I looked around and saw no other person. “Elizabeth?”
He pointed to the cat, and I smiled. Of course, he’d meant the cat.
He stared at my face, and I didn’t look away. I’d gotten used to strangers staring at me. Sometimes people looked at me oddly because of my one gray eye and one an odd shade of red-brown. It used to bother me when people stared, but once I realized people were staring more from surprise or curiosity and not because I was deformed or completely unfortunate looking, I chilled out a bit.
I touched my eyebrow. “Different, eh?”
“Yes. Unique.” He bristled “Can I help you with something?”
“I really hope so.”
He pushed his hands into his brown corduroy trousers and came closer. I was short, but he was shorter. I estimated he barely reached five-two. His features were sharp, and his slender nose tipped up on the end. But his smile was pleasant and warm. I didn’t feel any danger from him. Good thing. I’d purposely left the blade in the car and under my seat. Bringing a sword—even a short one—into a bookstore seemed a touch inappropriate.
“I used to live here. In Milford.”
“Oh. Welcome home.”
I smiled wide. His words affected me more than I expected. I’d missed this place. Dad and I had been close, and we spent so much time together. My smile faltered as I replayed memories in my head of him and I walking hand and hand down Main Street on sunny afternoons. We’d loved to walk to town together.
I cleared my throat. “I’m Maisie Lewis. My mom thought you might have known my father, Victor.” I watched him closely to gauge his reaction. He didn’t have one.
“Sounds familiar. But I guess I probably saw him around. It’s a small community.”
“Right,” I said, deflated. “You’re Mr. Jenkins, right?”
“I am.”
“We actually met a few times. I would have been much younger though. I guess the last time I would have been maybe twelve or thirteen? I was with my dad.”
He puttered around, brushing dust off a weathered book before returning it to a bookcase. Dust motes swam in the air as a sunbeam broke through a nearby window, and it caused a tickle in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down.
“Are you sure you don’t remember him?” I asked.
Elizabeth meowed and rubbed up against me.
“I’m an old man. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”
I bit my lip and chewed. “My mom told me he spent a lot of time here.”
“Well, lots of people do. I serve fresh biscuits and tea in the afternoon. Some people like my cooking.” The cat coughed loudly, like she might have a fur ball. “Although, apparently not Elizabeth.”
Did he really not remember? Or was it a well-played act? Though I had to admit, if he was a liar, he was damn good at it. Or maybe he was old and had a touch of Alzheimer’s. Either way, I couldn’t make him talk if he didn’t want to.
I switched tactics because I was determined not to leave here empty-handed. If my father had trusted him, I would too. If that was foolish, then I’d deal with whatever consequences came. “Maybe you could help me find a book, then?”
“Sure. What kind of book are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure. You see, I have this object. I was hoping to find someone or something that might tell me more about it. Where it’s from…what it says…”
“Do you have a picture?”
“Better.” I unshouldered my bag and unzipped it. I reached in and hesitated. The man patiently waited with a single raised brow. Then I pulled it out while curling my fingers around it. Slowly, I opened my hand, palm sized up.
His lower lip dropped almost imperceptibly, but I saw it.
“That’s interesting,” he said casually. “What is it?” He smiled as he folded his hands over his middle.
I frowned and then accidentally dropped it. Quickly, I fell to my knees and splayed my hands on the floor as I scanned the hardwood. I couldn’t see it anywhere and I even lifted the flap of fabric around the legs of a chair in case it had rolled underneath.
“Where did it go?” I mused.
The cat stood in front of me, staring, but not at my face. Her wide green eyes locked onto my necklace, which had fallen out of my shirt to hang free from my neck. I leaned back onto my heels, and she came closer. Her paws met my lap as she moved in for a closer look. She turned her head to look at her owner, or friend, or whoever he was to her.
He bent at the waist and picked up the golden ball.
“The necklace? Where did you get that?” he asked me.
“It was my father’s.”
