A Deadly Secret (The Deadly Series Book 2)

by R M Connor

  “Get back in the truck.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

  I backed up, glancing at Maisie. “What’s going on?”

  With the phone held to his ear, he motioned to the truck. “Hey, we have a problem . . . Wolfsbane . . . Yeah, at Riley’s.” He poked the screen of his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. “I’m going to check the house. Stay here.”

  Ethan walked under the empty carport to the door off the kitchen. I ignored his request, because that’s what I was good at these days, and walked toward the porch steps. Maisie fell in stride behind me but we both stopped, just as Ethan had.

  A bundle of Wolfsbane, tied with a twine cord, lay on the doormat.

  It was a warning.

  Whoever attacked me, whoever was behind the murder of Sasha and Eugene’s kidnapping, had placed a warning for us to back off.

  “The house is fine. Come on.” Ethan walked up behind us.

  I jumped, crying out in pain. “Who did you call?” I asked.

  “Come on, let’s get inside.” He picked me up, one arm going under my knees and the other around my back.

  I looked up at the brooding expression on his face. “Show off,” I whispered.

  The corner of his lip twitched, his dimple appearing. His vanilla scent wrapped around me, the heat from his body warming me. I reached up, trailing my fingers over his dimple he was trying to hide. A smile slowly spread over his mouth, and I desperately wanted his lips against mine. My face flushed and I closed my eyes. Was this a side effect of the bite? As much as I enjoyed the heightened attraction I felt for Ethan, I was starting to wonder if the poultice was working.

  I was on fire and the only way to quench it was to drag Ethan to my room.

  He set me on my feet in the kitchen, my head swooned and I grabbed onto the counter before my knees buckled. His hand pressed against my back to help steady me. I held a finger up; I just needed a moment to screw my head on straight. I didn’t know what just happened, but it felt like I had my own animal inside and it wanted his. I slinked over to the kitchen sink and turned the water on. It felt like ice against my heated skin.

  I could still feel him behind me and for just a few minutes—I’d kick myself for this later—I needed him to put some distance between us. And as if it were a Christmas miracle, a knock came at the door. I let out a breath as he moved to answer it.

  John Russell sat across the table from me. He laid his hat beside him, and I could hear the crinkle of a large paper bag that held the Wolfsbane as he moved his legs. He had his little notepad in front of him and a pen in his hand that he clicked over and over as he stared at me.

  Leaning against the back of the chair, my arms crossed, I locked eyes with him. I looked him over, realizing I had never seen him smile. Ethan explained to me that he was the pack enforcer, working to keep things orderly when anyone stepped out of line.

  And someone stepped out of line big time.

  Problem was, the sheriff was also a wolf and was pulling the strings. He had to be careful, otherwise, he could lose his job on the police force, which apparently, he took very seriously. As serious as he took his “Earl Grey, to go,” and sneered at any offering of a muffin.

  “Can we trust him?” I looked over my shoulder at Ethan, who was leaning against the sink.

  He nodded.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” I leaned forward. “What’s really going on?”

  Russell laid the pen on top of his notebook. “I am very aware of what’s going on, Riley. The question is, why are you?”

  Did that matter at this point? I had a tendency to step into things I had no business being involved in. But now I was involved, the ache in my thigh was a big indicator of that.

  “It’s too late for you to reprimand me.”

  Russell’s nostrils flared, sniffing the air. “Were you bit?”

  “Someone attacked Riley at Peaceful Acres,” Ethan responded.

  Concern nestled between Russell’s brows. He glanced past me to look at his pack mate. “Who was it?”

  “We don’t know,” I answered for Ethan. “They were using Wolfsbane to mask their scent. Ethan and Michael—” I snapped my jaw shut. Russell’s gaze rested on me. “Michael has nothing to do with this.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why have you been looking for him?”

  “The whole pack knew of the changes our alpha made. I knew Michael’s life was in danger.”

