Page 103 of Wicche Hunt

Spattered with blood, fur, and dirt, he lifted his head, howling his victory to the moon, and the pack dropped to their bellies. Declan walked around the ring, staring down each and every wolf. The message was clear, even to me. He would take on all comers. No one moved.

“I am the Quinn, the Origin, the rightful Alpha of this pack.”

The wolves rose, barking, yipping, and howling for their new Alpha.

“This is not a social club. We are wolves.” He pounded his chest and the pack sounded off again. “We will work together. We will train together. We will help one another. Pack is family.” More barks and howls. “If you want to stay in this pack, you will return here in three days. We will meet and we will train. I don’t care how things used to be done. This is our way now.”

He looked over his wolves again. “Tonight, the moon sings to us and we will answer. We will hunt as a pack.” He lifted his nose to the wind. “Deer.”

Shifting to his wolf, he howled again, and the pack joined him. When it quieted, he tore off across the meadow with the entire pack following him, ready to bring down the first deer of the night.

I left then. It was okay. I felt a harmony in the pack. They recognized him as Alpha and were following him. This was private wolf business, so I left them to it. I went back downstairs to put away the cinnamon roll ingredients so I could instead bake a celebratory cake and wait for my man, Monterey’s new Alpha.

FORTY

Where Did You Get One of Those?

There was a knock at my back door. I slid the cake tins in the oven, one vanilla, one raspberry, one lemon, closed the oven door, and then followed the sound of the knock. Opening the blinds, I saw Bracken with a journal in his hand. I let him in.

“Good evening. I know it’s late, but I saw your light on. Any word from your man?”

I waved him in and closed the door. “I—actually I’m not sure what I did—astral projection, maybe? Anyway, I was able to be with him and watch the challenge. He won. The pack seems content to have him at the helm, so I’m hopeful and baking a cake. I already made some brownies, if you’d like one.”

He blinked, taking all of that in, and then nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Great. Why don’t you have a seat?” I went back to the kitchen. “What would you like to drink?”

He thought a moment. “Milk, if you have it.”

“I do.” I brought him a plated brownie, a glass of milk, and a napkin before going back for my own, a tea mug, and a fork.

He took a bite and closed his eyes. “The Goddess favored you with many gifts. This is divine.”

“Thank you. So, what’s in the journal?”

“Oh, yes.” He put down his plate, wiped his fingers clean, and then picked up his journal. “I found another reference to The Shades. It’s at the water’s edge and spelled to be hidden, like your grandmother’s house. If a human were to stumble upon it, they’d see a derelict hut that looks like it’s one strong gust of wind from collapsing. They’d also be struck with a desperate need to get away from it.

“For those with a magical eye, it appears to be a vacant stone cottage. One has to pass through a ward—from what this says, a very powerful ward—in order to see the real house.”

“Any more specific information on location?” I asked.

“Well.” He held up a finger and pulled from the back of the journal a ragged piece of paper that looked as though it had been folded and refolded countless times. “This is a hand-drawn map of the area dated 1854. There is what I believe to be the wordShadeson the tip of this cliff right here.”

I moved over to sit beside him and study the map.

“Now, unfortunately, this wasn’t drawn by a cartographer, so it bears little resemblance to the actual coastline. If, however, we assume this curve here is the Monterey Bay, then this outcropping would be Pacific Grove and the Del Monte Forest, and that would put The Shades somewhere near the Lone Cypress.”

“Isn’t that Pebble Beach?”

“Not all of it, no. There are residences as well. And again, if this is private property that’s been spelled to look like trees and bushes hiding a derelict shack, it’s no doubt been overlooked.”

“That’s the 17-Mile Drive. Tourists are driving by all the time.”

He nodded. “It’s a powerful spell.” He refolded the map and tucked it back into his journal. “I could be reading it wrong, but I don’t think so. What do you say we go for a little drive tomorrow?”

Forgetting, I grabbed his wrist, and he only flinched a little. “Thank you so much for coming, for all the work you’ve been doing. We never would have gotten this far without you.”

“Oh, well.” He looked embarrassed but pleased. “I’ll get back to my research and let you cook. May I?” He gestured to the plated brownie and milk.

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