His gentle face gathered frown lines quickly before he released a weary sigh.
“You do remember him, don’t you?”
He nodded, but he didn’t look happy to admit to it. “And the Dosifine? Where did you get this?”
“The-the what?”
He held up the golden bullet and shook it. “The Dosifine, child!”
“Um…” Should I tell him I’d dug it out of a dead body? I was willing to trust him to an extent, but that was too much. It sounded wrong on so many levels. And it was probably illegal, especially since he’d been murdered, and I didn’t think the pack had any intention of sharing the evidence or the murder with the cops.
He looked heavenward and groaned. “This is very, very bad.” He scurried to a desk in the far corner of the room. After opening a drawer, he pulled out a magnifying glass and examined the bullet more closely.
“What’s a Dosifine?” I definitely hadn’t said that right, but I tried to pronounce it the best that I could.
The cat began to growl as it walked toward us, and the air grew misty around her as she pushed off her front paws and began to take on the shape of a young woman with long golden hair that fell down her back in waves. She was maybe ten years older than me, maybe more. And she had pale skin, rosy cheeks, and thin, bright-red lips. Even though she’d changed into a human, she was fully clothed in flowy green pants and a cotton shirt that hung low, almost to her hips.
I gasped, completely shocked at her transformation. Not that she was a shifter, but because I’d really thought she was a cat.
“For heaven’s sake, Carl, it took you long enough. I recognized her scent the moment she walked through the door. She knows what we are.”
“We’ve met before?” I said. Though I’d vaguely remembered Jenkins, I most definitely hadn’t met her.
“Yes. I never forget a scent.” She touched the side of her nose and smiled. “You were just a baby then, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. I wouldn’t remember you, either, if I didn’t have such a strong sense of smell. One of the benefits of being two-natured.”
“Two-natured?” My gaze trained to Mr. Jenkins. “Are you a cat too?”
He tsked at me.
“He wishes,” Elizabeth said, earning her an eye roll from Jenkins. “And I’m not just a cat. I’m a witch too. My mother was a shifter, and my father was a warlock.” She padded over to me in her bare feet. “I’m Elizabeth.” She offered her hand.
“Maisie.” I shook her soft, warm hand. She had a grip that stung just a bit.
“I know.” She pointed to Jenkins. “This is my uncle, Carl.”
I nodded to him before asking, “Why did you lie about knowing my father?”
“I don’t talk about magic or friends with strangers,” he said with his nose in the air.
“Friends? This is really good news,” I said quickly, not bothering to hide my enthusiasm.
Elizabeth said, “We actually knew your father well.” She took one of my hands in hers and squeezed.
I beamed at her. “You’re the first witches I’ve ever met besides my father. There is so much he didn’t get to tell me before he—”
“Have you seen this, Elizabeth?” Mr. Jenkins said.
Jenkins held the Dosifine between his index finger and thumb, rotating it while looking at it from all angles.
Elizabeth p
ut a sympathetic hand on my shoulder before removing it and skipping over to her uncle. He dropped the Dosifine in her open palm.
She studied it as I slowly moved toward them.
“How long did you know him?” I looked back and forth between them, not yet wanting to change topics. It had been so long since I’d really talked to anyone about him.
“What?” Carl asked.
“My father? How long did you know him?”
Jenkins said, “Over a decade, I suppose. When we moved here we didn’t realize another warlock already lived here. He hadn’t been part of a coven in years, and I think he wanted someone to connect with. Witches are rather social. They fare better in groups.”
“He never told my mother what he was until I showed signs of magic.”
“He was protecting her,” Elizabeth said.
“From what?”
Elizabeth released a long sigh. “First things first. Where did you find this?”
I bit my lip and fidgeted with my hands.
“It’s okay. We can’t help you if you don’t let us.”
