For E,
Don’t ever be afraid to fight for what you believe in.
and
For B,
For giving me something worth fighting for.
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Glossary of Terms
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Prologue
The Witch Hunting Book of Stories
Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, a beautiful witch named Belinda arrived in Hollywood in search of fame and fortune. Although Belinda was considered royalty among her kind, this witch longed for more. She wanted to be an actress on the silver screen. But on one gloomy night at a glamorous after-party full of stars and starlets, Belinda lost her dream role to a younger woman. Humiliated and hurt, Belinda’s once tender heart turned to icy stone.
Consumed by bitterness and rage, she cast a curse upon her species, requiring each and every witch to steal the youth and beauty of mortal women through ritual sacrifice, or rapidly age and die. She remained in Tinseltown to become the ruler of the Hollywood Coven, recruiting ever more witches from the far corners of the world to join her sinister plan. But these witches didn’t fly on broomsticks or wear pointed hats. No, these witches used their powerful spells to control minds, time, and even the weather. And although the mortals continued their day-to-day lives, Belinda’s incessant demand for sacrifice had placed the entire town in danger.
But one day, everything changed. An army of men who called themselves “hunters” came to The City of Angels determined to protect humans from the witches’ wrath. And with that, the rivalry between the witches and the hunters began—a secret war that would cost many innocents their lives and continue for decades.
Through the years, Belinda’s struggle for youth, power, and beauty has been repeatedly foiled by the ever-persistent Witch Hunters. But the evil witch remains as clever as she is beautiful.
While some things change, one truth will endure: never trust a witch … especially in Hollywood.
One
There are two types of people in Hollywood: the hunted and the hunters.
Iris Maria Bently was born to be a Hunter.
She always knew her family was different. Not just because they lived in a lavish mansion in the Hollywood Hills, or because they were always rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. But because of the many secrets surrounding her family’s business.
What kind of secrets exactly? Nothing she could pinpoint. Just lots of whispers behind locked doors, echoes of screams, and the occasional lifeless body marked with a silver star that would have left most children with nightmares. But not Iris.
She was not only noticeably faster than every other child at her elementary school, she was stronger too. Iris was always told her dad came from an ancient line of knights and that the men in her mom’s family had been famed Colombian boxers. While that was indeed mostly the truth, even Iris’s stout genetics couldn’t explain why she saw heavy fog and rain, even when her schoolmates and teachers swore it was clear and sunny.
But on her sixteenth birthday Iris's eyes were opened. The fog no one else could see? The random downpours that only hit her family? The dead bodies with the silver markings? All the work of witches. And if she could see these things, that meant Iris carried the Hunter gene, just like her father and her older brother Knox.
She wanted to become a Hunter, and no one, witch or human, would be able to stop her.
But of course, becoming a Hunter would be no easy feat. She was told she was crazy, and was even forced to spend several days in UCLA’s psychiatric ward. Several months went by, and she continued to push for answers.
“Dad, why can’t I be on the Hunter team?” she asked, almost daily. “I mean, Knox gets to do it!”
“I told you, honey, there’s no team. Those things you think you can see are just in your head. There are no witches, or Hunters. No fog. And the only team your brother’s on is his competitive soccer team. That’s it.”
Iris refused to believe him, especially since she’d never seen Knox so much as touch a soccer ball.
So she kept an eye on Hollywood. She learned all the signs, including bruma, a magical fog that indicated a witch was near, which always seemed to crop up at popular shopping spots like The Grove, Rodeo Drive, and the Hollywood and Highland Center.
Iris was finally fed up with the lies, secrets, and false claims of insanity. She followed a trail of bruma to a senior prom at Melrose Academy—the richest and most exclusive private school in Beverly Hills.
The closer she got to the auditorium at Melrose, the more she felt the music move through her body. This always happened to her. It was as if the sound pulsed through her ears and flowed all the way down to her toes. The bass resonated with her heartbeat, and the higher the melody climbed, the more it excited her. Like a battery recharging from a nuclear reactor.
When she stepped inside, the flashing lights blinded her. The room was filled with a sea of sequined dresses and teens sneaking liquor. There was a couple making out in the corner, and she couldn’t take her eyes off a group of girls dancing like they were in an R&B music video.
Their elation was contagious and Iris let out a laugh as she walked toward a table filled with C-grade finger foods and candy-red punch.
Then, she stopped.
In the center of the room stood a girl with platinum hair. She shot shards of ice from her fingertips that clung to the ceiling, forming a circle of needle-sharp icicles above the partying teens. No one seemed to notice except for Iris, who shivered from the sudden cold.
“What are you doing here?” a girl said, appearing out of nowhere. “I didn’t expect to see you, so soon.”
