Page 5 of Wicche Hunt

Clive pointed to a gorgeous smiling woman with golden brown skin and waist-length coils of black hair. “That’s Stheno. And that’s Medusa.” He pointed to another woman, her face obscured by a huge glass of red wine. “And Euryale.” The third sister looked taller and thinner, more austere than the other two.

“You had all three sisters here for your wedding?” That was insane. Wait. What the hell?! I looked between Sam and Clive. “The queen attended your wedding?”

Sam leaned forward, grinning. “You can see her? These guys can’t. See, she’s way in the back. She just popped in for a moment. I don’t think she wanted our fae guests to start dropping to the ground, kneeling before her.”

Declan looked over my shoulder. “Where?”

I pointed at the queen and Declan shrugged. “It looks a little shimmery, but it could just as easily be light reflecting off the flash. I don’t see her.”

Clive returned the photo to their bedroom.

“I can ask Stheno for you,” Sam volunteered. “She’d probably dig it, but I don’t know how they are with their images being out there. They know we keep that picture in our room.”

Clive took his seat again. “Our friends know we keep their secrets, just as they keep ours. You two are now a part of this, which is why I shared it with you. Sam will ask, and given how Stheno feels about my wife, she’ll probably agree.”

Elated at the prospect, grimoire safely stowed, we finally took our leave. The drive home was lovely, Declan keeping mostly to the coast route. It took a little longer but was worth it.

“Are you nervous?” I wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk about the upcoming Alpha challenge or not. Declan was a Quinn, one of the last of the werewolf origin line. Because of that, even as a child, he’d been challenged often. His parents had been killed when he was small, his human mother’s sister taking him in and raising him. They’d both been quite shocked the first time he’d shifted.

After that, they’d moved often, especially when the local pack would get itchy about a dominant—even an adolescent—in their territory. He’d had to fight a lot and hadn’t, at that age, learned restraint. Consequently, he’d left a lot of dead wolves in his wake. After his Aunt Sarah was killed, he just moved on when there was trouble. He couldn’t take the blood on his paws. That had worked for him until recently, when he’d decided to stay, local Alpha’s hissy fit be damned.

“Nervous?” He glanced over at me. “About—oh, that.” He shook his head. “Not nervous, no.”

“Maybe he’ll back down and you won’t have to kill him.” I was pretty sure I knew what was bothering him.

He held my gloved hand. “That won’t happen. Alphas don’t turn tail. There’s a healthy dose of testosterone and arrogance that goes with being an Alpha. This one in particular has spent his life being the golden boy in town. Ladies love him. Men want to be him. I doubt he can conceive of losing. He’ll cheat to assure his win, but he won’t back down.”

Declan squeezed my hand. “What about you? Nervous about the opening?”

I stared out the truck window at the moonlit waves. “Thankfully, a gallery opening involves far less bloodshed, so there’s that.”

He laughed.

“I don’t know. I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, I want it perfect. The mural’s almost done, but then I need to paint inside and place all the artwork. And put those stupid price tags on them. And, and, and. Usually it’s nightmares waking me up in the middle of the night. Lately, it’s been stuff I need to get done before the opening.”

“You know it doesn’t all have to be done before you open, right?” He rubbed his thumb over my glove. “It’s not a finish line. When you open the doors, you’ll be inviting people into The Sea Wicche to see where you are now. An artist is always changing and growing, though, so every time they come back, there’ll be something new.”

I let out a breath. That was true. I didn’t think I had it in me to be that relaxed about my gallery finally opening, though.

“Shall we discuss the elephant in the truck?” he asked. “Or should I say the grimoire in the backpack?”

“I hate it all. I have so many plans, so much work to do for what I love, but in the background all the time I’m wondering what Calliope is up to. Where are she and her demon? Has someone else been hurt that we don’t know about? Why kill Aunt Sylvia?” My voice caught on her name.

Turning away from the window, I watched Declan drive. “I know people always say,She was the kindest person in the world. She lit up a room, but in her case, it was true. I’m an asshole. Lots of people hate me, but Sylvia? No. You couldn’t.”

“A. You’re not an asshole. B. Someone could. Her daughter.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Cal’s the asshole.” I stared down at his strong, warm hand wrapped around mine. “I can’t get it out of my head. When we were in the hospital and Sylvia was in a coma?”

He nodded.

“I was touching Sylvia, listening to the voice in her head.” A tear ran down my face. “Sylvia died with her own daughter’s voice in her head, telling her how much she hated her.” I wiped my face dry with my free hand. “I want to do Calliope harm.”

“Understandable.”

“The spell Sam showed me in the grimoire was scary. I can’t imagine calling up demons to send someone to Hell. For Calliope, though… I’m looking forward to studying it, seeing what else it might have. First, though, I want to do some research. I don’t want to take spells from a dark grimoire. My family has too great a proclivity for black magic as it is. I don’t need to make it worse by studying some other family’s black grimoire.”

“Good,” Declan said. “Sam is so sweet, it’s hard to think of her engaging in black magic, but that spell sounded horrible.”

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