I found it odd in this moment, that I’d been lying to everyone in my life in Gravewood—and more importantly, the man I supposedly loved—but I didn’t feel the necessity to lie to these people, and they were essentially strangers. Was it out of necessity? Because I had no one else to turn to? I didn’t think so. I’d thought I had trust issues, but maybe I only had issues when it came to humans. I wanted to blame my mother, but maybe it was all instinct.
I quieted my voice to a whisper. “It was inside the chest of a werewolf.”
“How unfortunate,” Elizabeth said.
I didn’t expect that response, but at least I saw no judgment in her face. Not the slightest bit. Some of the tension in my muscles eased.
“What’s a Dosifine?” I asked her.
“It’s basically a bullet made of gold and silver, but it’s been magicked to send its victim straight to hell.”
“Supernatural victims,” Carl corrected.
“See—” Elizabeth pointed to the scrawl. “Right here. The spell basically says whoever’s flesh it burns is damned. It’s a curse.”
My shoulders grew heavy, and I slumped forward. I hadn’t been ready for that. I’d expected that Marco had gone to hell and it saddened me. But he wasn’t the only one who would suffer that fate. The Dosifine had burned both Rex and Noah. I worried it was too late to help Marco but maybe I still had time to help Noah and Rex. Maybe? “Is it a good spell?”
They looked at me like I had two heads.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, it isn’t a good spell. I mean, is it a spell that always works? Could it, maybe, fail?”
Elizabeth tilted her head to the side and frown lines decorated the forehead of her otherwise porcelain smooth face. “You care about the werewolf?”
I knew I couldn’t hide the sting in my heart I felt when I thought of Marco’s lifeless body. Then about the raw red burn marks on Noah’s and Rex’s hands. But they didn’t need to know about Rex and Noah. “The werewolf died.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’ve only seen one other ball like this in my lifetime.”
“I’ve seen two,” Carl said. “But this is the real deal. People know about the spell, but I’ve never seen it with my own eyes or know of anyone powerful enough to cast it. If this Dosifine killed your friend, he’s most definitely in hell.”
“Could the spell be broken? Could I save my friend or anyone else who might have been burned by it?”
They shook their heads simultaneously, but it was Elizabeth who spoke. “If the Dosifine killed your friend, then there is no way to break the spell. The damage is already done. You can’t pluck someone from hell. And if anyone else touched it? Well, good luck to them. I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to hear.”
“How would I find the witch who did this? Maybe they could break the spell?”
Mr. Jenkins scoffed at that. “You see this mark here?” He held the ball up and drew it in close to his mouth. After drawing a breath, he let it out slowly. It thickened to a fog as it hung in the air and began to move in a swirling motion around the ball like the funnel of a tornado.
I couldn’t help but let out a “whoa” as I leaned in for a closer look. I saw it then. It almost looked like one of those old Egyptian ankhs, but the lines were thinner and cleaner, and in the circle on the top, there was another cross contained within it.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the mark of a hunter.” Carl regarded it with wide eyes.
“A hunter?”
“They’re like ghosts,” Elizabeth said. “You hear about them, but you never see them. Unless they’re hunting you, and well, by the time you see their beautiful faces, I’m afraid your number is up.”
My emotions shifted quickly. No longer was I amazed, but rather, a little confused and horrified. “Why would they hunt my friend?” I said, more to myself than to my witchy acquaintances. “He was a good person. As far as I knew he’d never hurt anyone. Could it have been a mistake? Like, maybe they meant to kill someone else? Or they just happened upon him and got in an argument or something?”
“No.” Carl sounded very decided. “If he was killed, he would have been marked before the hunter killed him. When they kill, it’s purposeful. They don’t make mistakes.”
Marco was marked? I couldn’t remember seeing one on him, but then, I hadn’t been looking for one either. “What does the mark look like?”
