This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Bewitched & Twisted, The Witches of Hollow Cove, Book Nineteen

Copyright © 2025 by Kim Richardson

Cover design by Kim Richardson

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

in whole or in any form.

1

Ihad a baby.

Yup, my very own gorilla-witch baby.

No one can really prepare you for that incredible event. Oh, sure, they try. There’s your mother giving you unsolicited, half-useful advice in between dramatic sighs about how she “did it all without magic back in the day.” There’s the paranormal healer, Wynona, who smells vaguely of peppermint and burnt sage, tapping your foot and handing you some questionable glowing tonic while cheerfully declaring, “Everything is fine. Just don’t think about the pain.”

And of course, there’s the wereape husband, pale as a ghost, which is an accomplishment considering he’s usually a beautiful golden tan color, gripping your hand and muttering things like, “Breathe, Tessa. Breathe,” as if he wasn’t the one hyperventilating.

But none of that—not the preparation, not the hours of labor that I will absolutely not be revisiting in detail (you’re welcome), not even the warnings from my aunts about how “babies will steal your soul and your last good pair of underwear”—could compare to the moment I finally set my eyes on my own kid.

A life. A tiny, squirmy, shrieky little life that Marcus and I had created together. And oh, he was perfect. Our son.

Yes, I had a boy.

Darian.

A name worthy of a legend. Or at least a name worthy of being shouted dramatically when he inevitably broke something valuable in the house. Which, by the looks of it, could happen any day now.

Because here’s the thing. Something wasn’t quite right.

One month in, and my newborn was… well, let’s just say “newborn” no longer applied.

“He’s huge. What the hell are you feeding him?”

Dolores stood over his crib, her hands on her hips in her signature “exasperated aunt” pose, staring at my son like he was a mutant science experiment. Which, in fairness, might not be entirely off the mark.

I shuffled beside her, adjusting my sleep-deprived eyeballs.

Darian looked back up at us with wide, gray eyes, blinking innocently. Except—he wasn’t a tiny, helpless infant anymore. He was bigger. Considerably bigger than any baby should be at one month old.

His chubby little arms had some real muscle to them. His legs had a thickness that suggested he was either hitting the gym in his sleep or on some kind of magical growth spurt from hell.

Yeah, definitely something was up.

I shrugged and plastered the most innocent expression on my face. “Oh, you know, the usual. Breast milk, formula, and the occasional enchanted cow.” I laughed. She didn’t.

Dolores narrowed her eyes at me. “Tessa.”

“Kidding. Mostly.”

Dolores sighed as she looked over my kid. “Well, something just isn’t… right.”

She wasn’t wrong. He was the size of at least a six-month-old—if that six-month-old had been training to wrestle supernatural beings in an underground fight club.

Dolores continued to scrutinize my baby, who was currently lying on his back, his arms stretched over his head like a little king surveying his kingdom. His chubby legs kicked with alarming strength, making the mobile above him spin like it was caught in a hurricane.

“Seriously, though,” Dolores went on, “he’s the size of a toddler. At this rate, he’s going to outgrow his crib by next Tuesday.”

I glanced at my son. “It’s not my fault he’s got wereape genes. Marcus was probably swinging from trees by the time he was two.” I laughed again. She didn’t.

“And that doesn’t concern you?”

I shrugged. “I figured it just meant early mobility. You know, walking, climbing, possibly terrorizing the neighborhood. Nothing major.”

Darian cooed up at us, unaware of the existential crisis he was causing. And I loved him. With every cell in my body. To me, he was perfect.

Dolores squinted at him. “Have you checked if he can climb yet?”

My jaw dropped. “I—no. Do I need to?” Crap. There was still so much I needed to learn.

“Well, considering he’s half wereape, I’d say yes.”

Just then, Darian let out a happy little gurgle and—oh no—grabbed the side of his crib. His fingers curled around the wooden bars, and before I could blink, he pulled himself up. Easily.

Dolores and I froze.

Holy shit. He’d never done that.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “I gave birth to a tiny super-soldier.”

Dolores just smirked. “Well, at least he’ll be able to carry his own diaper bag soon.” She laughed. I didn’t.

Not sure I liked that. He was growing up fast, way too fast.

“Dolores is right.”

I turned to see Beverly sashaying into the room and joining us at the crib. “He’s enormous. He’s only a month old. That’s not normal.”

“Yes, he is. He’s exactly how he should be.” Total lie. Obviously, I had noticed how fast my kid was growing, but I was trying to ignore it. I didn’t want my baby to be “different” in another way. He was already special, being a wereape, witch, demon hybrid baby. I didn’t think I could handle something else.

I had noticed the “my baby is growing at an alarming, possibly sci-fi level speed” situation about a week after Darian was born.

At first, I thought maybe I was just sleep-deprived and hallucinating. Maybe all babies looked a little bigger when you were running on two hours of sleep and a diet consisting entirely of coffee and whatever food could be eaten with one hand. But then I realized—nope. My son was definitely expanding like some kind of adorable, chubby-cheeked science experiment gone rogue.

Naturally, I panicked. And then, naturally, I called the best supernatural medical professional I knew: Wynona Moondust, head witch healer at Magic Wand Maternity.

She took one look at Darian, gave him a full magical examination, and then smiled. Like she hadn’t just witnessed my newborn turning into a linebacker overnight.

“He’s perfectly healthy,” announced Wynona in her calm, reassuring healer voice.

I flailed my arms like a woman on the verge. “Perfectly healthy? He doubled in size. He’s outgrowing his clothes faster than I can change his diaper. That can’t be normal! It’s the doula. She did something.”

Because, of course, my brain immediately went there. My paranoia had been well-earned, thank you very much. Vara had poisoned me, and clearly, this was some delayed voodoo side effect. Maybe my baby was cursed to grow into a full adult by next Tuesday. Maybe he’d age in dog years. Maybe he’d sprout wings. I had no idea. But something was definitely happening.

Wynona placed a soothing hand on my shoulder. “Tessa, there are no traces of any kind of abnormal essence in your baby. I tested him three times.”

I let out a deep breath. “Okay. But if he’s not cursed, why is he growing so fast? I mean, I know babies grow, but I wasn’t expecting The Incredible Hulk: Infant Edition.”

Wynona gave me that practiced, knowing smile that all healers probably learned in healer school. “Tessa,” she said gently, “you have a very special baby. His genetic makeup is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

I blinked. “Should I be concerned that the medical professional is saying that like she just discovered a new species?”

She ignored that. “I believe this is completely natural for him. That’s just who he is.”

I crossed my arms. “So you’re telling me my baby is naturally growing at the speed of a teenage boy going through a protein shake phase?”

“Yes.”

I made a face. “And you’re sure this won’t result in him waking up one day as a six-foot, muscle-bound wereape who asks for the car keys before he can walk?”

Wynona chuckled. “I think you’re safe for now.”

I stared down at Darian, who was currently sucking on his fist, completely unbothered by my freakout.

“So, he’s just… big?” I asked again because my brain refused to accept the simplicity of that answer.

“He’s healthy,” corrected Wynona. “And that’s what matters most.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That feels like something a doctor tells you when they don’t actually have a better explanation.”

Wynona patted my arm. “It’s also something a doctor tells you when they don’t want you to spiral into a frenzy over baby growth rates.”

Okay, she had a point.

That had been three weeks ago.

I sighed and looked back at my kid, who was currently gripping the edge of the crib with an impressive amount of strength. His fingers curled around the railing, his little arms flexing as he tested the sturdiness of the wood.

“I think he’s cute.” Ruth appeared in the room and wedged between us, reaching down and squeezing his cheek. “Babies are supposed to be big and plumpy. That’s what makes them cute.”

Darian mumbled something and held up his arms for me to take him out of his crib. His gray eyes, his father’s eyes, blinked brightly at me. He looked just like his father. He was perfect.

I thought of Dylan, the way he had fooled us all into believing he was Marcus’s son, but I quickly shook those thoughts away. I never wanted to think about that little changeling bastard again.

“Oouf,” I huffed, as I cradled him into my arms. “See? He’s not that big.” Another lie. It was an arm workout whenever I picked up my son.

Dolores looked over Darian. “He needs a haircut… again. We just trimmed it two days ago. Look at all that hair.”

I grinned at my boy as he happily slapped my face. “Wereape genes,” I said. “Marcus was probably born with a full beard.” I laughed at my own joke. They didn’t.

Dolores arched an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t surprise me.”

Beverly leaned in, examining Darian with a critical eye. “If you don’t stay on top of it, he’ll have a full mane by next week. And trust me, you don’t want to deal with that. I once dated a guy with shoulder-length hair who never used conditioner, and let’s just say, I still have nightmares.”

I bounced Darian in my arms. “Well, we use baby conditioner, so there. End of story.”

Ruth beamed. “I like it. He looks like a tiny, fluffy prince.”

Darian gurgled happily at the compliment, which I took as clear evidence that he was developing at an alarming rate. Should I be worried? Maybe it was time to see Wynona again.

Beverly scoffed. “Well, tiny fluffy prince or not, you better figure out a hair routine before he ends up looking like a feral child raised by wolves.”

I sighed. “You’re all acting like he’s Cousin Itt from The Addams Family. He’s a baby. Babies have hair. Some more than others. It’s fine.” I had been bald, or so my mother’s baby pictures of me revealed. Hair was better.

Dolores gave me a long, skeptical stare. “So, have you thought about daycare?”

I blinked. “Daycare?”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “Yes, daycare. You know, that thing where people look after your child so you can continue doing things like fighting off dark wizards, breaking into supernatural prisons, and generally making bad life choices?”

Ruth gasped. “You want Tessa to give away her baby?”

“That is not what I’m saying,” said Dolores, exasperated. “I’m saying she’s going to have to figure out how to balance her job with raising a child. She can’t exactly bring him along on missions. Unless, of course, you want your baby’s first words to be ‘fireball’ and ‘duck for cover.’”

I shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“And?” pressed my tall aunt. “Have you given it any thought?”

I shifted Darian in my arms, suddenly very interested in the buttons on his tiny onesie. “Haven’t decided yet.” Totally true. Marcus and I had discussed it, but I still wasn’t sold on the idea. What if he got hurt? What if he missed his mommy? He was only a month old, after all.

Dolores pursed her lips in thought. “Okay, so daycare’s a no-go. But what about a nanny?”

I snapped my head up so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. “Absolutely not. Nope. No way. Not happening.”

Dolores raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“Are you kidding me?” I clutched Darian a little closer. “Have we already forgotten the doula incident? I’m not trusting some stranger with my kid. Never again. I don’t care if they come with glowing references from the Fairy Godmother herself. I won’t risk it.” I was not handing over my child to strangers, not after what happened with the doula. Which was also why I was extremely hesitant about daycare. My kid was different. Special. And I knew in my gut that there would be more fake doulas on the prowl for my child. I needed to keep Darian close.

Dolores and her sisters shared a silent look—the kind of wordless conversation that only siblings or lifelong conspirators could have, where entire sentences passed between them without a single word being spoken.

I narrowed my eyes. “Okay. What was that? What’s going on?”

Ruth was the one to break the silence. She stepped forward, her hands clasped together and her eyes wide with delight. “We want to be Darian’s nannies!”

I blinked. “Wait. What?”

“We’d love to take care of him,” she continued. “We’re already his great-aunts, so it makes perfect sense. Who better to look after him than his own family?”

Dolores nodded. “We could alternate shifts. He’d always be safe with us.”

I stared at them. “You guys want to babysit my monster baby? Willingly?” I won’t lie and pretend that wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for. Because it was.

“But just to be clear,” said Beverly, curling a strand of loose blonde hair behind her ear, “I’m in as long as I’m not seen with the baby. Nothing puts a damper on a woman’s sex life like being mistaken for a grandmother. No man wants to whisper sweet, lovemaking things to someone he thinks is knee-deep in diaper duty.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Like anything could put a damper on your sex life.”

Beverly perked up. “You’re absolutely right. I’m a force of nature. But let’s not tempt fate, hmm?”

“Not to mention,” added Ruth, “we’d get to spoil him rotten, and you’d have absolutely no say in it.”

I smiled. If I was going to trust anyone with Darian, it would be them. Still, the thought of them wanting to be the ones to take him, to make sure he was always with family, made something warm settle in my chest. Loved my aunts. And I was lucky to have them.

I let out a slow breath. “Thank you. I love this idea, really.”

“You do?” Ruth clapped her hands. “Oh, this is great.”

“But,” I said, holding up a finger, “what about when we’re all on a job?”

The room went silent.

I glanced between them. Beverly suddenly found something very interesting on her nails. Ruth pursed her lips and began rocking back and forth, as if she was waiting for a bus.

Dolores exhaled through her nose, her face contorting. “If you’re about to say Katherine Durand, I might have to hex you.”

I snorted. “Not that grandmother. The other one. My mother.”

For once, I felt like I could actually breathe. Sure, my mother and I had a complicated history—okay, fine, a downright mess of a history—but I knew she’d take care of Darian. If anything, she’d see it as her chance to prove she was Mother of the Year, even if that ship had already sailed, sunk, and been eaten by a kraken. And my father would be there, which meant at least one responsible adult in the room.

Dolores nodded, satisfied. “Good. Then that settles it.”

But before I could relish the small victory of solving my childcare crisis, Dolores’s eyes narrowed at something.

“Ruth?” Her voice was sharp, suspicious. “What do you have in your hand?”

Ruth, who had been happily twirling a small card between her fingers like it was a casual afterthought, blinked. “Oh. I forgot. Here. We just received this.” She lifted the card, but before she could so much as angle it toward me, Dolores snatched it from her grasp.

I watched Dolores closely, trying to read her expression. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes darkened. Worry crept over her face, and just like that, all my newfound peace evaporated.

“What is it?” I asked, already bracing myself. “A new job?”

Because if this had anything—anything—to do with my kid, I was going to lose it.

I squeezed Darian against my chest, my grip tightening instinctively as anxiety rippled through me. My heart rate spiked, and for a second, everything in me felt wired, tense, ready to fight—until a tiny, chubby hand pressed against my cheek.

I blinked.

Darian was watching me, his wide gray eyes steady, unblinking, as if he knew. As if he could feel the shift in my emotions, the way my pulse had quickened, the way my breathing had hitched. His warm little palm stayed pressed against my face, grounding me; his fingers curled slightly, as if he were trying to anchor me in place.

And damn it if it didn’t work.

I let out a slow breath, loosening my grip on him just a little. He wasn’t crying, wasn’t fussing. Just staring at me with an uncanny calmness, a silent reminder that whatever storm was coming next, I still had him.

My boy.

I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re too perceptive for your own good. You know that?” Just like his father, that one.

Darian cooed, the softest little sound, and my chest ached in the best and worst way.

I turned my attention back to my tall aunt. “And?”

Dolores hesitated for a second. Just long enough for my paranoia to kick into overdrive.

And then she exhaled, looked at us, and said, “There’s been a murder.”

“Murder? Who?” asked Beverly.

Dolores stared at us in stunned silence before finally saying, “Gilbert is dead.”

Well. Shit.

2

Gilbert, the little shifter owl—the mayor of Hollow Cove and proud owner of Gilbert’s Grocer & Gifts—was dead.

I was really not expecting that.

But there he was, sprawled out on the office floor, his body stiff and his skin an unnatural shade of gray.

Now, let’s be clear. Gilbert was not my favorite person. Not even in the top fifty. Yes, he’d pissed me off more times than I could count. Yes, he deducted my pay on several occasions for “damages,” which, okay, technically were my fault, but in my defense, magic is unpredictable. Yes, I had imagined blowing his head off once or twice—figuratively.

But I never actually wanted him dead.

Yet someone did.

It was kind of surreal looking at him now. Since I first arrived in Hollow Cove, Gilbert had been nagging me for something or another, always trying to find ways to insult me. Strangely enough, I was going to miss those times.

A young cashier—a weredeer, judging by the faint smell of horse clinging to her and the way she looked like she was about to bolt at any second—had found Gilbert first. She stood near the door, trembling, her face speckled with pimples and raw emotion. Ruth had an arm around the girl’s shoulders, murmuring something as she tried to comfort her.

I’d seen plenty of bodies in my line of work, but looking at her reaction reminded me how “not normal” this was for most people. She was still in the wide-eyed, “Oh my God, death is real and right in front of me” stage.

I crouched near Gilbert, frowning. “No blood. No visible marks on him. And no obvious cause of death apart from the fact that he’s stiff and his skin is, well… dark gray. That’s not standard owl-shifter coloring. Right?”

“Not unless he was doing a very experimental skincare routine.” Beverly stood several feet away with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if physically repelling the crime scene.

Dolores ignored us both, kneeling next to the body, her hands hovering over Gilbert as she whispered an incantation under her breath. Her fingers twitched, tracing symbols in the air, a faint glow sparking to life between her palms. The scent of wildflowers and wet earth filled my nose as she tapped into her White magic. She was feeling for something—some trace of magic, some lingering essence of whatever had killed him, I suspected.

I watched closely, but a loud, theatrical gasp suddenly stole my attention from the doorway.

“Is it true?” said a voice behind me.

I sighed before I even turned around.

Martha.

Every town had one—a gossip so powerful, so ever-present, that you had to wonder if they had some sort of teleportation ability fueled by the scent of scandal.

Martha, a plump witch with an affinity for loud floral prints and an even louder personality, stood in the doorway, clutching her chest as if she’d just walked in on the actual murder happening in real time.

“Is Gilbert dead?” she gasped dramatically. Then she spotted him on the floor and let out a squeal so high-pitched I was pretty sure only dog shifters could hear it.

Her hands flailed in the air for dramatic effect before she zeroed in on me—specifically, me and the stroller parked by the desk.

Her mouth fell open. “Tessa. Did you have to bring your child to a crime scene? He’ll be scarred for life.”

I exhaled slowly, the kind of exhale one does when resisting the urge to set something on fire.

“I turned the stroller,” I said, gesturing to the very obviously angled stroller. “See? Baby facing away from the corpse. No trauma happening here.”

Martha squinted. “Still, that’s a dead body. He could sense it. We still don’t know what his magical abilities will be.”

The “we” that she just said wasn’t lost on me.

I glanced at Darian, who was currently gnawing happily on his thumb and drooling onto his onesie. “Yeah, looks scarred for life to me,” I said dryly.

Martha sniffed, unimpressed. “I would have found a sitter.”

“I tried to drop him off with my mother,” I shot back, straightening and moving over to the stroller to turn it slightly so I could better see Darian’s happy face. “But she wasn’t there.” Totally true. I really didn’t want to have to bring Darian with me, but seeing as my mother wasn’t there, and my aunts and I were needed, this was a Merlin’s job. I didn’t have a choice.

Martha’s eyes widened, but not at Gilbert. No, her gaze had locked on to something else entirely.

Darian.

Her expression flickered, something between curiosity and unease, like she wasn’t sure if she should be intrigued or terrified. Her eyes darted between his chubby little form in the stroller and me, her lips parting slightly as if she was about to say something but thought better of it.

Martha took a very deliberate step back. “Oh,” she said, her voice unusually cautious. “He’s… grown. A lot.”

I stiffened, my grip on the stroller’s handle tightening. “Yeah, babies tend to do that.”

Martha’s eyes narrowed slightly, like she wasn’t convinced this was just regular baby growth. “It’s just… so fast. Isn’t it? I mean, a month ago, he was tiny, and now…” She trailed off, taking another half-step back, as if Darian might lunge at her.

My jaw clenched. “And now what?”

Martha didn’t answer. She just kept staring, shifting further away like the stroller contained something out of a horror movie rather than my son.

And then I heard it. The murmurs. The low, hushed voices of the people who had gathered outside the office door. I glanced up and saw them. More witches, more shifters, peering inside, their eyes flickering from Gilbert’s body to Darian.

I knew that look. I had seen it before.

It was the same way they had looked at me when they found out I had demon blood, that I was a Shadow witch—a mix of fear, suspicion, and the kind of wariness that made people whisper behind your back rather than saying things to your face.

They weren’t just looking at Darian. They were studying him. Like he was something unnatural. Like he was an abomination.

A sharp, hot anger ignited in my chest. “Is there a problem?” I asked, my voice high with irritation.

Martha hesitated. “No, of course not,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She offered a forced smile, clearly realizing she was on very thin ice. The others outside went quiet, their whispers dying off as my words echoed in the office.

I let out a slow breath, trying to rein in the fire in my chest. I didn’t want to fight with Martha. Not now.

Darian, oblivious to the tension, murmured softly, his tiny fingers curling around the edge of his blanket. He had no idea these people were already looking at him like he was something to be feared. A freak.

Screw them. I didn’t need them or Martha. And if these paranormals thought for even a second that they could make my son feel like he didn’t belong here…

They had another think coming.

After angling the stroller away from prying eyes, I moved back to where Dolores was still kneeling over Gilbert’s body, though her eyes were fixed on me.

“Are you okay?” asked my tall aunt.

“Just peachy.” I knelt and looked over the dead owl shifter’s body, a sudden feeling of sadness washing over me. I felt bad for Gilbert. There I said it. He didn’t deserve to die like that. He was a pain in the ass, yes. But he was our pain.

And I would find out who did this.

I sent out my witchy senses, letting my magic flow outward like invisible tendrils, searching, feeling.

Something was there—faint but unmistakable. A lingering, unnatural energy clinging to Gilbert’s body like old cobwebs. It wasn’t the kind of soft, fading essence left behind by natural death. No, this death had been caused by magic.

I frowned. “I can feel magical vibes. And Gilbert didn’t practice magic.” Well, not that I knew of.

Dolores didn’t even look surprised. She simply nodded. “I feel it too.” She placed her hands over Gilbert’s chest, whispering another incantation. A soft glow flickered over his stiffened body, illuminating his graying skin for a brief second before vanishing.

Then she exhaled, her expression darkening. “He was cursed.”

I frowned. “Cursed? What kind of curse can kill a shifter and leave him looking like that?”

Dolores met my gaze. “The illegal kind.”

Beverly sighed, adjusting her lipstick in a compact mirror. “Oh, good. Illegal murder curses before noon. Just once, I’d like a peaceful morning. Maybe brunch. A mimosa. Something that doesn’t involve a corpse.”

I ignored her. “What kind of curse are we talking about?” I hadn’t been a Merlin or in the magical world long enough to know or recognize an illegal curse. That’s where my aunts came in. That’s why they were the badass witches they were.

Dolores’s jaw tightened. “It was the Maleficium Noctis.”

I blinked. “The… what now?”

Dolores sighed. “The Night Malediction. One of the most forbidden curses in the paranormal world. It’s powerful, irreversible, and completely illegal.”

Beverly snapped her compact shut. “Like a supernatural death sentence?”

“Exactly,” answered Dolores.

Martha let out a dramatic, ear-piercing squeal. Damnit. I’d forgotten she was still there.

“Gilbert was cursed!” she shrieked, clutching her floral-covered chest as if she were the one who had just been hexed. “With an illegal curse!”

A collective gasp rippled through the nosy onlookers at the door, and whispers erupted instantly.

Wonderful.

Martha cranked the dramatics. She grabbed on to the nearest person—a startled werecat—and practically shook them. “Did you hear that? A murderer. Walking among us. Could be any one of us.” She flailed a hand at Gilbert’s body, her eyes wild. “Could be you!”

The werecat yanked their arm back with a hiss and edged away. The whispers outside were turning into a full-blown buzz of panic.

Just. Freaking. Great.

Dolores pushed herself up. “Shut it, Martha.”

Martha froze mid-theatrical gasp. “Excuse me?”

“You’re starting a panic,” growled Dolores. “And the last thing we need is the entire town spiraling into mass hysteria because you’re screeching like a banshee on market day.”

Martha sniffed, deeply offended. “Well, someone has to inform the people. What if the murderer is still here? What if we’re all next?”

Dolores gave her a flat look. “If I have to listen to you for five more minutes, I will be next.”

I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t smile or start laughing. Because, that would be totally inappropriate.

Martha scowled, glaring at Dolores. “I don’t like your tone.”

“Good,” Dolores shot back. “Then maybe you’ll leave.”

Martha’s face flushed, but the witch stayed put.

And before Martha could open her mouth for another dramatic declaration, a deep, authoritative voice cut through the room.

“Everybody clear out.”

Heads snapped toward the entrance.

Marcus.

He stood in the doorway, his broad frame filling the entire space like some supernatural bouncer who had just walked into a bar fight. His sharp gray eyes scanned the room, landing on Gilbert’s body and then flicking to me.

Martha, wisely, clamped her mouth shut. The crowd of onlookers immediately shuffled back like guilty schoolchildren caught loitering in the hallway.

Marcus jerked his chin at his deputies, who had followed in behind him—Lori, a sharp-eyed, no-nonsense werebear in a leather jacket, and another deputy, a hulking werewolf male I vaguely recognized but couldn’t name.

“Get everyone who’s not a Merlin out,” ordered the chief.

Lori was already on it. “All right, people, show’s over. Move along before I start writing up citations for loitering and unnecessary shrieking.” She shot Martha a pointed look.

Martha scowled at the taller werebear and marched out in a huff.

The rest of the bystanders—some grumbling, some whispering—finally began filing out as the other deputy ensured no one lingered. After a few seconds, the room had cleared, leaving just me, my aunts, Marcus, and Gilbert’s very dead body.

Marcus stepped further in, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. He took in the scene, his jaw tightening slightly.

Then he saw the stroller.

His gaze flickered between it and me, his frown deepening, but he didn’t say anything.

Whoops. I braced myself for a comment, but when it didn’t come, I felt… weirdly worse. Like I knew he wasn’t thrilled, but he was choosing not to argue about it, which somehow made me feel more guilty. Weird.

“There was no one to watch him,” I said defensively before I could stop myself.

Marcus exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say good or bad. Just nodded once. Then, without another word, he walked over to Gilbert.

For a moment, he just knelt there, his hands resting on his thighs. And then he leaned in slightly, inhaling.

I wasn’t sure what he was sniffing for, probably trying to pick up any scents of whoever had been here last. But after a second, his expression darkened.

“He was killed with magic,” said Marcus after a moment. I knew wereapes and most weres were equipped with heightened senses of smell and auras. It didn’t surprise me that he too could sense the magic still emanating from Gilbert. He looked up at me and then at my aunts. “Do you know what kind of magic killed him?”

Dolores, still standing near Gilbert’s body, folded her arms. “It’s called The Night Malediction.”

Marcus’s gaze sharpened. “And someone used it on him.”

Dolores nodded grimly. “Yes. It’s a sure kill. Whoever did this knew there was no coming back from it.”

Marcus looked back at Gilbert’s gray, lifeless body, his brows knitting together. “Our town mayor has been murdered.”

Dolores nodded. “That’s what it looks like.”

Ruth, who had been suspiciously quiet, suddenly stepped forward. “I know someone who was killed by that same curse.”

I glanced up. “You do?”

Ruth nodded, folding her arms. “A witch, a few paranormal towns over, Caroline Cornfoot, died the same way. They found her in her garden, stiff as a statue and gray, just like Gilbert. No one noticed at first because they thought she was one of those fancy garden statues.”

Yikes. I narrowed my eyes. “Do you know who cursed her?”

Ruth smiled. “Oh, yeah. Her husband.”

Lovely.

“Classic,” Beverly muttered.

I glanced back at Gilbert. “Except Gilbert wasn’t married. And from what I know, he was single.” I let out a breath. “So, who killed him? Who had it out for him?”

Beverly scoffed. “That is a very long list.”

She wasn’t wrong. Gilbert wasn’t exactly the town’s most beloved citizen. He had a knack for pissing people off, and his grumpy, money-pinching ways had probably made him more enemies than friends.

Still. The Night Malediction wasn’t just some casual spell someone could pick up at a local magic shop. From what I knew about illegal curses and hexes, it required immense power. Black and Dark magic. A deep understanding of the forbidden.

Whoever had done this hadn’t just wanted Gilbert dead. They wanted him to suffer and then die.

I exhaled slowly. “The only thing we know for sure is that someone used a very illegal curse to kill him.”

Dolores pressed her hands to her hips. “Which means we’re dealing with someone dangerous.”

Marcus straightened, brushing off his jeans. “I’m going to make some calls,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “See if there have been any recent arrests or reports of illegal hexes and curses in the other communities. Someone had to get their hands on this magic somehow.” He glanced at Gilbert again, his jaw tightening. “My forensics team is on the way. They’ll dust for prints, check for any magical residue we might’ve missed, and see if we can extract any physical evidence from the scene.”

I nodded. “Good. In the meantime, I’ll look into Gilbert’s background. Talk to his friends—well, acquaintances, let’s be real—and see if I can get some information that way.”

Beverly hummed, examining her nails. “If he even had any friends. I mean, it’s Gilbert.”

Ruth sighed. “He had to have had someone who tolerated him.”

“Yeah.” I thought about it. “Someone who clearly didn’t tolerate him enough to let him live.”

The words hung in the air. This wasn’t random. It wasn’t an accident.

Whoever did this had planned it. Calculated it. And if they could turn Gilbert into stone, they could do it again.

And next time? We might not catch it before it was too late.

Yeah. This case was just getting started. And something told me we weren’t going to like what we found.

3

“Get the fuck out. Gilbert’s dead?” Ronin ran a hand through his messy hair, looking genuinely surprised. He blinked a few times, as if his brain was still processing.

“He is,” I said, lifting my coffee mug. “Very dead.”

The half-vampire dropped his hands to his hips, staring at me. “Damn. And here I thought I was gonna have a slow day. How’d he go? Someone finally snap and throw him into traffic?”

“Close,” I said. “Killed by an illegal curse. The dark medallion or something.”

“The Night Malediction,” corrected Iris, who was perched on the couch beside me, flipping through a massive album—Doris, her new DNA album of all things paranormal. “Very illegal curse. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone killed by it.”

Ronin let out a low whistle before dragging a chair over, flipping it backward, and straddling it. “Someone really wanted him dead.”

“Yeah.” I set my coffee down on the table. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. That’s why I asked both of you here to help me piece this together. Who were his friends? Was he seeing anyone? That kind of thing. I mean, you own the building where Gilbert had his store. You probably know more than me.”

Ronin let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, ‘know’ might be a stretch. He was my tenant. And a douche. That’s about the extent of our relationship.”

“Not shocking,” I said. “But you had to have seen him with someone. A friend? A secret lover? Some shadowy figure handing him a mysterious scroll in the middle of the night? Give me something, Ronin.”

The half-vampire shrugged. “Most of the time, he was with Martha.”

I groaned. “Of course he was.”

Ronin smirked. “Yeah. If anyone knows more, it’s her.”

Perfect. Just what I needed, another excuse to endure Martha’s never-ending “I’m just asking questions” interrogation method.

“You know,” Ronin added, rubbing his jaw, “now that you mention it, I did see him yesterday with someone. Some tall guy with white hair.”

I straightened. “White hair? Who was he?”

He shook his head. “No clue. Never seen him before. They were talking outside his store. He gave Gilbert a small box.”

I squinted. “A tall guy with white hair and a small box. That’s it?”

“Just saw them talking. No murdery vibes at the time, but hey, what do I know?”

“Well,” said Iris, still flipping through her massive paranormal DNA album. She pulled out a plastic evidence bag like it was just another day. “I was able to get some DNA off of Gilbert before they took him downstairs to the morgue.”

Ronin flashed Iris a smile. “Is it normal that I’m really turned on right now.”

“Hush,” snapped Iris, glaring at her boyfriend who was giving her sexy smiles.

