The table was set for just four and the spread of assorted delicacies strewn across it was breathtaking. As food neither nourished a witch nor altered their size, they ate purely for pleasure—a fact that infuriated Iris. She had never felt so out of place, though she was nearly certain her brother secretly loved being in the presence of all these beautiful yet villainous women.
Iris looked to her right to find a towering portrait of Marilyn Monroe. It’s common knowledge among the Hunters that Belinda killed the starlet and staged her death as a drug overdose—a bad day for the Bentlys.
“Twice in one night, Iris?” Belinda said in a low, sexy voice.
“What is she talking about?” Knox asked his sister.
Iris forgot to mention the impromptu stop at the Beverly Hills party without him. A total no-no. “Um …” She fidgeted. “I’ll tell you later.”
“You two hungry? Thirsty? Looking for a hookup?” Belinda cooed, wrapping her fingers around her long golden locks.
Belinda’s airy disposition was driving her nuts, especially since Iris knew she just murdered America’s sweetheart. The pressure was quickly building and Iris was ready to erupt. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“We know you killed that actress!” Iris blurted out, pointing her finger and red with rage.
“God, Iris.” Belinda turned up her nose. “You’re not even gonna let me eat my dinner before you accuse me of something I didn’t do? That’s like, totally rude.”
“Yeah. Rude,” Levana chimed in.
“Rudest. Ever,” Anaka added.
The witches at the table seemed to roll their eyes in sync. Belinda snickered and grabbed a handful of croissants, slathering them with butter before piling them on her plate. “I have to say, Iris,” Belinda said as she held the pastry right in front of her rosy lips. “With the right dress and the right makeup, you could put the rest of the witches to shame. If you ever want to ditch the jerks you work for and fight with the right side, my door is always open.” She fluttered her eyes.
“I think I’d rather die,” Iris said with disgust.
“Don’t tempt me.” Belinda bit her lip and raised her brow.
“Look, Belinda,” Knox said, stepping in. “We just want to know why you did it? You know how famous she was. And it’s obvious she didn’t have a stroke. If for some reason the truth got out, this could bring attention to all of us. The Idas spells can only go so far. Our father said you swore you’d never kill a high-profile celebrity like that again. Marilyn Monroe almost got leaked to the press. So if you’re going to live in this town you have to play by the rules.”
Belinda giggled. “Are you serious? I’m a witch. I’m not good for my word. And you guys couldn’t run us out of town if you tried. Plus, I didn’t kill anyone today, I don’t need another sacrifice for at least thirty days. And I’m an Ethas who summons air; I can’t cause a stroke. Sure, I can cause a heart failure and brain failure after I suck the air from their lungs, but I can’t do some stroke on my own.”
“Say what you want, but we find that hard to believe since the cleaning crew described you perfectly,” Iris interjected.
“Cleaning crew? Gross.” She curled up her lip. “Well, I’m sorry but you have the wrong witch. Honestly, I learned my lesson after Marilyn. Sure, another junkie or train wreck of a celebrity may have slipped in here and there, but I would never kill someone so high profile. And the girl killed today wasn’t snobby enough for me anyway. She would have been a horrible sacrifice. Why are you so certain that it was even a witch who killed her?”
“She had the Cicatrix,” Iris said. “And in all reality, it did look more like a Protas using a high-level telepathic spell.”
Belinda looked genuinely confused. “Well, there are no Protas here that can perform those spells, and obviously I can’t either.” Belinda turned her attention back to her food and devoured a cupcake in two huge bites, moaning as she seductively licked the last of the icing off her fingers.
Iris watched her brother flush. “You need me to help you wipe the drool off your face there, buddy? Keep it together,” she whispered to Knox, nudging him in his side.
“Oh I am, trust me.”
“Well, sorry to break it to you, Hunters, but you got the wrong witch,” Belinda said. “And besides, you think I would really kill someone and then let their cleaning crew see me? I never leave a trail. You know that.”
This was the truth.