Iris didn’t know the girl but was immediately stunned by how pretty she was. Her lavender eyes burned through the darkness, outshining even the blinding strobe lights. She was wearing a short, fitted white dress, which complemented her golden locks and what appeared to be tanning-booth skin. Iris assumed she was one of the school’s seniors, or possibly the child of some big-name celebrity.
“Excuse me, do I know you?” Iris asked, as she examined the girl’s face.
“Technically, no.” She smirked, flipping her long hair.
“Okay,” Iris huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I’ve been watching you for freaking-ever. At least it feels that way. And I have to say … I’m kind of bored with you, Iris. I guess I just thought you’d be a bit more interesting by now.”
Iris flinched. “How do you know my name?”
“Wow.” She giggled. “Let’s see, how do I put this?” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been watching you because you’ve always seemed … different.”
Iris rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Different, how?”
&
nbsp; “Just. Different.” The girl slowly circled behind Iris. “You see,” she whispered in her ear, “I know you can see the icicles the ‘Elsa reject’ is making on the ceiling. I also know you can see the bruma in the auditorium and floating down the halls. And, I know that if you were honest with yourself, you’d want to kill her.”
Iris’s breath caught in her throat. Her body tensed and she felt a flurry of hives creeping up her neck. “You don’t know anything,” she snapped, turning around to face the girl. “Who are you?”
“That’s not important. See Miss Bratty Prom Queen over there?” She pointed to a girl on the dance floor who was wearing a sparkling crown, sandwiched between two very eager guys who looked like Chihuahuas in heat. “The witch is going to make that prom queen her supper.”
“Supper?”
“Uh, yeah. She’s about to sacrifice her, duh? Maybe supper was a bad choice of words .”
“So it’s true. She really is a …” Iris paused as her heart raced against her chest.
“Say it, Iris.” The girl’s eyes rolled in the back of her head. “Say my favorite little five-letter word.”
“She’s a witch.”
“Freaking. Bingo.”
The room started to spin and Iris firmly planted her feet, stopping herself from falling over. She watched the prom queen exit the dance floor. Seconds later, the witch followed suit.
“Better keep an eye on the prom queen, Hunter. That witch is up to no good.”
Hunter. Iris wasn’t a Hunter. But she followed the witch anyway, out the school’s doors and to a secluded corner of the parking lot. The bruma was overpowering and Iris could barely see through it.
She clutched the gold knife hidden in her jacket pocket, the one she’d stolen from her father’s desk. She steadied her step and cautiously approached the witch from behind.
“Don’t move!” Iris ordered the witch. She drew her knife and pointed it toward her. The gold blade glimmered in the moonlight. The witch was inches away from the intoxicated high schooler.
“Oh my god!” the prom queen screamed. “Are you like a total psycho?! Why do you have a knife?” She shot Iris a confused look and slowly stepped forward. “Wait. Are you related to my maid Consuela? I get the impression her kids are into some really bad stuff.”
“What? No. I’m not related to your maid!” Iris fumed. “I’m trying to save you from her.” She pointed to the witch. Her voice was shaky. “You need to get out of here, now!”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” The witch snatched the prom queen’s wrist with a firm grip and the young girl froze. Literally. Her stiff body turned a dark shade of blue and moments later she fell to the ground with a resounding clunk.
“No!” Iris yelled, falling to her knees and scooping up the body. A silver star appeared on the girl’s right shoulder. Iris stared in awe. “This can’t be happening,” she mumbled to herself.
“Oh. It is,” the witch said, a wicked smile spreading across her face. Her body now glowed and her skin seemed softer than before. Her platinum hair was brighter and her eyes were clear as crystal. “And I don’t know how you can see my freaking spells, but I’m sorry to say, you’re next.”
The witch pounced on top of Iris, knocking her to the pavement. Gusts of snowflakes exploded from the witch’s body as they rolled. She seized Iris’s neck with an icy grasp and squeezed.
Iris choked, shivering violently as an arctic chill seeped into her bones. Her neck burned and her arms and hands started turning blue.
But Iris fought against the pain and the fear. She was a Hunter. And Hunters killed witches.
With a surge of adrenaline, Iris gritted her teeth and stabbed the gold knife into the witch’s side. The witch let out a cry as a river of black blood spilled from her wound. She released her grip and stumbled backward, swaying slightly before finally collapsing.
Iris rose to her feet, her trembling body still numb from the cold.
“I … I killed her,” she said with a gulp as she stared at the witch’s dead body.
“Yes, you did. Bravo, by the way.” Iris jumped. It was the girl with lavender eyes. “And you saved me the trouble of having to do it myself. That witch has been bothering me for weeks.”
“How did she do that? Turn things to ice and make it snow in L.A.?”
“She’s an Ethas witch. She has spells that allow her to freeze things. Or at least she did anyway. I always thought it was a totally boring spell, to be honest.” The girl paused. “Look, you better get out of here before people see you near the body.”
“You mean bodies?”