I turned to my Dark witch friend. “You did?” I asked, surprised, but then, not really.

“I got some hair, some skin, and clippings of his shirt,” answered Iris.

Ronin gave a laugh. “You say that like it’s a totally normal sentence.”

I sighed. “Okay, so far we’ve got Gilbert killed by an illegal curse and a mysterious white-haired visitor yesterday.”

Iris looked at me. “What are you thinking?”

“You know me. I don’t believe in coincidences.” I glanced between my friends. “That white-haired stranger knows something. We have to find him. Or find out who he is.”

“Maybe Martha would know,” added Iris.

Ronin leaned back, folding his arms. “I swear if that witch tries to sell me her homemade hair products again, I’m going to lose it. Every time I see her, it’s, ‘Ronin, dear, your hair could use some life. Try my enchanted rosemary serum.’“

I snorted. “To be fair, your hair does kind of scream ‘I just rolled out of a crypt.’“

Ronin pointed at me. “Yet it still looks better than half the men in this town. Which is why I do not need Martha coming at me with her little glass vials of mystery potions, acting like she’s the fairy godmother of great hair.”

I grinned. “Her stuff is amazing, though. I bought her volumizing mist once, and I swear my hair had a mind of its own for a whole week.”

Ronin made a face. “See? That’s exactly why I don’t trust it.”

I laughed. “Listen. We’ll talk to Martha, but if she tries to get you to buy something, just nod and pretend to consider it.”

Ronin sighed. “Fine. But if I walk away from this with a bottle of enchanted detangling spray, I’m blaming you.”

“Guys.” Iris shut her DNA album. “Maybe this white-haired guy isn’t a stranger at all. Maybe he was a regular contact, and we just never noticed because we have lives.”

“Debatable,” said Ronin. “I know all the hot guys in town. I would have noticed if he was a regular. He wasn’t.”

I leaned back, considering. “Okay. Let’s go through the checklist. Who hated Gilbert enough to kill him?”

Ronin let out a slow whistle. “That’s a long list. That man collected enemies like a werewolf collects chew toys—aggressively and with no intention of letting go.”

Iris nodded. “Okay, so who benefits from his death? Maybe this wasn’t just about someone hating him. Maybe it’s about what he left behind.”

She had a point. “True. Who? Who would benefit from his death?”

Ronin drummed his fingers against the back of the chair he was still straddling. “He owns the branding of his store. Plus whatever investments he had. Could be money-related.”

“Except,” I said, “who actually wants that store? I mean, yes, it’s a solid business, but I don’t see a murder happening over overpriced canned goods and questionable souvenir mugs.”

Iris hummed. “What about politics? He was the mayor.”

Ronin scoffed. “Please. Hollow Cove politics aren’t that serious. It’s not like we have ruthless backstabbing campaigns for town treasurer. He barely won last time because the other candidate got bored and dropped out halfway through the election.”

I blinked. “Wait—what? Seriously?”

Ronin nodded. “Yep. Halfway through the debate, Candace Henshaw just stood up and said, ‘You know what? I actually hate paperwork,’ and walked out. Never came back.”

Iris frowned. “And that was Gilbert’s path to power?”

Ronin shrugged. “It was either him or let the town be run by an empty chair. No one wanted the job.”

I let out a slow sigh. “So… what?” I frowned. “Someone killed him for personal reasons?”

“He was kind of an ass,” said Iris. “You told me before that he cut your wages. I’m sure that wasn’t the first time either. He’s done it to others.”

I nodded. “Yeah, more than once. And let’s be real, Gilbert had a habit of screwing people over like it was a competitive sport. It’s like he loved doing it.”

“Exactly,” agreed Iris. “If he pissed off the wrong person, maybe they finally snapped.”

I glanced at Ronin. “Do we know if Gilbert had gotten himself into trouble lately? Owed money? Crossed the wrong people?”

Ronin let out a dramatic sigh. “Existing meant Gilbert getting into trouble. That man could pick a fight in an empty room.”

I raised a brow. “So, standard behavior?”

Ronin nodded. “Late rent, arguing with suppliers, pissing off customers. Oh, and that one time he tried to charge a werewolf triple for a steak because he claimed, ‘It’s my store.’ That nearly ended in a brawl.”

Iris winced. “Okay, yeah, that would’ve done it.”

I exhaled. “So in your opinion, nothing major that could have resulted in someone using an illegal curse.”

Ronin shrugged. “In my opinion, no. But maybe he finally pushed his luck. Maybe someone just couldn’t handle it anymore and decided to go full-on Dark Magic Revenge Mode.”

Iris nodded. “That makes sense to me. There’s motive.”

“And now all we have to do is find the one who did it,” I said, knowing full well that was going to be hell because Gilbert pissed off people for fun.

A lopsided grin tugged at Ronin’s lips. “Cool. So just find one angry paranormal in a town full of paranormals. Should take what—five, ten minutes?”

I shot him a look. “You’re really not helping.”

“Yeah, but I make it look good,” he said, flashing me his best vampire grin.

I exhaled and leaned back into the couch. “I’m going to talk to Martha. Any takers?”

“Holy shit. Is that your kid?” Ronin was pointing at something to my left, his mouth slightly open.

Frowning, I turned to where he was pointing—

And promptly choked on air.

There, dangling from the upper kitchen cabinets like a baby gorilla in a jungle gym, was my one-month-old son.

My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. “Darian!”

“Didn’t you say you put him down for a nap?” laughed my half-vampire friend.

“I did.” I jumped to my feet and ran over to the kitchen.

Darian, completely unbothered, grabbed on to one of the cabinet handles, swung his legs up like some kind of Olympic gymnast, and easily moved to the next one. His little fingers curled around the wood like he’d been scaling buildings his entire life.

Ronin strolled in behind me, his hands in his pockets. “Well, I gotta say, Tess, this is a new one. Most parents are dealing with tantrums and potty training. You’ve got Spider-Baby over here re-enacting Mission Impossible.”

“He’s a month old!” I shouted, panic gripping me as I rushed under the cabinets, arms outstretched, ready to catch him in case he slipped. “He’s not supposed to be able to do this.” No, he was supposed to be drooling and crying like all month-old kids.

“Well,” said Ronin, stroking his chin, “technically he is part wereape. So, y’know. Seems on brand.”

“This is not on brand. This is not normal.” Or was it? Damnit. I was going to have to call Katherine and have a chat. She would know. She raised Marcus.

“Define ‘normal’ in this household,” Ronin quipped.

Darian, still oblivious to my mounting horror, giggled happily and used one of the cabinet handles to pull himself up to a standing position.

I swear I almost fainted. Even Iris squeaked somewhere behind me.

“Darian, come to Mommy,” I said as I stretched out my arms. “Climb down to Mommy.”

“Can he even understand ‘climb down’ at this age?” Ronin asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m hoping he at least understands the sheer terror in my voice!”

Darian flashed me his father’s signature smug grin before crouching down and leaping to the next cabinet like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Iris let out an actual scream. “Ronin, do something!”

Ronin crossed his arms, clearly enjoying himself. “What do you want me to do? Coach him? Alright, kiddo, tighten that grip—use your core—stick the landing—”

“That’s not helping,” hissed Iris, the panic in her voice only adding to the panic inside me.

The half-vampire shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I have experience with wereape babies. Do you want me to Google it?”

Darian giggled again, completely ignoring my mental breakdown as he locked his eyes on the dining table—twenty feet away—like he was actually considering making the jump. His tiny body crouched lower, his little legs tensed, that same way Marcus did right before he launched himself into a fight.

Panic slammed through me. My heart felt like it actually stopped for a second before jackhammering into overdrive.

Was he seriously about to—

Darian leaped.

Fuck!

I barely had time to react. My instincts roared to life, my magic flaring hot under my skin, and I did the only thing I could.

I yanked on the elements around me and shouted, “Viverra!”

A blast of kinetic force shot from my outstretched hands, wrapping around my son mid-flight. It was a desperate, reckless tug of magic, and for a split second, the world slowed to a crawl.

Darian dangled weightless in the air, giggling like this was the best game ever. I pulled him toward me with a sharp snap of power.

He flew straight into my arms, and I clutched him against my chest, panting, my whole body trembling from the sheer terror of what almost happened.

“Gotcha,” I breathed, my voice uneven and my pulse still racing.

Darian squirmed in my arms, trying to look over my shoulder, probably to see if he could still attempt the jump again.

I tightened my grip. “No. Absolutely not. We are not doing this. You are one month old. One month. You’re supposed to crawl, maybe waddle, and drool, not rocket-off my kitchen cabinets like a damn action hero.”

Darian blinked up at me, his tiny mouth curling into that smug little grin Marcus always got when he was about to do something reckless and knew I couldn’t stop him.

I had two of them now.

I buried my face in his wild baby hair, inhaling his familiar warm scent, and tried to steady my breathing. This wasn’t normal. None of this was normal.

What if I hadn’t caught him in time? What if my magic had failed? What if he had…

I squeezed my eyes shut. No. I couldn’t think like that. I wouldn’t think like that.

But still, my hands were shaking.

Ronin’s voice cut through my spiral. “So, uh… I know I said your kid wasn’t normal, but I wasn’t expecting him to be able to do his own stunt work.”

I opened one eye and glared at him. “Not. Helping.”

He gestured at Darian, who was still wiggling in my arms, clearly trying to find another surface to climb. “I mean, seriously. This is next-level. Most babies are busy trying to eat their own feet. Yours is out here attempting death-defying aerial acrobatics.”

I let out a sharp breath. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Iris moved into my line of sight. “Technically, it makes sense. Wereape genetics combined with enhanced magical lineage—it’s only logical that his physical abilities would develop at an accelerated rate.”

I slowly turned to look at her. “You’re saying this is normal?”

Iris tilted her head. “Totally.”

Ronin snorted. “I’d prefer not having to witness an infant attempting extreme sports before I’ve had a beer, personally.”

Darian gave a tiny grunt of protest, wriggling again, and I had to hold him tighter.

I stared at my son’s face, so cute, so innocent. “I need a baby cage. Does that exist? Is that a thing?”

Iris blinked. “You mean a crib?”

“No, I mean a reinforced supernatural holding chamber disguised as a crib because clearly regular baby containment won’t cut it.”

Ronin grinned. “You could always get him a leash.”

I shot him a look.

He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying. Might come in handy.”

I exhaled through my nose and pressed a kiss to the top of Darian’s head, my arms still tight around him. My heart rate was finally, finally starting to slow, but my brain was still running on a frantic loop.

My son was growing too fast. And not just in size—his strength, his coordination, his abilities…

I had no idea what else he’d be capable of in another month. Another week?

And that scared me more than any illegal curse.

4

After Ronin and Iris left to do their own investigating, I spent two exhausting hours trying to teach Darian that my kitchen cabinets were not an Olympic climbing wall. Eventually, I gave up.

It wasn’t that I lacked patience. I mean, okay, I did, but that wasn’t the issue here. The issue was that my son, my one-month-old, had no interest in learning that gravity was a thing. He didn’t care that falling from a six-foot height could be dangerous.

No. He just kept smiling up at me, his chubby little cheeks radiating pure innocence and his gray eyes filled with absolute adoration for his mama, like I was the greatest thing in the universe. Like I was the center of his tiny, death-defying world.

And just like that, I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

Before Darian, I didn’t think I’d miss having a child.

Now that I had him? I couldn’t even fathom ever being without him.

Which was why it was a real problem that he seemed hell-bent on giving me a heart attack before his first birthday.

I grabbed my phone and called Marcus. The second he answered, I did not ease into it.

“He’s climbing up the kitchen cabinets!” I shrieked into the receiver. Yup. Total first-time parent meltdown happening.

There was a pause. Then, “Tessa? Who is?”

“Your son! Who do you think?”

Another pause. And then… laughter. He was laughing.

I frowned so hard I nearly snapped the phone in half. “Are you laughing at me right now?”

More chuckling. “Listen, you have a wereape baby here.”

“Part wereape, part witch,” I insisted, though it was looking less and less like Darian had inherited any witchy magic and more and more like I’d given birth to a full-blown jungle gym menace. When he was in my belly, I’d felt the magic then. But now? Nothing. It was something I needed to ask my aunts about, but every time I had a moment to think about it, I was too busy trying to keep my child from climbing the walls.

Meanwhile, my so-called husband was treating this like it was a fun fact rather than a full-on parental crisis.

“Well, don’t worry about it,” said Marcus, way too casually, like I had just informed him Darian had learned to clap his hands, not defy basic safety protocols.

“I am worried,” I snapped. “He could fall and hurt himself.”

“He won’t,” said Marcus, so calmly I wanted to reach through the phone and shake him. “See, with wereapes, if he’s already climbing, it means he’s strong enough to do it. He won’t fall. It’s just how we’re built. His genetics won’t let him.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that I’m just supposed to let him swing from cabinet to curtain rod like it’s no big deal?”

“You’re thinking like a witch. He’s a wereape. Wereape babies do this.”

“Oh, do they?” I hissed. “Do wereape babies also give their mothers premature gray hairs? Because I think I just aged ten years in the last hour.”

“You’ll look beautiful with gray hair,” said the chief, and I swear I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I hung up. Livid.

Which explained why, ten minutes later, I was knocking on the door to my mother’s house, not even remembering how I got there.

The front door swung open. “Tessa? Why is your face all red?” Her eyes locked on Darian. “Is that my boy? Yes, it is. Come to Granny.”

I blinked. Granny?

Darian immediately reached for my mother, cooing like she was his absolute favorite person in the world. Traitor.

I sighed and handed him over. “Can you watch him for a few hours while I investigate Gilbert’s murder?”

Amelia’s brows lifted. “Oh, I heard about that. How awful.” She adjusted Darian on her hip and patted his back. “You know, I always thought someone would do him in one day. He had the face of a man who would be murdered. Some people just look like that, you know?”

“No.” However, I had fantasized about punching Gilbert’s face more than once.

“Well, I’m just saying, maybe he had it coming.” She bounced Darian slightly, making him giggle. “Now, don’t you worry about a thing, darling. Granny’s got everything under control.”

I exhaled. “Yeah, about that. Just a heads-up. Darian can climb now. Like, full-on scale walls, cabinets, countertops… basically anything that stands still long enough.”

Amelia scoffed like this was no big deal. “Oh, please. I think I know what I’m doing. I raised you. Didn’t I?”

I gave her a flat look. “Sure.” Back then, it was no secret that my dear mother wasn’t exactly Mother of the Year. She had a habit of forgetting things—picking me up from school, buying groceries—while dedicating all her time to that human musician, Sean. My mother had a talent for denial and an even greater gift for selective memory loss.

“And look how well you turned out,” she added.

I opened my mouth but then closed it. There were so many arguments I could make, but honestly? I was already exhausted. I didn’t want to go there with her right now.

“Just… watch him closely,” I warned. “I don’t need a call in an hour saying he’s hanging from the chandelier.”

“Oh, stop worrying.” She waved a hand. “Go do your little investigation. Darian is in good hands.”

I shut the door behind me, knowing I would receive a phone call from a frantic Amelia in about an hour. But I couldn’t let that distract me. I needed to speak to Martha and obtain some information about Gilbert to see if she knew of any friends of his, such as the mysterious white-haired stranger.

I’d barely made it down the street, heading in the direction of Martha’s house, when I heard the shouting.

“Help! Somebody, please!”

The voice was frantic, raw with panic. My head snapped toward the sound. A woman was standing on her porch, waving her arms like she was trying to hail a taxi in rush-hour traffic.

“You!” She locked eyes with me and gasped. “You’re a Merlin. Aren’t you?”

Ah. Here we go.

I jogged over, already bracing myself for whatever supernatural mess was about to be dropped in my lap. “Yes, I’m Tessa. What’s going on?”

“It’s my daughter!” The woman, a White witch from the aura I got from her, was only wearing a thin T-shirt, yoga pants, and a pair of slippers. It was too cold outside to be wearing that, but the witch seemed too panicked to notice. “She… she’s trapped! Please, you have to help!”

Trapped. That wasn’t vague and ominous at all.

“Trapped? Where is she?”

“Inside, hurry!”

I followed her up the porch and through the front door, stepping into a quaint, pastel-colored cottage that looked like it had the same layout as my mother’s house.

The witch led me upstairs to the second floor, down a short hallway, and into her daughter’s bedroom.

And that’s when I saw it.

An antique standing mirror sat in the corner of the room, its ornate silver frame glinting in the light. But that wasn’t what made my stomach drop.

It was the girl.

She was inside the mirror.

Holy crap.

The teenage girl’s hands were pressed against the glass, her eyes wide with panic. Her lips moved rapidly, forming words I couldn’t hear.

I took a slow step forward. “What happened? How did she…” I’d never seen anything like this before. Hell, I’d never heard of such a thing as being trapped in a mirror. But there it was, staring at me in the face.

The mother gripped the sides of her head. “I helped her bring the mirror up to her room. She was just standing there, staring at herself. And then suddenly, she…” Her breath hitched. “She just… slipped inside.”

I looked at the girl again. Her face was distorted slightly, like I was looking at her through water. Her fists pounded against the glass, her mouth still moving, desperate.

This was not good.

The mother wrung her hands, her face pale with shock. “It was supposed to make her more beautiful,” she said, her voice trembling. “They told us all she had to do was gaze into it, and she’d... change.”

I blinked. Change? That didn’t sound remotely like something a mirror should do.

“Who told you that?” I pressed, stepping closer. “Who sold you the mirror?”

The woman’s lips parted, but then her brow furrowed in confusion. She hesitated, panic flickering across her face. “I-I don’t know.”

A cold chill crawled down my spine. “What do you mean you don’t know? You had to buy it from someone.”

Her breathing grew uneven, her hands clutching at her hair. “I don’t remember! I know we bought it—I know Emily wanted it—but I can’t remember where. Or who. I can’t even picture their faces.”

Damn. Someone had erased her memory. This was worse than I thought.

I exhaled. “All right. Let’s get her out of there.” How the hell do I do this?

The mirror hummed, its surface rippling like liquid silver.

I had a very bad feeling about this. I stared at the mirror, my stomach doing an uncomfortable flip.

Yeah. This was way above my pay grade. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

The girl’s face shifted and warped behind the glass. Her lips kept moving, her fists slamming against the surface, but no sound escaped. It was like she was sealed in a vacuum.

I turned to the frantic mother. “I need to get help. I can’t do this alone. My aunts—they have experience with things like this.” God, I hoped they did because I didn’t.

“What!” The woman’s eyes went wild with panic. “No, no, no, you have to help her! You’re a Merlin! Do something.”

“Yeah, and even a Merlin knows when they’re out of their depth.” I took a step back, already calculating the fastest way to get to my aunts. They didn’t have cell phones (because, of course, they didn’t), so I’d have to run or—no, screw that—I could use the ley line and zap myself there in seconds. Why run when I could use my awesome ley lines?

I pivoted toward the door, ready to bolt—

And then something grabbed me.

With unnatural strength, the mother latched on to my arm, her fingers digging into my skin like steel clamps.

“She’s dying! Look!”

My heart slammed against my ribs as I snapped my head back to the mirror.

The girl.

Oh god.

Her skin had turned a sickly, almost translucent white. Dark veins spread beneath the surface, her fingers trembling against the glass. Her desperate movements were slowing.

The mirror. Whatever nasty magic sustained it, was evil. And it was draining her. By the time I got to my aunts, she’d be dead.

Shit.

“Okay. Okay.” I wrenched my arm free and faced the mirror again. “I’ll try something. But I don’t know if it’ll work.”

No time to hesitate. No time to doubt.

I yanked on the elements around me and raised my hands, magic surging to my fingertips. “Viverra!”

A blast of kinetic force shot toward the mirror, hitting it like a battering ram. The surface rippled violently, but the girl stayed trapped.

“Viverra!” I tried again, this time with more force. Nothing.

“Inflitus!” I sent out another pulse of magic, hoping to break the connection—still nothing.

Panic clawed up my throat. This wasn’t working, and the girl didn’t have much time left. I had to figure out something fast.

The mother let out a piercing scream. “Break it! Break the mirror!”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I raised my hands and summoned every ounce of force I could muster. “Inflitus!”

A blast of raw energy shot toward the mirror, hitting the glass like a wrecking ball. The entire frame shuddered, the surface rippled, but that bastard thing didn’t break.

The girl inside twitched violently, her movements sluggish now. Her fingers scraped weakly against the glass, her mouth barely forming words. Her once-bright eyes were glassy and sunken.

“Again!” the mother sobbed. “Try again!”

“Accendo!”

A burst of flames erupted from my palms, slamming into the mirror. The fire licked the edges of the frame, but instead of burning, the flames curled inward and vanished—as if the mirror had eaten them.

What the hell was this thing?

“Evorto!” I tried, willing the mirror to explode outward, but the spell fizzled the second it touched the surface.

The mirror hummed, its glass warping, twisting—getting darker.

The girl shuddered.

I could feel it now. The mirror was suffocating her, draining her soul like a parasite.

I was running out of time.

“Damn it!” I clenched my fists. Magic wasn’t working. And I was pretty sure the mother had also tried her White magic on it.

That left only one option.

I reached inward, grasping for the other part of me—the dark, cold demon mojo that lived just beneath the surface. The power was raw, and somewhat unpredictable… but my only shot.

I let it loose.

Dark strands of coiling black energy whipped from my hands, lashing toward the mirror like snakes striking. They slammed into the glass, wrapping around the frame, squeezing, pulling, trying to shatter it.

For a second, the mirror fought back.

The dark tendrils pulsed, pressing harder, black veins crawling along the glass, but then the mirror absorbed it.

It ate my demon magic.

Holy crap. What the hell was this thing?

The mother, hysterical now, grabbed a chair and hurled it at the mirror.

Good idea, but the glass didn’t even crack.

She grabbed a lamp, a vase, a bookshelf, anything she could get her hands on, and smashed it against the surface.

Still. The mirror would not break.

And the girl inside… She was almost completely still now.

“Emily!” screamed the mother.

It was raw, gut-wrenching, the kind of scream that ripped through the soul—one of pure, helpless agony.

It tore through me in a way that it wouldn’t have before.

Before Darian, I would have still felt it—the pain, the horror, the unbearable grief of a mother losing her child right in front of her. But now? Now that I had my own son—my own tiny, perfect piece of everything that mattered—this sound hit differently.

It lodged in my ribs like a jagged blade, slicing through my very core.

I could see it—see myself in her place. Darian on the other side of that cursed glass. Me screaming his name, begging for someone, anyone, to save him.

I refused to let that happen.

I clasped my fists and pulled on everything. Every ounce of magic inside me. Every thread, every particle, every single magical cell in my body. I dug deeper than I ever had before, reaching for power I didn’t even know I had.

I sucked in a sharp breath and let it out in a roar—a cry of pure magic, pure will, pure desperation.

“Evorto!”

“Inflitus!”

“Viverra!”

I threw everything I had at the mirror, slamming it with wave after wave of power.

The room shook. The lights flickered. The air crackled with raw energy, my magic whipping through the space like a raging storm.

But the mirror didn’t budge. Not a single crack. Not a single sign of weakness.

And then…

Emily stilled. Her trembling hands slid down the glass. Her chest stopped rising. Her wide, terrified eyes—so full of life just moments ago—dimmed. Her body began to crumble.

No.

I took a step forward, my hands slamming against the mirror, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Emily!”

But there was nothing I could do. Before my eyes, her body disintegrated into a fine, silvery ash, swirling up into the mirror’s depths like smoke.

And then she was gone.

The mother’s scream shattered through the house, raw and primal, the kind of grief that curdled the air and made it hard to breathe. She collapsed to her knees, wailing, shaking, inches from the mirror.

And all I could do was stand there, frozen, staring at my own reflection in that cursed, unbreakable glass. My own pale face stared back at me, my eyes wide, horrified, and confused.

My chest heaved, nausea twisting my stomach, but through the crushing weight of failure, one horrible realization slammed into me. The mirror was still here. Still humming, I could feel its energy. Still hungry.

It had devoured Emily. What if it wasn’t done?

My body moved before my brain did. I lunged toward the bed, grabbed the first thing I could—a thick, pale blue sheet—and threw it over the mirror.

The moment the fabric covered the glass, the hum dulled.

The magic still throbbed beneath it, simmering like something was waiting. Watching.

I stood frozen, my eyes locked on the covered mirror. Whatever had just happened here, I hadn’t been able to stop it. I’d thrown everything I had at it. Every ounce of magic in me.

And it hadn’t mattered.

I had done everything in my power. And still, I had failed.

I was a powerful witch. A Merlin.

And I had never felt more useless.

5

“Lyra, where did you get that mirror?” I asked again for the third time. “Lyra?”

Lyra, Emily’s mother, sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed, staring into space, her eyes, red and swollen with tears, distant, like she wasn’t here at all.

“She’s in shock,” said Dolores, standing behind me. “She snapped. You won’t get anything out of her this way.”

I waved my hand in front of Lyra’s eyes but got no reaction. She was gone, lost in her head.

I straightened. “She needs a healer.”

“And a drink,” said Beverly, looking around the room. “Preferably something strong.”

“It’s worse than that,” I said, my voice edged with unease. “She told me she doesn’t remember where she got it. Can’t recall where they bought it or the person who sold it to them.”

That got Dolores’s full attention. Her head snapped up, her dark eyes locking on to mine. “What?”

I nodded. “She was frantic about it. Said she knew they’d bought it, but the memory was just... gone. Like someone plucked it right out of her head.”

Dolores crossed her arms, her expression darkening. That mirror wasn’t just cursed. It was deliberately spelled to conceal its origin. That’s not just dangerous. That’s calculated. It means whoever sold them that mirror doesn’t want to be found.”

Ruth had a stuffed unicorn toy in her arms and was petting it, shifting from foot to foot like she needed to use the bathroom. “This is bad. Really bad.”

“Thanks for the insight, Ruth,” snapped Dolores. She exhaled and stood near the mirror. “And no matter what you tried, you couldn’t get the girl out?”

I felt sick. I knew then I would never be able to unsee the fear and despair in that girl’s face. Her eyes would haunt me until my last breath. “No. I threw everything at this evil thing. Nothing worked. Not even my demon magic. Nothing.”

Dolores exhaled sharply, rubbing her hands together like she was about to work through something unpleasant. Then she lifted them toward the mirror, her palms hovering just inches from the fabric I’d thrown over it.

She mumbled an incantation under her breath, the words thick with White magic, ancient and heavy. The scent of earth and pine needles filled the room. The air seemed to tighten, the walls pressing inward, as if the house itself knew what was sitting inside it.

A moment later, she let her hands drop. “How extraordinary… and disturbing.”

I folded my arms. “Uh, I’m sorry, what?”

“This is no ordinary mirror,” said Dolores.

I shot her a look. “No shit.”

“I mean it, Tessa. This isn’t just some cursed trinket. It’s a—” She hesitated, glancing back at the mirror like she was worried it could still hear us. “It’s a Soulrender.”

A cold chill slipped down my spine. “A what now?” I’d never heard of a Soulrender, let alone a mirror that could suck you in and kill you. And I hated it with every cell in my body.

“A Soulrender,” she repeated grimly. “These mirrors were banned back in 1789. Every single one was supposed to be destroyed. Looks like they missed one.”

Beverly whistled low. “Oh, I’ve heard of those. Nasty pieces of work. They trick you, lure you in, trap you inside, and then—” She made a dramatic sucking noise and waved her fingers in the air. “Drain you like a juice box.”

I frowned. “Thanks for the visual.” But I had already seen it with my own eyes.

“These mirrors are filled with the blackest magic,” continued Dolores. “Dark wizards created them—not witches, wizards—to steal power and render witches completely magicless.”

I stared at the covered mirror like it might lunge at me at any second. The longer I stared at it, the more guilt I felt. Lyra had bought it for her daughter because she was told it would make her more beautiful. Vain, yes. But she didn’t deserve to die. Not like that.

“So you’re telling me,” I said slowly, “that I threw every ounce of my magic at a device designed to eat witches like a magical vacuum?”

Dolores nodded. “Yes. And you’re lucky it didn’t try to suck you in, too.”

I let out a sharp breath. “Super.” But Dolores was right. I’d been lucky. I could have been trapped as well, no way to get out. Leaving my kid without a mother.

Yeah, I really hated this damn mirror.

I turned my gaze back to Lyra, still sitting motionless on the edge of her daughter’s bed. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, just stared at the floor like she wasn’t really here anymore.

Her daughter was gone. And the thing that had taken her was still sitting right there, humming softly beneath the sheet, like it was waiting for its next meal.

I let out a slow breath. “If they were all supposed to be destroyed, then who the hell still has one of these?” I forced my voice to stay even. “And why? I mean, just having it around is an accident waiting to happen. How could anyone have this in their house?”

Dolores shook her head. “That’s the real question. Isn’t it? These weren’t just cursed objects, Tessa. These were weapons. If even one of these things survived, it means someone knew exactly what they were doing. They didn’t just find this mirror. They kept it.”

I fought to keep my voice steady. “So why sell it to Lyra? Why would anyone put something this dangerous in the hands of an unsuspecting mother and daughter? Why did they lie about what it does?”

Beverly made a face. “Maybe they didn’t know what they had? Maybe this is just some horrible mistake.”

“Unlikely,” said Dolores. “You don’t just stumble across a Soulrender and think, ‘Oh wow, what a fun antique.’ Someone wanted this in circulation. Someone wanted this used.”

I swallowed hard, a cold weight settling in my gut. “If these mirrors were meant to be destroyed, why wasn’t this one?” I asked. “Where the hell has it been hiding for over two centuries?”

Dolores sighed. “Good question.”

It was a good question, and one that I needed answered.

Ruth hugged the stuffed unicorn closer. “So, what do we do now? We can’t leave it here.” She was staring at the mirror like she was debating kicking it or running from it.

Dolores let out a long breath, her eyes still locked on the mirror, like she was contemplating whether she could burn it to the ground with sheer willpower alone. “First,” she said, straightening her shoulders, “we need to seal the magic inside it. If we even can.”

That didn’t sound reassuring.

“Do you even have magic strong enough to do that?” I asked, glancing between my aunts.

Dolores whipped her head around and glared at me. “Of course, I do.”

I held up my hands. “Just checking. No need to set me on fire with your mind.”

“Yet,” she muttered under her breath before turning back to the mirror. “Once it’s sealed, we’ll have to contact the Gray Council.”

I flinched. “I hate those guys.”

“They’re not my favorite group either,” said Dolores with a pointed look. “It’s just too dangerous to be kept in someone’s basement. I wouldn’t even trust it in Davenport House. The Gray Council are the only ones who can safely dispose of this mirror.”

Ruth wrinkled her nose. “You mean they’ll put it in one of their vaults.”

A cold weight settled in my stomach. Because that was exactly what they would do. The Gray Council didn’t just dispose of dangerous magical objects.

They hoarded them.

Locked them away in vaults filled with other forbidden artifacts, lost relics, and magical weapons that should never have existed in the first place. Because should the occasion arise, they would use them.

“So, what?” I folded my arms. “We just hand this over and trust that they won’t use it for their own purposes?”

Dolores shot me a sharp look. “You have a better idea?”

I didn’t. And that made me hate it even more.

Handing over something this dangerous to the Gray Council felt like tossing a lit match into a room full of dynamite and hoping nobody decided to strike another one just for fun. But the mirror had already claimed a life. That much I knew. The question was why?

Who the hell would bring something like this out into the open? Who would benefit from a girl’s death? Unless… Unless it hadn’t been meant for Emily at all.