Maybe it wasn’t her, she thought.
“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe you Hunters just don’t have everything figured out? You guys aren’t the freaking CIA,” Belinda said, running her finger around her mouth. “Don’t be an ignorant prick like your father.”
“Hey!” Iris snapped. “My dad’s not a prick. And you know what, I think we’re doing just fine.”
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie,” Belinda said. The witches at the table giggled.
Iris bit down on her tongue to stop herself from spewing the long string of expletives that were racing through her mind.
“Well, thank you for your time,” Knox said. “If you would be so kind as to bring forth the door, we’ll just let ourselves out.”
“As you wish.” Belinda winked. “Always a pleasure, bitches.”
“Wait.” Iris peered at Knox. “Why are we leaving?”
“They have nothing for us,” he whispered. “It’s time to go.”
Iris slumped her shoulders and moved quickly toward the door, her brother was following close behind. She was frustrated but knew there was really no point in staying. The witch wasn’t going to budge.
“Oh, and Knox,” Belinda called after him. “You’re welcome back any time.”
Knox shot back a flirtatious grin before climbing the spiral staircase and ascending to the base of the W.
“You know they’re probably lying, right?” Iris said as they clambered out of the lair.
“Yep.”
The W lurched inward, scraping its way back to its original position and sealing shut. Iris and Knox passed, once again, through the fog, dodging the occasional swipe from the cursed trees as they made their way back to The Armada.
“God, I hate magic,” Iris said, slamming shut the passenger door. “And I hate witches even more.” She briefly paused to find her words. “Look. Belinda was most likely lying. But what if she wasn't?”
“Then that would be the first time in history that witch told the truth,” Knox spat.
“Still. Shouldn’t we explore the possibility?” Iris asked.
Knox stared at the ceiling and bobbed his head. “You’re right. Let’s head back and see what Dex has to say. Besides, we still have to give the new recruit a tour.”
Iris fought against the grin forming on her mouth, and lost.
Knox looked at her and smirked. “Really? You’re into teen heartthrobs now?”
“Seriously?” Iris drew out the word. “You should talk. You were like a half second away from boning Belinda.”
Knox sneered and threw The Armada in gear. It had been a strange day and Iris was looking forward to going home.
Nine
Iris rubbed her eyes as they pulled into the driveway of the Bently Fortress. She focused on the rearview mirror, watching the bruma as it disappeared behind them along with the closing gates. The witches were always close to the Fortress, but they could never make it inside, thanks to the Oras spells the Hunters had in place.
Her body stiffened as her brother came to a screeching halt in front of their home. For some reason, she was dreading going inside.
“So you’re really sleeping in Mom and Dad’s room?” Knox asked, taking the keys out of the ignition.
“Yes,” she groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “Why are you even asking me this?”
“Just want to make sure you’re not thinking of pulling a fast one on us and doing the new recruit,” Knox said with a sly smile.
“Knox!” Iris yelped. Her cheeks flushed pink, and he
r body felt like it was on fire. She turned her head, unable to look into her brother’s eyes.
“Oh, come on.” Knox nudged at her shoulder. “I see how you look at him.”
“Okay. Whatever.” She gave him a dismissal wave as she peered out the window. “Wait.” Iris paused. “How do I even look at him?”
Knox huffed. “Let’s just say the last time I saw your eyes light up like that was when you first found out witches were real.”
Iris puffed, turning toward her brother with her mouth open wide. “Oh pleeeease,” she said loudly. “Look, I don’t like Arlo, okay? I just met the guy. And even if I did, the last person I’m going to talk about it with is my brother.”
“Suit yourself,” Knox said wryly. “Don’t forget, I have a lot of experience in this department.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Iris knew her brother was quite the ladies man, but she didn’t think he needed any more bumps to his ego today.
