Page 123 of Live To Tell

“This house?” asks Rowan in alarm.

“No. A new light on in the Brightgroves’ place. Leif saw car headlights too. Come on.”

As silently as possible, we slip downstairs, through the gap in the floor, and back into the main part of the house. I’m pissed I haven’t the chance to look through the whole building for clues, but those that existed in the dilapidated home were probably obliterated before Dorian could find them. I can only hope Rowan’s correct, and Dorian’s people searched thoroughly.

Rowan sucks in a huge breath as we step into the night. “That place felt... wrong.”

“Agreed,” says Grayson.

Leif’s partially blended into the hedgerow at the rear of the property, waiting, and I slant my head, listening, but whoever arrived in the car must be inside the Brightgroves’ downstairs room now lit.

As I ready myself to dart across the open space between us, he steps backwards, the bush rustling as his figure disappears. “Leif?” I whisper.

“Shit. Did somebody take him?” asks Rowan.

“Take who?” asks a voice.

Startled, I look in the moonlit space between the two houses. A male witch around Sawyer's age, close-cropped hair and a green polo shirt revealing muscular arms, stands amongst the broken brick with his arms crossed.

And Trent stands beside him.

Chapter 41

VIOLET

“Him,” I say quickly and point at Trent. “Did somebody take him?”

Trent’s uninjured, dressed in the same scruffy attire as the last time I saw him in human form—before he tried to tear Rowan apart. I step closer to Rowan, whose impassive face gives the witch no hint of the memory I sense sending shadowy fear through Rowan.

I’m desperate to look over at the bushes holding Leif, hoping he backed off further. The witch didn't spot him, or he wouldn’t ask who I meant.

“You’re trespassing,” he says roughly, looking between the three of us. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t recognize me?

The man chuckles. “Yes, Violet Blackwood, I know who you are.”

Immediately, I throw a barrier up in my mind, pissed I didn’t the moment I saw him. Superior mind magic skills. Trent at his side.

“And you are?” I ask.

“Joe. I hear you and your father have been bothering the Brightgroves.”

Joe. Smith, presumably.

The coincidence of the pair’s presence feels unsettlingly large.

“Then you’ll know my father is investigating missing shifters who worked at this site.” I point at Trent again.

“I ain’t missing,” he retorts. “Shifters keep dying—my friends keep dying. I’m not hanging around to die next.”

“Then why not tell people where you are, Trent?” I ask.

“Rather defeats the purpose of hiding,” says Joe. “Trent’s living at my place temporarily. He’s my new apprentice.”

Grayson scoffs beneath his breath.

“Why’s that funny, asshole?” growls Trent. “Think I’m not capable?”

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