I glanced at Lyra, still sitting on the edge of the bed, hollow-eyed, staring at nothing. I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of her. I’d have to figure it out on my own.

Which meant I needed to take a closer look at this mirror of death.

Resolute, I took a step closer to the mirror and gripped the sheet. Carefully, I lifted a small corner of the fabric, just enough to reveal the ornate, antique frame.

And that’s when I saw it.

A tiny, glowing sigil was carved into the bottom right corner of the frame—subtle, but unmistakable.

“Careful!” Ruth hissed, taking a panicked step forward. “What are you doing? Don’t give it a chance to—”

“It’s okay,” I said, keeping my grip firm but steady on the fabric. “I see something.”

“What do you mean?” Beverly asked, stepping closer.

I pointed. “Right here. There’s a marking. It’s glowing. See?”

Dolores’s face darkened. She moved closer, crouching slightly to examine the sigil with a deep frown.

Then, after a beat, she exhaled through her nose. “I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what?” I asked, my pulse kicking up.

Dolores straightened, her gaze sharp. “That isn’t just any mark. That’s a sigil.”

I frowned. “I’m not following. What do you mean exactly?”

“It’s a magical identifier,” answered Dolores. “A stamp.”

“A stamp?” I repeated. “Like… property of the underworld?”

“More like a magical signature,” Dolores corrected. “Whoever marked this object wanted it known that it belonged to them. And that’s not even the worst part.”

I exhaled sharply. “Just tell me, no riddles please.”

Dolores gave a grim nod. “This sigil didn’t create the curse. It claimed it. Which means the object itself is much older than the person who marked it. This was taken from somewhere. And now it’s being controlled.”

My stomach sank. “Controlled? As in…”

“As in activated, tracked, or even manipulated remotely,” confirmed Dolores, her expression tight.

I blinked, trying to wrap my head around what she just said. “That’s…”

“That’s horrible,” said Ruth, still clutching her unicorn.

“It’s worse than horrible,” continued Dolores. “It means whoever sold this knew exactly what it was. And exactly what it would do.”

I exhaled slowly, the weight of this whole mess pressing down on me. This was the second death in Hollow Cove in two days. I didn’t believe in coincidences.

Gilbert’s death had been messy, covered in Black magic and laced with an illegal, deadly curse. Emily’s had been silent, insidious—a slow and horrifying drain until nothing was left.

Two different types of forbidden magic. Two bodies.

There had to be a connection.

“What are you thinking?” Dolores watched me. “I can see it all over your face. You’ve got something. Spill it.”

I thought about it. “I’m not sure, but my gut is telling me these two deaths aren’t random.”

“You think they’re connected?” asked Ruth. “How?”

“I don’t know yet.” I turned and made for the door. “I’ll let you know. But first, I need to make sure.”

“Wait, where are you going?” asked Beverly.

But before I could answer, I pulled on a ley line, felt its raw, electric energy surge through my body—and jumped.

The world around me blurred, stretched, and twisted into streaks of light and motion. The ley line wasn’t just a road. It was a pulse of magic, an ancient current that threaded through the very fabric of Hollow Cove. It felt weightless and wild, like being yanked through the eye of a storm at the speed of thought.

I gritted my teeth, steadying my body against the pull and focusing on my destination—Gilbert’s store.

I shot through the ley line, rushing past glimpses of Hollow Cove, flickering like snapshots in motion. Buildings, trees, rooftops—they all blurred together until, just as suddenly as it had begun, I yanked back on the magic and slowed my descent.

The ley line snapped around me like an elastic band, and I tumbled out into the back office of Gilbert’s Grocer & Gifts.

I landed in a low crouch, one knee hitting the wooden floor, my heart still hammering from the rush of travel.

I exhaled, rising to my feet and taking in the space. Moving carefully, I scanned the office. I was looking for something. I just didn’t know what that was at the moment.

The shelves were still cluttered with paperwork, old receipts, and jars of odd supernatural goods. The room smelled like stale coffee and ink, with a lingering trace of magic—faint but there.

I ran a hand along the edge of the desk, narrowing my eyes at the surface. Nothing stood out.

And then I saw it. Well, I felt it first.

That slight shift in the air, the faint pulse of magic barely noticeable unless you were attuned to it.

My gaze drifted past the clutter of receipts and half-empty coffee mugs, settling on a small antique table clock.

I frowned. That hadn’t been there before. I’d been in this office a few times, mostly for arguments over my paycheck or to demand Gilbert stop overcharging me for basic groceries. (Seriously, eight dollars for a loaf of bread?) But in all those encounters, that clock had never once been sitting on his desk.

I stepped closer, my pulse quickening. The closer I got, the more I felt it—a faint, steady pulse of magic radiating off the clock. It wasn’t a kind of magic I recognized.

The clock was old, its brass frame worn and slightly tarnished, the glass covering the face a little fogged over. Roman numerals, delicate silver hands, the kind of craftsmanship that suggested it had been around for centuries.

I reached out, hovering my fingers just above it. The magic pulsed again. Faint. Strange. Like it was waiting. Yeah, something told me this clock wasn’t just here to tell time.

I exhaled sharply and moved around the desk, scanning every inch of the clock. If the mirror had a sigil, then maybe—

And there it was.

Carved into the side of the clock, nearly hidden within the ornate details, was a tiny glowing sigil.

The same exact mark that had been on the mirror.

Two deaths. Back to back. Both tied to illegal magic.

This wasn’t random.

Whoever had sold that mirror and that clock hadn’t done it for profit or sport. They had done it to kill.

And if there were two of these objects out there…

There were more.

6

Not trusting myself to even breathe too close to the antique clock, let alone touch it, I did the only responsible thing. I called Iris.

Because, at this point, I needed someone who knew how to deal with dangerous magical artifacts that shouldn’t even exist anymore.

I gave her the full rundown about the cursed mirror, the antique clock, the same signature sigil, and how I was officially out of my league. She agreed to head straight to Lyra’s house to fill in my aunts while I waited here, keeping an eye on the clock as though it might suddenly grow legs and make a run for it.

While I waited, I’d also texted Marcus. He was the chief of Hollow Cove. He needed to know what was happening.

Me: Hey. Bad news. A young girl is dead. Killed by an illegal cursed mirror. Long story. But my aunts are waiting for the Gray Council to pick it up.

Marcus: Are you okay?

Of course, he’d asked that.

Me: Yes. More bad news. I know what killed Gilbert. An antique clock. That’s what had that illegal curse.

Marcus: Where’s Darian?

Me: Safe with my mother.

Marcus: Where are you now?

Me: In Gilbert’s office. I’m waiting for my aunts.

Marcus: Be right there.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard the creak of Gilbert’s office door.

I turned, expecting Marcus’s familiar heavy-footed, wereape swagger.

Instead, Iris walked in, looking way too chipper for someone investigating paranormal murders.

“What? Did Marcus send you to check up on me?” I asked.

Iris grinned, glancing around the room. “Figured I should be here before you did something reckless. Like try to fight the clock.”

I scoffed. “I wasn’t going to fight the clock.”

She raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. “Okay, I thought about fighting the clock. But only because it’s cursed and staring at me funny.”

Iris shook her head, laughing. Then she glanced at the desk. “Your aunts sent me, by the way.”

I frowned. “Are they still at Lyra’s?”

“Yes. Busy with the Gray Council officers,” said Iris, waving a hand like that explained everything. “Apparently, those guys don’t just roll in, grab cursed objects, and leave. There’s paperwork. And posturing. And Dolores threatening to turn someone into a goat. You know. The usual.”

I exhaled. “Of course.”

“Oh, and Beverly’s been shamelessly flirting with one of the officers. Some tall, broad-shouldered sorcerer with ‘dangerous rebel’ energy.”

“Naturally.”

“And Ruth?” Iris added, shaking her head. “She was just standing there, her arms crossed, giving her version of the evil eye to the mirror, like if she glared hard enough, she could hex it into submission.”

“Yeah, Ruth would do that.” Though her evil eye was just a really cute version of her with a wide-eyed look mixed with a frown. “What about Lyra? Did she say anything yet?”

Iris’s smile faded slightly. “I don’t think so. When I got there, a healer was already taking her away. Probably to a clinic. The healer said she was in a dissociative state—like her mind had just checked out.”

Lyra had lost her daughter in the worst way imaginable. One minute, she had a normal life. The next, she was watching her child fade to nothing before her eyes.

And now, she was gone too—carted off to some clinic, empty-eyed and broken.

How the hell do you even process something like that?

“Anyway,” continued Iris, stepping closer to the clock, “your aunts told me what to do and entrusted me with the task of retrieving the evil timepiece of doom.”

I blinked. “They entrusted you?”

“What?” She put a hand on her hip. “I’m a perfectly responsible Dark witch.”

“You once licked a cursed artifact just to see what it would do.”

“And we learned a valuable lesson that day.”

I smiled. “Yeah. That you have no self-preservation instincts. And are just a tad crazy.”

Iris beamed at me like I’d just given her the best compliment of her life. Then she strutted over to Gilbert’s desk, yanked out Doris—her prized DNA album—from her tote bag, and dropped it on top with a thunk. Next, she pulled out a small, silver-lined satchel and held it up like a game show host revealing the grand prize.

“Don’t worry. I came prepared,” she said proudly. “This is reinforced to contain magical energy. We put the clock in here, and it stays nice and contained until we can hand it over to someone who knows how to destroy it properly. Like the Gray Council.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How sure are we that it won’t melt through the bag and eat us both?”

“Eighty percent.”

I stared at her. “Not loving those odds.”

“Would you prefer I just pick it up with my bare hands?”

I sighed, waving a hand. “Fine. Do your thing. Just… be careful. That thing has a body count.”

Instead of immediately grabbing the clock, Iris rummaged deeper into her bag and pulled out—

What. The hell. Was that?

I blinked. “Are those kitchen gloves?”

She wiggled her fingers, and the silver, sparkling gloves caught the light in a deeply unnatural way.

“No,” she said indignantly. “These are my new anti-hex gloves. A very real, very advanced piece of protective magical technology.”

“Iris, those are bedazzled oven mitts.”

“They are not.” She huffed, sliding them onto her hands. “They’re hex-resistant, spell-repellent, and provide a layer of insulation between the user and any malicious magical object.”

“So, like oven mitts.”

“Please. Respect the Dark magic. Besides, Ruth helped me design these.”

“I’m not surprised.” I shook my head, laughing. “Fine. But if that thing starts glowing and whispering in Latin, I’m setting it on fire, gloves or no gloves.”

“If it starts whispering in Latin, we’re both running,” she said before flexing her glittering, supposedly hex-proof hands and eying the antique timepiece with professional wariness. “So, this is the culprit?”

“Yup.” I nodded toward it. “Doesn’t look like much, huh? Just your standard, sinister, magic-sucking heirloom from hell.”

“I can see that sigil you told me about.” Iris hovered her gloved fingers over it, not quite touching. “You feel that?”

I did. The closer I got, the more the air felt thick, charged.

“It’s faint,” I admitted, “but yeah. It’s still giving off magic. And not the fun kind.”

Iris frowned. “Where the hell does someone even get a cursed antique?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering.” I started pacing. “I mean, someone is selling these objects. Not just hoarding them in some creepy underground lair—selling them. Who wakes up one day and thinks, ‘Hey, you know what Hollow Cove needs? Some casual death-trap furnishings’?”

Iris sighed, rubbing her temple. “It’s not just that they’re selling them… It’s who they’re selling them to. Lyra had no clue what she was bringing into her home. It’s like someone’s deliberately putting these things into the hands of people who won’t know how to protect themselves.”

That settled in my gut like a rock.

“Exactly,” I said. “It’s not like Lyra was dabbling in Black magic or looking for trouble. She’s a White witch, for cauldron’s sake. And Gilbert? He was an annoying little pain in the ass, but I’d bet my life he wasn’t involved in the illegal magical trade. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” agreed Iris, as she carefully maneuvered the bag open, her face scrunched in concentration like she was trying to defuse a bomb instead of handling a very sketchy antique clock.

That’s when it hit me.

“Wait. What about that white-haired guy Ronin saw talking to Gilbert? Has he remembered anything else?”

Iris sighed, not even looking up. “Nope. He’s been too busy drowning in paperwork for Gilbert’s store. Apparently, when your tenant dies on site, it complicates lease agreements. So now he’s stuck figuring out whether to close the store completely or try to find a new tenant.”

“That won’t be easy. ‘Welcome to Gilbert’s Grocer & Gifts. Now under new management. Please ignore the tragic murder that recently occurred in the back office.’”

Iris looked up from the clock. “But, no, Ronin hasn’t remembered anything else about the white-haired guy.”

I sighed. I didn’t know why, but my gut said this guy was connected somehow. Ronin had seen him handing over a box to Gilbert. A box with a cursed clock inside? Possibly. And I would find out who he was.

Iris flexed her fingers in her ridiculous, glittery gloves, took a deep breath like she was about to perform open-heart surgery, and then carefully, carefully lifted the antique clock.

I tensed, ready to throw a spell, a chair, or my own body if that thing so much as blinked funny.

It didn’t.

She gingerly lowered it into the silver-lined satchel, keeping her arms rigid like she was handling a live bomb. Then, with practiced precision, she folded the bag shut, pressed the seal down, and gave it a final pat.

She straightened, beaming. “Still alive.”

I released a breath. “So, the bedazzled oven mitts work?”

“Anti-hex gloves,” she corrected smugly, waving her shimmering fingers. “And, yes, they do. The evil clock is officially contained.”

I eyed the satchel. “You sure? It’s not, like, waiting to pounce?”

Iris swung the bag lightly and then paused, probably realizing that casually swinging around an object that just murdered a man wasn’t the greatest idea. “I think we’re good. Though, if it starts growling, we run.”

“You bet.”

With the clock sealed away, it felt like we should have a moment of relief. A victory, however small. But there was none.

My phone buzzed with a text message, and I yanked it out.

Marcus: Something’s happened. I can’t make it to Gilbert’s store for a while. Are you okay there?

I frowned.

Me: Fine. Iris secured the cursed object. You don’t need to come anymore. But why? What’s happened?

After a short pause, my phone vibrated again.

Marcus: I’m at Lindsay O’Toole’s place. She bought a locket that was supposed to enhance her magic. Instead, it’s draining the life out of her. She looks like she aged fifty years overnight. Skin is paper-thin, veins blackened. She’s barely conscious.

Me: Oh no.

Marcus: There’s more. Lorenzo Varga got his hands on a cursed quill. Supposed to make his spellwork stronger. The damn thing made him keep writing and writing. Couldn’t stop, not even to eat or sleep. His hands are raw, fingers broken, covered in ink. We found him scrawling spells on the walls of his house in his own blood.

Yikes.

Me: Tell me that’s it.

Marcus: Not even close. Rebecca Carmine got a jar of “Witch’s Breath.” Meant to let her steal power from other witches.

Me: That sounds... illegal.

Marcus: Because it is. And it backfired. Every time she tried to pull power from someone else, she got weaker instead. She’s barely breathing now.

I exhaled, gripping my phone tightly. These people bought these objects because they wanted power. An edge. Maybe even revenge. But it was seriously backfiring.

Me: Whoever’s selling them is setting people up to suffer.

Marcus: I know. That’s why we need to shut this down. Fast. Gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.

Me: Ok.

I lowered my phone slowly, my brain stalling out for a solid five seconds before I could even begin to process.

Gilbert and Emily weren’t isolated incidents. This was spreading.

Iris, who had been watching me the whole time, tilted her head. “What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath, still trying to absorb the absolute disaster my life had become in the last twenty-four hours, and repeated what Marcus told me.

Iris’s face went blank for a solid three seconds.

Then—

“What. The actual. Hell.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

She ran a hand through her dark hair, looking as horrified as I felt. “That means… that means there are way more cursed objects out there than we thought.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. It meant that whoever was behind this wasn’t just dumping cursed antiques into Hollow Cove for fun. There was a reason for it. I just didn’t know what it was. Yet.

I crossed my arms and started pacing the office, piecing the facts together in my head.

“Okay,” I said, thinking aloud. “First, Gilbert, murdered by a cursed clock that no one knew existed before today. Second, Emily, killed by a soul-sucking mirror that was supposedly destroyed centuries ago. And now a cursed locket, quill, and jar.”

“And some are deadly, some not.”

I nodded. “Exactly. But we have to ask the biggest question. Why here? Why Hollow Cove?”

Iris leaned against the desk, frowning. “I don’t know.”

I thought about it. “Dolores said that marking was the symbol of black-market enchantments. They’re being sold on the black market. To people who had no idea what they were touching.”

Iris stiffened, her expression flickering through a dozen emotions in rapid succession. But fear stood out the most.

I leaned forward, my pulse kicking up. “What is it? Do you know something?”

She let out a forced laugh, but it was too sharp, too unnatural. “It’s just… that’s evil.”

I narrowed my eyes, watching her carefully. I knew her too well—the way she averted her gaze, the way her fingers tensed just slightly against the fabric of her pants.

She was holding something back.

I didn’t push. Not yet. But I made a mental note. We were having this conversation later.

I exhaled sharply. “It is. And I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of it.”

If there was indeed a paranormal black market, it was a festering wound. Paranormals who wanted an edge would want to buy from it. Criminals and outcasts, those who had been exiled or forbidden from using magic. Even the desperate, those who lost their magic and were willing to buy anything to get it back at any price. And then there were the collectors. Those obsessed with rare, ancient magic.

The list was long.

Iris frowned, glancing at the bag where the clock now sat. “And if they’ve got more, how many people have already unknowingly brought home their own death sentence?”

That was the real fear gnawing at me.

I exhaled sharply. “I need to find out where these things are coming from. And more importantly, who’s bringing them into Hollow Cove.”

Because this wasn’t just some random black-market trade gone wrong. My gut told me someone had deliberately funneled these cursed objects into this town.

But why here? Why now? A sick feeling churned in my gut.

There was a connection. I could feel it. I just had to find it.

Before more people ended up dead.

7

With the evil murder clock now secured, Iris was practically vibrating with excitement about contacting the Gray Council. Her first official call to the big wigs.

She’d practically skipped all the way back to the security agency, like a kid about to meet Santa Claus, only this Santa was a bunch of bureaucratic, uptight magical enforcers with questionable ethics.

Still, I let her have her moment because I had bigger things on my mind.

Yes, I was relieved to have figured out that Gilbert’s death wasn’t just some random magical accident. The cursed clock meant there was a connection, that this wasn’t just some freak occurrence. Someone had sold these objects.

But that didn’t make me feel any better.

As I left Gilbert’s store, Emily’s terrified face kept flashing in my mind over and over, like a cursed video I couldn’t turn off. And then Lyra’s heart-shattering scream followed. That was the part that got me.

That scream had lodged itself in my chest, deep and jagged, and it refused to leave. Before Darian, I would’ve felt awful, sure. I would have hated that we hadn’t saved her.

But now? Now, I understood. Because I was a mother now.

And that meant I could imagine it too well.

I could picture myself on my knees, screaming his name, helpless, watching my baby slip away right in front of me.

My throat tightened. My eyes burned.

No.

I refused to think like that.

I swiped at my eyes before the tears could betray me and did the only thing that made sense.

I needed to see my kid.

I needed to hold him, feel his warmth, and remind myself that he was safe.

So I yanked on the nearest ley line and jumped.

Magic wrapped around me, pulling me in and yanking me through the current. It was a three-second trip, but it felt like an eternity.

By the time I landed on my mother’s porch, I was already reaching for the door, ready to scoop up my son and never let go.

I turned the door handle and pushed in.

“Holy crap.”

My mother’s immaculate, magazine-cover-worthy home, the one she practically dusted in her sleep, looked like it had been hit by a category-five magical tornado.

Chairs overturned. Couch cushions thrown everywhere. Feathers floating through the air like some kind of bizarre bird massacre had just taken place. The coffee table was on its side, dishes shattered across the floor, towels draped over the ceiling fan like someone had attempted a makeshift parachute.

I took another cautious step inside, my eyes darting from the disaster zone that used to be my mother’s pristine living room.

But that’s not what had my jaw drop.

My father, Obiryn, demon extraordinaire, was spinning midair like a possessed ceiling fan.

“Darian, you can let me down now,” Obiryn said, his deep voice sounding remarkably calm for someone who had clearly been airborne for a while. “Do as your grandfather asks, please.”

His usual regal, all-powerful demon lord presence was somewhat dampened by the fact that he was currently slowly rotating in a very undignified fashion. My father could have just snapped his fingers and forced Darian to put a stop to his magic, but I suspected he was afraid that he might hurt him. Good thinking.

I blinked. “What’s going on here?”

My gaze dropped to the culprit. Darian, sitting in only a diaper, legs splayed out on the floor, chubby fingers wiggling in delight as he stared gleefully at his floating, spinning grandfather. Grinning. Like he’d just figured out the best game ever and was extremely proud of himself.

Oh. My. God.

“What’s going on is—” My mother tripped over some books, kicked a chair out of frustration, and stormed toward me, looking absolutely deranged.

Her usually flawless hair was a frizzy disaster, her expensive blouse had a mysterious stain, and her eyes, well, they were filled with the kind of raw exhaustion I hadn’t seen since the time she attempted a juice cleanse.

“That son of yours is a menace!” she shrieked. “You didn’t tell me he could do magic!”

I stared at her, baffled. “I didn’t think he could.” Totally true.

“Oh, really?” She threw her arms out. “You’re telling me you didn’t notice your child was capable of telekinetic levitation and high-powered cyclone destruction!”

I bit my lip. “I mean, he climbed my kitchen cabinets like a baby gorilla, but I just thought that was the wereape side of him... he hadn’t shown this side of himself yet.”

“Well, congratulations, Tessa. Turns out he’s multitalented.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “Okay, okay. Where are his clothes?”

My mother let out an ungodly shriek. “Who cares about his clothes? He pulled them off himself. Just… make him stop!”

Good point.

I turned to my very pleased-with-himself son. “Darian. Sweetie. Let Grandpa go.”

Darian squealed happily in response, waving his little hands like he was conducting an orchestra.

Obiryn let out a long, patient sigh. “Tessa, he doesn’t appear to be listening.”

I frowned. “Darian. Seriously. Stop it.”

Nothing.

More giggling. More tiny hand movements. More spinning Grandpa.

“Darian.” I tried again, lowering my voice and going for that authoritative Mom tone. “I mean it. Let Grandpa down. Now.”

Darian looked at me, blinked his big gray eyes... and smiled even wider.

My mother let out a frustrated screech. “Well, that’s just great. He’s ignoring you. Tessa, this is unacceptable.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have a how-to-discipline your part-witch, part-wereape, part-demon hybrid child handbook, Mother.”

“Well, get one!”

Obiryn, still gracefully rotating in the air, said dryly, “I hate to interrupt this riveting parenting discussion, but I’d really like to be on the ground sometime today.”

I exhaled, placing my hands on my hips. “Darian Durand Davenport!”

Darian’s grin faltered.

Oh yeah. Full name. I was going to play that card.

“Put your grandfather down. Right now.”

Darian pouted but slowly dropped his chubby little arms.

Obiryn let out a grunt as he immediately plummeted to the ground, landing on his back with a very un-grandfatherly thud.

“Oh, thank the cauldron,” my mother gasped, sagging against the wall.

Obiryn moaned from the floor. “I am... very proud of my grandson. But I would also like a drink.”

I let out a long, slow breath, staring at my kid. He beamed up at me. Proud. Completely unbothered. Like he hadn’t just single-handedly turned my mother’s house into a war zone and turned his grandfather into a ceiling fan.

I should have been mad. I should have been exhausted. But instead, I felt… happy. Relieved.

Because for the last few weeks, I had worried that he’d only inherited his father’s side. That his wereape genes had completely overpowered my witch blood, and that I’d somehow missed the chance to share this part of myself with him.

But now? Now, I knew. He had magic. And not just a little.

A lot.

I bent down and scooped him up, planting a kiss on his chubby little cheek. “All right, kiddo. You’re a menace, but you’re a magical menace.”

Darian giggled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking.

“Ow—okay, let’s work on the gentle part of your magic. All right?”

He just laughed harder, clinging to me like a baby koala.

I looked over at my father, who was slowly getting up off the floor, moving with the grace of someone who had definitely been spinning for way too long.

Obiryn let out a long sigh, brushing imaginary dust off his very expensive black suit before heading straight for the liquor cabinet.

I arched a brow. “You okay, Dad?”

“I’m fine,” he said, pulling out a crystal decanter of whiskey and pouring himself a generous glass. “Just... recalibrating my equilibrium.”

“Right, because you were basically a demon toy spinner for what, an hour?”

“Roughly an hour and seventeen minutes,” he muttered, downing his drink in one gulp.

I snorted and adjusted Darian on my hip, watching him now chew on my sleeve like a teething gremlin.

“So,” I said, rocking him slightly, “what do you think? Is his magic more witch or demon?” It was something I’d often thought about while I was pregnant. Would he be like me, a Shadow Witch, possessing both Dark and White magic? Or was his power solely demon?

Obiryn poured himself another glass, swirled the amber liquid, and watched my son carefully before answering.

“Both.”

I blinked. “Both?”

“Yes,” he said, sipping this time, because apparently, round two was a whiskey-savoring moment. “His power feels like a fusion of both lineages. The structured, complex nature of demon magic—ancient, precise, always methodical—woven with the raw, instinctive energy of witchcraft.”

I frowned. “I thought that was the other way around. That demon magic was supposed to be wild and chaotic?”

Obiryn grinned. “That is a common misconception. Demon magic has always been highly structured, deeply intricate, and bound by specific laws of power and control. Witches, on the other hand, took magic from demons and shaped it into something more adaptable, more instinctual. But at its core, witchcraft is just a fragmented version of demon magic—more free-flowing, yes, but not nearly as stable.”

I stared down at Darian. “So, what you’re saying is... my son has the best of both worlds? Just like me?”

Obiryn sipped his drink. “Not exactly.”

I frowned. “What am I missing?”

My father set his glass down and studied me, his silver eyes gleaming. “Darian isn’t just a mix of demon and witch magic like you. He also possesses the magic of shifters.”

I blinked. “Right. The whole shifting into beasts thing.”

Obiryn’s mouth curved slightly. “Magic comes in many forms. Shifters don’t use spells, but their transformation is a deeply ingrained form of primal magic—a magic that adapts, evolves, and responds to instinct rather than incantation. Darian carries that within him, alongside the power of a witch and the raw force of a demon.”

I looked at my son again. “So what you’re saying is… he’s not just rare. He’s one of a kind.”

Obiryn nodded. “The refined complexity of demon magic, the intuitive adaptability of witchcraft, and the raw, instinctive nature of shifter magic. Three distinct types of power converging in one being.” His expression darkened slightly. “That makes him… extremely rare. And, potentially, extremely powerful.”

I adjusted Darian on my hip, my stomach twisting slightly at the thought.

Great. As if parenting wasn’t already terrifying, now I had to figure out how to raise a magical hybrid prodigy.

I turned to my half-naked, drool-covered child, who was now trying to fit his entire fist into his mouth.

“Right.” I exhaled. “No pressure.”

My father huffed a quiet laugh, tipping his glass toward Darian. “He is powerful, Tessa. You will need to start training him early.”

My mother, who had been fixing a pillow like it was the last act of sanity she had left, whipped her head around so fast I thought it might snap.

“Excuse me?” she demanded. “Training? He’s a baby. He needs to be rocking in a bassinet, not... summoning the apocalypse.”

“Why not both?” I laughed. My mother glared at me.

Obiryn smirked and took another sip of his whiskey. “He will need guidance, Amelia. His power will only grow, and without discipline, it could become... problematic.”

My mother made a strangling noise, her eyes darting to the wreckage of her once-perfect home. “You don’t say.”

I sighed, rubbing Darian’s back. “Let’s just start small, okay? Maybe teaching him not to levitate his grandpa for fun?”

Obiryn lifted his glass in agreement. “A good place to start.” He studied Darian again, this time with a deeper intensity, as if he were looking at something the world wasn’t quite ready for.

Then, softly, almost to himself, he said, “A wereape that can do magic… is unheard of.”

I gazed at my father. “Are you sure?” Part of me had thought the same thing, but then, there was still a small chance that somewhere in the world, there was another little kid like mine.

“Wereapes are physical beings, Tessa. Their power is rooted in their strength, their endurance, their instincts. But magic?” He shook his head. “They don’t wield it. They never have. Even those who have dabbled in it before could only borrow it—never possess it as their own. Your son… he is something else entirely.”

I swallowed, tightening my grip around Darian, who was now happily drooling on my shoulder, blissfully unaware that his very existence was rewriting supernatural norms.

“So what does that mean?” I asked, a little hesitant to hear the answer. My father was a demon from the Netherworld, most probably thousands of years old and very knowledgeable. I’d be an idiot not to listen to him.

Obiryn took a measured sip of his whiskey, his expression serious. “His magic will only grow stronger, and if he doesn’t learn to control it, it will control him.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

Magic wasn’t just something you had. It was something you had to master. And if Darian was breaking every known rule of supernatural genetics, we were stepping into uncharted territory.

My mother groaned from her chair, throwing an arm dramatically over her face. “Great. So now I have to worry about him climbing my walls and potentially setting them on fire?”

“Potentially,” Obiryn mused, “but let’s hope we can avoid the fire part.”

I rubbed my temples. “Awesome.”

Darian yawned, finally looking the slightest bit tired.

My mother scowled, her arms crossed. “So you’re taking him now. Right?”

I laughed. “Yeah. I think we’ve done enough damage for the day.”

She exhaled dramatically. “Good. Because I love him, I adore him, but if I see that child float even an inch, I am locking myself in my room with a bottle of wine.”

I smiled. “Noted.”

Before I could spiral too hard about the logistical nightmare of raising a magical hybrid prodigy, a thought hit me.

I turned to my mother. “Hey, do me a favor—actually, do yourself a favor. No buying anything for a while.”

Amelia frowned, clearly not appreciating being told how to spend her money. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. No furniture, no fancy knickknacks, no impulse purchases from that weird vendor at the farmer’s market who sells ‘enchanted’ teapots that always end up being cursed beyond reason. Just… hold off. Okay?”

She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why?”

I let out a breath. “Because, Mom. A girl named Emily died today. She was sucked into a cursed mirror. And now with Gilbert’s death, that’s two people dead in less than a day. And we just found out more cursed objects are popping up all over town. A cursed quill that drives you mad. A jar that steals your magic. A locket that drains your life force. It’s getting worse.”

My mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her usual dramatic flair momentarily absent. Even Obiryn set his glass down, looking at me sharply.

“You’re sure these are connected?” my father asked.

“I’d bet my last bottle of wine on it,” I told him, shifting Darian to my other hip. “Two of the objects had the same black-market sigil. And I’m betting the others have them too. A paranormal black market is operating nearby, and whoever’s behind it knows exactly what they’re doing.”

Obiryn exhaled sharply while my mother looked deeply disturbed, which, honestly, was a rare thing to see.

“So you’re telling me,” she said slowly, “that people are selling these cursed things on purpose?”

“Basically.”

She blinked, clearly rethinking all of her recent home purchases. “Great,” she said dryly. “Well, I haven’t bought anything new since last week. I guess I can hold off for a while.”

“I’d appreciate it,” I told her.

My mother sighed heavily, dragging a hand through her dark hair. “I just spent the last three hours being terrorized by my grandson, and now I can’t even cope with retail therapy?”

“That’s right.”