She stepped out of the car, giving Knox one more dirty look before darting inside the foyer. The décor in the Fortress was proper, elegant, and above all, glamorous. A large crystal chandelier was draped from the vaulted ceiling, casting a soft, majestic glimmer on the grand piano sitting in the corner. Tall wooden bookshelves stocked with a collection of classic literature lined the walls of each room, and red carpet graced the floor.
Once inside, Iris headed straight to the kitchen. She swung open the fridge, drumming her fingers on the door as her stomach let out a fierce growl.
She was pleased to find all the ingredients she needed for a turkey and cream cheese sandwich. Her favorite. Her mouth watered as she slathered cream cheese on both sides of the bread and piled on slice after slice of turkey. Before Iris could finish making her sandwich, she was interrupted by a melodic sound drifting down the hallway. She raised an eyebrow and set off to investigate.
As she moved closer, she realized the sound was coming from her room. She peeked through the cracked door to find Arlo, sitting in her desk chair and plucking away at his guitar.
Her breath caught in her throat. She watched Arlo as he hummed softly, a silky and refreshing sound like honey drizzled on fresh fruit. His fingers slid up and down the neck of the guitar like he owned every part of the instrument. The music was beautiful, and so was Arlo. The combination was hypnotic. No, it was intoxicating.
Iris saw why Arlo wanted to move to Hollywood to become a musician. He was talented. Truly talented. She was about to compliment him on his natural gift, but stopped herself. She didn’t want the music to stop, so she leaned into the door frame and soaked up the melody.
He was undoubtedly hot, and attractive in a very “I’m a musician with issues” kind of way. She admired the long muscles pressing against his tight, v-neck T-shirt. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body. He looked good.
So good.
Completely lost in Arlo’s melody, Iris jumped at the sound of her text notification. It was her dad.
Tomorrow. Video call. 12:00 P.M. PST
“Great,” Iris mumbled to herself. And if her text wasn’t bad enough, she looked up to find Arlo staring directly at her. His emerald eyes were wide but inviting.
“Oh. Hi. Uh.” Iris fumbled to find her words. “I was just … um … eating some dinner in the kitchen and I heard you playing.”
“Oh yeah,” Arlo said with a cool smile. He put his guitar down and stood. “I have a bad habit of playing wherever I go.”
Iris fidgeted with the buttons on her leather jacket. “Well, you’re really good,” she said, awkwardly. She hadn’t been around many boys lately besides the Hunters, who were mostly relatives and arrogant guys that usually didn’t give her a second glance.
“Thanks,” Arlo said, looking down and running his fingers through his silky hair. “So, you got anything good in that kitchen? I could totally go for some food right now.”
He chuckled and Iris wasn’t sure what it was that made her so drawn to him. Maybe she was just looking for a friend, or possibly a fresh start? She wasn’t sure, but she was definitely intrigued.
“I’ve got an idea,” she said, bouncing back to reality. “I just made myself a sandwich. How about I make you one, and we’ll take it to go.”
“To go?” Arlo raised his forehead.
“Yeah. There’s something you need to see.”
*
They climbed to the top of the Bently Fortress and Iris was awed at the sight even though she’d seen it before. The bruma had receded and Hollywood was bathed in a warm mixture of moonlight and city lights. The night sky was remarkably clear and they could even spot some of the brighter stars. A brush of jasmine filled the air, accented by a frothy ocean breeze from the beaches of Santa Monica. It was perfect.
“Oh my God,” Arlo said, scanning the city in the background.
“I know, right?”
As they ate and enjoyed the view, a light rain started to fall just on the Fortress. Iris shook her head and looked up. “Freaking Belinda,” she said, catching a rain droplet in her hands.
“I’m guessing this is the work of a witch and not just a random weather pattern?” Arlo asked with cynicism. He closed his eyes and let the rain dance on his face.
“Yep,” she replied. “Sometimes she’ll make Anaka, an Ethas, put a storm over us, just to piss us off, which is about the only thing she can do given the magic we have around this place. The Oras spells protect us.”
“A storm, huh? The geek inside of me is pretty much freaking out right now.” He chortled. “You don’t have Professor X locked in your basement do you?”
