Page 1 of For Dear Life

1

VIOLET

“I can safely say that you’ve failed in your duties, Grayson. When assisting me with a murder investigation, I would expect you to avoid adding to the body count.”

I suck a finger into my mouth to seal the cut made for the spell, an action that Leif appears particularly fascinated by, and survey my surroundings.

Grayson stands, arms wrapped around himself as he looks around, but doesn’t respond. The blood rune spell that relocated us from the woods near the lodge hasn’t affected him as badly as Rowan and Leif. The former kneels and stares at the Persian rug, face an odd shade between white and green, and the latter’s face is covered in perspiration.

“Rowan. Please do not vomit on the rug. Eloise wouldn’t be impressed,” I inform him.

“I won’t,” he replies and swallows hard.

“He already puked his guts up when you were dead,” says Leif, voice cracking on the last word.

“On the scale of ‘things Eloise wouldn’t be impressed with’, I’d say vomit covered rugs ranks low,” comments Rowan and rests his back against a low table’s leg.

I’m already at the drawing room window, surveying the front of my parents’ estate in Scotland. I’d chosen to ‘arrive’ in this particular room as it’s infrequently used, and luckily that includes today. Our home’s isolated—naturally—and woodlands form a barrier beyond the track leading towards the front of the building, and rugged mountains dominate the horizon.

The only car parked on the dirt to the side of the house belongs to Zeke—a small white Jeep that’s often dwarfed by Eloise and Dorian’s black SUV if they’re home. Well, Eloise’s—Dorian dislikes driving and other road users are fortunate that he rarely gets behind the wheel. The pair must be away today, which may be a good thing, considering the information I have for Dorian.

“Is this a good idea?” asks Grayson quietly, eyes darting around the room as if a portrait might come to life and attack or a mysterious Blackwood familiar may appear and assault him too.

Or my father might emerge from the walls and slit his throat.

Leif scoffs. “Good idea? Like the one you had when you killed the witch, Grayson?”

“I didn’t think,” he snaps, cutting Leif a hard look. “I saw Violet with a fucking fence post through her chest. Dead.” Rowan visibly winces at the word. “If Rowan stood on that balcony, not me, he would’ve done the same!”

“I expect so, Grayson,” I say. “But Leif is correct in pointing out how unwise you were.”

“I thought you were dead!” His voice rises and so do my brows—and people wonder why I avoid emotions? Look at the mess his made of the situation.

In fact, look at the mess this has made of us all. New red stripes now adorn my black and white sweater, now ripped to reveal the wound still healing. I’m admittedly surprised and impressed by the size, although it’s not a good look to return home with.

A shower would help. A change of clothes. Water from the lake can only remove so much from the guys—they’re all wearing soaked clothes from where they attempted to remove as much of my blood as possible.

Leif drags a hand through his hair. “Are you sure your mental magic worked on Kai?”

“Yes. Memories messed with by both me and Rowan,” I say. “He won’t remember.”

The guy was barely conscious inside the boathouse, which made working on his mind easy. The magic the witch used on Kai had worn off slightly, and he behaved as if in a drunken or drugged stupor, which gave us a perfect opportunity because we couldn’t leave him at the lodge.

Before leaving the murder scene, Grayson checked the witch’s pockets—no wallet, but a car key. When we called Leif and Rowan to the lodge earlier, they’d passed a car further down the track—one that the dead witch’s key opened.

The rest of us remained a short distance from the lodge, while Leif drove to the edge of town and parked at an odd angle, half in a ditch. He moved Kai into the driver’s seat and left an array of empty beer bottles around him.

Once Kai’s discovered by a passing driver and taken away, Sawyer might not understand why and how his son was there and in that state, but the man’s guaranteed to check out the lodge. Will Sawyer report what he finds? Because there isn’t much to find in the part of the house the witch died in.

“I’m worried about Maxwell,” says Leif. “Authorities will find the body in the bedroom.”

“Charred, yes,” I say. “Identifying him may be difficult—that’s if Sawyer reports this and doesn’t go to witches for help.”

“Let’s hope the witches have a hold over Sawyer that’ll interfere with his decision,” says Rowan. “Kai told you Sawyer doesn’t even like witches, so why’s he associating with one?”

“Or more. He might not want to tell Maxwell’s friends that one of them died,” I reply. “And I’d like to know who Maxwell was.”

Grayson’s jaw tightens, and he looks away.

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