She sighed heavily and leaned back into her chair. “This is a cruel world we live in.”

I adjusted Darian as he gnawed happily on my shoulder. “I’m working on it, though. Your sisters and Marcus are all on this too. We’re trying to find the source before more people end up dead.”

Obiryn’s brow furrowed, his silver eyes narrowing slightly. “If you need assistance... you know where to find me. I’d be happy to help.”

I gave my father a smile. “Thanks, Dad. I might take you up on that.” Because if we didn’t find this black market soon, I had a feeling Hollow Cove was going to turn into a cursed object graveyard.

Obiryn chuckled, finishing his drink. “Safe travels, my daughter. And, perhaps... invest in some magical baby-proofing.”

I let out a long breath. “Yeah, I’m on it.” Baby-proofing and baby training.

As I adjusted Darian in my arms and headed toward the front door, I made a mental note.

He had magic. Not just any magic. Not just mine. Not just Marcus’s.

A power unlike anything I’d ever heard of. A magic that wasn’t supposed to exist.

And that? That scared the hell out of me.

Because magic like this never stayed a secret for long.

8

When we arrived at the Hollow Cove Community Center, the place was crammed with at least two hundred paranormals, all humming with anxious energy. It felt like the entire town had squeezed in, desperate—or maybe dreading—to find out what fresh disaster had landed on our doorstep.

The air was thick, heavy with the mix of sweat, magic, and simmering frustration. A quick scan of the crowd told me everything I needed to know—irritation, wariness, a touch of fear.

Up front, my aunts Dolores, Beverly, and Ruth, sat together with my mother, their expressions carefully composed. Beverly kept tossing her hair like she was trying to shake off the tension, but her spine was too rigid, her movements too deliberate. Dolores was eyeing the front of the room like a hawk.

I followed her gaze.

Martha sat at the long metal table at the front of the room with the gavel clutched in her hand like a weapon. With Gilbert dead, she’d swooped in as interim mayor, probably faster than the ink had dried on his death report. It was weird not seeing Gilbert up there, red-faced, smacking that gavel. And now we’d never see him in action again, ever.

Marcus sat next to Martha, his arms crossed and expression unreadable, but tension rolled off him in waves. His gray eyes locked on to me from across the room, his expression carefully blank, but his muscles were tight, the clench in his jaw deep enough to crack stone. I knew that look, it was the “I’m going to kill who’s messing with my town” look.

Ruth spotted us at the entrance and waved at me, beckoning me forward.

“Over there. Ruth saved us some seats,” I told Iris and Ronin as I maneuvered through the crowd, which was easier said than done because, of course, I had Darian in his stroller.

Look, I tried. I really did. I had planned to leave him with my mom, but after the whole flying-grandpa incident, she all but shoved me out the door, claiming she had a migraine and that Darian’s “energy” was disrupting her aura.

So here we were. Trying to weave through two hundred paranormals with a stroller in a room not built for strollers. And it was going horribly.

Thud.

“Ow!”

I cringed. “Oh god, sorry—”

Clunk.

“Hey, watch it!”

“I need my shins intact!”

“I’m trying, okay?” I shot back. “This is not an all-terrain vehicle.”

Iris was trying to help by clearing a path, but Ronin was just laughing his ass off, clearly enjoying my personal baby-related obstacle course. I was going to rip off one of his fangs.

Finally, after banging into at least ten different people and getting a record number of glares, I made it to the front row, where Dolores and my mother sat watching my struggle with pure judgment. Ruth, though, was eyeing the stroller like she had plans for it.

Beverly blew a kiss to some handsome paranormal male sitting two rows behind. The woman next to him, though, was glaring at my aunt.

“Oh good, you brought the baby to a murder meeting,” said my dearest mother, her voice dripping with disapproval, as if she hadn’t just turned me down when I asked her to babysit so I could actually focus on said meeting.

I sighed, parking Darian next to my chair and finally flopping down into it. “I wasn’t about to leave my son alone,” I said, adjusting the stroller and making sure Darian wasn’t plotting his next great escape. “It was either we come together or not at all.”

Dolores eyed the stroller with mild disdain. “Let’s just get through this meeting before someone tries to hex you for bruising their kneecaps.”

Beverly sighed dramatically, unbuttoning the top of her blouse to expose more cleavage. “Don’t mind her. She’s been a grumpy old woman since the last time she had an orgasm. And honey, judging by that attitude, I’d say we’re talking about thirty years ago.”

I choked on my spit. Full-on wheezing.

Dolores’s head snapped toward her. “I heard that.”

Beverly fluttered her lashes innocently. “Oh, good. Then maybe it’ll inspire you to shake off the cobwebs and get yourself a nice, strapping man. Or, you know, a good battery-operated substitute.”

Dolores narrowed her eyes. “Keep talking, Beverly, and I’ll be cursing you with a five-year dry spell.”

Beverly gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Dolores sneered. “Try me.”

Ronin snorted. A huge smile plastered over his handsome face. “This is my favorite town meeting ever.”

“Oh!” Ruth perked up, clapping her hands excitedly. “Speaking of which, I’ve been working on a spell to make the stroller levitate. That way, no more wheels. It’ll be so much easier to maneuver through town.”

I blinked. “You can do that?” What can I say? There was no one better in this world than my aunt Ruthy.

Ruth beamed proudly. “Yes. Me and Tinker Bell have been working on it together. A little fairy magic combined with some White magic, and you’ll have yourself a flying stroller. No more bumpy sidewalks. No more stroller traffic jams. Just a smooth, magical glide everywhere you go.”

I stared at her, equal parts horrified and fascinated. “So, what… I just push him around in midair like some kind of magical baby balloon?”

“Exactly,” Ruth chirped.

I glanced down at Darian, who was currently pulling on his toes. A flying stroller sounded kind of amazing.

I felt Iris watching me, her sharp dark eyes studying my face. “So,” I said, glancing at her, “how did it go with the Gray Council? Did they come pick up the clock?”

Iris snorted. “Oh, they came all right. Marched in like they were royalty, acting like they were doing me a favor by taking it.” She rolled her eyes. “They were way too serious for people who literally specialize in hoarding cursed objects.”

I sighed. “Yeah, well, paranoia is their whole thing. I bet they asked you a bunch of questions.”

Iris tilted her head. “Asked? More like interrogated. They even tried to insinuate that I had something to do with it.”

I blinked. “What?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “One of them was all, ‘How did you find the clock so quickly?’ and ‘Are you sure you didn’t come across it before the murder?’” She raised a brow. “As if I have a secret cursed object side hustle that I forgot to mention.”

I shook my head. “They’re always like that. One step away from accusing everyone but themselves.”

Iris grinned suddenly, pulling her bag onto her lap. “But joke’s on them.”

That was never a good sign.

I squinted. “What did you do?”

“I may or may not have… swiped some DNA samples off of them.”

I stared. “You stole DNA from the Gray Council officers?” My Dark witch friend had lost her mind.

Iris beamed. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad. I prefer ‘collected magical data for investigational purposes.’”

I let out a slow exhale. “Iris, that is… possibly illegal.”

She waved a hand. “Only if I get caught. Which I won’t.”

Ronin, who had been eavesdropping, grinned. “I’m so into you right now. Can we skip the meeting and go home?”

Iris ignored him and tapped her large bag on her lap, which I was sure had Doris inside with the new Gray Council officers’ DNA. “Point is, if anyone on that team has a connection to this case, I’ll find it. And if they’re hiding anything?” She tapped her bag again. “We’ll know soon enough.”

I stared at her for a long second before shaking my head. “You know what? I’m not even surprised anymore.” Because this was totally her.

Iris beamed. “That’s the spirit.”

And just like that, Martha slammed the gavel, making me jerk. The crowd hushed, and the madness officially began. The giant gold bangles on her wrists clinked together loudly as she adjusted the oversized statement necklace resting against her chest—because, of course, Martha believed less was never more.

“Okay, everyone, settle down. Settle down,” said Martha, pushing up her bedazzled glasses with a self-important flourish as she shifted in her seat. She wore a long, flowing top covered in bold, swirling prints that looked like a psychedelic fever dream had been stitched together and called fashion. The matching wide-leg pants only made the whole ensemble more dramatic, billowing slightly every time she moved, as if she were some kind of bohemian oracle about to deliver a prophecy.

Iris leaned toward me and muttered, “She looks like a fortune teller got lost in a fabric store.”

I stifled a laugh, refocusing as Martha cleared her throat and lifted her chin.

“As the new mayor—”

“Interim mayor,” barked Dolores, her face darkening as her frown deepened.

Martha whipped her head toward Dolores, her eyes narrowing into suspicious little slits. “Excuse me?”

Dolores rose from her chair, her voice booming across the room. “You are not the mayor. You are the interim mayor, Martha. That means temporary. Placeholder. A glorified seat warmer until the next election.”

Oh, crap.

Martha huffed, gripping the gavel like she was about to bludgeon someone with it. Possibly Dolores. “I will be acting as mayor until the official election—”

“Which should be now, not ‘whenever you feel like it,’” Dolores shot back, her hands on her hips, radiating pure outrage.

Martha smiled coldly. “Seeing as how no one in this town is going to dare run against me, I’d say you should get used to the idea of me being mayor.”

A collective murmur ran through the crowd.

Iris elbowed me. “Is that true?”

I shrugged. “No idea. But she’s bold. I’ll give her that.”

Ruth leaned forward and whispered, “She’s got a death wish is what she’s got.”

Dolores’s expression twisted into an ugly grimace. And then she straightened her back and pointed straight at Martha. “Fine. Then I’m running for mayor.”

Gasps. Actual gasps. Like someone had just dropped a bomb in the middle of the room.

I leaned forward. “Is she serious?” Not that I thought it would be a bad thing, but Dolores did like authority. Just a tad too much.

Ruth nodded. “She’s serious.”

“Cauldron help us,” said Beverly, shaking her head.

Ronin let out a long, low whistle and slow-clapped like a proud spectator. “Ohhh, this is getting good. Should have brought beer.”

Martha’s smug expression faltered, but only for a second. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her gavel tapping idly against the wood. “Dolores, Dolores, Dolores…”

Dolores crossed her arms. “Martha, Martha, Martha.”

“You’re serious?” Martha asked, tilting her head.

“Serious as a necromancer with a fresh corpse.”

Ew.

Martha exhaled through her nose, her nails drumming against the desk. “Well, then. I suppose we have an election to prepare for.”

“Yes,” Dolores shot back. “We do.”

Ronin nudged me. “I feel like we should be selling tickets to this.”

Iris leaned in. “We should have brought popcorn.”

Beverly, clearly bored already, sighed and smoothed out the wrinkles in her blouse. “This better be worth my time. I had plans tonight.”

After Dolores finally took her seat again, Martha cleared her throat. “As most of you probably heard,” she began, her voice full of theatric importance, “our beloved town mayor, Gilbert, is dead.”

I cocked a brow. Beloved was a bit of a stretch.

From somewhere in the crowd, someone muttered, “We talking about the same Gilbert?”

My point exactly.

Martha ignored it, lifting her chin. “And as interim mayor, it is my duty to inform you that he was murdered.”

A collective sharp inhale rippled through the crowd, followed by low murmurs.

“Murdered?” cried a woman near the back with vibrant red hair.

Martha nodded solemnly, soaking up the drama of the moment. “Yes. Murdered. By magic.”

The whispers intensified, shifting into something nervous and fearful.

A tall paranormal male with dark skin stood up in the second row, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, frowned. “What kind of magic?”

Martha glanced at Marcus, who gave a tight nod, his jaw clenching before she continued.

“A cursed object,” she declared. “An antique clock, enchanted with the most illegal and dangerous magic there is—a death curse.”

The crowd exploded.

Shouts of “Black magic” and “Who the hell would do that?” filled the room.

A few people instinctively made protective gestures, like casting off the very mention of Black magic.

Martha raised a hand, signaling for silence. “That’s not all. Not long after Gilbert’s death,” she continued, “a young woman named Emily Parker was killed in her own bedroom. She was found... trapped in a mirror.”

More gasps. A few people made full-on warding signs, as if protecting themselves from the mere thought of it.

“A cursed mirror,” added Martha, her expression grim. “One that trapped her inside, drained her life force, and left her with no escape.”

Someone audibly gagged.

“Cauldron help us,” an older witch that I recognized as Agatha near the front whispered, shaking her head. “That’s horrific.”

“It’s evil,” another voice called out, their voice shaking. “This is evil magic!”

“Black-market magic,” Marcus cut in firmly. His presence alone quieted the room, as though the sheer weight of his authority demanded it. “We believe someone is selling cursed objects—illegal, deadly enchantments—right here in Hollow Cove or somewhere close.”

Another wave of horrified murmurs rippled through the crowd.

The thought of Emily’s pale, gaunt face flicked into my mind, and I instinctively looked over to Darian in his stroller.

Only… he wasn’t there.

Oh, fuck.

Panic choked me. “Darian!” I hissed, whipping my head around.

Iris and Ronin immediately snapped their attention to me.

“What’s wrong?” Iris asked, already on alert.

My heart pounded. “Darian’s gone.”

Dolores, who had been focused on Martha’s nonsense, whipped around. “What do you mean he’s gone? He can’t just vanish.”

“Well,” I said, already frantically scanning the room, “he has magic now, so, yeah, maybe he can.” I hoped I was wrong about the magical vanishing part.

Dolores just stared at me like I was speaking to her in another language. Yeah, I’d forgotten to mention that part.

Beverly yelped and leaped out of her seat. “Oh god, he could be anywhere.”

My mother pointed upward. “Check the ceiling. He likes climbing things.”

I was two seconds away from flipping chairs over when—

“There he is,” drawled Ronin, pointing toward the front of the room.

Sure enough, Darian was scaling Marcus’s leg like a baby gorilla, gripping his father’s jeans with tiny but absurdly strong hands.

I let out a huge breath of relief, my knees nearly buckling.

Marcus, completely unfazed, beamed down at his son. “Well, look at you,” he murmured, his deep voice full of fatherly pride. He reached down, effortlessly scooping up his son and settling him on his lap. Darian giggled triumphantly and then patted Marcus’s face like a proud little explorer who had just conquered Mount Dad.

I stomped forward and pointed at my son. “Mommy is going to have words with you.”

Darian squealed and clapped.

Marcus chuckled, rubbing Darian’s back. “You do realize he doesn’t understand threats yet. Right?”

“Oh, he understands.” I narrowed my eyes at Darian, who stared back with an innocent face that I absolutely did not trust.

“You mean there’s a black market for cursed objects?” someone shouted from the back, pulling me back to why we were here as I sat back down.

“Not just a black market,” said Marcus, turning his attention to the crowd. “But an organized operation. Someone is selling deadly artifacts, and they don’t care who gets hurt in the process.”

“Wait—” An older paranormal male in the front row stood up, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. Built like a truck, he was probably a were of some kind. “If someone’s selling these things, that means people are buying them. Does that mean more people are cursed?”

Marcus exhaled sharply. “Yes. We’ve already had multiple reports of objects affecting their owners. And that’s why we’re here tonight.”

Martha nodded, gripping her gavel. “Effective immediately, we are warning all residents to stay away from any unknown magical objects. Do not buy anything from an unfamiliar seller. Do not bring any suspicious artifacts into your home.”

The crowd shifted uneasily, people looking at one another, like they were wondering if their neighbor had unknowingly purchased a death trap.

Marcus looked over the group of paranormals. “If you have recently bought anything from an unknown source, if you were approached by someone selling magical objects—you need to come forward.”

More uneasy shuffling.

“The Merlins are handling containment,” Marcus continued. “If you have something suspicious in your possession, do not attempt to use it, open it, or interact with it. Bring it to them immediately.”

“And if we don’t?” someone called.

Dolores stood up again, her expression severe. “Then you’ll end up like Gilbert and Emily. Do not touch it. Do not try to test it. And most importantly—do not use it.”

Silence.

“Why don’t you just shut the market down,” said a tall paranormal female who reminded me of Lori.

Marcus met my eyes before replying. “Because, we don’t know where it is. Looks like those who bought from this market have also been spelled to forget where it is.”

The crowd shifted nervously.

“Now listen carefully,” continued Marcus. “We have reason to believe that this black market is operating near Hollow Cove. We are investigating its source, but until then, I am issuing a town-wide warning. No one buys anything from an unknown seller. No one trades, no one bargains. If you see anything suspicious, report it.”

The room was deathly silent because now, the fear was real.

“I suggest you all go home tonight and check your possessions carefully,” declared Martha. “If something seems off, don’t wait. Call the Merlins or the chief immediately.”

I exhaled slowly, scanning the room. Tension hung thick in the air. Paranormals whispered to one another, casting uneasy glances at their neighbors while second-guessing every object in their homes.

And they should be afraid.

Because until we found the ones responsible, until we shut down this black market, no one in Hollow Cove was safe.

9

Isat at the kitchen table of Davenport House, watching the toaster, my hands wrapped around a hot cup of coffee.

It was half past nine at night. I was exhausted, mentally drained, and slightly delirious, but apparently, illegal, killer magical objects didn’t believe in business hours.

Ever since the town meeting turned panic-fest, an outpouring of concerned citizens had been flooding the magical emergency lines—calling, sending enchanted message cards, and even leaving desperate rune-marked notes at our doorstep. Everyone and their shapeshifting grandmother were convinced they had bought something cursed.

So far? Fifty-four cases.

Actual cursed objects? Zero.

Dolores had come stomping back an hour ago after investigating one, muttering under her breath about “wasting my time on a damn antique rocking chair that just creaked a little too much.”

But since we were Merlins and legally obligated to investigate every single one of these panic-induced cries for help, here I was, on message card duty with nothing but coffee, exhaustion, and a mild sense of existential dread.

At least one of us was getting some rest. I glanced over at Darian’s crib next to the table. My son was curled up, completely dead to the world, snoring softly like a tiny, adorable chainsaw.

I sighed, sipping my coffee. “Glad someone’s getting sleep around here.”

The toaster shuddered followed by a clattering sound from inside.

Hildo sprang onto the table, his tail high, pupils blown wide, and ears flattened as he wiggled his hindquarters like he was about to take down a mouse.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only one gunning for victory.

From the other side of the kitchen, a tiny golden streak shot through the air.

Tinker Bell zipped forward, her wings buzzing like a tiny war engine and her determined eyes locked on the target—the toaster.

Pop.

A white card shot out like a bagel on steroids.

Hildo lunged. Tinker Bell dove.

There was a blur of movement, a colliding of forces, and then—

Hildo landed first, skidding onto the table with the card clamped firmly in his mouth, victorious.

Tinker Bell crashed into the sugar bowl.

The tiny fairy sat up, sputtering, covered in sugar granules, her tiny wings twitching in pure indignation.

Hildo arched his back, his tail flicking as he padded toward me, smug as hell. He dropped the card at my fingertips and turned back to the toaster battlefield, his yellow eyes sharp with the promise of future victories.

I picked up the card, still watching Tinker Bell shake sugar out of her hair.

She glared at the cat. “That was cheating.”

Hildo licked his paw with dramatic slowness. “Not my fault you’re slow, Sprinkle Wings.”

Tinker Bell frowned. “Witch mutt.”

I flipped the card over and read the neatly inscribed text:

Notification Alert:

Attention: Merlin Group. Services Required.

Issue: Mr. Van Dort at 22 Maple Drive found a cursed object in his home.

Action: Request immediate assistance for the removal of the object.

“Let me guess, another one?” Iris eyed me from across the table. Her pile of message cards was slightly higher than mine. She’d offered to help out once she saw the mounting work that my aunts and I were up against. And I was truly grateful for it.

“Yup.” I placed the message card on my pile. “If things continue at this rate, the whole damn town will be claiming cursed objects in their homes.”

“They’re terrified,” said the Dark witch.

“I get that. But it’s not helping anyone if they’re going around their homes looking for ‘suspected’ cursed objects when they haven’t gotten any.”

Iris let out a long sigh, flipping through the growing stack of message cards in front of her. “People panic. It’s what they do. Give them something to be afraid of, and suddenly, their grandmother’s antique butter dish is a ticking time bomb.”

I snorted. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t put it past some of these enchanted objects to suddenly start whispering Latin threats at three a.m. But still, the numbers don’t add up.” I tossed the newest card onto my growing pile and leaned forward. “It’s not just that people are panicking. It’s that none of them remember where they got their cursed items. That’s not normal.”

Iris stiffened slightly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of a card. “Yeah. That is… weird.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “That was a very careful answer.” Usually, she’d be all over this, giving me reasons as to why no one remembered where they got their cursed objects. Usually something dark and ominous. But now? I still got the feeling she was hiding something.

She blinked innocently. “I’m just agreeing with you.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I am. Really.”

I sighed, pushing back my chair. “I don’t like this. Someone is deliberately erasing people’s memories of these transactions. That’s high-level spellwork. Not to mention deeply illegal.” Or so, Dolores had informed me.

Iris nodded, still playing it cool. “Yeah… totally illegal.”

I watched her. “Very.”

Iris avoided my gaze, busying herself with a card in her hands. “Well, it sounds to me like some kind of precaution. You know, like how some shady magic dealers wipe memories to keep the buyer from snitching? That sort of thing.”

I frowned, because she had a point. “Makes sense. Maybe whoever is selling them wants to make sure no one can trace it back to them?”

That meant this wasn’t just reckless magic dealing. This was deliberate. Organized. And dangerous.

I picked up my coffee, taking a long sip. What the hell was going on in this town?

Iris cleared her throat and changed the subject. “So, how’s my favorite Darian?”

I laughed. “He’s currently growing at an alarming rate, eating everything in sight, and developing freakish upper body strength that would put Olympic gymnasts to shame.”

Iris smirked. “So, normal wereape behavior?”

I exhaled dramatically. “Yes, but also no. He’s not just growing fast physically. His magic is too.”

Iris nodded knowingly, sipping her coffee. “Yeah. The whole ‘baby-turned-your-dad-into-a-ceiling-fan’ thing.” She shook her head, grinning. “Still iconic.”

I let out a breath. “Oh yeah. A real parenting milestone. Right up there with first steps, first words, and first time turning a family member into a spinning carousel.”

Amusement danced in Iris’s eyes. “You should put that in his baby book. ‘First accidental levitation of a grandparent.’”

I laughed. “I would, but I’m pretty sure my mother is still recovering. You should have seen her. Hair everywhere, house wrecked, shrieking like a banshee. Meanwhile, Darian was just sitting there in his diaper, looking smug as hell.”

Iris laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, but seriously. Wereapes don’t use magic. That’s… not a thing. But… Darian is different.”

I pointed at her. “Exactly. But he’s also witch. My father agrees it’s because of his demon-witch-wereape hybrid mix. And that means Darian’s magic is going to need serious training.”

Iris stared at me. “How do you train a baby, though? I mean, he’s still just a baby, even if he looks like he’s a year old.”

Good point. “No idea. I guess I’ll just have to wing it, like everything else.”

Not only did I have to stop this paranormal black market, but I also had to prepare for a magical baby bootcamp.

Iris chuckled. “Welcome to parenthood.”

I shook my head. “This kid is going to be the death of me.”

Iris sipped her coffee, unfazed. “But, like, in the cutest way possible.”

I eyed my peacefully sleeping son in his crib. For now. “Yeah. That’s how they get you.”

The front door swung open with a loud thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of Beverly’s dramatic sigh.

“I cannot believe I had to cancel my date for this,” she announced, striding into the kitchen like a woman personally victimized by responsibility. She tossed her purse onto the counter. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a decent man in this town? One who isn’t cursed, married, or a literal troll?”

Behind her, Ruth dragged herself in, fluffing her frazzled white hair, looking rumpled and slightly haunted. “Everyone’s so afraid,” she groaned, heading straight for the table. “One witch was convinced her enchanted self-watering plant was trying to strangle her in her sleep.” Her face screwed up. “But I knew a witch once. Maddy Pearson, whose Venus flytrap straight-up ate her. Just chomp—gone. They found her boots with her feet still in them two days later.”

Yikes.

The front door shut with extra force. A moment later, Dolores appeared in the kitchen, her face set in a stormy scowl. “Not a single one of those objects was cursed.” She pulled out a chair and sat. “Just regular objects. Regular, boring, harmless objects.”

I raised a brow. “So, no bloodthirsty grandfather clocks? No soul-stealing soup bowls?” I laughed. She didn’t.

Dolores shot me a look. “No.”

Beverly huffed and flopped into a chair, stretching out her legs. “I don’t know what’s worse—the false alarms or the fact that I could be sipping wine and getting naked with a hot werewolf right now.”

Tinker Bell zipped across the room like a tiny, glowing comet, landing gracefully on Ruth’s shoulder. She patted the fairy absentmindedly, glaring at the mountain of message cards. I felt a pang in my chest for my aunt. She looked exhausted.

Dolores’s gaze landed on the stack of message cards. “I don’t suppose these are apology letters from the townspeople for wasting our time?”

I pursed my lips. “Nope.”

“Wonderful.” Dolores hunched her shoulders. Then, in what could only be described as a slow-motion collapse, she dropped into the nearest chair, utterly drained. “Tessa, if we don’t find this damn black market soon, it’ll be the death of us.”

A tense silence filled the room because she wasn’t wrong.

“We’ve been playing defense,” said Beverly. “And it’s exhausting. The longer we waste chasing down false alarms, the worse it’s going to get.”

Ruth nodded, lifting her head. “We might not have had another incident yet… but there will be. It’s only a matter of time.”

That worried me the most. We weren’t just chasing ghosts. We were waiting for the next body to drop.

“There has to be a way to track it,” I said, straightening. “What if we use a tracking spell on one of the objects? Trace where it came from?”

Ruth sighed heavily. “I already tried.” She gestured vaguely to her potions room next to the kitchen. “I used a locator spell on the enchanted locket to trace it back to its last known magical signature.”

“And?”

“Dead end.” Ruth rubbed her eyes, frustrated. “It’s like it wiped its own history. No trace of where it came from, no lingering energy from the seller. Nothing.”

Dolores scowled. “Whoever’s running this knows what they’re doing. This isn’t just some amateur selling junk out of the back of a cursed van.”

“That’s comforting,” I muttered.

Beverly leaned back in her chair. “I swear, if this doesn’t kill me, it’s going to give me wrinkles.”

“I think that ship has already sailed,” said Dolores.

Beverly gasped like she’d been personally stabbed. “My skin is flawless. I have the complexion of a goddess. You know it.”

I let them bicker for a second, but my mind was still racing. If we couldn’t track the objects, then what? We needed another way in. A way to force the black market into the open. But how? How could we when we didn’t even know where to look?

I glanced at my exhausted aunts, knowing they wouldn’t stop. Not until we found the people responsible.

“All right,” I said, pushing back my chair. “My turn. I’ll go check out the next batch of ‘potentially haunted’ objects. You guys take a break.”

Beverly waved a limp hand. “Sweetheart, that’s adorable, but you have a baby.”

I gestured to Darian, still peacefully asleep in his crib. “And he’s staying here. He’s got three world-class witches to keep him company. What could go wrong?”

Three tired, suspicious pairs of eyes turned to stare at me.

I held up a hand. “Wait. No. Don’t answer that.”

Dolores pinched the bridge of her nose but then caught herself and dropped her hand. “Tessa, if we don’t get ahead of this, it’s not just going to get worse. It’s going to become a catastrophe.”

“Which is why I’m going,” I said firmly.

Ruth pointed at me. “Don’t touch anything suspicious.”

“Got it.”

“Or that looks suspicious,” added Ruth, narrowing her eyes.

“Of course.”

“Or smells suspicious.”

I blinked. “Why would I sniff it?”

Ruth shrugged. “You never know. Evil sometimes has a smell. Like sulfur. Or fish.”

“Fish?”

Ruth nodded solemnly. “Black magic sometimes smells like rotten fish. And also patchouli, but that might just be because I hate patchouli.”

Dolores threw her hands in the air. “Ruth, for the love of magic, stop giving her ridiculous rules and let her go.”

Ruth made a face, narrowing her eyes. “They’re not ridiculous.”

Dolores shot her a withering look. “Yes, they are. She’s not a bloodhound. She’s a witch. She doesn’t need to sniff anything.”

Ruth squinted, considering this. “Fine. But I still stand by my ‘don’t sniff cursed objects’ rule. Last time I ignored it, I blacked out and woke up magically bound to a broomstick named Carl.”

Okay, then.

I clapped my hands together. “Fantastic. I promise to keep my nose out of evil things. Now, if we’re done with the Magic Safety for Dummies seminar, I’d like to leave before we get another toaster message.”

“Wait.” Iris stood up.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I told my Dark witch friend, though I didn’t blame her. I was getting numb-butt from sitting so long, so I was sure she was suffering from the same thing.

Iris shook her head. “That’s not it.”

I cocked a brow. “What is it?”

Iris hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She looked… nervous. And that made me really curious.

I set my hands on my hips. “Okay, spill. What’s going on?”

Iris blew out a slow breath, dragging her fingers through her dark hair. “I might… know how to help… I think… I’m not sure.”

I frowned. “How? Do you have some Dark witch uber-tracking spell up your sleeve that can trace the supposedly untraceable. Have you been holding out on me?”

Iris shook her head. “No, but… I might know someone who can help us locate the paranormal black market.”

I blinked. “You what? Who?”

Her eyes flicked away, like she was debating whether this conversation was worth having or if she should just make a run for it. I bet she was wishing she could jump a ley line right now.

“Iris. Why didn’t you tell us this before?” asked my aunt Dolores, her scowl lowering.

The Dark witch let out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of her neck, looking like she wanted to be literally anywhere else. “Because...” She sighed heavily and finally met my gaze. “Because it’s my brother.”

I stared at her. The world slowed for a second as the words clicked into place.

“Cedric? Knows where the black market is?”

Iris winced. “Yeah.”

Okay, now this was interesting.

10

We were flying.

We blasted through the ley line at what felt like a million miles an hour as magic pulsed around us, threads of energy swirling, twisting, carrying us through the in-between. It was like riding the most insane roller coaster in existence, except there were no tracks, no safety bars, and no promises we’d end up where we were supposed to. But hey, I was getting better at this whole “not accidentally falling out of the ley line and plummeting to my death” thing. Progress.

Okay, yes, the last time I’d used a ley line with Iris, she had lost Dana, and I’d nearly lost control—almost killing us both. My magic had been a mess while I was pregnant, unstable at best, outright dangerous at worst.

But that had been Vara’s fault. The evil doula. She’d been poisoning me, rendering my magic nearly obsolete. But Ruth and my aunts had performed their “Doula Detox.” And now, I felt my mojo humming inside me again, solid and steady. Wynona, the healer, had told me that my magic wasn’t broken or gone, just shaken, and that it would settle back to normal. That it might even be stronger.

Time to test that theory.

I threw a quick glance over at Iris. The Dark witch’s face was lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, her grin stretching wide as her hair whipped behind her, flowing through the colorful currents of magic. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, her entire body thrumming with energy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was glowing.

I shook my head, laughing. “You look like you’re on the best ride of your life.”

Iris’s eyes sparkled as she turned to me. “Are you kidding? This is better than sex. Don’t tell Ronin.”

I laughed. “I won’t.”

“I’m serious.” She giggled, leaning into the flow of magic and letting it rush past her like the world’s most colorful wind tunnel. “This is… incredible, like surfing on pure power.”

I grinned, but the smile faded as my thoughts drifted to where we were going and who we were about to see.

Cedric.

