Page 37 of Captive Witch

I shove the piece back into my pocket, frustration swirling through my gut. If I hadn’t already killed Wendell, I’d kill him right now. “Have you ever heard of a witch named Nicca?”

Chloe stares into her lap for a few moments, then pushes her hair over her shoulder with a sigh. “It sounds familiar… but I can’t put a face to that name.”

“Why is finding this witch so important to you, boss?” Frank says, coming to sit on the arm of the couch beside Mila. “She helped Wendell ages ago, and witches aren’t immortal. She’s probably dead by now.”

“Didn’t he get caught decades ago?” Mila asks, her face scrunched up. “Before I joined?”

I clench my jaw, setting my thermos down. “It isn’t sitting right with me. Anera mentioned she’d been trying to find the witch that helped him. She had a description and a name but could never come close to discovering her or how Wendell got in touch with her.” Running a hand through my hair, I shrug. “It isn’t entirely uncommon for a wolf to seek out a willing witch, but it’s not common for my pack. The covens know better, but this one… either the price was worth the risks or she wanted him to be caught. Either way, I want to know why.”

And you think she’s still alive,my wolf adds.

“Is that where you got the pencil code from?” Chloe asks, pointing at my pocket.

“I think it leads back to the witch, but Wendell was the one who created it,” I say.

“I think I have something that could work,” she says, turning to Mila. “Do you have that bag of herbs I gave you after Madrona treated Addy’s wounds?”

Mila nods, standing from the couch. “Yeah! I keep it in the kitchen, just in case we ever need it.”

“Perfect,” Chloe says, grinning as she follows her to the kitchen.

“So,” Frank says, sliding onto the couch cushion, “what’s the real reason you’re hunting down a witch from a century ago?”

Narrowing my gaze at him, I scoff and grab my coffee, taking a long sip.

“I know there’s more, boss,” he says, chuckling. “I’ve been around you for too long to not read you.”

“It just doesn’t sit right,” I say, glowering at him. “That enough for you?”

He shrugs, chugging the rest of his coffee and resting the empty cup on his knee. “If it’s the real reason, then yeah.” Looking up, he raises one brow.

“You’re insufferable,” I growl.

He laughs, tapping a finger to the rim of his mug. “I take that as a compliment. Someone’s gotta be a pain in your ass or you’ll think you can do stupid shit all on your own.”

Chuckling despite myself, I shake my head. Mila and Chloe come back into the living room, a jar of brown herbs in Chloe’s hand. I take it as she hands it to me and hold it up to the light.

“It’s an origin spell,” Chloe says. “Put the wood in there, and when you go back to where you found it, it’ll lead you to where it was created.” She gives a small smile. “I don’t know how much help it’ll be, but I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Reaching into my pocket, I unscrew the lid and drop the rod into it, then tighten the lid back on. “This should work fine. Thank you, Chloe.”

Standing in Anera’s office, I shut the door, hoping to block out the sound of the lunch crowd. I set the mason jar onto the desk, waiting. When nothing happens, I scowl at the jar and unscrew the lid. A puff of brown dust comes out. The cloud covers my face, and I start coughing, trying to clear the rosemary and thyme from my lungs. Stepping out of the office, I wave my handin front of my face, almost missing the trail of herbs leading to the basement door.

Clearing my throat a few more times, I quickly follow the trail, throwing the basement door open and making my way down the stairs. The herbs move along the floor as if blown by an invisible wind, and the hair on the back of my neck stands. I keep my eyes on the path, moving to pull the string light overhead. The bulb flickers, and the earth groans beneath my feet.

Instead of heading to the boxes stacked along the wall, the herbs move toward the opposite corner, partially hidden in shadows, just outside the bulb’s circle of weak light. I slowly stalk toward it—twelve steps from the string light. Glancing back over my shoulder, I scowl at the light before turning back to the shadowed corner. I crouch down and run my hand along the wall where the herbs trail up. Eight bricks high, the trail turns sharply to the right.

“You can’t be serious,” I mutter, remembering Frank’s joke about Wendell counting steps. The bastard counted them alright, counted bricks too apparently. Scoffing, I walk twenty-nine bricks forward. We checked these, making sure none were loose or dug into, but the herbs sit on this brick for another beat before falling to the ground in a lifeless pile. The magic gone.

Narrowing my gaze, I study the brick. There’s no scrapes or nicks on its surface, the mortar around it unblemished. I drag my finger over its surface, then tap my knuckles onto it. I expect it to pop out, but it feels and sounds as solid as I’d expected for a brick wall.

I take a step back, looking over the wall, my eyes continuously pulled toward the mortar. Touching my finger to the cement holding the bricks together, I trace the seam, then suck in a breath when something sharp pricks my fingertip, a smear of blood left in its wake. I retrace my path, picking away chips of paint.

“A needle,” I say under my breath, pulling it from the carved spot in the mortar right below the brick. Walking back to the faint bulb, I hold the needle under the light. The point is sharp, as expected, but the rest of it is strange… almost like a tube. “You stupid son of a bitch, Wendell.”

Scowling, I shut the light off and storm upstairs, tossing the needle into the mason jar from Chloe, not sure where else to store it. I gather my phone and keys, stuffing them into my pockets, to start the trip back to Rhode Island.

“Want a sandwich for the road, dear?” Anera asks, popping her head into the office. She raises her brows, glancing around the desk and floor. “And maybe a broom?”

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