  Maisie set a cup of coffee in front of me, and I wrapped my hands around it, bringing it to my lips. She set one in front of Russell, but he barely acknowledged it. No surprise there.

  “Do you know who’s behind Sasha’s murder, and Eugene’s disappearance?”

  His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he gave a small nod.

  “Why aren’t you arresting him?” I asked.

  “It’s not that simple.” Russell slid his finger through the handle of the cup and scooted it closer. My lips parted as I watched him bring it to his mouth. I never thought I’d ever see him drink coffee. “I have no evidence to arrest him on. There has been no discussion inside the pack to incriminate him. Even if he orchestrated this, I have to have solid evidence. But he would never see the inside of a jail cell.”

  “Why not?”

  Ethan cleared his throat. “A werewolf in a human jail.”

  I sighed. They were right. But there had to be something they could do . . . something the wolf pack could do. He wasn’t fighting fair. He was having someone else get their hands dirty so his would stay clean and there would be nothing to tie him to the murder of his wife.

  He picked up his pad of paper and slid it back into his breast pocket. Setting the hat on top of his head, Russell stood. “Please let the pack handle this. There’s no need for you to get hurt . . . any further.”

  He thanked Maisie for the coffee and showed himself to the door, the paper bag of Wolfsbane nestled under his arm. I winced as I stood. I had no intention of listening to him. I planned on finding something, anything, to tie Manuel Vargas to the murder of his wife and, possibly, Eugene. Someone had to take the fall, and it would be the one responsible.

  Maisie brought the grimoire from her room and unlocked it. I suppose if we couldn’t use ‘human’ justice, we could always use supernatural justice. But first, we had to find Eugene, and I prayed he was still alive.

  Holding my hands over the first page of the grimoire, I closed my eyes and thought “location spell.” I felt a breeze from the pages as they flipped. The grimoire settled on a page with flowery script.

  I grabbed a scrap piece of paper as Maisie read the spell out loud. It seemed simple enough: five drops of Forget-Me-Not oil, something from the body of the missing, a quartz pendulum, and a map.

  “Ethan, do you think you can find Michael?” I glanced at him. He had taken a seat at the table, watching us. He blinked slowly and pulled his gaze to meet mine.

  “Sorry.” He stood and walked toward the grimoire. “Michael. Yeah, I should be able to find him.”

  “Good. If we are going to locate his father, I need something that contains . . .” I glanced back at the book. “DNA, I guess. So, a toothbrush or hairbrush?”

  “Got it.” He pressed his hand against the small of my back, leaned down, and kissed me. The heat I had felt earlier flooded into my cheeks. His eyes twinkled, a smirk touched his lips. He knew what I was feeling. Could he smell it? Was I giving off a newly acquired pheromone?

  Ethan pulled his truck keys from his pocket and laid them on the counter. “You can’t be walking around to find the rest of those items.” He pressed his lips against the top of my head and then walked out the side door.

  “You okay?” Maisie raised an eyebrow.

  I pressed my hands to my cheeks to cool them off. “I have no idea.”

  Something inside the house slammed, followed by a shriek. I spun around, grunting with pain, and looked into the living room. I could hear a rattle—metal hitting
metal. Exchanging glances with Maisie, her eyes widened.

  “The cage!”

  Maisie and I stared into the cage behind the stairs. She snapped her fingers and the room filled with light. The cage teetered on its base. A little creature, with the now-empty bowl in front of its face, cowered against the back bars. Long, pointy ears peeked over the top of the bowl and equally long toes with sharp nails poked from underneath.

  Leaning closer, I squinted, trying to figure out what it was. It jumped forward with a loud screech and banged the bowl against the cage. I stumbled backward with a yelp.

  “Let me out!” it squeaked, banging the bowl on the bars again.

  It couldn’t be more than a foot tall, resembling a brown bat, with thin, veiny wings and an upright, pig-like snout. It pressed its nose to the bars, dropping the bowl and grabbing onto the cage to try to shake its way out.

