Page 43 of Fresh Old Bounties

The man retreated a few steps.

“Now, witch,” he said, “bring me the spellbook, or the demon dies.”

I froze. “The spellbook?”

“And no tricks. I’ll know if it’s fake.”

A lump formed in my throat. Of all the things I had expected, this wasn’t it.

“What are you waiting for?” he snapped.

“I don’t have it with me,” I lied, trying to hide my wobbling lip.

“Liar. Witches always do. Bring it, or I’m shooting a different part of your friend every fifteen seconds.”

Dru’s attention was fixed on the man, her eyes sharp, missing nothing, waiting for the opportunity to strike. But guns could do a lot of damage very easily, even to a demon in her full form. No spellbook was worth Dru’s life.

“Fourteen. Thirteen.”

“I’ll bring it,” I squeaked, dashing out of the kitchen.

Now I had a chance to get the freezing potion.

I burst into my room and snatched Grandma’s spellbook from the dresser and the potion from the nightstand. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a landline phone upstairs, so no chance to call Ian for help.

Pulse hammering in my ears, I returned downstairs and made my way silently to the kitchen. The man had retreated out of view, which meant I’d lose precious time peeking in and aiming the freezing potion.

I approached the door at an angle until I could see Dru. She was still focused on the man. Mentally crossing my fingers, I popped into the room and threw the potion in the direction of her gaze.

He ducked, and the bottle flew by his side, barely missing him. The thin glass broke on impact and froze half my kitchen wall.

Dru shot to her feet and made to rush him, but he recuperated fast and aimed the gun at her face.

“Stop.”

Dru stopped mere inches away from the barrel of the gun.

“Back to the corner.”

She did as he told her, her movements jerky and angry, outrage simmering in her eyes, and I hoped that was directed at our robber, not my lack of aim.

“Where’s the spellbook?” the man asked.

I brought it up. “Here.”

“Put it there, then go to your friend.” He indicated the counter by the sink.

I placed the spellbook where he’d pointed, feeling tears well up at the sight. Grandma’s spellbook had been my lifeline whenever I felt lonely, empty, or close to giving up on our dream. It had reminded me of her goodness, that good things must exist in the world, and that wishes couldn’t come true unless you sought them out.

What was I going to do without it?

“Move back,” the man ordered in irritation.

I did, but my fingers lingered on the worn green fabric cover with its beautiful embroidered flowers.

The man grabbed my shoulder and tore me away, sending me stumbling backward. On unsteady feet, I joined Dru and peeked down at her bound wrists. She had her claws out and was trying to reach the plastic tie to rip it apart.

Focus, Hope. Grandma would’ve given up her spellbook a thousand times over to save someone. Her spirit remains with you, in your heart and in your magic, not with a handful of papers glued together.

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