Page 5 of Wolf Hunter

Tonight’s mistake absolutely cannot happen again.

Whatever tomfuckery occurred so that my invisibility took a crapcannot happen again.

I fling my arms to the side, drawing in a deep breath and holding it against the ache in my chest. Nope, never again. I have to make doubly sure I figure shit out before I take another job because the next time this shit happens, I might not be so lucky.

Hell, I wasn’t luckythistime!

Things could’ve ended a lot worse.

Holding up a hand, I stare at my palms and the scars that I can never will to disappear. These weren’t made by one of my assignments. I got them when Carmen and I were kids and I flipped over my bike’s handlebars. Tore up my palms real good, but they’re the only scars I have that I don’t mind. Why? Because they remind me of better times. Easier times. Ones I’d like to get back.

For shits and giggles, I search for my magic again and try to will the shift over me, but when colors only ripple over my skin and don’t stick, another tendril of fear takes root inside me.

Exasperated, I blow out another harsh breath.A little sleep,and I’ll be as good as new in the morning.

I hope.

I must have passed out at some point, thankfully, but I wake up to the strangest thing: dead silence.

Not a peep.

In a place like the Maple Leaf Motel in Buson, Maine—located in the northeast part of the state—there’s never silence. A pipe leaks, the walls creak, and someone in the next room is getting busy with their headboard slapping against the wall.

Silence means one thing.Magic. And not mine.

My eyes pop open. The shadows on the ceiling dance and sway with the breeze outside from my open curtains.

I roll over as quickly as my bruised body allows and reach for the gun I keep under my pillow, sliding my hands across cool sheets.

Nothing.

Before I have a chance to panic, although I am pretty damn close to doing so, the bedside light clicks on, and someone who wants to look like the friendly neighborhood witch shoots me a warm smile in greeting.

She definitely doesn’t look friendly right now. At least, not to me.

She sits in the side chair with her skirts falling in soft waves to the floor. Moon-colored hair covers her shoulders, and the light shines on dozens of gold and silver chains around her neck. The same jewelry decorates her hands and wrists.

“Tasha Ward,” she says, her voice low and smooth. A shot of whiskey to the system, except I know better. I’ve come up against her kind before, and they arenotto be trusted.

I roll over far enough to shower her with a look of disdain I’ve perfected. “Can I help you with something?”

Witches. They think their magic entitles them to do whatever the fuck they want, such as breaking into people’s motel rooms just to have a conversation.

Hopefully we won’t have a problem on our hands.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Tasha.”

I stare her up and down. “How do you know me?”

She shrugs and the fabric of her dress flows with the motion. “We have our ways of keeping track of fellow witches,” she answers. “There’s no way to ever really leave the fold. We were aware of your presence the moment you stepped foot in town.”

“Like a magic alert system.” My voice remains dry because… Why? Her words sound ominous to me.

“There was a surge of magic,” she says simply, “so we knew another witch had entered our land.”

“I’m not a witch,” I reply shortly.Not really.

She scowls at that. “The Ward family was from the Buson Coven too, were they not? We’re practically family.”

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