“I wish,” she said playfully. They both laughed and spent the next hour talking in the rain.
Tomorrow was going to be rough. Iris had to face her father, tell him the truth, and come to terms with the fact that her protection detail failed. But for just this brief moment, Iris was glad to have a new friend.
Ten
Iris woke up with the worst of headaches. Her skull was racked with a searing pain that pulsed and throbbed and felt like a million white-hot needles all at the same time. The tragedy from yesterday had completely sunk in.
She felt responsible for the actress’s death, and her sorrow over this tragedy cut like a jagged knife, piercing the very depths of her soul.
It was ten o’clock and Iris had a video call with her father in two hours. She wasn’t looking forward to it. Sure, she wanted to catch up and see how he was enjoying his time in Wales. But she had a feeling this conversation was not going to be so lighthearted.
Iris took a deep a breath and forced herself to get out of bed. For some reason, she thought of Silos—the random stranger she met at the heiress’s party—who said he was having visions of the Hollywood Cemetery too.
She hadn’t had a vision today, and she was grateful for that. But still, she wanted to know where they were coming from, and if Silos had some answers she needed to meet him. He was going to be at The Coffee Bean today so Iris figured she had plenty of time to meet him and make it back for the video call with her father. It was worth a shot.
She threw on her Hunter gear, put her trusty gold knife at her side, grabbed the keys to The Armada and sneaked out of the Fortress before her brother or cousin had any time to react.
After a short but quiet drive, Iris approached The Coffee Bean on Wilshire Boulevard to find Silos already sitting at a table in front of the shop with two iced coffees in hand. One was black, and the other was full of what appeared to be cream. That’s the thing about Los Angeles—you can enjoy iced coffee even during the peak of fall because the weather almost always permits it.
The store was busy and Silos was occupying the last open table on the patio. He wore sunglasses, a gray T-shirt, dark jeans, and black leather motorcycle boots. The tribal tattoos wrapped around his arms were even more prominent in the daylight, as was his sharp jaw line and five o’clock shadow.
His dirty blond hair seemed purposefully messy, and he wore a permanent smirk on his face. He had this l
ook about him. The kind of look most women would throw their morals down the drain for. But Iris saw right through it.
“Hello, love,” he said as she walked toward the table. His voice was as creamy as butter, and his light Scottish accent tugged at her stomach.
“You call everybody ‘love’ don’t you?” Iris wasn’t very familiar with how people spoke in the UK. She didn’t mean to sound ignorant but she was hoping he picked up on her cynicism.
“Maybe.” He bit his lip. “I got you an iced coffee with a pump of vanilla and cream.”
“What!” she shrieked. “How did you know that’s my drink? Are you some psycho-stalker?” she said, half-serious, half-joking. Iris was ready to kick this guy’s ass if need be, but she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Don’t worry. I’m not stalking you.” His face gleamed. “I’m just good with people. I figured you were way too serious about coffee to like a blended drink or a dolled-up mocha, but since you have an obvious taste for adventure, I figured you’re the type who likes to indulge a little. Not too much, but just a little. Hence, the one pump of vanilla.”
“Oh my God,” Iris said, as her mouth nearly dropped to her waist. “You’re crazy, you know that.” She slowly took a seat and leaned back in the chair, allowing the October sun to dance against her face. Silos handed Iris her drink.
“Take a sip,” he ordered. “It’s good.”
She did. Because frankly, she wasn’t sure what to say at the moment. The coffee was deliciously rich. Full bodied with notes of bittersweet cocoa and a hint of toffee. It was just the right amount of sweetness and the perfect ratio of cream.
Iris relaxed her shoulders, taking in a whiff of the freshly ground coffee beans lingering from inside the cafe. It was her favorite scent.
“So, do you go to Melrose?” Iris asked. Car horns and engines loomed in the background on this busy Beverly Hills street.
Hollywood Witch Hunter Page 6