Page 1 of Wicche Hunt

ONE

I Fortunately Know a Little Magic

Seagulls dove and wheeled over the roaring ocean. Spray misted the air as I closed my eyes and breathed it in: the salt, the pine, the hot dude next to me.

“Did you remember to send that demon your lemon bar recipe?” Declan, a tall, bearded, broad-shouldered, all-around-jaw-dropping werewolf, jogged beside me down the steps to Lands End in San Francisco, holding my gloved hand.

I’m Arwyn, the sea wicche of Monterey, and I was on a demon fact-finding mission. “Of course I did. I even sent a video of me making them.” I didn’t want him thinking I’d reneged on a deal. “In fact, I sent a few more recipes to butter him up for tonight.”

“Good thinking.” Glancing down the stairs, he ushered me off the path, out of the line of tourists.

The sun was setting over the water, waves splashing on the rocks below. We were at the spot where the ocean met the bay. We waited for a large family to pass us on their way up. It wouldn’t do to disappear into a magical bookstore and bar right in front of nonmagical folk.

I pulled out my phone and took a panoramic photo. The gloves I wore had connective threads at the fingertips so I could use touch screen devices. You might be wondering,Arwyn, why not just take off the gloves?Well, I’ll tell you. I’m a wicche, specifically a Cassandra. Our gift is prophesy. I wear gloves because I also have a—I guess we’ll call it a gift—for psychometry, meaning I glean information by touching things.

On the one hand, useful. On the other, a nightmare for most normal human interactions, especially dating.

After the family passed us, I put my phone away and Declan grabbed my hand once more. “I’m hanging on to you,” he said as the stairs turned. “If her wards try to block me, I’m hoping you can drag me through with you.”

“She said she’d tell the wards you were coming.”Shebeing Sam Quinn, the owner-operator of The Slaughtered Lamb Bookstore and Bar and a newly discovered cousin of mine. Sam was part Quinn wolf, like Declan, and part Corey wicche, like me.

Between one step and the next, the glorious purpling sunset and crashing waves disappeared and we were in a dark stairwell, lit by flickering wall sconces. I experienced a moment of panic and realized Declan must have too because we’d both clutched the other’s hand hard.

“I guess it worked.” The rumble of Declan’s voice in the dim light put me at ease.

Within a few steps, I heard the low murmur of conversation. I pulled up short two steps later, though, when I heard growling.

Grinning, Declan urged me along. “It’s a dog.”

Light from the bar hit the landing below and there we saw a black wolfhound growling up at us—well, Declan really. Clive, Sam’s vampire husband, had mentioned they had a puppy.

“Fergus! Don’t growl at customers. That’s not polite puppy behavior.” At the sound of the woman’s voice, the dog sat and stopped growling. Mostly. He raised his lip on the right side of his muzzle—away from the bar—showing us half his teeth.

Ha. I loved the little shit already. When Declan and I reached the landing, we both sat on the stairs and waited to pass inspection. Fergus, which was apparently his name, leaned forward and sniffed at us both. Declan got a wary look and a low growl as the dog positioned himself between us, his back to me, protecting me from the werewolf.

Declan shook his head as I laughed and kissed the top of the pooch’s head.

“See?” I murmured, getting up. “He knows you’re sketchy.” Fergus kept to my side down the remaining steps and into the bar. Holy—I’d seen it in my visions, but those had been pale representations of the real thing.

Waves splashed against the wall of glass, the sky going indigo over the North Bay mountains. The sea level was about five feet above the barroom floor. Kelp bobbed and fish slid through the dark water.

The voices around me were so much white noise. I skirted around tables until I was in front of the window. I knew I was surrounded by wicches. I recognized the buzz of their magic. As I didn’t feel hostility from them, though, I sat on the floor, placing my hands on the glass. Almost at once, a tentacle reached up from below and slapped the window, its suckers separated from my hand by a half foot of aquarium-grade glass.

“Hello, you,” I whispered. Three more tentacles hit the window as she rose from under the bar. Resting my forehead against the cold, slick surface, I watched the octopus undulating in the waves, one rectangular eye on me. “You I shall name…Violet.” The gray tentacles turned a lovely purple. She approved.

Two seals swam in loops, each coming a bit closer with every swoop. “Thank you for the welcome.” They surfaced, barking their greetings and making me laugh.

I saw movement out in the depths but couldn’t make out what was there. Chairs scraped the floor around me as people moved away. The bar had gone silent. Why—oh, now I saw. My focus had been too narrow.

Violet slipped down below The Slaughtered Lamb again and the seals shot off toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

“What are you doing out there? It’s late in the season for you.” A gray whale, fifty feet long, swam close to the glass, his huge black eye on me. I felt magic gathering around me, so I held up a hand to the wicches behind me who were readying spells. “Don’t.”

He moved closer. I returned my hands to the glass and whispered, “Safe travels, my friend.” Breaching the surface, he flipped onto his side, swamping the window with a tidal wave of water. Vocalizing, he made a croaking sound that was dangerously close to a laugh. Cheeky bastard.

“As you were,” I said, standing up. “He was just passing by and detoured to say hi.” I went to Declan, who stared out the window in awe, Fergus held under his arm. “I want glass panels in the new deck so I can see down into the water.”

He shook his head, breaking the spell. “You can just look over the edge of the deck. And Cecil and Wilbur might not appreciate you spying on them.” The gangly pup, who was all legs and huge paws, wriggled, so Declan put him down.

---