Page 54 of Enspelled

I head toward him, determination filling me. “We have to go back to my house and collect Layla’s grimoire.”

“Why?”

“Because what Ellie said just made sense. I have to check something out before we head to the newspaper office.” I’d go right now, but the sort of questions I’m going to be asking the editor is going to be easier if I know I’m not about to make myself look crazy for no reason.

“And why would we need to go there?” Bodie asks, leaving the shifter’s body behind for Liam and his pack to deal with.

I gaze across the top of my car at him. “Because if I’m right, I think I might know who—orwhat—killed the Destin pack.”

16

KEANE

Briar is growling a little as she hugs a cushion on the couch.

Thank fuck she’s asleep.

For a long moment, I study her from the doorway, and then I turn and head up the staircase to look for a bathroom.

I find one just off what looks like the master bedroom. A girlish-looking space in shades of pink and gray.

Stripping takes seconds. Without waiting for the water to heat, I step beneath the spray in a far-too-small shower cubicle, rest my hand against the tile, and bow my head as the water washes away the scent of a witch’s terror.

And blood.

Shame it can’t wash away the foulness clinging to me.

My eyes close.

Everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to. The witch, Vera, an old gray-haired woman, didn’t hesitate to lob a spell at me the second she caught sight of me outside the cabin Mara had directed me to. So I didn’t hesitate in ripping her apart once I’d shaken off the effects of her spell.

Sniffing out an old-looking book tucked under a loose floorboard in the living space was a task that took seconds.

But there was no Layla Markham.

“Not to worry,” Mara said when I returned to her cabin with the book, which she eyed hungrily. “With this, I can find a spell that will destroy her.”

“And Briar?” I’d asked.

That too had gone right. The witch had flicked through the old book, her eyes brightening at one page in particular. In a matter of minutes, she was handing over an enchanted small stone—a pebble, really—that she’d picked up from outside because she’d needed a vessel to contain the enchantment.

“Just stick it in her pocket, and the souls will react to it as if it’s a threat to them. It will force them to leave her.”

And it had started to work.

The moment I slipped the stone into her sweatpants pocket, Briar’s restless dream eased, and the soft growls she was making grew quieter.

But then why, if everything worked out the way it was supposed to, does it feel wrong?

Or not wrong. Like I’ve fucked up somewhere.

I don’t know how long I stand under the shower, but it’s long enough for whatever hot water there is to run out. By the time I realize it, my skin is ice cold.

After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I quickly dress in the same clothes and head downstairs, expecting to find Briar awake and demanding to know why I was taking so long in the shower.

No, I tell myself, Briar doesn’t demand anything. She asks, and when she doesn’t get what she wants, she backs down easily. Far too easily.

I study her hugging a cushion against her chest the way she seems to like to sleep. But not only a cushion. We fell asleep on that couch, and I could swear during part of it, she was hugging me.

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