The male witch had once looked at Ronin like he was something foul stuck to his shoe. He’d made snide comments about half-breeds and questioned his sister’s judgment for even associating with a vampire, let alone dating one. This man had zero respect for his sister’s choices, her friends, or her life. I’d wanted to punch him in the face on more than one occasion.

Iris didn’t deserve that. She deserved someone who would love and support her unconditionally. Cedric wasn’t that guy. And frankly, the idea of asking him for help made my skin crawl.

But we were out of options.

If Cedric knew about the black market, if he had any clue who was selling these cursed objects… we needed him. Whether I liked it or not.

I glanced at Iris. She was still smiling, still riding that high, but her eyes were tight at the edges, her shoulders stiff. She was nervous. Not about the ley line. About Cedric.

And I hated that she had to feel that way about her own brother.

I yelled over the rushing wind, “You sure you’re up for this?”

Iris’s smile wavered, but she nodded. “I’m fine. Besides, you’re going to need me. Cedric won’t talk to anyone but me. And even then, it’s a fifty-fifty shot.”

“Great.” I made a face. “I love dealing with charming sociopaths.”

A tiny smile tugged at Iris’s mouth. “He’s not that bad.”

I gave her a look. “I distinctly remember him calling Ronin a ‘blood-sucking mongrel.’”

Her jaw tightened. “Yeah. He’s that bad.”

I couldn’t help it. I reached over and squeezed her arm, magic crackling between us. “Hey. If this is too hard, we’ll bail. We’ll find another way.”

Iris’s face softened. “No. This is about more than him. People are dying. If Cedric knows something, we need to find out. And who knows… maybe he’ll surprise us.”

“If by surprise, you mean ‘not being a total jackass,’ then yes, that would be a shock.”

Iris laughed, her shoulders relaxing a little. “You know, I almost wish Ronin was here. Just to see the look on Cedric’s face.”

“I can’t decide if that would be hilarious or if we’d end up with two dead bodies.”

“Both?”

I laughed. “Fair.”

Before leaving, I’d waited for Marcus to get home so he could look after Darian. Also, because I needed to tell him what Iris had said.

The chief had barely stepped through the door when I pounced, giving him the rundown in one breath. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening and expression hardening as he’d listened.

Then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close as his mouth pressed against my ear. “Be safe. And if you don’t feel up to it, you come straight home.”

I pulled back, arching an eyebrow. “You know who you’re talking to. Right? When have I ever turned back?”

He gave me a look. “Exactly why I’m saying it. And don’t get cocky. If something feels wrong, you bail. No hero stunts.”

I smirked. “I don’t do hero stunts. I do intelligent, calculated maneuvers.” Total lie.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, and I could practically see the gray hairs forming. “Just… be careful.”

“Always am.”

He cupped my face, his fingers firm but gentle. His eyes softened, the steel in them giving way to something warmer. “I mean it, Tessa. If you feel even the slightest bit off, you come back.”

I looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m fine, Marcus. I feel great. Strong. Pretty damn good, actually.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way.”

I stood on my toes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You worry too much.”

“I’m married to you. It comes with the territory.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

His arms tightened around me. “I mean it. No risks. No hero stunts. And if that brother of hers gives you trouble, you call me.”

I grinned. “What, and miss the chance to kick Cedric’s ass myself? Not a chance.”

Marcus huffed, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Yeah, but you’ll die happy.”

His laughter was low, a soft rumble in his chest as he kissed me again, this time longer, deeper, leaving me breathless.

“Come back to me,” he whispered against my lips.

“Always do.”

I stepped back, feeling the pull of the ley line calling to me, the magic thrumming just beneath my skin. I shot him a cocky grin. “Hold down the fort, Chief.”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Just come back in one piece, Merlin.”

“You know me. I’m unbreakable.”

He snorted. “Yeah. That’s what worries me.”

With a wave, I’d walked out the door. I pulled on the ley line, feeling its power surge around me, grabbed Iris, who had been waiting patiently, and jumped.

A few minutes later, magic swirled around us, the ley line growing brighter, the pull of its power intensifying. I could feel our stop, the exit point coming up, the place where the energy thinned just enough for us to slip through.

“Almost there,” I yelled, bracing myself.

Iris’s smile faded, replaced by a determined look. “Okay.”

I focused on the flow of magic, bending it around us and slowing our momentum just enough. The colors dimmed, the swirling currents grew sluggish, and then—

We broke through, the world snapping back into focus as we stumbled onto solid ground.

The ley line disappeared behind us, the energy dissipating like mist in the wind.

I took a deep breath, grounding myself. We were here.

In front of us stood a dark, looming brownstone surrounded by a wrought-iron fence with spikes sharp enough to skewer someone stupid enough to climb it. Its exterior was as elegant as it was menacing, with intricate carvings of snakes coiling around the doorframe and gargoyles perched on the corners, glaring down as though they were judging us for daring to approach. The air was heavy, charged with a magical residue that made my skin prickle.

Iris stared at the house, her face a mask of nerves and determination. “Welcome to Casa de Cedric.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Subtle. Is that a gargoyle? And are those… snake statues?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Yeah. He’s going through a phase.”

“Does he think he’s Lord Voldemort?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Pretty much.”

I sighed, bracing myself. “All right. Let’s go.”

Iris took a deep breath, her shoulders straightening. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

We marched up the driveway, shadows dancing around us. I kept my senses on high alert, every muscle tense.

If Cedric knew anything about the black market, I was going to drag it out of him, kicking and screaming.

We were here for answers. And I wasn’t leaving until we got them.

I looked over at her. “So… how exactly do you know Cedric’s involved in this black market?”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the door before she answered. “I heard him on the phone a couple of times. Talking about ‘acquisitions’ and ‘exclusive merchandise.’ At first, I thought it was just him being his usual snobby self, but then…” She hesitated again, her face tightening. “I saw him with some other male witches. They came to my parents’ house. One of them showed him a pendant that I could feel was cursed.”

I sucked in a breath. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Iris’s eyes dropped to the ground. “Because he’s my brother. And I wanted to be wrong. I kept hoping it was just a coincidence or some kind of misunderstanding. But now…” She glanced back at the brownstone, her mouth tightening into a grim line. “Now I need to know the truth.”

Before I could say anything else, she lifted her hand and knocked on the snake-covered door.

I took the moment of silence to scan the street, the hair on the back of my neck prickling. It was too quiet. And too dark. I could have sworn the gargoyles were watching us, their stone eyes following our every move.

Creepy.

Iris’s body went rigid as the door creaked open, revealing Cedric in all his smug, perfectly tailored glory.

He leaned against the doorframe, his dark eyes gleaming with amused disdain as they flicked over his sister and then landed on me. “Iris,” he drawled, his lips curving into a sneer. “I was wondering when you’d finally grow a spine and come see me.” Cedric’s eyes flicked over to me, his lip curling in disdain. “And of course, you brought her.” He said it like I was some kind of infestation. “I thought you had better taste, Iris.”

I crossed my arms and gave him a sweet, fake smile. “Nice to see you too, Cedric. I see you’ve decorated your home with haunted mausoleum chic. Bold choice.”

His eyes narrowed. “Still mouthing off, I see. Some things never change.”

I shrugged. “Why fix what isn’t broken?”

Cedric’s jaw tightened, and his eyes gleamed with irritation. “As insufferable as ever. I should’ve known you’d be behind this.” He looked at Iris, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You really need better friends, little sister.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Tessa’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

I grinned. “Aww. I knew I was your favorite.”

Iris’s shoulders went rigid. “We need to talk, Cedric.” Her voice was steady, but I could see her hands shaking just a little, and I didn’t like how much pleasure Cedric seemed to get from seeing his sister uncomfortable.

Cedric’s eyes flicked to the street and then back to us. “No Ronin?” He feigned disappointment, his face mockingly sympathetic. “Trouble in paradise already?”

Iris’s jaw tightened. “Don’t start.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile never faltering. “Just making conversation, dear sister.” Then he stepped aside, his arm sweeping dramatically. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in before the neighbors start gossiping about the trash on my doorstep.”

I ignored the jab and followed Iris inside, resisting the urge to trip him on the way in. Barely.

Cedric’s eyes flicked between us, his irritation deepening. “Don’t touch anything. I’d rather not spend the night decontaminating my home.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I shot back. “Pretty sure I’d end up cursed if I touched anything in this creep show.”

I walked past him, deliberately bumping his shoulder on the way in. “Oops. My bad.”

Cedric’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re testing my patience, Merlin.”

I looked over my shoulder, grinning. “I’d be disappointed if I wasn’t.”

His nostrils flared, but he held his tongue, his eyes following me with barely concealed disdain as I made my way into his dark, snake-infested brownstone.

Yeah, this was going to be fun.

The interior of the brownstone was as lavish and ostentatious as I expected. Polished hardwood floors gleamed beneath the glow of expensive crystal chandeliers. Dark, richly patterned wallpaper adorned the walls, interrupted only by shelves crammed with leather-bound tomes and antique curiosities that looked like they’d be cursed just for fun. And of course, more snakes. Statues, carvings, paintings—snakes coiled everywhere.

“Seriously? Again with the snakes?” I whispered to Iris. “Because this is borderline obsessive.”

Her lips twitched. “If you think this is bad, wait until you see his office.”

“Can’t wait.”

Cedric shut the door behind us, the click echoing ominously in the grand hallway. He gestured toward the parlor. “Shall we?”

I hesitated, my witchy senses tingling. Something was off about this place. More than just the creepy furnishings. It was in the air—a faint hum of magic, something cold and dark, like a lingering shadow that didn’t belong.

Cedric caught me looking and his smile widened. “Careful, Merlin. Wouldn’t want you to get lost. It’s a big house for someone so… small.”

“Small?” I patted my belly. “And here I thought I still had some of that post baby weight to lose. Thanks.”

His grin wavered, just a fraction. A tiny victory, but I’d take it.

As we passed by an open doorway, I caught a glimpse of a den draped in rich velvet curtains and dark leather furniture. Two women were sprawled on the couches, their clothes barely hanging on, hair tousled, eyes glazed over with lazy, satisfied smiles. They looked at us with slow, languid curiosity before returning to their haze, giggling softly to each other.

I shot a sideways glance at Iris, whose face tightened, but she kept her eyes forward.

Cedric noticed. His lips curved into a smug grin. “Don’t mind them. They’re just… resting.”

I snorted. “Yeah. I bet.”

He didn’t deny it. Just kept walking, his shoulders squared with a self-satisfied swagger. Ew.

Iris cleared her throat, pulling Cedric’s attention back to her. “We’re not here to play games, Cedric. We need information about the paranormal black market. People are dying in Hollow Cove, and I think you can help us stop it.”

His eyes flashed with something I couldn’t quite read. Annoyance? Concern? But it was gone before I could be sure. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “Interesting. And why, exactly, would you think that?”

Iris hesitated, glancing at me. I gave her a small nod. Time to go for it.

She took a deep breath. “Because people are buying illegal cursed objects. And they don’t remember where they got them from.” She lifted her chin, defiance tightening her features. “I saw you with a man. He was showing you one of those objects—a pendant. It was cursed. I know you got it from the black market.”

For a split second, I saw Cedric’s face go blank, his eyes flicking to me before settling back on Iris. Then he did something that made my blood boil.

He laughed.

A slow, mocking chuckle filled the room with a condescending echo. “Oh, Iris. Always so dramatic.” He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered toward us, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor. “You’re grasping at straws, little sister. Just because you saw me talking to someone doesn’t mean I’m running some kind of cursed antique shop.”

I stepped forward, crossing my arms. “Funny. Every cursed object we’ve found has the same sigil carved into it. A sigil tied to a black market for dangerous magical objects.”

Cedric’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening. “You don’t know what you’re messing with, Merlin.”

I didn’t blink. “No, but I’m about to find out. Because if you’re buying from them, you know who’s running this market. And you’re going to tell us. People are dying. I need to know what you know.”

A flash of something—guilt?—crossed Cedric’s face before he looked away. “I didn’t sell anything to those people.”

“But you bought from the people who did. You know who’s behind this,” I pressed, taking a step closer. “And you’re going to tell us. Because if you don’t, more people are going to die. And that blood will be on your hands.”

Cedric’s jaw worked, his eyes shifting to the side. He was quiet for a long moment before he finally said, “I don’t know who’s behind the black market. Not exactly.”

Iris’s eyes widened. “But you know something.”

He hesitated, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know who runs the sales. Who arranges the deals. But he’s untouchable.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Who?”

Cedric’s eyes flicked to me, his voice low and cautious. “Soren Tex.”

“Soren Tex?” I repeated, trying to place the name. “Who the hell is that?” Never heard of the name.

Cedric’s eyes were hard. “A high-ranking elf. And not just any elf. He’s known for smuggling cursed artifacts, trafficking magical creatures… anything dark and powerful, he deals in it. And he’s damn good at staying off the radar.”

My blood ran cold. “Why hasn’t anyone stopped him?”

Cedric let out a bitter laugh. “Because he’s untouchable. He has his fingers in everything—money, power, and influence. You go after him, you’re as good as dead.”

Iris’s face paled. “How… how do you know all of this?”

Cedric hesitated, his jaw clenching before he admitted, “Because I’ve bought from him. Sold to him. He’s got connections all over the magical world. If you want something powerful, something illegal… he’s the guy to see.”

I crossed my arms. “Where do we find him?”

Cedric shook his head. “You don’t. The market moves. It’s never in the same place twice. That’s how he keeps it hidden. One night it’s in a warehouse downtown, the next night it’s in a mansion on the other side of the city. And if you’re not invited, you don’t get in.”

I gritted my teeth. “There has to be a way. Some clue about where it’ll be next.”

Cedric hesitated, glancing at Iris. His voice dropped lower. “There is… but it’s risky.”

I folded my arms, leaning in. “We’ll take risky. What is it?”

His eyes locked on mine, his expression dead serious. “You have to get on Soren’s list. He sends out invites to his most trusted buyers. That’s the only way in.”

Iris frowned. “And how do we do that?”

Cedric’s mouth twisted. “You don’t. You’re too clean. Too… good. But me?” He looked down, his voice bitter. “I’m already in his network. I can get you an invite. But once you’re in… you’re on your own. If he finds out you’re a Merlin, you’re dead. No second chances.”

Though my insides were wrenching, I kept my features blank. “We’ll take our chances.”

Cedric’s eyes softened, just a little. “You don’t understand. Soren Tex isn’t just powerful. He’s connected. Influential. If you go after him, you’re declaring war. And you better be ready to lose everything.”

I met his gaze, my voice steady. “We’ve faced worse. Get us on that list.”

For a moment, he looked like he might refuse. But then his shoulders slumped, his face hardening with determination. “Fine. I’ll make the call. But if this goes south… don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the hall.

Iris’s shoulders sagged, and she looked at me, her eyes full of worry. “Tessa… what are we getting ourselves into?”

I squeezed her arm, my own nerves shifting inside me. “Something bad.”

I watched Cedric disappear around the corner, my mind racing.

We had a name, a lead, but something told me we were in way over our heads.

Soren Tex. A high-ranking elf with access to illegal cursed objects and dark magic.

And if Cedric was right, we were about to walk straight into the lion’s den.

11

“Soren Tex? Never heard of him,” said Dolores, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug. “And you say he’s an elf?”

“A high-ranking elf with access to illegal cursed objects and Black magic,” I answered, balancing Darian on my lap as he attempted to grab my nose for the fifteenth time. “Apparently, he’s the kingpin behind this paranormal black market.”

I’d noticed that Hildo and Tinker Bell were missing when I’d arrived this morning. Probably still on one of their hunts. I didn’t want to know what they were hunting now. So I didn’t ask.

“Has Marcus heard of him?” asked Beverly, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was dressed in another one of her perfectly coordinated outfits—dark blue jeans with a red top, gold jewelry that somehow wasn’t tacky, and hair that defied the laws of gravity.

I shook my head. “I asked him when I got home last night. He’s never heard of the elf either.”

After my trip to New York City to visit Cedric and dropping off Iris at her house, I’d come home and asked the chief about this elf. I’d also told him about his involvement in the paranormal black market, how it moves, and that Cedric was going to get us on this “list.”

“I don’t like it,” the chief had growled.

“I don’t like it either, but it’s the only chance we’ve got to find out more about this market and who this Soren is.”

Marcus’s features had pulled tightly. “I’ll make some calls. If he’s in the system, I’ll find him.” He’d yanked out his phone and started swiping the screen. “Going to the office,” he’d told me, and he had stayed there all night.

Me? After Marcus had left, I’d been so wired with this new intel that I’d opened my computer, gotten onto the Merlin database, and started to search. But after a half hour, there was nothing. Nothing on Soren Tex. It was as though he didn’t exist.

So, I decided to do some research on elves instead. The only elves I knew were Arwen and Legolas from the Lord of the Rings movies.

I pressed enter and read:

Elves possess ancient magic deeply rooted in elemental forces, predominantly earth and shadow. Their spells are woven with precision, complexity, and immense power. They can manipulate nature, bend shadows to their will, and create illusions that are nearly impossible to detect. Their magic is highly structured, ritualistic, and often channeled through enchanted artifacts.

Weaknesses: Unknown. No confirmed records of vulnerabilities or counter-spells against elvish magic.

Society and Culture: Elves are one of the most secretive paranormal races, known for their insular societies and rigid hierarchies. They rarely interact with other races, and when they do, it is often through intermediaries. Their political structure is rumored to be heavily influenced by ancient bloodlines with high-ranking elves holding significant power and influence.

Note: Due to their secretive nature, most information on elves is speculative and unverified. Proceed with caution when dealing with elvish entities.

I’d stared at the screen. “Perfect. A whole race of magical ninjas with no known weaknesses.” This was going to be just swell.

Falling asleep after that had been a challenge. My mind had been racing with visions of shadow-wielding elves and cursed objects lurking in every corner of Hollow Cove. But eventually, exhaustion won out, and I’d drifted off.

“Then how reliable is this information?” Dolores’s sharp voice yanked me out of my thoughts, pulling me back to the present in Davenport House. “Your source isn’t exactly the most trustworthy character.”

“Cedric’s a lot of things,” I admitted. “Manipulative, self-righteous, ego-driven and a pain in the ass, to name a few. But in this case, it’s very reliable.” At least, that’s what Iris had told me once we left his house. And I might not trust Cedric, but I trusted his sister’s instincts.

Dolores’s lips thinned. “I still don’t like that you went to see him. Those Clairmonts are bad news.”

“Maybe. But not Iris,” I continued. “Besides, Cedric’s setting us up to get on Soren’s list. It’s the only way to find the market. The damn thing moves, apparently. It’s never in the same place twice. That’s how this Soren guy keeps it hidden.”

Ruth turned from the stove, her eyes wide with glee. “A moving black market? How does that work? Does it have wheels? Or is it like one of those pop-up shops in the city?” The apron across her middle read: IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE MY POTIONS, STAY OUT OF MY CAULDRON.

“This isn’t a train ride to Santa’s village, you idiot,” snapped Dolores. “This is an illegal market.”

Ruth made a face. “I know.” She came over to the table and plopped fresh buttermilk pancakes in the shape of trees with hanging monkeys into my plate.

I blinked. “Wow. These are incredible.” My aunt was truly an artist when it came to her pancakes.

Ruth beamed. “And they taste good too.”

Before I could grab my fork, Darian’s chubby little hand shot out like lightning, snatched a pancake, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. There was no chewing. It just disappeared. Like a magic trick.

Beverly nearly choked on her coffee, her eyes wide. “No wonder he’s so big. Look what he eats.”

Dolores’s eyebrows shot up. “Look at how he eats. It’s like a garbage disposal.”

Ruth waved her spatula at Dolores. “He’s a baby. He can eat whichever way he wants.”

I stared at my son, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk as he gummed the pancake to death, his eyes sparkling with pure joy. “Sure, but that was my breakfast.”

Darian let out a giggle, his sticky hands reaching out for more as syrup dribbled down his chin. I sighed, passing him another monkey-shaped pancake. “You know, when you’re older, we’re going to have words about sharing.”

He made a gurgling noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter before cramming the second pancake into his mouth with the same enthusiasm.

Dolores watched him, her expression both horrified and fascinated. “He eats like a wereape but with the coordination of a witch.”

Beverly smirked, swirling her coffee cup. “A perfect little hybrid. Look at him go. It’s like watching a piranha feed.”

Ruth’s face softened, and she moved behind Darian, wiping his face with a dishtowel. “He’s perfect. And he’s just a growing boy. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.”

I smiled, my heart warming as I watched my son, sticky and grinning, reach for yet another pancake. “Thanks, Ruth.” I glanced at my aunts, each one completely smitten with him in their own way. “But seriously, how am I going to afford his grocery bill when he’s a teenager?”

Dolores’s face went pale. “We’ll need a second income.”

Darian gurgled again, slapping his hands on the table and sending syrup flying. I dodged the sticky shrapnel and shook my head. “And here I thought the dangerous cursed objects were my biggest problem.”

“Babies are delicious,” said Ruth, grinning. “Every single one is a miracle.”

Dolores snorted. “You sound like you want to eat them.”

Ruth flashed her older sister a glare but didn’t say anything.

“So,” I said, wanting to steer the conversation. “What about our elf problem?”

“This Soren Tex,” said Dolores. “If he’s as powerful as you say, we’re dealing with someone who has connections. Political influence. A network.” Her eyes darkened. “And that makes him extremely dangerous.”

“No shit.” I nodded. “And the guy has erased his tracks pretty well. I spent half the night on the Merlin database, looking up his name. Not a single mention. It’s like he doesn’t exist.”

Beverly pulled out a compact and started to powder her nose. “And you believe Cedric?”

I sighed. “I believe Cedric when he’s scared. And he looked terrified. Whoever this Soren is, he’s not just any elf. He’s high-ranking. Untouchable. Marcus is making calls to see if there’s anything on him in the paranormal crime system, but so far... nothing.”

Dolores’s frown deepened. “That’s concerning. No paper trail at all?”

“None. It’s like he’s a ghost. And from what Cedric said, he deals in more than just cursed objects. We’re talking smuggling magical creatures, trafficking illegal potions, selling Black magic spells to the highest bidder. If it’s powerful and dangerous, he’s selling it.”

Ruth’s face turned pale. “Magical creatures? You think he’s hurting them?”

Probably. “I don’t know. Which is why we need to find him,” I said. “If these cursed objects are coming from his market, he’s responsible for those deaths. And if we don’t stop him, there’ll be more.”

“Agreed.” Dolores’s jaw tightened. “But we need to be smart about this. We’re going up against someone powerful. He knows eventually we’ll be onto him.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why we’re getting on the guest list,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Cedric’s setting it up. We just need to play the part of interested buyers.”

Beverly’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I do love a good shopping trip.”

I blinked at her. “It’s a black market, Beverly, not Bloomingdale’s.”

She tossed her hair back. “Please. I’ve been to enough estate sales to blend in. Besides, who better to investigate illegal cursed objects than the queen of retail?”

She did have a point. She’d probably pull it off better than me. “Fine. But we stick to the plan. We get in, find out what we can about Soren, and get out. No one buys anything. No one touches anything.”

Dolores’s eyes darkened. “And if Soren finds out who you are?”

I looked down at Darian, who was now gnawing on my thumb. “He won’t.” He can’t. Because if he did, we were all screwed.

But we didn’t have a choice. Not if we wanted to stop this black market before it took more lives.

“I’ll keep digging,” said Dolores, reaching for an old orange leather-bound tome on the table. She flipped it open, scanning the pages. “If this Soren Tex exists, there has to be something on him. Some trace. I’ll find it.”

I nodded. “Good. Because if Cedric’s right, and this guy is as powerful as he says... we’re going to need every advantage we can get.”

Dolores’s expression hardened, and with a sharp smack, she slapped her palm against the open tome. “Then let’s get to work.”

I tightened my hold on Darian, who was now trying to chew on my collarbone. “Hey, piranha baby. I’m not on the menu.”

He giggled, flashing me a gummy, syrupy smile that was both adorable and slightly terrifying.

“Soren Tex.” I tasted the name on my tongue, feeling the weight of it. It felt like a curse. If he was behind all of this... he was about to find out exactly how dangerous pissed-off Merlins could be.

I glanced at my aunts, who were already flipping through Dolores’s collection of ancient tomes. “Hey, what do you guys actually know about elves? I mean, beyond the textbook stuff?” I’d read what the Merlin database had on them, but firsthand experience was always more reliable.

Dolores didn’t look up from her thick book. “They’re powerful. Their magic is ancient, older than anything we practice. It’s... different. Higher magic. More refined. And I’ve never seen anyone defeat elvish magic head-on. Not without paying a steep price.”

Well, that was comforting.

Beverly sighed dreamily, a wistful smile spreading across her face. “I’ve never met an elf... but I fantasize about them regularly. Me, naked, running through an enchanted forest while a group of gorgeous, equally naked elves—very well-endowed, mind you—chase after me...”

I choked on my coffee. “It’s too early in the morning for that kind of visual.”

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? Elves are known to be irresistibly beautiful. It’s only natural.” She fluttered her lashes. “Besides, I’ve heard they’re very... agile.”

Dolores groaned. “Would you keep your perversions to yourself? We’re trying to do research.”

Ruth looked up from her tome, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve always wanted pointy ears.” She tapped the side of her head thoughtfully. “Maybe I could hear through walls. Ooh, or maybe they’d make me more aerodynamic! I could finally outrun Dolores when she’s mad at me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t start laughing. Loved my aunt Ruthy.

“Tessa.” Dolores’s expression turned serious. “You need to be extra careful. Elvish magic is tricky. It doesn’t play by the rules.”

I nodded, the weight of her words settling on my shoulders. “Noted. But neither do I.” I glanced away, and that’s when I noticed a stack of paper under Dolores’s hand. It was almost like she was guarding it. “What are those?” I said, pointing.

“Her campaign speech,” said Beverly with a sly smile.

I blinked. “So, you’re seriously thinking of running for mayor?”

Dolores lifted her chin, her expression turning imperious. “Why? You don’t think I’d be a good mayor?”

Oops. I was walking into dangerous territory. “No. I mean… yes. Yes, you’d be great. Terrifying. But great.”

Ruth giggled. “She’s already practicing her acceptance speech. I heard her in the bathroom this morning saying, ‘As your mayor, I will not tolerate stupidity.’”

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. And that just made Darian laugh.

Dolores’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t say stupidity. I said incompetence.”

Beverly burst out laughing. “Same difference.”

Dolores huffed. “If I’m in charge, things will actually get done in this town. And I won’t spend taxpayer money on hideous floral arrangements and ridiculous parades.”

“Gilbert did love those parades,” I said.

Ruth clasped her hands together. “Me too. Maybe we could have a magical creature parade with a float made entirely out of enchanted marshmallows. You know, so people can eat it while it passes.”

Yikes.

Beverly tilted her head. “I like it. Interactive and delicious.”

“Absolutely not,” snapped Dolores. “Last time you enchanted food, the cupcakes bit back.”

Ruth pouted. “That was one time.”

“Once was enough.” Dolores’s eyes gleamed as she straightened her shoulders. “I’ve already started writing my list of regulations.”

I snorted. “You’re already writing laws?”

She shrugged, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Why wait?”

I leaned back, shaking my head. “Hollow Cove’s about to get a lot more interesting.”

Beverly raised her coffee cup. “To Mayor Dolores.”

We all clinked our cups together, and as I took a sip, I couldn’t help but smile. Oh yeah, things were definitely going to get interesting.

And they were.

The front door banged open, and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. A moment later, Marcus walked into the kitchen, his expression tense. He didn’t look exhausted, even though he hadn’t slept. He looked worried.

I straightened in my chair. “Marcus? What is it?”

His gray eyes swept over all of us, lingering on Darian before locking on to mine. His jaw tightened. “There’s been another death.”

12

“What’s his name?” I asked, looking around the bungalow that looked like it belonged in the pages of a home design catalog. Sleek gray couches, perfectly fluffed pillows, a glass coffee table that was so clean I could see my reflection in it. Not a speck of dust in sight. In fact, the only thing out of place was the dead woman sprawled on the pristine white rug.

My aunts and I had rushed to follow Marcus after he’d stormed into Davenport House with news of a fresh corpse.

“Gregory Lorne. Mage. Works at the pharmacy downtown,” answered Marcus. He stood by the window, his body tense and arms crossed. His gaze was fixed on the mage who was now slumped on the couch, handcuffed and staring at the floor.

I looked back at Gregory. He didn’t look like a murderer. Mid-thirties, dark hair, neatly trimmed beard, wearing a fitted sweater and slacks. If you ignored the handcuffs and the haunted look in his eyes, he looked like your average suburban husband.

“Caught his wife cheating,” continued Marcus. “Said he wanted to teach her a lesson. The ring was supposed to hex her, make her loyal again. But…” His voice trailed off, his eyes hardening. “It did more than that.”

No kidding.

I glanced over to the victim. She looked peaceful, almost like she was sleeping, if it weren’t for the black veins running up her neck, dark and twisted, like ink spilled beneath her skin.

A gold ring, glinting in the morning light, sat on her finger.

“Where did you get the ring?” I asked the now-handcuffed mage.

Gregory Lorne looked up at me, his bloodshot eyes wide and confused, tears staining his hollow cheeks. “I… I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t remember.”

I folded my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. “You don’t remember buying a cursed object that killed your wife?” I adjusted Darian’s baby harness strapped to my chest, feeling his warm little body shift as he slept peacefully. Lucky kid, blissfully unaware of the horrors in the world.

His face crumpled, his whole body shuddering as a fresh wave of tears fell. “I didn’t know… I didn’t… it wasn’t supposed to… I just wanted her to love me again. I just wanted her to stop… cheating.” His voice broke, his head dropping to his chest.

I glanced at Marcus, standing behind me, his arms crossed and his jaw tight. His eyes were dark, hard, but I saw a flicker of pity in them.

“I just… I wanted her back,” Gregory whimpered, his body trembling. “The man said it would make her loyal again. That it would… it would fix everything.” He looked up at me, eyes wide and desperate. “I swear, I didn’t know it would… I didn’t know it would kill her.”

“The man?” My stomach twisted, my heart hardening. “Who was this man? Where did you meet him?” I knew that was a stretch. None of the other victims and buyers remembered who had sold them the items or where they came from. But it was worth a try.

Gregory’s face went blank. His eyes glazed over, his mouth moving without sound for a second before he finally spoke. “I… I don’t… I can’t remember.”

I felt my frustration rise. “Try harder. Where did you buy the ring?”

He shook his head, his eyes filling with panic. “I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s like… I went somewhere… but I didn’t. It’s all… blurry. Like a dream.”

I shared a look with Marcus. Another one who couldn’t remember. Just like the others.

I took a step closer, keeping my voice low but firm. “You’re a mage. You’ve dealt with enchanted objects before. How do you not remember?”

His face twisted in pain, his eyes pleading. “I swear I don’t know. I don’t… It’s like… It’s gone. Just… gone.”

A chill ran down my spine. The cursed objects were more than just deadly. They were enchanted to erase memories.

“Did you see his face?” I pressed. “Hear his voice? Did he have an accent? A mark? Anything?”

Gregory’s eyes flicked around wildly, his head shaking. “I don’t… I can’t… I don’t remember.” His shoulders sagged, his body trembling. “I don’t remember anything.”

Marcus stepped forward, his voice low and gruff. “Did you at least pay for it?”

Gregory’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He looked at Marcus and then at me, his face pale. “I can’t remember.”

I let out a slow breath, my fingers tightening at my sides. It seemed this Soren Tex was good at covering his tracks. Maybe too good.