  Could this really be what has been following me around? An overgrown bat?

  It looked up at me, its mouth drew down in a frown and a tear ran down its cheek. “Please, let me out.”

  “Oh, God, Riley! It’s crying!” Maisie reached for the cage door.

  I put my hand on hers. “Wait—what if it’s faking?”

  Maisie looked at me, her face matching that of the creature’s. “I don’t think it’s faking. It looks terrified.”

  I picked up the cage. The little creature held on tighter as I brought it to the kitchen table. “I’m going to open the door.”

  It moved away from the door, picking the bowl up, then held it in front of itself as a shield. Or maybe it planned on using it as a weapon. A tiny mixing bowl probably wouldn’t hurt too badly, unless it was used against an ankle.

  “Please don’t attack us,” I begged and opened the door.

  “Attack witches?” It moved the bowl to rest on top of its head like a hat, forcing its ears down. “Never hurt witches.” It slowly moved from the cage, squinting up at me.

  I moved a chair to sit a few feet away. “Have you been following me?”

  “I was helping.” It gave a big, pointy-toothed smile. Its little chest puffed out in what I could only imagine was a feeling of accomplishment.

  “Helping?” Maisie leaned over my shoulder.

  “Who sent you?” I asked.

  It winced, looking down and rubbing its foot back and forth on the table. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “We aren’t going to hurt you,” I said, trying to use my most reassuring voice. “Can you please tell us who sent you?”

  “She wants you to be ready.” It pulled the bowl over its face to hide.

  “Who?” I pressed.

  “If she knows you caught me, she’ll hurt me!” It looked over the rim of the bowl. A river of tears cascaded down its cheeks as it blinked.

  “Okay . . .” I exchanged a glance with Maisie. If it wouldn’t tell us who sent it, maybe it would tell us something else. “Can you tell us your name?”

  “H—Harold.” He lowered the bowl back to his belly. “I can help you with your spell.”

  Maisie moved a chair to sit in front of him. “How so?”

  A large grin spread across its face, forcing its eyes to squint. “I can get the pendulum. I’ll get it. Harold is very quiet and very sneaky.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. He put the bowl back on his head and vanished, leaving a light breeze in his wake. The bowl spun haphazardly on the table. Maisie picked it up, looking just as perplexed as I felt. Her brows were scrunched, her lips pursed.

  “Who do you think he was talking about?”

  Shrugging, I crossed my arms. ” I have no idea.” Agatha? Maybe Esther? I had no idea who “she” was and why anyone would need us ready. What did we need to be ready for?

  Maisie stood, pushing her chair back under the table. “Let’s finish getting the supplies.” She grabbed Ethan’s keys off the counter and held the door open for me.

  Grabbing the list, I grunted as I walked down the steps leading out of the kitchen to the driveway. I was going to regret not staying in bed today.

  Just a few minutes later, Maisie pulled the truck into an empty spot in front of the flower shop. To say I was grateful for not having to limp down the street, was an understatement. The poultice was helping, but there was still a deep ache in my thigh.

  Connie looked up from the counter. She hastily told the person on the other end goodbye and from the look on her face, I wondered what gossip she was spreading. She placed the phone back on the cradle and stood.

  “Well.” She chuckled, walking around the counter toward Maisie and me. “Isn’t this a treat. How can I help you girls?”

  “Do you have any forget-me-nots?”

  “It’s not really their season.” Connie tapped a finger to her pursed lips, then raised her arms in a big shrug. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

  I pulled the list out of my pocket, catching Connie’s attention. She held her hand out and I gave it to her. Putting it up close to her face, she scrunched her brows and then held it further away. “Oil of forget-me-nots?” She glanced at us over the paper. “What exactly are you two up to?”

  Shuffling my feet, I glanced at Maisie.

  Connie flicked her eyes to the ceiling. “All right, don’t tell me.”

