Page 90 of A Witchy Spell Ride
It happens in combat zones. Behind enemy lines. In safe houses that turn out not so safe. The quiet that means you’re either seconds from salvation or something worse.
That’s what this felt like.
Stillness before the strike.
I stood with Cross in the chapel, the old storage room we converted years ago into an intel hub. Concrete walls, a ceiling fan that ticked when it felt like it, two folding tables loaded with gear. Monitors lit the cinderblock like stained glass for men who pray with logistics. Pins marked maps. Two burner phones buzzed with nothing useful.
One screen feed from the alley across from the shop pinged. Cross’s fingers were already on the keyboard before I told him to roll it back.
A man in a ballcap, hoodie, faded jeans.
Normal.
Too normal.
Adam Lane.
Cross froze the frame. Zoomed in. Ran a partial plate from the parked car nearby. Matched it to a rental flagged two days ago under the name Gavin Slate.
Bingo.
“He’s staying at the River Grove Motel,” Cross muttered, tapping another window open. “Room 12A. Paid cash after day one. Minimal activity. He moves nights. Leaves lights off. Keeps curtains thumb-width open. Likes to watch himself watching.”
I stared at the grainy image. The man I’d seen once and dismissed as background. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“I’m going to finish this,” I said, voice low.
Cross didn’t look at me. “You sure that’s what she wants?”
I looked up. His face was unreadable, but the weight behind the question was real. I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. I didn’t go to Selene yet. I went to Reaper.
He was on the back stoop with a cigarette he wasn’t smoking, just holding like a habit he might take up again if pushed. He watched the lot the way kings watch borders.
“River Grove Motel,” I said, keeping it clean. “12A. He’s here.”
Reaper rolled the unlit cigarette between thumb and forefinger. “You want to take a team.”
“I want to takehim.”
He considered me like a problem set he’d already solved three ways. “Alive.”
“I know.”
“Proof we can hand to Cross, then to the right people,” he said. “I don’t want this coming back to my door with sirens.”
“I know,” I repeated.
He flicked the cigarette back into the pack. “She’s going to want to choose her battlefield.”
“She already has one in mind,” I said.
Reaper’s mouth tipped, not a smile. “The party.”
“Yeah.”
He blew out a breath that was all steel. “I’ll flood the room with eyes. If he steps in, he doesn’t walk out the same man.”
“He won’t walk out at all if he touches her,” I said.