“What about a list? Were you on a list?” I tried again.

Gregory moved his lips like he was trying to remember. “I… no… I don’t know.” His face was a mess of tears and confusion. He’d been manipulated. Just like the others.

Marcus’s voice was firm, his eyes hard. “We’ve got to find this black market before more people end up dead.”

I nodded, my resolve hardening. “Cedric better get us on that list soon. It’s the only lead we’ve got.”

But even as I said it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were running out of time. And the longer it took to find that market… the more people were going to die.

Dolores walked over, her arms crossed tightly. “We need to remove the ring from her. Put it somewhere safe.”

“Agreed,” said Ruth, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Lora Lorne.” Beverly sighed. “Poor thing. She was pretty.”

We all looked over the body.

Lora Lorne lay on her back. Black, jagged veins spread out from under the gold ring on her finger, snaking up her throat and across her jawline, like poison had crawled beneath her skin and choked her from the inside out. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and the black veins protruded so prominently that they looked like they were ready to burst.

I swallowed hard, my insides churning. “Looks like the ring strangled her.”

Dolores crouched down, her face hardening as she inspected the body. “It did more than that. It poisoned her. See the darkening of her veins?” She pointed at the black tendrils curling up the side of Lora’s face. “That’s Black magic. Nasty stuff. It didn’t just choke her. It shut down her organs. One by one.”

Ruth let out a small whimper, hugging herself tighter. “That poor woman… What kind of monster sells something like that?”

I looked back at Gregory, who was hunched over, sobbing, his shoulders shaking. It was hard to see a man so broken as the villain here, but the ring hadn’t just taken his wife’s life. It had ruined his.

Beverly sighed, looking around, and propped her hands on her hips. “This house is depressing. And I don’t do beige.”

I stroked my son’s hair, taking comfort from it. “I don’t like this. It’s not just killing them. It’s torturing them. Making them suffer.”

“That’s Black magic for you,” said Beverly, her voice uncharacteristically solemn. “It’s never quick. It’s never painless. It feeds on suffering.”

I looked at the ring again, at the Black, sinister magic radiating off of it. It was faint, barely noticeable, but I could feel it. It felt cold. Hungry. Like it was waiting for the next person foolish enough to touch it.

“We need to remove the ring now.” Dolores’s gaze shifted to Lora’s hand, the gold band gleaming innocently under the fluorescent lights.

“Don’t… don’t touch it!” Gregory screamed, his eyes wide with panic. “It’s cursed! It’ll kill you too!”

I looked down at the sobbing man, his face twisted in fear. I believed him.

Which was why we needed to be really, really careful.

“Hold on.” Ruth rushed forward, her face flushed and her hair coming undone from her messy bun. In her hands were the thickest, brightest orange gloves I’d ever seen. They looked like oven mitts on steroids, covered in swirling silver runes that glowed faintly. And they looked similar to the ones Iris had worn to remove Gilbert’s cursed clock.

“Are those anti-hex mitts?” I asked.

Ruth beamed, shoving her hands into the gloves with a loud squelch. “Yup. Designed to repel Black magic and curses. Made them myself. I even helped Iris make a pair, but hers are more… streamlined. She wanted something ‘cooler,’ but I like my mitts. They’re cozy.” She wiggled her fingers, the runes sparkling. “I call them ‘Cursed Crunchers.’”

Now why did that sound dirty?

Dolores stared at her sister, her mouth agape. “You look like you’re about to pull a turkey out of the oven.”

Ruth stuck her tongue out at Dolores before shuffling over to the body. “Yeah, well, you won’t be laughing when these babies keep the nasty curse off me. They’re reinforced with three layers of protection spells. Nothing’s getting through these.”

Dolores sighed. “Just get on with it.”

Ruth carefully reached for Lora’s hand, the glowing runes on the mitts illuminating the dark veins crawling up the victim’s throat. Her face softened as she gently lifted the dead woman’s fingers, easing the ring off with surprising grace. As soon as the ring slid free, the black veins retreated, leaving behind a faint outline of where they’d been.

I shuddered. “Nasty piece of magic, that one.”

Dolores held out the silver-lined satchel, her face stoic. “Put it in here. We need to contain it before it infects someone else.”

Ruth moved to drop the ring into the bag, but then she froze, her body going rigid. Her gloved fingers curled around the ring as her face drained of color.

“Ruth?” I asked, a chill running down my spine. “What’s wrong?”

Ruth didn’t answer. She just held the ring out, her gloved hand trembling. “Dolores… look.”

Dolores’s eyes widened as she leaned in, her gaze locking on to something carved inside the band. Her face went pale, her mouth falling open.

“Girls? What is it?” asked Beverly, stepping closer and squinting to see what her sisters were looking at.

I looked over at Marcus, whose focus was no longer on Gregory but on my aunts. Specifically, on Ruth, who was holding the ring with her ridiculous orange mitts, her hand trembling.

Our eyes met, and a cold wave of understanding passed between us. This wasn’t just another cursed object. This was something worse. Much worse.

And judging by the looks on my aunts’ faces, they knew exactly what it was.

Dolores’s mouth was set in a hard line, her fingers tightening around the silver-lined satchel as if it might spring to life and attack her. Beverly’s usual playful demeanor had vanished, her face pale and tense as her green eyes locked on that cursed ring with a haunted expression I’d never seen before. Ruth had gone completely still, her lips parted, her eyes wide and glassy.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. They knew something. Something big.

And knowing them… they weren’t going to volunteer that information easily.

My aunts were secretive by nature. They always had been. Even now, years into my training as a Merlin, they were still masters at deflecting questions they didn’t want to answer. If they had stumbled upon something significant, they’d bury it deep, just like they’d buried the rest of the Davenport secrets.

Secrets. The Davenports were drowning in them. And it was going to get someone killed if they didn’t start talking.

I looked at Marcus, who was watching them just as intently. His jaw tightened, his gray eyes narrowing. He was thinking the same thing I was.

They weren’t going to tell us. Not unless we forced it out of them.

Dolores was the first to recover. She snapped her fingers at Ruth. “Bag it.” Her voice was sharp and her expression fierce. “Now.”

Ruth moved robotically, slipping the ring into the satchel and sealing it shut. Her hands were shaking. She passed the bag to Dolores, who immediately tucked it into her coat pocket, her posture rigid and defensive.

My fists clenched. “What aren’t you telling us? Does it have something to do with the markings? The black-market sigil?”

Instinctively, I tightened my hold on Darian, pulling him closer. His little fingers wrapped around my collar, his head resting against my shoulder as he snuggled into me.

Marcus’s gaze hardened as he slowly moved forward, his shoulders taut and his movements cautious—as if approaching a ticking bomb.

I took a step closer, a sick feeling coiling in my gut. “What is it? What do you see?”

Dolores’s voice was hollow. She looked at me and said, “This isn’t just a random cursed object. It’s one of ours.”

I felt the floor drop out from under me. “Uh. One of… ours? You mean—”

Dolores nodded, her expression grim. “This ring… it came from the Davenport vault.”

Oh, joy.

13

Iblinked. And blinked some more. “What Davenport vault? There’s a Davenport vault?” When none of them answered, I pressed, “Tell me about this Davenport vault. Now.”

Dolores’s jaw tightened, her arms crossing over her chest as she straightened her shoulders. “It’s not just any vault. It’s the vault. The Davenport vault. Our ancestors created it two hundred years ago. They sealed away extremely dangerous artifacts, objects too cursed to destroy. It was meant to protect the world from their power.”

I stared at her. “You mean to tell me there’s a magical vault full of cursed objects, and you never thought to mention it before? You know, during any of the other life-threatening magical crises we’ve faced?”

Dolores’s lips pressed together. “It’s secure.”

“Clearly not.” I shot back.

Ruth wrung her hands nervously. “Well, we didn’t think anyone could actually break into it…”

I looked at her. “Well, they did.” A cold shiver ran down my spine as realization slammed into me. “Soren Tex.” My jaw tightened, rage boiling in my veins. “It was him. It has to be. He’s the one behind this black market that we know of. He’s the one selling the cursed objects. And he’s the one who broke into the vault.” I was certain of it. My witchy instincts were all over this one.

Dolores looked stunned. “The elf?”

“It all makes sense,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “Cedric said he’s powerful. Said he deals in black market artifacts. If anyone could break through your wards, it’s him.” Not to mention that elves had badass magical powers.

Beverly paled. “But… how would he even know about the vault?”

Dolores shook her head, horror twisting her features. “I don’t know. Only the Davenports know about it. It’s been a secret for generations.”

“Maybe not as secret as you thought,” I snapped, fury lacing my words. “Somehow, Soren found out. And now he’s selling our cursed objects to the people of Hollow Cove, getting them killed.”

Marcus’s face darkened, his hands clenching into fists. “If it is him, there has to be a reason why he’d be singling you out.”

Good point. This was starting to feel like a personal attack on my family. “Let’s ask him when we see him at his next auction or whatever it’s called.”

A thought occurred to me. “We’ll need to check the other cursed artifacts. The clock, the mirror, the locket, everything.”

Dolores’s shoulders slumped, her face drawn and pale. “If the ring came from the vault… the others did too.”

I stared at her. “You’re sure?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, a look of defeat washing over her features. “Almost certain. Gilbert’s clock? The Clock of Endless Hours that grants you more time until one day, you become the sacrifice. The mirror. The locket. They’re all cursed objects powerful enough to kill. And they match the descriptions of what was sealed away.”

My heart sank. “You knew?”

Dolores’s eyes snapped open, pain flashing through them. “I suspected. After the mirror. But I didn’t want to believe it.”

Beverly looked horrified. “Are you saying… all of these nasty objects… they were in our vault?”

Dolores nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m almost certain now. They’re all artifacts we couldn’t destroy. Too dangerous. Too cursed. Sealed away to keep people safe.”

I felt a cold wave of anger wash over me. “And now they’re out and killing people.”

Dolores winced, guilt shadowing her face. “I know. I just… we just never thought… it’s never been breached before. Not in two hundred years. Whoever did this… if it is indeed this elf, they’re powerful enough to bypass the wards and break the seals.”

My voice rose in irritation. “How could you not tell me? I’m a Davenport and a Merlin like you.” Yes, I lacked the knowledge and a whole lot of experience when you compared me to my aunts. And if I were in their shoes, I wouldn’t have told me either. But it still stung. A lot.

Dolores’s mouth tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “We haven’t had to deal with the vault in over twenty-five years. Not since the Gray Council set up their own secure vaults. We thought… we thought it was safe. Forgotten. That no one would know to look for it.”

“Forgotten?” I echoed, my voice dripping with disbelief. “So you just… what? Decided to leave it there and hope for the best?”

Ruth glanced down at her hands. “We didn’t think it was important anymore. With the Gray Council handling most of the dangerous artifacts, the vault became… irrelevant.”

I rocked Darian from side to side, trying to keep him from wiggling out of his baby sling. His tiny fingers gripped my hair, pulling hard enough to make my scalp sting. “Oh no, you don’t,” I muttered, bouncing on my heels. “Mama’s hair is not a toy, little man.”

Darian giggled, clearly enjoying my pain. Just my luck.

I looked over to Marcus. “Did you know about this?” And if he did and didn’t tell me, I was going to have words with him later.

Marcus’s arms were crossed, his expression stony. “No. I was not aware.” His voice was low, barely controlled. “I’m the chief of this town, Dolores. I need to know these things.”

Dolores lifted her chin. “It’s a family matter. And for the past two hundred years, the Davenports have been protecting that vault just fine.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Clearly, that’s not the case anymore.”

Dolores opened her mouth to retort but then closed it, her jaw tightening. “No. It isn’t.”

I looked between them, my heart thudding. “What else is in there?” Yup, I was a curious beast. And the idea that my ancestors were some bad ass witches, stashing dangerous and deadly artifacts, was kind of exciting.

Dolores hesitated, her gaze flicking to Beverly and Ruth. “Everything.”

I frowned. “Define everything.”

Dolores’s voice lowered. “The Wailing Veil. A tattered black veil that, when worn, allows the wearer to see and hear the spirits of the damned. The Grimoire of Unmaking. A forbidden book said to hold spells that can erase someone from existence. The Laughing Dagger. A blade that, once it tastes blood, makes its wielder uncontrollably violent. The Hand of Valthor. A severed, mummified hand that grants any wish, but the wishes always twist into something terrible. And… things worse than that.”

Marcus’s expression hardened, his eyes never leaving Dolores. “You should have told me.”

Dolores bristled, her posture defensive. “We didn’t need to. Until now, no one has ever gotten in. The wards are ancient and powerful. They should have been impenetrable.”

“But they weren’t,” I pointed out, my voice harsh.

“Who else knows about this vault?” Marcus’s eyes were cold, calculating. “Is it possible one of your enemies found out?”

Dolores’s expression hardened. “No one outside of this family knows about it. No one.”

I scoffed. “Well, obviously someone does. Someone who’s not only powerful enough to break into it but who also knows how to handle the cursed objects inside.”

Marcus’s eyes never left Dolores. “How many objects are we talking about?”

Her face paled. “Hundreds. Maybe more.”

My heart sank. “So whoever broke in… they could have taken anything?”

Dolores nodded grimly. “Yes. And if they did… they have access to magic darker than anything we’ve ever faced.”

This was worse than I’d thought. Much worse.

Not only were we dealing with a paranormal black market selling cursed objects, but now we were dealing with stolen artifacts from a cursed family vault I didn’t even know existed.

Well, potion me pissed.

Marcus let out a frustrated growl, raking his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe this.”

Dolores’s face was stony. “It wasn’t any of your concern. It was a family secret. And the fewer people who knew about it, the better. We were trying to protect it.”

“Protect it?” Marcus’s voice was cold, controlled fury. “Well, you didn’t do a very good job. Did you?”

Damn. Yup. He was pissed too. Totally understandable.

Dolores’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his words sinking in. “No. We didn’t.”

The chief glowered at Dolores. “I’m supposed to protect this town. I should have known about every single dangerous artifact within its borders.”

“Well, now you do,” said Dolores quietly.

I looked over at my aunts, my anger deflating as I saw the fear behind their resolve. They were scared. My aunts, who never flinched in the face of danger, were genuinely terrified.

And that scared me more than anything else.

Dolores’s face went even paler. “The vault is full of cursed artifacts. If they’re all out there…”

“Then we’re dealing with more than just a black market. We’re dealing with a giant clusterfuck.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. We’re going to visit that vault. We’re going to see exactly what’s missing.”

Dolores looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded. “Agreed.”

I looked at my tall aunt, waiting for her to say more, but she didn’t. “So, where is it?”

Dolores met my gaze. “It’s at the end of the Davenport property line… down below… in the sea cave.”

I froze. “The sea cave?”

Dolores nodded, her face grim. “It’s been there for centuries. Hidden by enchantments and wards. Hidden by the ocean.”

Just not hidden well enough.

“Our reputation will be ruined if word gets out,” said Beverly, her green eyes wide with horror. “No one will trust us.”

“Everyone will hate us,” agreed Ruth, her voice trembling. “We’ll be pariahs. Outcasts. We’ll be the weird, creepy family people cross the street to avoid.”

“Isn’t that already us?” I muttered. Beverly glared at me.

Dolores sighed and slumped against the wall. I’d never seen her look so… old. Her shoulders sagged, and the lines around her eyes seemed deeper. “It’s worse than that.”

“How?” asked Ruth, twisting her hands together. “We’ll lose all our friends.”

Beverly snorted. “We don’t have friends. We’ve got acquaintances, enemies, and that one lady at the grocery store who gives us the discount on sour cream because she thinks we cursed her cat.”

“Edith is a lovely woman,” said Ruth with a sniff. “And her cat deserved it. He ate Bonjo.”

No idea who Bonjo was.

Dolores’s eyes darkened. “I’m not talking about losing friends or even the town turning against us. I’m talking about our Merlin licenses.”

Beverly sucked in a breath. “You think it’ll come to that?”

“Yes,” answered Dolores, her voice hollow. “I’m certain of it. If the Gray Council finds out that our vault has been breached—a vault that they know nothing about and should have been disclosed to them twenty-five years ago—and that our cursed objects have killed people… we’re done. Finished. They’ll have the Merlin Board revoke our licenses. We might even see the inside of Grimway again.”

“No.” Ruth gasped. “They can’t do that.”

“It’s the Gray Council,” whispered Beverly, a hand on her chest. “They can do anything they want.”

I watched them, my heart breaking a little. I remembered when I lost my Merlin license. It was temporary, but it felt like I’d lost a part of myself. My aunts… they’d been Merlins longer than I’d been alive. Losing their licenses would destroy them.

“Well, then, let’s make sure they never find out,” I said, my voice firm.

Three pairs of eyes snapped to me.

Dolores’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting we lie to the Gray Council?”

“Not lie,” I corrected. “Just… not tell them the whole truth.”

“Which is lying,” pointed out Beverly.

“Details,” I said, waving a hand. “Look, the way I see it, we’ve got two options. One, we come clean, tell the Gray Council everything, and lose our licenses, our reputation, and our lives as we know them.”

Ruth shuddered. “I don’t like that option.”

“Me neither. Option two, we find every single cursed object, put them back in the vault, and seal it up tight before the Gray Council even suspects a thing.”

Beverly’s eyes sparkled. “I do like a good cover-up.”

Dolores’s mouth twitched, just a little. “You’re devious. I like it.”

“And we better make it quick,” added Beverly. “With all these recent deaths, the Gray Council is going to come snooping. It’s only a matter of time.”

I glanced over at Gregory, still slumped on the floor next to his wife’s body, mumbling incoherently. His eyes were glazed, his hands twitching. He was lost in his grief, his guilt. I doubted he heard a word we said. Still, I lowered my voice. “How are we going to get back the objects the Gray Council took?”

Dolores pressed her hands to her hips, her brow lowered in thought. “We’ll have to… reclaim them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean steal them.”

Dolores shrugged, her expression innocent. “I mean… reclaim them. From what I know, they’re probably still being processed. Which means—”

“They’ll be in the warehouse,” said Ruth, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! That’s where they keep all the confiscated magical contraband. We’ll have a better chance at… reclaiming them there.” She rubbed her hands together, looking positively gleeful.

I narrowed my eyes. “You seem… really excited about this, Ruth.”

Ruth wiggled her eyebrows, and for a second, she looked like she was twelve. “I am.”

Beverly sighed and brushed a strand of her blonde hair from her eyes. “Oh, this is going to be fun. It’s been ages since we pulled off a heist.”

I stared at them. “Wait… you’ve done this before?”

Dolores lifted her chin. “We’re Davenports. Of course we have.”

I blinked. “Well, okay then.”

Beverly clapped her hands. “Oh. I’ll need a new outfit. Something dark, dramatic, and sexy. I’m thinking leather… with knee high stiletto boots.”

Dolores sighed heavily. “We’re breaking into a Gray Council warehouse, not auditioning for a nightclub VIP list.”

Beverly waved a hand. “Please. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it in style.”

I ran a hand through my hair, my mind already racing. “If we’re doing this, we’ll need a plan—a good one.”

Dolores nodded, her expression hardening. “Then let’s get to work.”

I looked around at my aunts, my family, and felt a surge of determination. We were in this together. And we were going to fix this. No matter what it took.

Even if it meant stealing from the Gray Council.

“All right then,” I said, my voice firm. “Time to put our cursed crap back where it belongs.”

Step one. Check out the vault. Step two. Panic accordingly.

Good plan.

14

Avault containing hundreds, if not thousands, of deadly illegal magical artifacts, was not a place to bring a baby. Not unless I wanted him to accidentally unleash some ancient curse or, knowing Darian, he’d somehow eat one of the artifacts just to see how it tasted. So, before our trek into the ominous sea cave, I swung by Iris’s place.

“Are you sure?” I asked, handing over my squirmy bundle. Darian immediately latched on to Iris’s front, his chubby fingers gripping her hair like reins. “It’s your day off. Do you really want to look after this bundle of crazy? Marcus had to go. Something to do with a lead on the cursed artifacts. Otherwise, he would have stayed with Darian.”

Iris beamed down at my kid, her face practically glowing. “Of course. Besides, it’ll be good practice for Ronin when we have kids.”

“Heard that!” came Ronin’s voice from somewhere inside their lavish manor, echoing through the marble hallway.

I snorted. “I wish I could stay to watch.”

Iris smiled, looking down at Darian and then back at me. “Hey, have you… seen any more signs of his magic?”

I shook my head. “Not after the whole ceiling fan incident with my father. I thought I’d see more. But he’s just been… normal. No more levitating grandparents. Just climbing up walls, so be ready.”

Iris’s face softened. “That’s fine. He’s probably just getting used to his powers.”

I glanced at my kid, who had fallen asleep on Iris’s shoulder, his tiny mouth slightly open as he drooled on her blouse. “Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t want him to be scared of it. Or worse, I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

Iris’s eyes were warm as she reached out, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze. “He’s going to be fine. He’s got you. And Marcus. And all of us.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to smile. “Thanks.”

She tilted her head, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Although… I am curious what else he can do. Any chance he’s already figured out how to fly?”

I laughed, feeling some of the tension melt away. “God, I hope not. I can barely keep up with him on the ground.”

Iris laughed, too, brushing Darian’s hair off his forehead. “You know, with his bloodline, he’s going to be something really special.”

I tried to hide the panic that flashed through me. Special. That was one way to describe him. Terrifying was another. But I didn’t want to say that out loud. Not yet.

I took a deep breath. “Well, I better get going.”

Iris’s expression turned serious. “I can’t believe these objects are coming from your family vault. I mean, this is just crazy.”

I shrugged, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Welcome to my life.”

“I want to know all about it when you get back,” said Iris, her eyes wide with curiosity. I’m sure if I had asked her to come, she would have. Most probably to get some samples for Doris.

“You’ll be the first person to know.” I leaned in and kissed Darian’s forehead, whispering, “Be good for Auntie Iris, okay? No turning her into a ceiling fan.”

Iris made a face. “Please don’t give him any ideas.”

I hesitated, my hand lingering on Darian’s tiny foot as he gurgled up at me with sleepy eyes. “Have you heard from Cedric yet? About the list?”

Iris’s face tightened, and she shook her head. “Not yet. But I will. He’s not the type to forget… even if it’s a no.”

I watched her closely, noticing the way her eyes flicked to the side, her shoulders stiffening. “You sure he’s going to help us?”

Iris let out a heavy breath, her fingers fiddling with the strap of Darian’s baby harness. “I don’t know. But I asked him for this favor. And Cedric’s all about appearances. Even if he’s not thrilled with me, he won’t want to look bad. Not in front of his network of ‘powerful associates.’” Her voice was laced with sarcasm, but I heard a trace of hope there too. “He’ll come through. Even if it’s just to save face.”

I nodded slowly, still unconvinced. Cedric was slippery, untrustworthy, and a world-class jerk. But he was our only lead. And if Iris believed he’d help, I’d trust her on that. “Okay. But the second you hear anything, you call me.”

“I will.”

I waved as I walked away, my heart heavy as I left Darian behind. But I couldn’t take him where I was going. Not to a vault filled with dangerous Black magic and cursed objects.

Ten minutes later, I found myself at the edge of the Davenport House property line, staring out into the ocean, but I wasn’t alone.

Dolores stood with her arms crossed, her stance rigid as she glared at the crashing waves below.

Beverly was shivering dramatically, rubbing her arms. “I swear, I’ve never been this cold in my life. This body is too delicate for such harsh weather. I should be in bed with a man, keeping me warm with his hot, delicious body and strong hands rubbing all over me.”

I tried not to roll my eyes as Ruth waddled over, looking like a human marshmallow. She had on three scarves, a neon-pink beanie that was far too big and kept slipping over her eyes, and enough layers to survive a trek up Mount Everest. I wasn’t even sure she could bend her elbows properly.

Tinker Bell hovered next to her, wearing a tiny knitted scarf that matched Ruth’s hat, her little arms crossed as she grumbled, “I can’t feel my wings.”

“Ruth, you look ridiculous,” snapped Dolores. “But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Ruth sniffed, her voice muffled by a scarf wrapped twice around her face. “I don’t care what you all say. I’m not dying of hypothermia today.”

“You’re not going to die of hypothermia,” said Dolores flatly. “We’re going down into the sea cave. It’s protected from the wind.”

Beverly wrinkled her nose, eyeing the jagged path leading down to the cave. “Great. Just what I always wanted—a sea cave adventure. My boots are going to get covered in slime.”

Dolores looked her up and down, her lip curling. “You look absurd. High-heeled boots and a short leather jacket? Are you planning on flirting with the cursed objects?”

Beverly huffed, her nose in the air. “If it turns into a hot prince, then yes, yes I am.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “No one is down there except for ancient, dangerous artifacts. No one is going to see you.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look good for myself,” Beverly shot back, crossing her arms. “I don’t dress to impress others. I dress to impress me.”

Ruth giggled, her beanie sliding down over her eyes. “I think you look lovely.”

Beverly beamed. “Thank you, Ruth. At least someone here has taste.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold back a laugh. “Well, I feel better knowing if one of those cursed objects decides to attack us, at least you’ll look fabulous while running for your life.”

Beverly’s eyes sparkled. “Exactly. And if I die, I want to look good in the obituary photo.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “We should be so lucky.” She turned on her heel, marching toward the narrow path. “Just get moving. And try not to break an ankle in those ridiculous boots.”

I stifled another laugh as Beverly strutted forward, her heels clicking against the rocks. Ruth waddled after her, her layers of scarves flapping in the wind, with Tinker Bell fluttering hard next to her, her flight erratic.

I took one last look at the crashing waves below and let out a sigh. “Okay, sea cave of death. Here we come.”

And with that, I followed my aunts down the slippery path, praying we all made it out with our lives—and Beverly’s boots—intact.

“So, the vault’s down there?” I pointed toward the jagged rocks below, where the waves crashed angrily against the cliffside.

“Yes,” Dolores called over the wind. “At the bottom of the cliff, inside the sea cave. It’s protected by spells and concealed by the tide.”

I stared at the churning ocean below. “So, what, we have to swim to it?” Cauldron help me if that was true.

Dolores’s lips twitched. “Of course not. There’s a path along the rocks. But it’s narrow and slippery, so be careful. One wrong step, and you’ll be swept out to sea.”

“Super.” If I felt myself slip, I was pulling my ass out of here by ley line. I called out to one, and kept it there, just in case.

Tinker Bell buzzed next to Ruth’s ear. “I still can’t feel my wings.”

Ruth patted the tiny fairy on the head. “Don’t worry, Tink. Once we get inside, you’ll warm up.”

Tinker Bell looked dubious. “You’d better be right, or I’m setting fire to those scarves.”

“I can’t believe we’re finally going down to the sea cave.” Ruth’s eyes sparkled with excitement, the layers of scarves around her head bobbing as she practically bounced on the balls of her feet. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Dolores glared at Ruth. “Fun? It’s a dangerous, slippery path down a cliff to a cave that’s probably filled with seaweed and slime. What part of that sounds fun?”

Ruth was already marching forward, her boots crunching against the gravel as she started down the narrow, winding path. “All of it,” she called back, her voice muffled by her scarves. “It’s been so long. I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”

Beverly frowned, adjusting her leather jacket. “She does realize this isn’t Disneyland. Right?”

I watched as Ruth’s excitement got the better of her, her pace quickening to the point where she was practically jogging down the treacherous trail. “Uh, Ruth? Maybe slow down a bit you might—”

Too late.

Her foot slipped on a slick patch of moss, and she went down hard, landing on her butt with a loud thump. Tinker Bell, who’d been hovering next to her, let out a high-pitched squeal.

“Ruth!” shouted Dolores, panic flashing across her face. “Are you all right?”

Ruth’s laughter echoed up the cliff. “I’m fine,” she shouted, already sliding down the steep incline. She stretched out her legs, threw up her arms, and grinned like a kid on a sled. “Whee!”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” cried Dolores, her eyes narrowing. “Ruth. Get back here. This isn’t a playground!”

“This is the best way to travel!” yelled Ruth, her laughter continuing as she slid farther down the path on her butt.

I laughed hard, pressing a hand to my stomach as I watched Ruth zoom down the path like she was on some kind of carnival ride. Tinker Bell flew after her, frantically trying to keep up, her tiny wings a blur.

Beverly cocked an eyebrow. “At least she’s having fun.”

Dolores’s face turned red. “That’s because she’s insane.” She marched forward, her jaw clenched. “I swear, one day she’s going to get herself killed.”

“Well,” Beverly said, adjusting her designer scarf, “at least she’ll go out laughing.”

She had a point.

Dolores turned her glare on us. “Don’t just stand there. Come on. Before she slides right into the ocean.”

I grinned, following them down the path, my boots slipping on the mossy stones. Only Ruth could turn a death-defying climb down a cliff into a joyride. As her laughter echoed up from below, I shook my head, wondering how on earth this woman was related to me.

I looked at the narrow, winding path that led down to the cave’s entrance. The rocks were slick with seawater, the trail barely visible between the jagged stones.

After a careful, nerve-racking climb down the slippery path, we finally reached the bottom, where Ruth and Tinker Bell were waiting for us.

The sea cave loomed before us, its jagged entrance carved into the cliffside like a gaping mouth ready to swallow us whole. It was darker than I expected, shadows curling around the rocky edges and disappearing into the depths beyond. A cold, salty breeze drifted out, carrying the sharp scent of seaweed and damp stone. The air was heavy, thick with magic that practically buzzed against my skin, tingling all the way down to my toes.

“Wow,” I breathed, my voice echoing slightly. “That’s… intense.”

Dolores stepped forward, her shoulders tense as she eyed the entrance. “The wards are still active. Stronger than I remember.” She lifted her hands, her fingers twitching as she probed the magic in the air. “Whoever cast these wards… they didn’t want anyone getting in. Or out.”

I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter around myself as the cold breeze nipped at my skin. “It feels like walking into a magical power plant.”

“It’s ancient magic,” said Dolores, her face tight. “Very old. Very powerful. It’s been maintained for centuries. Generations of Davenports did this.”

Beverly wrinkled her nose as she took a cautious step forward, her high-heeled boots slipping slightly on the wet rocks. “Ugh. Smells like wet dog and dead fish. I swear, if my boots get ruined—”

“Oh, for cauldron’s sake, Beverly, no one cares about your boots,” snapped Dolores. “We’re about to enter the most dangerous place in all of Hollow Cove, and you’re worried about footwear?”

Beverly raised an eyebrow. “These boots cost more than your entire wardrobe. Of course, I’m worried.”

I was about to point out that maybe wearing stilettos to a sea cave hadn’t been the best choice when Ruth suddenly popped up in front of us, her face beaming. “Did you see me? That was the best slide ever.” Her eyes sparkled as she bounced on her toes, clearly riding an adrenaline high. “I feel like I’m ten again.”

I stared at her, my mouth falling open. Her jacket was shredded down the back, flapping open like the wings of a broken bird. And her pants… the back end of her pants were torn to shreds, the fabric barely hanging on. Through the holes, I caught a glimpse of pale skin. Too much pale skin.

“Ruth…” I swallowed, trying to keep my face straight. “Your pants.”

Ruth blinked, glancing down at her lower half. “Oh. I must have torn them on the rocks.”

“Torn?” I choked. “Ruth, half your butt is hanging out.”

She twisted her body, attempting to get a look at the damage. “Really? I can’t see.”

Dolores rubbed her temples, muttering something about losing brain cells. “I can’t believe you’re my sister.”

