Page 52 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
Callum caught my wrist as I started to rise, his touch both steadying and distracting. "We need a coherent plan first. If someone possesses enough power to create binding runes and hide four girls from an entire magicalcommunity's search efforts..."
"Then they're certainly powerful enough to eliminate us both if we stumble in like amateur vigilantes," I conceded reluctantly, sinking back into the worn velvet armchair that had been my reading sanctuary since childhood. "Fine. But the girls are still out there somewhere, and every hour we spend in academic research is another hour they're systematically destroying them."
"I understand that," he said softly, his thumb tracing unconsciously over my pulse point in a way that sent entirely inappropriate shivers up my arm. "That's precisely why we need to approach this intelligently rather than emotionally."
I yanked my hand free, ignoring the flash of hurt that crossed his expression like a cloud over sunlight. "What exactly did you have in mind, Agent Renshaw?"
"Magical tracking," he replied, his tone shifting back to professional efficiency. "You mentioned feeling dark magic emanating from that rune. Can you follow the signature like a trail?"
I considered the proposition, calling up the memory of that oily, fundamentally wrong sensation I'd experienced when touching the carved symbol. "It would be similar to following a scent trail, except using magical resonance instead of physical senses."
"And I can enhance your magical perception," Callum offered. "Amplify your range and sensitivity to magical signatures."
I raised an eyebrow with genuine surprise. "Since when do you possess that particular skill set?"
A shadow crossed his features like a curtain falling. "Since I spent five years learning specialized investigative magic for the High Council."
Right. His mysterious departure and the subsequent years of silence that we still hadn't properly discussed. Another complicated conversation for another time, assuming we survived the current crisis.
"Very well," I said crisply. "But we conduct this operation according to my methods and my magical protocols."
"Agreed without reservation."
"Excellent," Cosmo stretched luxuriously before hopping down from his perch. "Nothing I enjoy more than a well-planned venture into obvious mortal peril. Shall I prepare my will, or are we optimistically assuming survival?"
***
We began our investigation at the Hexes and Brews where the original rune had been discovered. Someone had scrubbed the symbol from the brick wall with obvious haste, but magical residue clung to the mortar like an invisible stain that reeked of malevolent intent.
I pressed my palm against the rough surface, closing my eyes and extending my magical senses outward with careful precision. Callum's power flowed into me like warm honey, amplifying everything until I could perceive the lingering traces of whoever had created the binding rune. Their magical signature tasted as bitter as burnt coffee, tinged with fanatical purpose and old, deep hatred.
"I have the trail," I murmured, opening my eyes and following the invisible path that only I could perceive. "This direction."
We moved through Old Hollows like supernaturalbloodhounds, following a magical trail that led us past the town square where early evening shoppers instinctively gave us a wide berth. Past the elementary school where I'd transformed Tommy into a frog during our childhood years, a decision that seemed remarkably prescient in hindsight. Past the shifter district, where modest homes gradually gave way to the trailer park marking the town's outskirts.
"They're deliberately avoiding the main magical districts," Callum observed as we paused at a crossroads where the trail branched in multiple directions.
"Tactically sound," I admitted with grudging respect. "Considerably less chance of detection if you conduct your dark magic experiments away from the council's monitoring zones."
The strongest magical trace led toward the old industrial district, a collection of abandoned warehouses and defunct textile mills that had once provided employment for half the town's population. Now they stood empty and decaying, their broken windows resembling dead eyes while weeds pushed through cracked foundations with vegetative determination.
As we approached the hulking brick building that seemed to be our destination, the magical trail grew stronger, more concentrated. But there was something else, layers of concealment spells woven so carefully that I almost missed them.
"There." I pointed toward what appeared to be a service entrance partially hidden behind overgrown vegetation. "The trail terminates at the structure. But it's heavily warded."
Callum studied the entrance with the practiced eye of someone trained in magical security. "Multiple layers of concealment, but they're focused on hiding the entrance from casual observation. Not necessarily from determined investigation."
"Can you unravel them without triggering any alarms?" I asked.
"Give me a moment," he said, his hands moving in complex patterns as he began carefully dismantling the magical protections. "These are sophisticated, but they're designed to keep people away, not to detect intrusion."
After several tense minutes, the concealment spells flickered and died. What had appeared to be a rusted steel door now revealed itself as a modern entrance with electronic locks and what looked suspiciously like a keycard reader.
"Well," Cosmo observed with dark satisfaction, "that's not ominous at all. Very 'abandoned warehouse meets high-security facility meets obvious trap.'"
"The magical trail leads inside," I said, studying the door mechanism. "But getting through this is going to require more than just magical lockpicking."
Callum examined the electronic components with growing concern. "This is professional-grade security. Military or government contractor level. Someone spent serious money on this installation."
