Page 37 of Witch Bound and Down

Chapter 8

Bullseye

The abandoned gas station where they were meeting Snowman looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. Rusted pumps stood sentinel over cracked concrete, and the windows of the convenience store were boarded up with plywood that had seen better decades. But according to the CB radio chatter, it was perfect for their purposes—isolated, off the main highway, and with enough cover to hide an 18-wheeler.

Bullseye pulled the Trans Am around to the back of the building, his body still humming with residual energy from Bertha's magical Red Bull concoction. The potion had cleared his system hours ago, but he could still feel the aftereffects—heightened awareness, sharper reflexes, and an unsettling new sensitivity to Hazel's magical presence that made his skin tingle whenever she moved.

"Charming location," Hazel said, surveying the derelict surroundings. "Very 'secret rendezvous between outlaws.'"

"Snowman always did have a flair for the dramatic," Bullseye replied, though there was affection in his voice. "He says abandoned places have character."

"Character," Hopper croaked from his perch on the dashboard. "Right. Is that what we're calling 'probable tetanus infection' now?"

The white 18-wheeler was already there, parked behind the building like a sleeping giant. Steam still rose from its cooling system, and Bullseye could see Snowman's massive form moving around the trailer, apparently doing some kind of inspection.

"There's our boy," Bullseye said with satisfaction, pulling up beside the big rig.

But as they climbed out of the Trans Am, something felt different. Wrong, somehow. There was a strange pulling sensation in his chest whenever he looked at Hazel, like an invisible thread connecting them. And his magic—which had always been a quiet, steady presence—seemed to be reaching toward hers without his permission.

What the hell had that dragon done to them last night?

Snowman looked up from whatever he'd been examining and grinned. "Well, well. If it isn't the famous fugitives. You two look..." He paused, taking in their relaxed body language and the way Bullseye's hand automatically found Hazel's. "You look like you had a good night."

Heat rushed up Bullseye's neck. "We got some rest."

"I'll bet you did," Snowman said with obvious amusement. "That dragon lady's establishment has quite the reputation for... hospitality."

"Can we focus on the cargo?" Bullseye said, though the mention of last night was making that strange pulling sensation in his chest intensify. "How did the pickup go?"

Snowman's expression turned serious. "Smooth as silk. Big Scorcher and Little Sparky's LA warehouse is completely legitimate—all the proper permits, licensing, everything above board. They're legally allowed to manufacture and store this stuff in California."

"What kind of potions require that level of legitimacy?" Hazel asked, though something in her voice suggested she was starting to have suspicions.

"Want to see for yourself?" Snowman gestured toward the trailer. "Fair warning though—you might not like what you see."

He opened the trailer doors with a flourish, revealing rows upon rows of carefully secured crates. Each crate was marked with symbols that made Hazel suck in a sharp breath.

"Bond Buster," she breathed, her face going pale. "Oh goddess, you're smuggling Bond Buster."

Bullseye's stomach dropped. He'd been hoping she wouldn't recognize the dragon-script labels, that maybe he could get through this delivery without her ever knowing exactly what they were transporting.

"You know what it is," he said quietly, not a question.

"Of course I know what it is!" Hazel's voice was climbing toward hysteria. "Bond Buster is designed to permanently sever the magical connection between witches and their familiars!"

"Permanently?" Hopper croaked, his usual sarcasm replaced by genuine fear as he stared at the crates.

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