I bit my lip, struggling to contain my laughter. At least Ruth was making this dire trip fun.

Beverly sighed. “Well, if anything jumps out at us in that cave, maybe Ruth’s butt will scare them off.”

“Can we please focus?” growled Dolores. “We’re about to enter a vault filled with deadly cursed objects. We don’t have time to discuss Ruth’s butt.”

Yup. This was my life.

As we stepped closer to the cave entrance, the wards’ energy pulsed, washing over us in waves of cold, electric power. I shivered, the weight of the magic pressing down on my shoulders like an invisible hand. My chest tightened, my heart thudding against my ribcage. This place was dangerous. And powerful.

Ruth leaned in, her eyes wide with excitement. “Oooh, it’s all tingly. Like walking through static electricity.”

Beverly shuddered. “It feels like being wrapped in cobwebs. Really cold, creepy cobwebs.”

Dolores set her stance, her gaze fixed on the cave entrance. “This place is warded by ancient magic. Old, powerful stuff. Only a Davenport can enter. It was designed that way.”

I glanced at the swirling, shimmering barrier in front of us. It looked like liquid light, cascading down like a waterfall made of moonbeams. And it buzzed with power. Enough to make my teeth vibrate.

Dolores stepped forward and raised her hands, palms outward, and began to chant in that ancient, made-up Latin that only old-school White witches knew. “Ego, Dolores Davenport, introitum posco.” Her voice echoed off the cave walls, reverberating with authority. “Open the way for your kin.”

I felt the tingling of her elemental magic, the scent of wildflower meadows filled my nose.

Then the shimmering light rippled, like water disturbed by a stone. It flickered once, twice, and then shattered with the sound of breaking glass. The magic burst outward, and a cold wind whooshed past us, carrying the scent of salt and something ancient, something… wrong.

I shivered, hugging my jacket tighter around myself. A cold sweat trickled down my back, and my skin prickled with unease.

Dolores let out a breath, her shoulders sagging. “It still recognizes us. That’s something, at least.”

“But if only a Davenport can open it,” I said slowly, “then how the hell did Soren Tex get in?”

Dolores’s jaw tightened. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

Something occurred to me. “Do you need to be a full-fledged Davenport? Or just a bit of Davenport blood would be enough to lift those wards.”

Dolores looked at me. “What are you trying to say?”

“That if it only requires some Davenport blood,” I said, realizing the truth in my own theory, “maybe Soren is working with someone who could open it. Maybe a distant relative with enough Davenport blood?”

“Unlikely.” Dolores stiffened, her face hardening. “None of us would betray the family. But… yes… I see what you mean. And if that’s true, we’ll have to change our wards.”

It was a theory, but it fit. If this Soren was a resourceful elf like I was betting he was, he managed to find someone with enough Davenport blood to get past the wards.

The elf was smart. But we were too.

We moved forward, stepping over the threshold and into the cave. The air was damp and cold, smelling of salt and something musty, like old books and dust. I shivered as the ancient magic prickled over my skin, making my hair stand on end.

As we ventured deeper into the cave, the walls began to shimmer with faint, glowing runes. The magic was still active, clearly still protecting the vault.

But Soren had gotten in…

I glanced at Dolores. Her face was set, her sharp eyes scanning every inch of the tunnel like she expected it to collapse on us.

She was worried.

And that made me worried.

Because whatever we were about to find… it wasn’t going to be good.

15

The cave opened up into a massive chamber that stole the breath right out of my lungs.

Stone walls arched high above us, dripping with saltwater and glistening with moisture. The air was cold and damp, carrying a faint metallic scent that made my nose wrinkle. A series of flickering orbs hovered near the ceiling, casting an eerie yellow light over the cavern. Witch light. The floor was smooth, worn down by centuries of footsteps, and echoed softly beneath our boots.

But the shelves caught my attention.

Rows and rows of towering stone shelves stretched out before us, lined with ancient artifacts and trinkets that would make any magical historian pass out from sheer excitement—or fear. Glass jars of all sizes were neatly stacked, each containing something that pulsed, glowed, or floated in a way that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. One jar had what looked like a severed hand, its fingers twitching every few seconds, scratching against the glass as if trying to get out. Another held a swirling mist that occasionally formed a pair of glowing eyes before dissipating again.

Some shelves were dedicated to weapons—swords that hummed with power, daggers with blades that shimmered with a sickly green light, and staffs carved with intricate runes that seemed to move if you stared at them too long.

“Wow,” I breathed, my voice echoing around the chamber. “This is like a magical horror museum.”

Beverly shivered. “That’s one way to describe it. I was going to go with ‘hell’s attic,’ but yours is good too.” She glanced at her boots, her nose crinkling. “This place is filthy. My boots are going to need professional cleaning after this.”

“Look at all these.” Ruth’s body vibrated with excitement, her eyes wide as she gazed at the shelves. She moved closer to one of the jars, her face lighting up as she peered inside. “Tinky, look. It’s a tiny floating head! Isn’t it adorable?”

Tinker Bell buzzed beside her, her tiny face scrunched up in disgust. “Adorable isn’t the word I’d use.”

I leaned in closer, catching a glimpse of the head. Its eyes snapped open, and it bared tiny, pointed teeth. I yelped and jumped back. “Okay, that’s definitely not adorable.”

Ruth just giggled. “Oh, you’re such a scaredy-cat.”

“No,” I said, pointing at the jar. “That is a head. In a jar. And it’s glaring at me. That is nightmare fuel.”

Dolores ignored us all, her focus on a massive antique book stand that sat in the center of the room, holding an enormous, ancient ledger. The book was open, its golden pages glowing faintly, runes shifting and dancing across the parchment like they were alive. Dolores ran her fingers along the edge, her face hardening. “The Ledger of the Vault,” she said, her voice reverent. “Every artifact that was ever brought in here was catalogued and signed by the Davenport who stored it.”

I moved closer, my eyes wide. “It’s a guest book of cursed objects.”

“Basically,” said Dolores, flipping through the pages with a practiced hand. “It dates back over two hundred years. Every item has a description, a date, and a name. It’s how we kept track of everything. Nothing should have left this vault. Ever.” Her fingers tightened on the ancient ledger, her face twisting as she scanned the pages. “They took more than I thought… so many artifacts are missing.”

I looked around at the empty alcoves, the glass jars that once held dangerous spells, and the empty pedestals that seemed to mock us with their absence. “Let me guess. They took the worst of the worst. Didn’t they?”

Dolores nodded, her eyes never leaving the ledger. “Yes. These relics were sealed away for a reason. They’re too dangerous to be destroyed, so we hid them here… hoping no one would ever find them.”

I ran a hand through my hair, looking around. “Unfortunately, they did.”

Beverly’s brow knitted, her arms wrapped around herself. “I still don’t understand how they got in.”

A muscle ticked in Dolores’s cheek. “If Tessa’s right, it was someone with Davenport blood. Or… they were powerful enough to break through the wards. But that’s highly unlikely.”

Ruth’s face fell. “But… that would mean they’re stronger than us. Stronger than the wards.”

I felt my blood run cold. “Or they had magic that could override ours. Could elvish magic do that?”

Three sets of eyes turned to me, wide with uncertainty and shock.

“Soren Tex is an elf, right? A powerful one. If anyone could bypass our wards, it would be him,” I told them. “It makes sense. He’s running the black market. He’s the one selling these cursed objects. And now we know where he’s getting them from.”

Beverly swallowed, her face paling. “But how did he even know about our vault?”

Very good question. I looked around at the ancient shelves and the alcoves carved into the stone, the heavy magic lingering in the air. “Someone told him.”

Dolores’s face darkened, her grip tightening on the ledger. “No. No one in our family would betray us like that. No one would be stupid enough to let him in.”

“Maybe not willingly,” I agreed. “But what if he tricked them? Or worse… what if he manipulated them?”

Ruth’s eyes went wide. “You mean… mind control?”

“Or coercion,” I said, my mouth tightening. “Blackmail maybe? We don’t know how long this has been going on. And we don’t know who else he’s working with.”

Dolores’s eyes scanned the ledger, her finger tracing the entries. Her lips parted. “It’s what I thought,” she said tapping the book with a finger. “The mirror. It was here.”

Cold dread ran through me. “Poor Emily.” I could still see, very vividly, the girl’s haunted face.

Dolores blinked at me, her face ashen. “It was sealed in this vault over a hundred years ago. It should have never seen the light of day.”

“Then the other cursed objects…” My voice trailed off, the pieces clicking into place. “They all came from here. Didn’t they?”

Dolores’s shoulders sagged, as she flipped through the ledger. She paused on a page and then said, “Yes. The jar. The clock. The locket. They’re all here.”

I swallowed hard, the bitter taste of dread coating my tongue. “How many are missing?”

Dolores’s gaze dropped to the glowing ledger, her finger gliding down the list. “A dozen.”

“A dozen?” Beverly’s eyes widened. “We’re talking about a dozen cursed, deadly items just… out there in the world? In Hollow Cove?”

Dolores nodded, her face grim. “Including the ones we already know. Which means six are unaccounted for.”

My heart sank. Six cursed artifacts. Six more potential deaths.

“Okay,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “We need a list. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Dolores didn’t hesitate. She pulled a pen and notepad out of her bag and started scribbling. “I’ll write down every missing item along with their descriptions and their… effects.”

I didn’t like the way she said that, like she was trying to keep the worst of it from us. “Effects?”

Dolores’s mouth tightened. “These artifacts weren’t just plagued with hexes and curses. They were designed to kill. To destroy. To corrupt.”

“Well, that’s just fantastic,” muttered Beverly, folding her arms. “Anything else you forgot to tell us? Maybe a killer lamp or a homicidal teapot?”

Dolores pursed her lips. “Actually… the cursed teapot is still here.”

Beverly blinked and then sighed. “Of course it is.”

I leaned over Dolores’s shoulder, my eyes narrowing at the list forming on the paper. “We’ll find them. We’ll get them all back.”

“Before the Gray Council gets involved,” added Ruth, who’d lost some of her smile. “Or anyone else dies.”

Dolores bobbed her head as she kept writing. “Agreed. But we need to move fast.”

Beverly cursed under her breath. “This whole thing is bad. It’s bad for my complexion. I’m too beautiful to have wrinkles.” She clutched her face. “Do you see that? Stress lines. Actual stress lines.”

Before I could tell her that I couldn’t see any lines and that I probably had more than she did, she fumbled through her bag and yanked out a tiny glass bottle, spritzing her face as if her life depended on it. “Martha’s Anti-Aging Mist—works like Botox, smells like pee.” She took another frantic spray. “At this rate, I’m going to need to start bathing in it.”

I gave her a thumbs up. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

Ruth hugged herself, her face pale as she looked at the empty shelves. “We’re the reason those people died.”

“No,” I snapped, my voice sharper than intended. “The one who stole from this vault is the reason those people died. They’re the ones responsible. Not us.” Though she wasn’t totally wrong. The objects came from our family vault. And that made us guilty by blood.

“Done,” said Dolores as she closed the ledger, her notepad between her fingers. Her eyes gleamed with determination. “Now, all we need to do is add a few more wards to seal this vault. And I can assure you, this time, they won’t get in… unless they want to die a most painful, excruciating death.” She had a strange little smile. I liked it.

I looked around the sea cave, feeling the cold magic pressing down on me. This was our family’s responsibility. Our mess to clean up. And I wasn’t going to let Soren Tex get away with this.

No one messed with the Davenports.

No one.

I was sure Soren had broken into the sacred Davenport vault and stolen our family’s darkest, most dangerous artifacts.

And now he was using them to kill.

This wasn’t just about an illegal black market.

This was personal.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration echoing faintly in the ancient sea cave. I pulled it out, the screen glowing eerily in the dim light. A text message.

I swiped the screen, my eyes skimming the words. My heart gave a wild jolt.

Beverly glanced over, trying to see. “What is it?”

I looked up, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across my face. “We’re in. We’re on the list.”

Now it was game on.

16

Have you ever broken into a top-security magical warehouse?

Me neither. But there’s a first time for everything.

After cataloging all the missing deadly artifacts from the Davenport vault, Dolores added a few more wards and magical seals.

Watching Dolores set those wards had been a show all on its own. She’d whispered in Latin, her hands moving in intricate patterns through the air—so complex I half-expected her to take flight like a majestic, pissed-off swan. Her arms flapped, her fingers curled, and her robe billowed dramatically.

But despite the theatrics, the magic was no joke. I’d felt it crackle through the air, colder and sharper than the sea breeze. It crawled over my skin, raising goosebumps, powerful and ancient. Those wards were serious. Dangerous. Untouchable.

I didn’t doubt for a second that they’d keep Soren or anyone else out. My aunt was a badass, and she knew it.

The corner of her mouth had twitched up when she finished, and she’d shot me a look that said, Go ahead, dare me to do it again.

Yeah. No one was getting through that. Not without leaving behind a smoking pile of ashes.

I almost felt sorry for the poor idiot who tried.

Almost.

And after she was done with enough layers of wards to make Fort Knox look like a cardboard box, we’d barely made it back to the house before Marcus came in, his face carved with worry lines.

“Two more deaths,” he’d informed us, his voice heavy. “A retired warlock, Richard Halloway, and a shifter named Janine Cross.”

My insides clenched. “What happened?”

A muscle ticked in Marcus’s jaw. Richard bought an antique hourglass, one that, according to his wife, promised to give him more time. More time to achieve his dreams, more time to be with his family, more time to fix his mistakes. Only, every time he turned it over, the sands flowed faster, the days slipped away quicker. His wife said he became obsessed, constantly flipping it, convinced that if he could just catch the moment the sands stopped, he could control time itself. He stopped sleeping, stopped eating, stopped everything except watching those sands fall. He withered away, convinced he was running out of time… until he finally collapsed, heart attack from exhaustion.”

“The hourglass is called Tempus Devorare,” Dolores had informed us. “It feeds on time. It promises more of it but ends up consuming the user’s lifespan, leaving them nothing but a withered husk.”

“Awesome.” I sighed looking at Marcus. “And the other one?”

“Janine,” said Marcus. “She bought a pair of enchanted glasses. She was told that they would show her the world’s hidden truths. Her husband said it was fine at first. She was enjoying the glasses, seeing auras, magic, things no one else could. But then… she started seeing other things. Shadows lurking behind people, dark whispers following her everywhere. She became paranoid, convinced everyone was plotting against her. She attacked her husband, accusing him of being a monster in disguise. She locked herself in her room, saying the shadows were watching her. By the time I got there, she’d gouged her own eyes out, trying to stop the visions.”

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “That’s… horrific.”

Dolores’s gaze darkened. “Oculus Veritatis. They show you the truth... but not the truth you want to see. They reveal every fear, every paranoia lurking in your mind. It’s enough to drive anyone insane. Both of these came from our family vault.”

“So, then, that leaves four cursed items that are missing, right?” I asked out loud.

“Yes.” Dolores looked at the silver-lined satchel in her hand, her jaw tightening. “Once we retrieve these two and put them back safely in the vault with the other four, and with the two in the Gray Council warehouse, that leaves four still unaccounted for and possibly circulating in the paranormal black market.”

Four. Damn. “We’ll just have to buy them all back. We made the list,” I’d told Marcus.

The chief had watched me, his expression hard. “When’s the next auction?”

“Tomorrow night, according to Iris. She said as soon as she gets more information, she’ll let me know.” I had no idea how much these illegal artifacts were worth on the black market, but I had the feeling they’d be expensive. Not sure where we were going to get that kind of money, but I couldn’t think about that now. We were in. It was better than nothing.

So, after my aunts secured the hourglass, the magical spectacles, the ring, the jar, the quill, and the locket back in the vault, I left Darian with Marcus and joined them on a mission to retrieve the illegal artifacts from the Gray Council warehouse.

And that’s how we found ourselves at the Port of New York, hunched behind a large metal shipping container at midnight.

Obviously, driving from Hollow Cove to New York would have taken too long, so we opted for the express route—ley lines. That saved us a six-hour drive and gave us plenty of time to prepare, plan, and, most importantly, disguise ourselves. Well, mostly Ruth, because she insisted on wearing what looked like a hazmat suit—except it was made of shiny, dark purple fabric that rustled loudly every time she moved.

“What are you supposed to be?” asked Dolores, raising an eyebrow. “A radioactive blueberry?”

Ruth grinned, adjusting the oversized hood that drooped over her eyes. “Stealth mode,” she whispered, trying to look serious but failing miserably. “I sewed this myself. It’s enchanted to be waterproof, windproof, and… magic-proof. Just in case.” She waggled her fingers for effect.

Dolores rolled her eyes. “It’s not ridiculous-proof. And it’s loud as hell. You sound like a trash bag trying to sneak through a library.”

Ruth’s face fell. “I do not.” She took another step, and the suit gave a loud crinkling noise. She winced. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Beverly shook her head. “You look like you’re about to disinfect the place, not break into it.”

“I like to come prepared,” said Ruth. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

Dolores muttered something under her breath about garden gnomes but waved her forward. “Come on, let’s get this over with before someone sees us.”

Ruth skipped ahead, her suit crinkling noisily with every step.

I sighed. “This is going to be interesting.”

“Sweetheart, when have we ever been boring?” Beverly said with a wink, tossing her hair and sashaying her hips after Ruth like she was on a catwalk instead of entering a potential death trap.

She had a point.

I shook my head and took one last look around. We were really doing this. Breaking into a magical warehouse… with a walking trash bag.

Yes, yes, we are.

The salty sea breeze whipped around us, cold and biting. My face felt frozen, and I was seriously rethinking the lightweight jacket I’d grabbed on the way out. I shivered, rubbing my arms as I peeked around the edge of the container. The warehouse loomed before us, massive and ominous, its metal walls lined with ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the dark.

We crouched behind the giant shipping container, the icy wind cutting through the air and sending shivers down my spine. The paranormal warehouse stood about fifty feet away, its imposing silhouette illuminated by floodlights that swept across the grounds. A tall iron fence encircled the building, its spikes gleaming under the harsh light.

Dolores’s face was as grim as ever. She was all business tonight, her eyes sharp as she surveyed the area.

Beverly smoothed down her sleek jacket with a dramatic sigh. “I canceled a date for this, you know. And he was hot. Like ‘owns a yacht and probably has a secret villa in the south of France’ hot.” She kicked a loose rock. “If I don’t make it out of here alive, someone better text him and let him know he missed out on the night of his life.” She looked at me and winked.

Okay.

Ruth was bouncing on her toes, practically vibrating with excitement. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. I feel like a secret agent.”

“Keep your voice down, ‘Agent.’ We’re trying not to get caught,” I told her, glancing around nervously.

Dolores’s eyes gleamed as she looked at the warehouse, her fingers already moving in complex patterns and weaving strands of magic I could barely see. “All right, listen up. The wards are set to detect intruders, but an ancient binding spell powers them. I can short-circuit them, but we’ll have to move fast once they’re down.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed. “How do you know so much about these wards?”

Dolores narrowed her eyes. “Security’s tighter than last time.”

I blinked. “Last time?” I turned to look at her. “You’ve been here before?”

Beverly shot her sister a suspicious look. “Oh, do tell.”

Dolores didn’t even glance at us. Her eyes were locked on the patrol guards making their rounds. “We don’t have time for stories. They’ve upped the wards. They weren’t there last time.” She pointed at faint ripples of energy weaving in and out around the iron fence, almost invisible unless you were really looking.

I stared at her. “You… You really have been here before?”

Ruth let out a giggle. “Dolores Davenport, are you a thief?”

Dolores finally looked at us, her face deadly serious. “Of course not. I was… borrowing. Temporarily borrowing. I was going to return it.”

Beverly scoffed. “And you what? Forgot?”

Dolores glared at her sister. “I needed it for research. It’s complicated.”

Beverly’s face went serious. “So, we break in, grab the artifacts that were taken from us, and get out. Simple.”

“Simple,” I repeated, thinking how this reminded me of breaking into the Gray Council headquarters in New York with Lilith. Too bad she wasn’t here. It might have been easier. More stylish, yes, but easier.

I took a deep breath, looking at my family, this band of misfits who were about to risk everything to fix a mistake that wasn’t even entirely ours. But what choice did we have?

I cracked my knuckles. “Let’s do this.”

Together we rushed forward and moved quickly to the side door of the warehouse, our footsteps echoing against the concrete walls. The building loomed above us, a hulking fortress of metal and magic, surrounded by invisible wards meant to keep intruders out. But those wards were no match for Dolores.

My tall aunt approached the door, her face stern and her eyes narrowing with concentration. She whispered an incantation in Latin, her hands weaving delicate patterns in the air as her fingers danced like she was conducting an invisible orchestra.

“Dissi vincula, aperi verum!”

I felt the air around us shift, a pulse of power rolling over my skin. The wards shimmered faintly and then shattered like glass, the pieces evaporating into nothingness.

I cocked a brow. “Impressive.”

“Show-off,” muttered Beverly, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the admiration in her voice.

Dolores didn’t answer. She simply pushed the door open, her posture rigid, anxious. “Hurry. Let’s move.”

We slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind us. The air was cold and heavy, tinged with the metallic scent of magic. The warehouse was massive, a cavernous expanse that stretched so far back, the darkness swallowed the other end. Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked high with ancient tomes, enchanted weapons, and relics I couldn’t even begin to identify. Glass cases dotted the room, each containing something so powerful that even sealed behind glass, they hummed with energy.

Dolores raised her hand, and tiny white orbs floated above our heads, casting soft light around us. Witch lights. Just enough illumination to see but not enough to alert any guards or security spells. Smart.

I turned on the spot. The warehouse was a labyrinth of magical objects, and the air buzzed with power. It was as if we were standing in a room full of sleeping dragons.

Dolores’s voice was low, steady. “The newer items won’t be cataloged yet. Look for an area where they store new arrivals.”

As I passed rows of shelves, I glanced at the items inside. A sword that seemed to whisper, its blade glowing faintly. A book that turned its own pages, writing and rewriting its text in looping gold letters. A vial of black liquid that pulsed like a heartbeat.

I shuddered. How many deadly curses were just sitting here, waiting to be unleashed?

Ruth skidded to a stop, her eyes wide. “This place is incredible,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. “It’s like Santa’s workshop for the criminally insane.”

Was it weird that she looked happy about it? Yup.

“Focus,” snapped Dolores, moving swiftly down the next aisle. “We’re not here to window shop. Find the new arrivals, and don’t touch anything.”

Ruth frowned. “Why are you only looking at me?”

Dolores narrowed her eyes. “Because that was for you.”

Ruth made a face, and then she was gone, running down the aisles and past the large crates.

We split up, scanning the shelves for anything that looked out of place or improperly labeled. It was hard to concentrate with all the power humming in the air, making my skin itch, but we moved quickly, knowing time wasn’t on our side.

I turned a corner and froze.

At the end of the aisle was a mirror. It was draped in a green, transparent bag that shimmered faintly under the witch lights. It was oval-shaped, with an ornate, twisted frame that looked like it had been carved from vines and thorns. I didn’t need to get closer to feel the cold pulse of magic coming from it.

This was the same mirror that had killed Emily.

I swallowed, my voice shaking. “Found one.”

Dolores appeared at my side in an instant, her eyes hard as she stared at the mirror. Her mouth was set into a grim line. “Then the clock should be here too. Keep looking.”

Beverly’s voice floated over from the next aisle. “Let’s be quick. This place is giving me the creeps.”

We moved fast, scouring the rows of shelves for the remaining cursed object. The pressure in the air was suffocating, the hum of magic almost deafening. I could feel it prickling against my skin, a cold reminder that every single artifact in this place could end us if we weren’t careful.

“Over here,” called Beverly, waving me over. She was standing in front of a shelf cluttered with various items wrapped in shimmering green bags. “Found Gilbert’s clock.”

Dolores appeared, her face hard with concentration. She pulled on a pair of silver gloves—the same ones she’d used before to handle cursed artifacts—her fingers flexing inside the glimmering fabric. “Don’t touch anything. Just point, and I’ll handle it.”

Beverly rolled her eyes. “I know the drill, Dolores. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s debatable,” Dolores muttered under her breath as she reached for the last item—the small clock with its gears turning in slow, unnatural movements. A faint, rhythmic ticking echoed through the air, each tick crawling down my spine like icy fingers.

Dolores carefully placed the clock into the silver satchel, sealing it tightly. The air around us lightened slightly, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“That’s both of them.” I felt marginally better that we’d gotten the missing vault items. I was going to get home earlier than I thought.

I turned back to the mirror. Its frame glinted under the witch light, the green bag draped over it shifting like smoke. I pulled out a pair of silver gloves that Dolores had given me back at the house before we left. I slipped them on and then reached out to grab the mirror—

“Where’s Ruth?” Dolores’s voice cut through the air, sharp and icy.

I froze, my hand hovering just inches above the mirror. “What?”

“She was right behind me a moment ago,” said Beverly, spinning around in a full circle. “Ruth?” Her voice echoed down the aisles, bouncing off the metal shelves.

Dolores’s eyes narrowed, her voice low and furious. “Ruth. We are leaving. Now.”

Silence.

A cold knot of fear tightened in my chest. This was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission. In and out. No complications. No risks.

I should’ve known better. Nothing with my family was ever that easy.

I opened my mouth to call out for my aunt when a loud, ear-splitting alarm blared through the warehouse, shaking the metal shelves, and sending a vibrating pulse through the floor.

We all froze.

Red lights began flashing above, casting the room in an eerie, hellish glow.

“I’m guessing this is bad?” I glanced over at my aunts.

“You think?” snapped Dolores, her head whipping around. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

A noise echoed down the aisle—a muffled, panicked sound. Like someone trying to speak through… something muffled.

I took off running, my boots skidding against the smooth floor as I rounded the corner, Beverly and Dolores hot on my heels.

And then I saw her.

Ruth was suspended in midair, her arms and legs splayed out in the most awkward position I’d ever seen. She was cocooned in a thick, pink, gum-like webbing that clung to her like bubblegum on a hot sidewalk. It stretched from her shoulders down to her knees, wrapping around her like a human flytrap. Her eyes were wide with panic, her mouth moving behind the sticky webbing, but no sound came out.

Well, crap.

17

Iblinked, rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. “Ruth?” Nope. Still there.

She gave a muffled grunt, her eyes narrowing at me.

Beverly’s hands flew to her mouth. “Cauldron help us. She looks like a rejected art project.”

Ruth’s eyes shot daggers at Beverly.

Dolores stormed forward, her hands on her hips. “What did you do?”

Ruth’s eyes darted to the shelf behind her and then back to us, guilt written all over her face.

I followed her gaze. There, on the shelf, was a cage. Not just any cage—a tiny, ornate prison made of twisted golden bars with swirling magical sigils etched into them. Inside, a small creature blinked up at us with enormous, watery eyes. It looked like a gerbil, only… wrong. Its fur was a kaleidoscope of colors, shifting and shimmering like an oil slick. Its tail curled like a spring, and its big, sad eyes glowed faintly in the dark.

It let out a soft, pitiful squeak, pressing its tiny paws against the bars.

My heart twisted. Even I had to admit it looked heartbreakingly cute.

Ruth’s muffled voice finally broke through the sticky webbing, her words barely understandable but unmistakably sheepish. “I… touched something.”

Beverly threw her head back and groaned. “Of course you did.”

Ruth’s eyes dropped, and she nodded slowly, her face bright pink behind the sticky webbing.

I sighed. Knowing my aunt Ruth and her love of all critters big and small, it didn’t surprise me that she might have tried to open the cage. I should have kept my eye on her.

Dolores looked like she was going to explode, her face turning a violent shade of red. “Why? Why can’t you just keep your hands to yourself for five minutes?”

Ruth mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “He needs me.”

Dolores’s voice was like a whip crack. “You touched a containment cage in a cursed artifact warehouse? Are you insane?”

Ruth looked deeply ashamed, her shoulders sagging under the webbing. “It looked sad. Look at it.” She’d pulled her mouth free from most of the goo. She jutted her chin toward the creature. “All alone in that cage, looking at me with those big, teary eyes. How was I supposed to leave it there?”

Dolores’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “How about by using basic common sense?”

Beverly snorted. “Ruth? Common sense? Have you met her?”

Ruth huffed, struggling against the gum-like webbing. “I couldn’t leave it. It’s in a cage. That’s just cruel.”

I looked at the creature. It did look ridiculously pitiful, blinking at us with wide, shimmering eyes. It let out another squeak, its tiny body quivering in the cage. But as cute as it was, the thing was still surrounded by magical sigils and sealed in a high-security cursed artifact warehouse. Not exactly the best place to find a new pet.

Dolores let out a low growl. “That’s not an animal, Ruth. It’s a containment spell. Probably some kind of trickster spirit or cursed familiar. They look cute so people like you release them. And then they eat your soul or curse your bloodline for seven generations.”

Ruth’s eyes widened, and she stopped struggling. “Oh… I didn’t know that.”

Beverly shook her head, stifling a laugh. “Honestly, Ruth, you’re lucky it just triggered the alarm. You could’ve unleashed who-knows-what onto us.”

Ruth looked horrified, her mouth hanging open behind the sticky webbing. “I… I just wanted to help.”

The gerbil-like creature squeaked again, pressing its tiny face against the bars. I could’ve sworn its eyes got even bigger, shimmering with tears.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at it. “Don’t you weaponize those eyes on me.”

It squeaked again, the sound so pitiful it made my chest ache.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I muttered. “I’m getting soft.”

Beverly peered closer, her brow furrowing. “It’s like a living Disney character. That should be illegal.”

Dolores was not impressed. “It’s a trickster familiar, not a cartoon. And we are not bringing it home.” She turned back to Ruth, her eyes hard. “I should leave you here as punishment.”

Ruth’s eyes went wide with panic, and she wiggled her limbs, trying to free herself from the sticky trap. “You wouldn’t!”

Dolores’s lips twitched. “Watch me.”

The alarms continued to blare, echoing off the metal walls. The red lights flashed rhythmically, illuminating the gum-like webbing that was still slowly wrapping itself around Ruth.

I shook my head, moving closer. “All right, let’s get you out of this mess before you’re completely mummified.”

Ruth’s eyes brightened. “Thank you. I promise I won’t touch anything else.”

Beverly snorted. “You promise that every time, yet here we are.”

Ruth looked offended. “I mean it this time.”

Dolores wasn’t having any of it. “You are banned from touching anything. Ever. For the rest of your life.”

Ruth’s mouth opened in protest, but she quickly shut it when Dolores’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light.

“Hold still,” snapped Dolores, her eyes narrowing at the mess Ruth had gotten herself into. She stepped forward, her hands glowing with a soft, golden light that crackled with power. “Exime te in oblivionem!” she chanted.

The sticky webbing hissed and recoiled from the golden light, curling away like a snake from fire. It dissolved into thin air, the magical residue shimmering before evaporating completely.

Ruth dropped to the floor with an undignified thud, her limbs sprawled out like a starfish.

“Ow,” she groaned, rubbing her head. “That was not fun.”

Dolores crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. “You’re lucky that was just a containment spell. If you had set off a security curse, we’d be dealing with hellhounds or worse.”

I offered her my hand, helping Ruth to her feet. “You okay?”

Ruth brushed herself off, looking more embarrassed than hurt. “Yeah. Thanks.” Her gaze drifted to the cage, and she visibly deflated. “I just… I just didn’t want it to be alone.”

The gerbil-like creature watched us through the bars, its big eyes shimmering with what looked like genuine sadness. It made a soft, pitiful sound that tugged at my heart.

