Page 88 of Waltzing With Witches

Slade stands tall, black horns curling up and away from his high forehead. “Holy hells, Vikand. I’ve never even heard of this spell, let alone anyone who mastered it.”

Vikand frowns. “Do not even ask me how I came across this book, but I’m glad I did.”

Arkan rubs at a spot between his eyebrows. “So let me get this straight. Somehow, Wesley seems to have sorted out how to hide a thrall in plain sight by glamouring them to look like something else, something innocuous.”

“Basically,” Slade says, pointing at the open pages. “If this is right, he could make almost anyone or anything appear to be something familiar.”

A muscle works in Arkan’s jaw. “Including himself?”

His father shakes his head. “Probably not, but it’s impossible to know with any certainty. The spell is specifically for thralls under one’s control. But Wesley was always brilliant. Who’s to say he wouldn’t figure out how to extend this? It’s truly impossible to say.”

I sigh. “But Higher Grounds and Morgan both sensed the wrongness of the thrall. How could they do it? And why was he under the ground?”

“And does that make the buildings, Hana, and Morgan our best chance at keeping everyone safe?” Arkan gives me a worried look. I’m sure our brains went to the exact same place—our mates being on the forefront of a war with Wesley is the last place we want them.

Slade crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Well, this is only a theory, but most magic has its roots in darker magic from our more, errr, let’s call them primitive days. We may use most magic with positive intent now, but that wasn’t always the case. Black magic in particular is the closest to that old magic. It’s black magic that originally built life into the houses and buildings after Catherine created the haven system. That’s why Morgan and Hana can fix them.”

Vikand cuts me a look. “I watched Morgan put her hand on the Higher Grounds door yesterday and heal a split in the wood. She’s remarkably powerful for someone learning what she could be capable of.”

Pride and satisfaction fill me. Of course she is. She’s remarkable in every possible way.

I look from Slade to Vikand. “Does this book say anything about how we might tackle this magic?”

Vikand shakes his head slowly, sorrow filling his dark eyes. “Not a thing, Keeper, I’m sorry. Truly, this means our black witches are our best line of defense. The rest of us haven’t a fucking clue, to put it bluntly.”

And just like that, control is ripped completely from my hands, wrestled away by the person I most want to protect.

“I need to put my woman in a plastic bubble,” Arkan says with a snarl. “I fucking hate this.”

I can’t even summon words, despite knowing Morgan and Hana are going up and down Main today to check on all the buildings. The thought that a thrall could burst out of every corner sets my teeth on edge.

Slade reaches out and claps me on the back. “Come, Keeper. We need to inform the town and celebrate Leighton. We’ll tackle the rest tomorrow.”

“The castle’s on high alert as well,” I state. “I’ve got Ben monitoring every inch of every building, focusing harder there than the wards.”

Arkan smiles, but it’s strained. “Ben?”

“Yeah,” I say with a laugh, running my hands through my hair. “My castle is male. The first building ever to be male, as far as I know.”

“There have been others,” Vikand says with a knowing smile. “Very rarely, but it’s been documented two or three times.”

“To what end?” I bark. This is new news.

He clasps his hands together. “Particularly troublesome Keepers have, on occasion, received male residences. It says a lot about you that Ben is male.”

Arkan nudges my shoulder with his hip. “Way to go, friend. You’re like a Keeper level two.”

I mull that over before reaching down and punching the command in my comm watch to have Ben ring the town hall bells.

Mere moments later, the bells begin to slowly chime, audible throughout the entire haven.

I couldn’t dread this meeting any more, so I’m thankful when the entire group is joined by the protector team and their mates. We head up Main toward the town hall gazebo. But when we arrive, Morgan’s there, directing the Evertons toward Town Hall.

“That way if you don’t mind,” she says with a smile. “We’ll be in the auditorium!”

My heart thwomps like a helicopter when her gray eyes find mine and flash with barely withheld joy.

I cross the gazebo’s paneled floor and press her gently against the railing. My hand traces a path up the front of her shirt, up over round, perfect breasts to grip her throat. I press my thumb to the spot where her vein throbs visibly, desperately calling for my bite. The consistent rhythm of her heart comforts me. I hear that beat deep in my soul. It’s the only drumbeat I want to march to.

---