Page 83 of Wicching Hour

“You can’t.” I shook my head. “He’s human. Do you want Osso and the rest of the Justice League after you?” I grabbed his arm. “No endangering our newly formed plans.”

He stood, pulling me up with him. “We have to do something, love. We can’t have this creep sneaking around after you.”

Nodding, I patted his chest. “Let me think.”

When I walked out into the studio, Bracken was looking out the back window and Tyler was waiting for me in the kitchen, the electronic device still held in the fabric of his shirt.

“If it helps,” Tyler said, “this isn’t a sophisticated device. It does transmit, rather than record locally, but it isn’t sensitive enough to hear over the wind and surf. If you were standing near it and talking, he might have heard you. On the deck?” He shook his head. “We all have a tendency to speak quietly, as what we’re saying can be problematic if overheard and because we have sensitive hearing. You, less so and the human detective, not at all. Still, if he caught anything, it was probably indistinct murmuring. I’ve jammed it, so we should be okay, but I’m with Declan. We need to find this guy and stop him.”

I nodded, trying to calm my jittery stomach. “Come with me, please.” I led the way out onto the deck. I stepped onto a bench and then the railing.

“Arwyn?”

I turned to see Hernández back again. “Sorry. You’re going to have to wait a minute. Declan, can you give—holy crap!” I jumped back down and pulled the maps out of my back pocket with a shaking hand. I’d been so close to ruining everything.

I handed the papers to Declan. He felt my hand trembling and squeezed it.

“We’re okay,” he murmured.

“I’m not,” I whispered.

He pulled me into a fierce hug, and I let his body heat settle me.

“Can you ask Hernández to look up the owner of that one address Orla got?” I asked him.

“Of course.” His hands went in my back pockets.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m checking that nothing important is about to get wet.” He checked my front pockets and then patted me down. “You’re good.”

“You enjoyed that a little too much,” I muttered.

“Is there such a thing as too much enjoyment?” he responded.

I turned around to step back up on the bench and found myself on the railing, thanks to a very tall and strong boyfriend. I held out my hand to Tyler. “Hit me with it.”

He dropped it in my hand. I closed my fingers over it and as I started to feel a vision creeping up on me—even after touching Declan—I dove off the deck. When I hit the water, the vision overtook me.

Wearing all black, he walks along the verge, the gallery ahead. Dim security lights shine down around the building, illuminating the mural. It’s all right, though. He knows how to avoid the lights now. He can’t see cameras but assumes she must have them. She’s paranoid about security, which is ironic since she’s the one people should be afraid of.

He tries to keep his mind focused, to stop thinking about how beautiful she is. She cast a spell on him. He knows it. The only way to free himself is to get rid of her. His new friend, the woman who calls him with information about the witch, says the same. The only way any of us will be safe is if we destroy her.

He knows that’s right, but he can’t help wanting her. It’s a compulsion he fights every day. He dreams of having complete control over her, but that’s the spell she’s put on him. He’s never killed anyone before. He knows he has to, but he needs to be sure. It must be a righteous kill.

He feels a tingle go through him at the thought of overpowering her. Before he gets too close to the building, he walks down the short slope toward the jagged rocks at the ocean’s edge. His phone’s flashlight is turned low. He walks along the rocks and approaches her deck.

When he gets as close as he dares, he plants the gardening pole in a patch of tall seagrass and pulls a small webcam out of his pocket. He uses duct tape to secure it and checks the feed on his phone. Adjusting the pole, he makes sure the camera is pointed at her back door and deck.

He’s making his way over hazardous ground when a seal barks loudly behind him. Jumping, he drops his phone and then fumbles in the dark, trying to find it in the ice plant. The seal barks again. It feels closer. He isn’t sure why the seal makes him nervous, but it does.

His hand finally lands on a smooth screen. He picks it up, jams it in his pocket, and then pulls it back out for the flashlight. When he does, he inadvertently knocks the compact listening device out of his pocket. Not noticing, he continues back to the road and then to his car.

Show me where he is, I think as forcefully as I can.

He’s sitting in a small room. He has a plastic folding table against a wall that’s decorated with hundreds of photos of me. His laptop is open, a recording program up. He’s wearing professional-looking headphones and has a microphone plugged into his laptop. Right now, though, he’s listening.

“Brandon, you promised,” Calliope reminds him. “We talked about this. She’s evil. You have to send her back to Hell.”

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