“No. You take the witch’s body back to your house.”
“Back to my house … why would I—”
“Because you killed her, all by yourself,” the girl interrupted. “Show the Hunters you know what they’ve been hiding from you. Do what you need to do.”
At that moment a fire glowed inside Iris, thawing her from the inside out and fueling a growing anger she’d been feeling since the first time her father lied to her.
“And, Iris. Tell your dad if he’s not going to play by the rules, neither am I.”
“What does that even—”
Before Iris could get out another word, the girl stepped back and vanished into the bruma.
*
Carrying the witch’s body on her shoulder, Iris kicked open the front doors of her home and headed toward her father’s office. He sat in an oversize, leather chair smoking a cigar and reading The Art of War.
Her dad leaped to his feet and gasped when Iris walked in the room. She dropped the dead witch to the ground and wiped her hands on her shirt. “I killed a witch,” Iris confessed. “I see the signs and I have the gene. That makes me a Hunter.”
His jaw dropped as he stared at his daughter. “Iris. There’s no such thing as—”
“You can’t lie to me anymore!” she shouted. “I know what I am. I know what we are.”
Iris reached into her pocket and pulled out the gold knife. It was stained black. She looked her father dead in the eyes, her hands still shaking from the thrill.
“I’m a Hunter, Dad. And I want in.”
Two
Five Months Later
The vision always started the same way: a dark Hollywood cemetery. Bitter cold. Fog. Rain. Cracks of lightning and booming thunder. Quaking ground and torrential wind. She cried for help, but no one could hear her. Then, a shadow of a woman stood before her. She grabbed her by the throat, threw her against a tombstone, and crushed her skull in the process.
The vision came again this morning and Iris wondered where it came from. Was it a witch casting a spell? Some horrible daydream she couldn’t shake? Or just a side effect of being a Hunter in the field?
“And that’s why you shouldn’t be a Hunter,” her brother Knox said, jolting her back to reality. Whatever “reasons” he was listing, Iris didn’t catch a single one. Between today’s creepy vision, and the natural stress that came with being a Hunter, Iris had gotten very good at drowning Knox out. He made a habit of trying to convince her to get out of the field and get back into school. He meant well, he really did. But Iris had made her decision and her overprotective brother wasn’t going to change her mind.
The two of them were standing on a remote rooftop in Hollywood, drenched in black leather and blending into the darkness like a pair of ninjas.
It was a dry October evening and a creamy wedge of moon hung in the sky, bathing the city in a pale light whenever it managed to peek through the passing clouds. It could have even been considered a beautiful night, if there wasn’t an ancient evil lurking in the nearby shadows. Five months ago, she brought her father the body of a dead witch. He couldn’t lie to her anymore, although he did try. But Iris wouldn’t have it. She gave him an ultimatum: kill me or let me on the team.
“You know,” her brother continued. “You could always just wait till you graduate from high school, and by then, who knows? You may not even want to be a Hunter anymore—”
“Knox!” she interrupted with a firm tone. “It’s been five freaking months,” she said with a sigh. “Can’t we be done with the ‘brotherly love’ crap? I’m in the field. It’s not changing.”
Iris appreciated her brother’s concern, but it was too late. From now on she would spend her days hunting witches, not on the cheer squad.
“Fine,” he huffed, slumping his shoulders. “Let’s get to it, then.”
Iris flashed a menacing grin and got into position. Like a hungry lioness stalking its prey, she was itching for a kill, and tonight, she wanted to make the Hunters proud.
She was lying prone, preparing to take her final test: the sniper rifle. The thought of this weapon always made her giddy. It was so powerful but also completely undetectable.
The best part? The Hunter’s rifle couldn’t kill a human, but for a witch, it was the deadliest of poison. The strangest thing about her test tonight was that she had already completed the sniper training course. Twice actually. Yet her father insisted she train again before being allowed to hunt on her own.
She settled in behind her rifle with an ear-to-ear grin, steadied her breath and waited. Her brother Knox stood beside her and kept a watchful eye for any movement.
“Iris, we’ve gone over this, you need to relax your shoulders,” Knox ordered in a quiet but firm tone, lowering his binoculars. “And make sure you’re ready to fire on my command.”
“I think I’ve got it,” Iris snapped in a low whisper. It’s not as if she didn’t know what to do. “You do know this isn’t my first time behind a sniper, right?”
“Yes. But we just have to be sure.”
“Sure of what? No one else had to do the training twice.”
“I know. But Dad said you have to do it again because you’re a—”
“Let me guess … a girl?” This was a common side effect of being the first female to carry the witch-hunting gene—always having to prove herself. And frankly, Iris was getting a little sick of it.
“Hey, I don’t like it, okay?” Knox assured her. “But it’s Dad’s orders.”
“Well, last I checked, Dad left you in charge when he up and went to Wales—”
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