Page 124 of Live To Tell

“No, I think you’re not yourself right now,” I say and fix my eyes on the witch.

“Why are you here?” asks Joe sternly. “Seems an odd place to spend time on a Thursday evening.”

“I agree. Why are you here?” asks Violet.

“We ain’t trespassing. Joe and me work on site.”

“Bit late for building work,” says Rowan.

“Bit late to be snooping around a derelict building,” Joe says in a mocking tone. “You’re lucky something didn’t collapse on you—I wouldn’t want to explain that to authorities.”

“No. I imagine you don’t want to meet authorities at all, Joe,” I say.

“Is that so?” He tips his chin. “I also hear you’ve been asking after me. Why? Because I’m mates with the Brightgroves? Or reporting me for dodgy electrical work?”

“Just looking for kindred spirits,” I say casually. “We’re a rare breed.”

“Witches? Not really.” He gestures at Rowan.

“Necromancers. Seems my father likes to track them down too.”

He splutters. “You think I’m a necro?”

“I have many opinions on what you are,” I say coolly. “Did you once live here, Joe?”

Interestingly, he shifts his hard gaze from me. “I’ve visited a few times. The Brightgroves are friends.”

“The type of friends who’d help if there were a great need?” I suggest. “Offer sanctuary, maybe?”

“Uh. When you visit people they tend to give you a bed,” he says sarcastically. “Violet Blackwood; tell me why you’re trespassing.”

“Because I believe this house is linked to the issues in town recently. Now, why do you have chains in the attic?” I watch for a reaction.

“I don’t have anything. I’m just a contractor.”

“And a witch who knows the family. Did you live in that house?” I ask. “After you changed your name?”

Joe crosses his arms. “Changed my name? Who do you think I am?”

“Violet,” whispers Rowan.

I turn to him. “I’m not playing his games. I need to know.”

“But still...”

I tip my chin at Joe. “I think you know something about Madison Riverborn’s disappearance.”

“I don’t know a Madison. Is she another person missing from town?” he asks. “Do you know a girl called Madison, Trent?”

His feigned innocence sets my teeth on edge.

“Nah,” replies Trent.

“Do human girls often go missing?” he asks.

“No. And Madison isn’t a human girl. You know exactly who she is,” I reply.

Joe taps his lips. “Everybody knows about the human kid murdered at the academy and the threat to that other one’s life. But weren’t those responsible arrested?”

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