Page 120 of Live To Tell

We stealth along the lane as if walking towards the estate, but to locate the witches’ property from the rear. The house isn’t visible to those who walk by, due to a tall hedgerow bordering the edge of the land for privacy. The watery moonlight helps Rowan find his way and I focus on not rushing onwards even though I’m worried I might miss something.

The thick privet hedge tugs at my hair and jacket as I shove my way through the first gap that I’ll fit through. As I pull a stray leaf from my sleeve, I watch Grayson and Rowan push through the hedge too. Leif finds maneuvering his bulky frame through a small gap harder. Rowan and Grayson aren’t small, but their figures are leaner and Grayson in particular has a feline fluidity that helps him.

Rowan drags hair from his face and peers at where I’m partially hidden in the bush’s shadowy overhang, out of the moonlight.

“You’re quiet,” he comments.

“Merely assessing the situation.”

Pursing my lips, I stare into the inky blackness towards the misshapen building, and beyond to the house Rowan and I visited. Inside the intact house, lights glow behind curtains at an upstairs window facing us, but there’re none lit on the lower floor.

“And if we detect witches—” begins Grayson.

“We call Dorian,” I finish.

“Uh, no. We leave,” says Rowan. I turn my eyes their way and say nothing.

“We call Dorian.”

“And leave,” he repeats with a stern look.

“Watch from a distance. Follow if necessary,” adds Grayson.

“What? You’re really not helping, Grayson,” retorts Rowan.

“I’m not looking for witches; I’m seeking shifters or evidence of Madison.” I tramp across the unkempt lawn before the conversation descends any further into an argument.

More renovation rubble fills the dumpster located at the side of the house, and I note that another wall inside has disappeared. Pausing to focus my senses a moment and trusting there’re no witches in the vicinity, I step into the building. Scaffolding props up the ceiling in the center of the house and the only wall divides the open area from the gutted kitchen.

I prowl around the space, gazing upwards. Where a staircase once led to the upper floor, there’s now a hole. Silently, Rowan and Grayson follow me into the building, Leif hanging back to watch the house from the edge of the bushes. We’re in our darkest clothes, Grayson wearing a black beanie, but Rowan is hidden behind a hood. He holds a flashlight—no conjured witch light tonight, as we don’t want spells detected. If only his eyesight could match mine and Grayson’s and we could dispense with the need for artificial light.

He shines the flashlight upward to the gap left by the missing stairs. The ceiling’s intact in this part of the house, as is the roof above. “What do you—Violet!”

I barely hear him as I disappear through the gap, effortlessly pulling myself up on the exposed floorboards. Crouching on hands and knees, I survey my surroundings. A bedroom perhaps? No furniture any longer, but the carpet remains and there’re four marks where a bed frame may’ve stood. The wallpaper peels from what remains of the wall between this room and a small bathroom with lime green, dirty fixtures.

Grayson pulls himself up too, and I look down to an annoyed Rowan. “Help him,” I say and walk through an empty doorframe, then stand, arms crossed, waiting for Rowan.

Rowan grumbles, brushing off his jeans as he and Grayson join me. “Anything?” he asks.

“No. Not even an attic.”

Rowan tips his head and walks along the bare floorboards before pausing. “Yes, there is.” He opens a small door at the end of the hallway to a short set of narrow steps. “Attic access.”

“Hmm. My lack of late twentieth century architectural knowledge fails me,” I say as I run a hand along the small door. We I would need to bend to get through here.

“Okay, but let— Rowan begins, but I’m through and up the steps in seconds, emerging into a dusty space.

Several cardboard boxes are piled at one end, household items protruding from inside, the room empty of everything but those and a single metal bed frame.

And something I did not expect to see.

“Look at this,” I call quietly.

Rowan and his flashlight appear, Grayson close behind, and we stand beneath the sloped ceilinged.

“What the hell?” asks Rowan, voice hushed.

“Whoa.” Grayson approaches the wall by the bed.

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