Page 36 of Wicche Hunt

“That’s great. Glad to hear it. She needs to keep an eye out, though. If Calliope tries once, she’ll try again.” I walked around a guy taking a picture of my mural and went to the back deck.

“Your Uncle John called. He found something of Calliope’s in the safe.”

“What?” When Calliope disappeared, the first thing we’d done was search for anything of hers I could touch in order to find her, but she’d cleared out her room. Everything, absolutely everything, was gone. The bedroom, bathroom, common areas were scoured clean of her belongings, including furniture. She knew what I could do. She and her demon weren’t taking any chances. I’d tried anyway with car seats and door handles but didn’t get anything more than a murky afterimage of her.

“Sylvia had kept a framed baby handprint and footprint of each girl in the safe. When I called John about protecting his banking accounts, he checked the safe for some of Syl’s jewelry and found the baby things. The poor man is suffering horribly with guilt on top of grief.”

“Yeah, I know.” I felt so sorry for Uncle John. He was the kindest, gentlest man, and he had to help us hunt down his own daughter. “Can you ask him to get it to me quickly? We don’t want him getting into a car accident and the fingerprints burning up.” I could try using that new finding spell I’d seen in Sam’s grimoire.

“I’ll pick it up today and bring it to you. Now, do you remember your Gran talking about a wicche named Bracken?”

“Sure. He’s the old alcoholic whose wife and son had to run and hide to get away from him. What about him? And, no, I’m not going to talk his estranged son into giving him another chance.”

“Really, Arwyn, that’s hardly fair. Your gran got a hold of him and asked him to come after you had that first vision of poisoned tea leaves. He’s on his way…”

She was still talking, but I was distracted by the man walking around the side of my gallery and onto my deck. Pocketing my phone, still connected to Mom, I dropped my backpack by the door, freeing up my hands.

“This is private property, sir. You’re trespassing.”

“It’s a business,” he said, still moving toward me.

Fingers readying a spell, I said, “Yes, but one that’s not open yet. You’re trespassing on my property, so it’s time to go.”

“Are you the sea wicche?” He gave me a long perusal. “With that hair, you sure look like one.” His smile didn’t make it to his eyes. “You’re a pretty little thing.” He tried to peer into the studio, but I’d had the windows treated for just this reason. I didn’t want randos from the gallery to snoop in my studio. “Anybody else around or are you on your own?”

“Haven’t you heard about sea wicches?” I took a step toward him and could tell he wasn’t expecting it. He liked scaring women, liked hurting them. “We’re well known for taking lives and stealing souls. Are you sure you want to be standing here right now, leering at me, planning how you’ll overpower me?” I smiled my most predatory smile and took another step closer.

Never breaking eye contact, I flicked the fingers at my side and watched the grin slide off his face. His eyes widened in sudden fear. One, two, three, four, five seconds. I took another step forward, my smile widening, before he sucked in a desperate breath, expression now panicked. Had I frozen his lungs for a few seconds? Yes. Yes, I had.

I leaned in, close enough to smell his foul coffee breath and whispered, “Don’t fuck with me.”

He stepped back and I tilted my head, never breaking eye contact.

“Run along now, before I take an interest in you.”

The man turned to take off and ran into a six-and-a-half-foot angry werewolf whose eyes were bright gold. Declan grabbed my would-be rapist by the neck with one muscular arm, picking him up off the deck. I couldn’t see it, as he was facing away from me, but given the sudden scent, I’d guess the man had just soiled himself.

Declan gave him a disgusted look. “Tough guy.”

“She’s—she’s a witch,” he wheezed around Declan’s grip.

Declan nodded. “And I’m something far worse. You should do what the lady says. Run and never come back.” He threw the man off the deck and onto the dirt and rocks along the side of my cannery.

Whimpering in a heap, he slowly got to his feet, looked back at us, and limp-jogged away.

Declan stood at the edge of the deck, arms crossed, watching the man retreat.

“How’d you know to come? And I had that covered. He was leaving before you got here.”

“I know. He just pissed me off.” When he relaxed his body and turned to me, I knew the creepy guy was gone. Gesturing to my pocket, he said, “Your mom’s trying to talk to you.”

Oh, shit. I fumbled in my pocket and dragged out the phone. “Hey, Mom. I’m back.”

“Is the wolf there?” Her voice was angry, but I was pretty sure she was just worried. Probably.

“His name’s Declan.”

“I don’t care about his name. Did he get rid of that man?”

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