn’t been expecting words. The Guardian almost never spoke in such a simple, straightforward manner.
“Who did it?” I pressed. “Can we still sell the glitter? What’s wrong with it?”
No answer. Well, no answer in words. But a snake-like vine lunged out of the tree behind me. The leafy tip slapped the sample bottle out of my fingers faster than I’d ruined Ash’s pancakes. Soil engulfed the flying bottle the second it hit the ground, enclosing the sample with an audible pop.
That seemed like a yes. The glitter was dangerous.
And, apparently, salvageable. Because before I could scramble to my feet, a mushroom pushed up from the spot the sample bottle had disappeared into. A puffball no bigger than my thumbnail bulged then popped open to launch a cascade of glitter above the moss.
The tiny fragments sparkled violet rather than silver. Settled on my skin like a caress, warm and sweetly scented.
“The glitter isn’t safe, but you can make it safe?” I guessed. No answer from the Guardian, but that didn’t matter. I couldn’t very well spread tons of glitter out across the forest floor and let the Guardian process it into safety. Not when gathering up the final product afterwards would be impossible. Our pack couldn’t afford to write off our entire product line as a loss.
I blinked as a shard of mica caught in my eye. Blinked again and the unicorn stood in front of me, grazing complete.
“Go.”
Two words from the Guardian in one day should have been heartening. But this order was accompanied by a gust of arctic wind that raised instant goosebumps up and down my body. Purple glitter whipped off my skin in a mini-tornado, as if the Guardian had read my mind and disapproved of my focus on mundanity.
An image forced its way into my mind, as alien as the Guardian’s tendrils biting into my skin earlier. My pack, lupine, running through our forest. Vines and trees growing up where our driveway used to lie.
The glitter factory lay in ruins. Stone walls broken down, the substrate for mosses. Perhaps the Guardian hadn’t been suggesting I spread the glitter across the forest. Perhaps it had been suggesting we let the entire business go.
It was an absurd request. My pack wouldn’t be content dining on deer and rabbits for eternity. Plus—“Without the glitter factory, we can’t pay our taxes. We would no longer have land to roam across.”
The wind increased, pushing my words back into my mouth. The unicorn stamped one hoof beside me.
Dismissed. Best not to wear out my welcome.
So I leapt onto the unicorn’s back. Clung to his mane as the veil between the worlds tore apart and let me back into Whelan territory.
There, the unicorn reared up and ditched me. When I struck the soil, the Guardian didn’t bother greeting me with pinpricks.
Instead, I was left with one takeaway. If I wasn’t willing to accept the Guardian’s answer to the glitter problem, then I’d need to come up with a solution of my own.

Chapter 11
“Alpha.” “Alpha.” “Where are you, Alpha?”
A cascade of pack pings struck me as the unicorn turned to gallop back into the forest. His tail sparkled, as if the Guardian had imbued it with cleansed glitter. Perhaps that’s why I wanted nothing more than to leave my duties behind and follow him into the wood.
Instead, I turned toward the factory and broke into a run.
Because the number of pings suggested I’d been gone longer than intended. So did the tone of the message from the teenager I’d put in charge of Rune.
“Butch wants to speak with you.” I got the distinct impression she’d said this at least a dozen times previously because she sounded bored. Her gaze skimmed over her watch.
One o’clock? Branches slapped and sticks stabbed as I picked up the pace, but the real pain came from the realization that I’d left my pack alone for multiple hours. The factory workers would be fine, but we didn’t usually have uninvited guests to deal with. What might Rune have gotten up to while sniffing around pack central for four times as long as I’d intended to allow?
And did my extended absence mean he’d leave as soon as I arrived? I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye.
That was irrelevant. “Coming your way,” I answered his minder, stopping only momentarily to stuff my feet into shoes. I could already smell Rune’s persimmon, which meant he was close....
They were all close, the gaggle of teenagers having settled not far from where I’d ditched my footwear. I clambered up the bank into their midst, expecting to be mobbed. Instead, Rune was