  She motioned for us to follow before disappearing into the back room. By the time we caught up, she was standing in front of a large, wooden cabinet. It had dozens of drawers with little white-and-bronze knobs. Small labels had been added above each one, sectioning the alphabet all the way to the bottom right drawer.

  She pulled open one drawer and picked through a few glass jars, dropping them arbitrarily. “Ah!” She held one up and turned to us, a large grin on her face.

  “Will this be enough?”

  I took the amber-colored jar by the rubber dropper attached to the top and held it sideways. The liquid inside slid back and forth like molasses, a few forget-me-nots attached themselves to the side of the glass. “It should be. Thank you.”

  “I think it’s time you two start gathering supplies every witch should have,” Connie mentioned as we walked back into the shop.

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Agatha is so preoccupied these days.”

  Connie laughed. “Oh, that’s nothing new. She’s always been like that. Now, your mother was more—” Connie stopped, pressing a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her up.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I had a feeling the people in Wildewood knew more about our mother than they let on. She had lived here her whole life. Everyone was so scared to talk about her. It wasn’t as if she could hurt us anymore. She had given us up and was now gone. Why hide what she was?

  “I’d be happy to help you two. One of these days when you aren’t running around doing”—she fluttered her hands in front of her—“whatever it is you two do.”

  “We’d really appreciate that.” I thanked her again and we left the store.

  “What’s next?” Maisie looked over my arm at the list as I crossed off the Forget-Me-Not oil. “A map. Do people even sell those anymore now that everyone has a phone?” She snorted and mumbled, “Well, everyone except for us.”

  Looking around town, I wondered where we could find a map. The Stop and Shop wasn’t too far away, but I had never seen a map there only the latest tabloids. “There’s that little gas station right before the bridge.” I shoved the list back in my pocket as I climbed into Ethan’s truck. After buckling, I looked up and saw Bean bounding down the sidewalk toward us.

  Maisie opened her door. Bean jumped onto her lap then into the back. She reversed out of the parking spot and did, what I’m certain, was an illegal U-turn to head toward the main road that led out of Wildewood.

  The gas station was one of those old, two-pump stations that looked like it came out of a movie from the 1960s. The convenience store was small and rounded on one side, the white paint faded from years in the sun. The other side of the building was a quick oil
change shop but was no longer in use. I leaned toward Maisie to see the gas gauge and figured we should fuel up the truck so Ethan didn’t have to later.

  Pulling next to a pump, I gave Maisie some cash and she hurried inside to pay and hopefully grab a map. I placed the nozzle into the gas tank and leaned against the cold metal of the truck. A dark SUV pulled into the station lot. It turned toward the pump beside the truck with Manuel Vargas in the driver seat.

  Ducking to the other side of the truck, I peeked through the window and watched him exit his vehicle. He started to pump his gas when his phone rang. While he leaned across the seat to grab it, I looked toward the gas station, hoping Maisie wasn’t done yet.

  The conversation with the person on his phone was hushed. His neck grew red as he strained his words, and then he raised his voice, “Take care of it!”

  I pressed a hand over my mouth, ducking down further.

  “This is your mess, clean it up.” His door slammed.

  I peeked back through the window. Though his windows had a slight tint, I could see the anger on his face. Deep wrinkles penetrated his forehead as he yelled a chain of curse words that would make anyone blush before starting his car up. He pulled out of the small parking lot and I walked as fast as I could to the building. Looking over my shoulder at his vehicle speeding away, I wondered who the hell he had been talking to. I turned back around and ran into Maisie as she stepped out of the door. A bottle of water fell out of her hand and started to roll across the asphalt. Scooping it up, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the truck.

  “Riley!” she yelped.

  Ignoring the pain in my thigh, I slid into the driver seat and motioned for her to hurry. As soon as her door closed, I pressed on the gas. The truck roared to life and the tires squealed as we sped out of the parking lot.

  “What happened?” She looked behind her at Bean, who was not excited about my driving. “I was only gone for a few minutes.” She grabbed the handle above her.