When Elizabeth moved, it was fluid and graceful. She glided over to a tall bookcase with glass doors. The books inside had yellowed or browned and had very little decorations. Only titles on their book bindings. Out of her messy bun, she pulled out what looked like a hairpin until I saw the end. It had the distinct lines and curves of a key. She slid it into the lock and opened the glass doors. After running her finger along the dusty top of the books, she settled on a book without any writing on it whatsoever. She pulled if free and quickly flipped through the pages. She knew exactly what she was looking for. When she stopped near the back of the book, she turned the book around, held it up, and pointed to a black and white image of a naked male from behind. A circle with an X in the center and a long line drawn through it decorated his right shoulder.
I committed the image to memory. “Their victims always have the mark?”
They nodded in unison. “Check your friend,” Mr. Jenkins said. “It’s most definitely there. They don’t make mistakes.”
“And if another supernatural touched the Dosifine? Maybe afterwards?”
Elizabeth slowly shook her head and her face softened as if to lessen the blow. “Then the spell widened its net. When their time is up, they’ll be joining your friend.”
I reached out for the back of the chair to my left. I lowered myself onto it and took in a deep breath. Let it out. This was bad. Worse than any scenario I could have imagined. Marco being in hell was bad, but Noah joining him? Noah and I had grown apart, but the thought of losing him splintered my heart, and the jagged pieces dug deep into my flesh. When it came down to it, Noah was still my best friend. Even after all this time.
“Who are these hunters?” I asked.
Mr. Jenkins pushed his glasses up his nose. “They descend from a small but powerful coven of witches that date back well over a thousand years. They’re very secretive, and not a lot is known about them.” He waved his hand through the air. “I’ve collected thousands of books over the years, and you’ll never find any book that touches on them. The few details known are nothing more than stories passed down through generations, and half of them could be completely inaccurate. Many say they are witches who made a deal with the devil for more power. In return, they kill and release souls to hell.”
My heart sank, and it must have shown on my face. Super witches who’d made a deal with the devil? Who no one could identify and who were hard to find? Man, this just went from bad to worse.
“I’m sorry, dear.” Elizabeth
approached me and wrapped one of her warm arms around my shoulders. “Maybe Carl is wrong. Maybe it was a mistake. It isn’t wrong to hope for the best.”
Mr. Jenkins shook his head. “Don’t give the girl false hope. Her friend is lost, and so is anyone else the Dosifine burned.” Then, to me, he said, “My suggestion to you is to bury the bullet so no one else is damned by it. Move on and forget you ever saw it.”
“I can’t do that. I need to find a way to break the spell. I can’t let my friends spend an eternity in hell. I just can’t.”
“That’s a mistake. One that will likely get you killed. Leave it alone, Maisie. I tell you, with confidence, your father would say the same thing if he were here right now. He would want you to stay very far away from that bullet and anyone connected to it.”
But he wasn’t here, and I couldn’t allow Noah and the man who raised him to join Marco in hell. I didn’t care what it took. I didn’t care how powerful these witches were. Noah and Rex didn’t deserve to burn for eternity. I would save them. I didn’t know how, but I would. Or I would die trying.
Nine
I had so much to talk to Elizabeth and Mr. Jenkins about. They knew my dad, after all, and they were the only other witches I knew. When all of this was over I fully intended on returning with a bucket load of questions and hoped to God they would answer them. But now was not the time. As much as I hated to admit that to myself.
Laird’s family dinner started soon, and I couldn’t miss it without consequences. He’d send his dogs to find me—literally.
I went to Mom’s house when I got back to town. She’d ended up going in to work at the café so I called her to coordinate. “I’ll pick you up,” I told her. “We can brave family bonding together.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’ll be there just before five.”
“I’ll be ready.”
I sat my butt down at the computer when we hung up and researched hunters. Or, I should say, I tried. The only information I could find was about vampire hunters. I guess they did that too. I mean, they hunted supernaturals, after all. Did vampires exist? I’d never asked that question before. Werewolves did, so why not? I read up on them, but the information didn’t fit. Those hunters didn’t have anything to do with magic—not that I could find.
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