Dolores’s jaw tightened. “Don’t look at it. Don’t think about it. We’re leaving it here, where it belongs.”

Ruth’s shoulders sagged. “But… it doesn’t belong here.”

“No buts,” snapped Dolores. “We have the artifacts. We’re getting out. Now.” She turned on her heel, marching down the aisle with her head held high and her boots clicking sharply against the concrete floor. Yup, my aunt thrived on being in charge. If she actually became mayor, things were about to get very interesting.

Beverly followed Dolores, her heels clicking on the hard floor. “Come on. There’s wine and cheesecake waiting for us at home.”

But Ruth was cemented on the spot, her eyes on the magical creature in the cage. She wasn’t moving.

“Ruth, we need to go.” I tried pulling her along with me. She was heavier than she looked. “Let’s go before someone comes.”

“Hey! You! Stop right there.”

Oh, crap.

I turned around. There, standing at the end of the aisle were four paranormal men, dressed in dark gray uniforms and matching short gray hats. Two had what looked like some magical shotguns, another had a long baton (yes I know how that sounds), and the last one had a sword. Warehouse guards.

I gritted my teeth. Of course, there were guards. Why wouldn’t there be? It was a high-security, magical warehouse, after all. And we were robbing it.

I spun on my heel, shoving Ruth toward the others. “Get the mirror and get outside. I’ll handle these guys.”

Dolores’s eyes went wide. “Are you crazy?”

I grinned. “Probably.” Then I winked. “Go. I’ll catch up. Promise. I’ve got this.”

Beverly gave me a look that said, You better not die or I’ll kill you myself, and then turned to Ruth. “You heard her. Let’s move.”

I watched as the three of them hurried over to the mirror, and Dolores secured it in an extra-large silver bag that fit perfectly over it. Once they were all safely out the side door, I turned to face the guards, who were now marching down the aisle, their weapons aimed and ready.

I cracked my knuckles, a wicked grin spreading across my face. “All right, boys. Let’s dance.” It’d been a while since I’d had a proper magical smackdown. And I was ready.

The closest guard, a burly shifter with a scar running down his cheek, brandished his baton, which crackled with electric green magic. His eyes narrowed. “Stealing from the Gray Council is a death sentence.”

I shrugged. “I’m not dying today.”

“Stupid move,” said the same guard. “I hope whatever you came here for was worth it.”

I cocked my head, pretending to consider his statement. “Potato… potahto… What can I say? I like shiny, dangerous objects. Call it a personality flaw.”

The guard’s jaw tightened. “Your funeral.” He charged forward, his baton raised high, and the others followed suit, magical weapons at the ready.

I had about three seconds to react. Good thing three seconds was all I needed.

“Protego!”

A shimmering golden sphere of magic exploded out of my hands, encasing me in a dome-shaped shield. The baton struck the shield with a crackle of lightning, the force vibrating through the air. The guard’s eyes widened as he stumbled back, off balance.

“Nice try,” I said, fluttering my fingers. “But I don’t go down that easily.”

His partner—a skinny man with dark wild hair and twitchy eyes—fired his shotgun, releasing a burst of blue flame that roared toward me like an angry dragon.

“Oh, come on. That’s just rude.” I rolled my eyes. “Cataracta!”

A wall of water surged up, crashing into the flame and extinguishing it in a sizzle of steam. The mist curled around me as I stepped out from behind my shield, shaking off droplets like I’d just walked through a car wash. “Anyone got a towel?”

The guards’ faces contorted in anger, and all three lunged at me at once. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Fulgur!”

A bolt of white-purple lightning shot from my palm, zigzagging through the air before slamming into the skinny guard’s chest. He convulsed, his body jerking like a marionette on tangled strings before he collapsed, unconscious. “Well, that’s one down. Who’s next?”

The guy with the baton growled, his scarred face contorting as he swung his weapon toward me again, this time with more determination.

I sidestepped, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “You know, you should really get that looked at. Might leave a mark.”

His eyes flared, and he swung again, this time with a crackle of electric magic that would have fried me on the spot—if he’d actually managed to hit me.

“Ventum!”

A gust of wind shot out from my palm, blasting him backward. He stumbled, his feet skidding against the concrete floor and arms pinwheeling as he tried to keep his balance.

The sword-wielding guard, who looked like he had just stepped out of a fantasy novel with his enchanted blade glowing an eerie green, let out a battle cry and charged.

“Really?” I crossed my arms. “A sword? In the twenty-first century? How… retro.”

He didn’t slow down. His face twisted with rage, and he swung the blade in a deadly arc, aiming for my head.

“Inflitus!”

A pulse of kinetic force blasted from my fingertips, hitting the sword-wielding guard square in the chest. He flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing through a row of shelves. Glass shattered, and the sound of magical artifacts clattering to the floor echoed through the warehouse.

“Oops. My bad.” I winced, glancing at the mess. “Pretty sure that’s coming out of someone’s paycheck.”

The last guard, a vampire by the looks of his black eyes and sharp fangs, hissed, his body blurring as he rushed toward me with supernatural speed.

Too bad for him, I was faster.

“Viverra!”

The spell yanked a metal shelf from behind him, slamming it into his back. The vampire yelped, tumbling forward as the shelf pinned him to the ground.

He glared up at me with trembling rage. “You little—”

“Declinare!”

A wave of white energy shot out, hitting him in the face and knocking him out cold. His head lolled to the side, his body going limp beneath the fallen shelf.

A faint groan came from the guard with the baton. His eyes fluttered open, his face contorting in pain as he tried to sit up. I arched a brow as I walked over and crouched down beside him.

“Word of advice?” I whispered, leaning in close. “Next time, bring more backup.”

His eyes widened in fear, and he fainted on the spot.

I stood up, brushing off my jeans and tossing my hair over my shoulder. “Well, that was fun.”

I looked around, my chest heaving and adrenaline thrumming through my veins. Four guards, unconscious. No casualties. Not bad for a night’s work.

I released a breath, my shoulders sagging as the tension drained out of me. My magic was back—stronger than before. It buzzed under my skin, powerful and exhilarating yet more controlled than it had been in a long time.

I was back, baby.

I turned on my heel, running down the aisle toward the exit. My boots slapped against the concrete floor as I raced to the side door, already feeling the cold night air.

I skidded to a stop outside, finding my aunts huddled together, the mirror safely secured in Dolores’s hands and the clock in Beverly’s silver satchel.

Dolores’s eyes widened when she saw me. “Took you long enough.”

I flashed her a smile. “I do my best.”

Beverly chuckled. “Left any of them alive?”

“They’re all alive. Bruised bodies and egos but alive,” I said, brushing off my jacket. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here before more guards show up.”

For a second, I swear I saw something move along Ruth’s waist inside her magical hazmat suit. But I blinked and it was gone.

Ruth crossed her arms over her chest, clearly noticing that I’d seen something. “Did they recognize you?”

“Hard to say,” I admitted. “I doubt they’ll remember much when they wake up.”

Dolores huffed. “We’re all going to prison.”

I grinned, tapped into the nearest ley line, and pulled it toward us. “Only if they catch us. Which they won’t.” Well, not tonight anyway.

Ruth squealed as the ley line crackled with energy. “I love this job.”

I smiled. I loved it too. I couldn’t see myself doing anything else.

I shook my head, laughing as we jumped into the ley line and shot forward, the world blurring around us in streaks of color. The warehouse with the unconscious guards disappeared behind us.

But my laughter faded as the reality of our situation settled in. We’d recovered a few artifacts, sure, but four were still out there—four cursed relics that could destroy lives, twist minds, and leave more bodies in their wake.

Tomorrow night was the black-market auction—our one shot at getting those artifacts back before they vanished into the hands of gods-knew-what kind of monsters.

One shot. No do-overs. No second chances.

If we missed this, they’d be gone for good. And if we failed?

We wouldn’t just lose the artifacts.

We’d lose everything.

18

“That’s it. The clock and the mirror are now back safely inside our vault,” said Dolores, unwrapping her red scarf and hooking it on the wooden peg next to the back door of Davenport House. She poured herself a coffee and sat down, her shoulders finally relaxing. “If any idiot attempts to get in…” She chuckled. “They’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Darian, perched on my lap, clapped his chubby hands, giggling like Dolores had just performed the best magic trick in the world. I frowned. Did he understand? Nah. But it was cute, so I let him believe he was in on the joke.

Beverly crossed her legs, her red kitten heel bobbing as she sipped her coffee. “That’s twice today. You went down there twice. What were you expecting, Dolores? For the artifacts to grow legs and walk out on their own?”

Dolores’s lips tightened. “I prefer to be thorough. There’s no rule against that.”

“There isn’t,” I agreed, bouncing Darian on my lap. “I’m just glad those are safe. The others…”

A loud crash echoed from the potions room, rattling the walls. It sounded like glass shattering, followed by what I swore was a faint pop and a fizz.

I looked around. “Was that…”

Dolores waved a dismissive hand. “Ruth. She’s experimenting again.”

“It’s too early in the morning for explosions,” yelled Beverly toward the potions room.

I stifled a laugh, but the tension was still there, tightening my chest. “Four artifacts still missing.” I leaned back, rocking Darian as he tried to grab my nose. “We have to get those back tonight.”

Dolores nodded, her face serious. “We will. We must.”

Beverly’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I do love a good bidding war.”

“It’s not a charity gala, Beverly,” Dolores snapped. “It’s a black-market auction selling cursed artifacts that could kill anyone who buys them. Try to contain your excitement.”

Beverly tsked. “Oh, please. Deadly artifacts, sinister criminals, and morally questionable rich men? Sounds like my kind of party.” She smoothed a hand down her front, adjusting her cleavage. “And let’s be honest. I’m going to be the main attraction. These men won’t know whether to bid on the artifacts or me.” She giggled.

Dolores sighed, shaking her head. “Cauldron help us.”

Another crash. This one sounded closer, followed by a faint sizzling sound. Darian’s eyes went wide as he tried to crane his neck toward the noise.

“What is she doing in there?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Sounds like a demolition site.”

Dolores sighed. “Last I heard, she was working on a de-stick potion.”

I blinked. “De-stick? Like… for glue?”

Dolores’s face was dead serious. “For that gum boobytrap from the warehouse. She said if she ever got caught in that sticky mess again, she wanted to be prepared. So now she’s concocting something to ‘unglue herself’ just in case.”

Beverly’s eyes widened. “You mean she’s brewing an anti-boobytrap potion?”

Dolores nodded grimly. “Apparently, getting strung up like a piñata left quite an impression.”

Poor Ruth. But I totally understood her reasoning.

Another crash echoed from the potions room, followed by Ruth’s muffled voice, “Oh no, oh no!”

Beverly sighed. “She does realize we don’t plan on breaking into another magical warehouse any time soon. Right?”

Dolores gave her a look. “You want to be the one to tell her that?”

Beverly shuddered. “Nope. Let her have her fun. At least her heart’s in the right place.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “Her brain, however, is still on holiday.”

I shook my head, unable to hold back a laugh. “Okay, back to business. Tonight’s auction.”

Dolores pulled out her notepad, flipping through the pages. “Since it’s invitation-only, it will be high-security. And we can assume elvish magic all over the place. If we’re going to pull this off, we need to blend in perfectly.”

Beverly’s eyes sparkled. “Finally. A reason to wear that glorious red dress that shows off my exceptional cleavage.”

Dolores’s eyes narrowed. “Beverly, we’re infiltrating an illegal auction, not working the corner on Fifth Avenue.”

Beverly’s lips curled into a smug smile. “Jealous?”

Dolores crossed her arms. “Of what? Your over-fifty-year-old cleavage? Please. I’ve seen less padding in a couch factory.”

Beverly stared down at her chest. “These are all-natural, thank you very much.”

Dolores chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Beverly placed her hands on her hips, her expression defiant. “I can’t help it if my body defies the laws of gravity. Some of us are just blessed. Like me,” she added with a wink.

Dolores shrugged, her expression smug. “And some of us are sluts.”

Beverly stared at her sister. “You’re just jealous because this time next year your breasts will reach your waist.”

Ouch.

I looked down at Darian and bounced him on my knee.

Dolores glared at her sister, and before she could reply, a louder crash echoed from the potions room, followed by a faint curse.

I frowned. “Are we sure she’s okay in there?”

Dolores sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Define okay.”

Beverly waved a dismissive hand at me. “Don’t worry. If she was in real trouble, we’d hear screaming. Or much bigger explosions. Or the house would have been sucked into a black hole by now.”

“That’s comforting,” I muttered.

“Okay.” Dolores leaned forward, her eyes on me. “Back to tonight. You sure we can trust Cedric’s information?”

I hesitated, adjusting Darian on my lap as he gurgled happily, his tiny fingers gripping a spoon. He was smacking it against the table, clearly pleased with the racket he was making. I gently turned him to face me, but he just giggled and smacked the spoon harder.

“Iris says we’re on the list,” I told them. “But I haven’t heard from her since last night.”

Dolores’s lips thinned. “Tonight at midnight. But we don’t know where yet?”

I shook my head, my eyes flicking down to Darian as he shoved the spoon into his mouth, drool dripping down his chin. “Exactly.”

Beverly wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

She wasn’t wrong. “We don’t have a choice. It’s the only way to get those artifacts back.”

Dolores’s gaze sharpened. “Has Marcus found any evidence of more illegal artifacts in Hollow Cove?”

I shook my head. “Not that I know of. We still have to investigate the other alleged cases we’ve gotten, but I have a feeling they’re just regular objects. Nothing cursed.”

I’d stayed up last night with Marcus, talking it over and telling him that we still had four artifacts missing from the vault. So far, no more casualties had been reported. So far. And the chief was on edge. He couldn’t relax. And I didn’t blame him.

“I need to go back to the office,” he’d said to me last night. And once again, he didn’t come back home.

Darian suddenly dropped his spoon, his little face scrunching up in confusion. I picked it up, wiped it off, and handed it back to him. He immediately started smacking it against the table again, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Beverly watched him, a small smile flickering across her lips. “You know, I think he gets his stubbornness from you.”

I snorted. “Gee, thanks.” I thought of something. “So, we’re all agreed that the only way to safely retrieve these artifacts is if we buy them. Right?

“Yes.” Dolores nodded. “It’s the only way.”

“Me too,” said Beverly.

“Super.” I glanced at them. “So, how do we pay for them?”

Beverly snorted. “With money, silly.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“She means where are we going to get that kind of cash when we’re on a fixed income,” informed Dolores.

Beverly’s eyes widened. “Ah. Right.”

“Who do we know who could lend us the money?” It would take years to pay off that debt if the artifacts were as expensive as I thought. But that didn’t really matter at this point. People were dying.

Dolores screwed up her face in thought. “The town’s treasury. I know for a fact that there is at least ten thousand dollars in the safe.”

I blinked. “And do you think Martha will allow us to borrow it?” Yeah, that was the question.

“Leave her to me,” said Dolores.

Okay then.

I balanced Darian against my chest as I stood. “I should go put him down for a nap. Keep me posted on the money situation.”

Dolores pointed a finger at me. “Just be ready by midnight. I’ll handle Martha.” She cracked her knuckles with a menacing smile. “I’m very persuasive when I need to be.”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.” I laughed, heading toward the hallway.

A loud crash echoed from the potions room, followed by a muffled shout. I stopped mid-step, my eyes darting toward the closed door.

Beverly looked up, her expression annoyed. “She’s giving me a headache with all that noise.”

“I’ll admit this is a bit unusual, even for Ruth,” said Dolores.

Another bang, this one louder than before, shook the floorboards beneath my feet. Darian’s head snapped up, his little eyes wide with interest. A giggle escaped his lips. Of course he found it funny.

“I’m going to make sure she’s not summoning a hellhound in there or worse,” I said, striding over to the door.

“You think she’d be that stupid?” asked Beverly, sipping her coffee.

Dolores didn’t even look up. “I think she’s Ruth.”

I grimaced. Fair point.

I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Ruth? What are you—”

I froze.

The potions room was a disaster zone. Shelves were toppled, vials were shattered on the floor, and multicolored potions were seeping into the wood. And right in the middle of the destroyed mess was Ruth, sprawled on the floor, her hair a tangled mess.

And surrounding her were at least twenty tiny, multicolored gerbil-like creatures, each one bouncing and skittering around like they’d been injected with a gallon of caffeine.

“What… the hell?” I took a step forward, my jaw slack. “Ruth, what did you do?”

Ruth looked up, her face the perfect picture of sheepishness. “I fed Gerby… and then he just… multiplied.”

“I think I’ve seen this movie.” I stepped around a puddle of glittery green potion. One of the creatures bounded over my foot and then scampered up the wall, its tiny claws digging into the wallpaper as it defied gravity. “How many are there?”

“I stopped counting at twenty,” Ruth admitted. “They don’t stop moving long enough to count properly.”

Dolores appeared behind me, taking in the scene with wide eyes. “Ruth! What have you done?”

Ruth threw her hands up. “I didn’t know! He looked so sad and lonely in that cage at the warehouse. I just couldn’t leave him there.”

Yeah, I knew I’d seen something moving in her hazmat suit.

“Couldn’t leave him…” Dolores’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “Are you out of your mind? You stole an illegal creature and brought it into our house?”

“Creatures don’t belong in cages,” defended Ruth, a touch of stubbornness in her voice. “And he was just so hungry…”

Beverly poked her head in, her eyes going wide as she took in the chaos. “Well, that’s one way to redecorate.”

“You think this is funny?” Dolores’s voice was dangerously low. “We have no idea what these things are. Or how dangerous they are. Look. They’ve already multiplied. What else can they do.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” huffed Ruth, crossing her arms. “They look like gerbils. I love gerbils.”

Hildo padded in, his tail flicking with irritation as he took in the scene. He sighed, his voice exasperated. “These are kerblix. Netherworld creatures. They’re harmless on their own but… they multiply when fed after midnight.”

Ruth’s mouth fell open. “How was I supposed to know that? He was in a cage all alone and lonely. I didn’t see a warning label.”

Dolores buried her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Tinker Bell zoomed past us, her tiny voice screeching as two of the kerblix yanked on her wings, giggling like mischievous toddlers. She struggled, trying to shake them off, but they clung to her, their big eyes sparkling with innocent mischief.

“Let go, you little demons!” Tinker Bell shouted, twisting in midair as she tried to pry them off.

The creatures giggled louder, bouncing on her wings like they were on a trampoline.

“Oh, for cauldron’s sake.” Dolores snapped her fingers, and a burst of white magic zapped the two creatures, sending them tumbling to the floor where they skittered off, completely unharmed. “We need to get them out of here before they destroy everything.”

“I tried making a reversal potion,” Ruth admitted, her shoulders slumping. “But… it didn’t work.”

“No kidding.” I dodged another kerblix as it bounced off a shelf and into a pile of books, knocking them to the floor. “Ruth, which one is the original?”

Ruth blinked as she looked around. “I… I don’t know… they all look the same.”

Dolores’s eyes flashed. “Because you fed them, they all multiplied into exact copies. There’s no way to tell them apart now!”

Ruth’s face fell. “Oh.”

I felt a pang in my chest for Ruth. I knew her heart had been in the right place. I could totally picture her as one of those animal activists who break into labs and free all the animals that were being tested on. I understood that. But these? These weren’t regular mortal animals. They were tiny demon miscreants.

Darian suddenly let out an excited giggle, wiggling in my arms. Before I could stop him, he leapt out of my grip, landing with a thud on the floor in a crouched position, on his knuckles with his feet splayed out like a tiny gorilla.

“Darian,” I gasped, reaching for him, but then I froze.

All twenty kerblix stopped moving. Their big eyes blinked in unison before they turned toward Darian. And then, like they were drawn by an invisible force, they scurried over and sat in front of him, perfectly lined up in two neat rows. They stared up at him, their eyes wide with… adoration?

“What… the hell?” I breathed.

Beverly’s jaw dropped. “They’re… they’re obeying him.”

“Obeying him?” Ruth echoed, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Why?”

Dolores’s face screwed up in thought. “Very good question.”

The worry in her tone had my insides doing a jig.

I swallowed hard, my eyes glued to my son, who was now giggling as the kerblix wiggled their noses at him.

Dolores turned to me, her face grim. “We need to call Obiryn. He’s the only one who can take these things back to the Netherworld.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I just nodded, my heart thudding in my chest as Darian reached out and gently patted one of the kerblix on the head, his eyes sparkling with joy.

And the creature cooed, rubbing its head against his tiny hand like an obedient pet.

What the hell does this mean? My son had just commanded a pack of Netherworld demons.

Well, slap me with a cursed grimoire and call me doomed.

19

“And they all just sat there, looking at him with adoration,” I said, pacing back and forth across Darian’s bedroom, my voice rising. “Waiting for him to command them. It was almost like he was their—”

“Alpha,” said Marcus, his deep voice calm, steady, like he was stating the obvious.

I stopped mid-pace, my head whipping around to face him. “Yes. But… that can’t be. He’s a baby. And he’s not a kerblix.” I rubbed my eyes with my fingertips. “I’m completely confused. Help me out here.”

Marcus leaned against the crib, his massive frame somehow managing to look both imposing and tender at the same time. His gray eyes softened as he looked down at our sleeping son, who was sprawled out like a tiny star, his mouth slightly open, drooling on his blanket. Completely unaware that he’d just flexed some serious alpha energy like a tiny supernatural overlord.

“Power doesn’t care about age,” said Marcus, his voice low. “Or species. It’s about dominance. And from the looks of it, Darian’s got plenty of that.”

Guess he inherited more of Marcus than I’d first thought. “But why would they listen to him?” I shook my head, my thoughts swirling like a tornado. “They’re kerblix. They’re little demon things from the Netherworld. They shouldn’t be following a wereape-witch baby’s orders.” I paused, my hands on my hips. “If it’s the demon thing, well, I have demon blood in me as well and I didn’t feel the sudden urge to command the little gerbils.”

Marcus’s lips twitched, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Maybe you’re just not as scary as you think you are.”

I shot him a glare. “I am terrifying, thank you very much.”

His grin widened. “Terrifyingly sexy.”

Heat pooled in my belly, but I narrowed my eyes. “You know, most husbands would be a little more concerned that their one-month-old son just commanded a pack of Netherworld creatures to sit like they were his personal minions.”

Marcus’s expression softened, and he reached out, his large, warm hand curling around my waist and pulling me closer. “I am concerned. But I’m also not surprised.”

I blinked. “You’re not?”

He looked down at Darian, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and wonder. “I knew the moment I saw him that he was special. Powerful. Look at his parents. His mother’s half-demon, half-witch. His father’s a wereape chief and alpha in his town. He’s a perfect storm of magic and strength. It’s in his blood to lead.”

“You really think he’s… an alpha?” How could my tiny baby be an alpha? This was insane.

Marcus’s gaze flicked back to me, his eyes steady, unwavering. “I don’t think. I know. He commanded those creatures because he’s got the presence, the power, and the magic to make them follow him. And they did. Because he’s their alpha, whether they realize it or not.”

I felt a weight settle on my chest, pressing down and making it hard to breathe. “But he’s just a baby. He shouldn’t have this much power. It’s not… normal.” I knew he was going to be different. I had a feeling he would be able to do magic and be strong like his father. But this? Nope. I was not ready for this.

Marcus pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me so his warmth seeped into my skin and soothed the fear that was clawing at my insides. “Nothing about our lives is normal, Tessa. Why should he be?”

I let out a shaky laugh, resting my forehead against his chest. “You’re supposed to be helping me feel better, not scaring the crap out of me.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle. “Would it help if I told you he’s also adorable?”

I snorted, my fingers curling into his shirt. “Yeah, until he starts barking orders and leading an army of kerblix into battle.”

Marcus’s shoulders shook with laughter, his fingers brushing up and down my back in a soothing rhythm. “Good thing he’s got us to teach him how to control it.”

I pulled back, looking up at him. “That’s just it. My father told me to teach him, but how? How do we teach him that? How do we even know what he’s capable of? I don’t understand his magic. It’s different. It’s… It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Marcus’s face softened, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “Maybe. But he’s our kid. And I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

I took a deep breath, letting his words calm me, ground me. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” he teased, staring at my lips like he wanted to eat them. Maybe he did. He smiled that confident, cocky grin that made my panties melt. “I believe in you. In us. And I believe in him.” His gaze flicked back to Darian, his expression softening. “He’s got more love and strength surrounding him than most kids could ever dream of. Whatever power he’s got, we’ll teach him how to use it. How to control it.”

I let out a slow breath, feeling the knot of fear in my chest start to loosen. “You make it sound so easy.”

Marcus grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “That’s my job, babe. To make the impossible seem easy.”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down to brush his lips against mine, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur. “But you love me.”

I kissed him back, feeling the warmth of his touch making my lady regions throb. “Yeah. I do.”

A loud snort came from the crib, and we both looked down to see Darian shifting in his sleep, his tiny fingers curling around the blanket as he rolled over onto his stomach, his little butt sticking up in the air.

Marcus laughed. “Well, he definitely takes after you. That’s exactly how you sleep.”

I slapped his arm. “I do not.” Do I? No idea.

Marcus’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You do. And I like it.”

I shook my head, leaning into him and letting his strength and warmth wrap around me. “You’re such an ass.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his arms tightening around me. “Yeah. But you love my ass.”

Totally true. He did have a very fine behind.

I sighed, my eyes drifting back to Darian. Our son. Our little magical prodigy who was more powerful than either of us could have ever imagined.

“We’re going to need help,” I whispered, my fingers tightening around Marcus’s shirt. “I told my father about Darian’s control over the kerblix when he came to pick them up and take them back to the Netherworld. He said he’d look into it.” I was extremely grateful to have such an amazing demon dad. I knew if there was anything untoward about Darian’s new abilities, Obiryn would find out.

Marcus’s face went serious, his hand gently rubbing my back. “Good.”

Yes, what was happening with my son was scary. Yes, I was new to all this parenthood stuff. But as long as I had Marcus by my side, I knew I could face whatever challenges came our way—even if it meant raising the most powerful child the paranormal world had ever seen. Cauldron help me.

Marcus’s eyes flicked back to Darian, his expression softening. “He’s something else, Tessa.”

I smiled, leaning my head against Marcus’s shoulder. “Yeah. And he’s ours.”

Marcus’s arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close. “You okay? I mean, really okay? With all of this?” His voice was low, the concern evident.

I exhaled. “Yes and no. I’m excited, but I’m also… worried.”

His eyes flicked back to our sleeping son. “Don’t be. He’s safe with me.”

I knew he meant it. Marcus was nothing if not fiercely protective. It was one of the things I loved most about him.

He turned his attention back to me. “You ready for tonight?”

I sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve never been to a black-market auction before. I have no idea what to expect.”

“You’re not going alone.”

I frowned, looking up at him. “You’re coming with me?”

His gray eyes hardened. “Damn right, I am.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t know if you’re on the list. If they don’t let you in—”

“I don’t care,” Marcus interrupted, his voice firm. “I’ll find a way to get in. This isn’t my first paranormal black market. I’ve got connections.”

I felt a rush of warmth in my chest, my heart skipping a beat. “Is it wrong that I find that really hot?”

His lips curved into that devilish smile that made my knees weak. “No, not wrong at all.”

A smile spread across my face. “I love me a bad boy.”

His hand tightened on my waist, pulling me closer. “Because you want to tame the wild beast in me?”

“Maybe.” Oh, hell yeah.

Marcus chuckled. “You sure you’re up for this tonight? It’s not going to be pretty. These auctions… they’re brutal. And dangerous.”

I straightened my shoulders. “We don’t have a choice. We have to get our hands on those artifacts. Once we have them, we can figure out why Soren took them—if it was really him.”

A muscle twitched along Marcus’s jaw. “I don’t like this. I don’t like you being in the middle of all this corruption.”

I rested my hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat under my palm. “I’m already in the middle of it, Marcus. And it’s my family’s fault. Those artifacts came from our vault. If we don’t get them back, more people will die. I can’t let that happen.”

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. I closed my eyes, sinking into his warmth, his strength. Whatever happened tonight, whatever danger awaited us… we’d face it together.

After a long moment, he pulled back, his eyes searching mine. “Still… why your family’s vault? Why would Soren target your family? What’s the connection?”

I shook my head, frustration gnawing at me. “I don’t know. But there has to be a reason. It’s not just about selling cursed objects on the black market. It’s personal. It has to be.”

Marcus’s eyes darkened. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. But right now, we need to focus on tonight. Once we have the artifacts, we can start figuring out the why.”

His shoulders relaxed, his fingers tracing slow circles on my back. “You’re right. We get the artifacts first. Then we hunt down this Soren Tex and make him talk.”

I smirked. “I like the way you think.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief. “I thought you might.”

I leaned up and kissed him, a quick brush of my lips against his. “We’ve got this.”

“Yeah. We do.”

I looked back at Darian, sleeping peacefully in his crib. “We’ll keep him safe. No matter what.”

Marcus followed my gaze, his face softening. “Always.”

My chest tightened. I was terrified, but I was also ready. Ready to do whatever it took to protect my family. To stop Soren. To end this nightmare once and for all.

“So, tonight at midnight,” said my wereape, his eyes traveling down my body, very slowly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then we have lots of time.”

“Time for what?” Yeah, I knew what he meant. But it was fun just to say it.

Marcus flashed me a smile—the kind that promised I was in for a special ride, the sexual, all kinds of orgasm kind. Yay!

Before I could say a word, his lips were on mine, firm and demanding, leaving me breathless.

Yup. Exactly what I needed to get rid of all the stress.

I moaned as his tongue tangled with mine. His hands slid down my body, fingers pressing into my hips before traveling along my thighs. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer and feeling his warmth seeping into me.

“Missed this,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice rough and deep.

I smiled. “I know.”

He growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on my hips. “Cocky little witch.”

“I know that too,” I teased, my fingers trailing down his muscular back.

His answering grin was pure wickedness. “Let me show you what this alpha does to cocky little witches.” His mouth moved to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin and making me shiver.

I moaned as his kisses grew more intense, his hands sliding beneath my shirt while his fingers explored, teasing and igniting flames everywhere he touched. I gripped his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath his skin.

“Are you trying to make me combust into flames?” I asked, my breath hitching as his mouth found my collarbone.

“Is it working?”

“Mm-hmm.” My head fell back as he trailed hot kisses down my neck, his stubble scratching in the most delicious way.

He pulled back, his gray eyes locking with mine. “You’ve been running yourself ragged over this black market. Now, I’m not letting you think about it. Not once.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he silenced me with another scorching kiss, effectively shutting off my brain.

“I don’t want you worrying about cursed objects, auctions, or any of that,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding. “Just me. Right here. Right now.”

“Okay,” I breathed, my hands sliding up his chest to feel his heart pounding beneath my palms. “You win.”

A satisfied grin curved his lips. “I always do.”

“Who’s cocky now?” I teased. “So… how exactly are you planning to distract me?”

His eyes gleamed as he lifted me effortlessly into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”

He carried me out of Darian’s bedroom, his stride steady and sure as he made his way down the hallway to our bedroom. I couldn’t help but admire the ease with which he moved, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt as though I weighed nothing at all.

“You know,” I teased, “I do have legs. I can walk.” But this was so much better.

His lips twitched. “Not tonight, you don’t. Tonight, you’re mine.”

I shivered, heat pooling low in my belly. “You’ve got a way with words, Chief.”

He kicked open the bedroom door, his eyes never leaving mine. “And you’ve got a way of driving me crazy.”

He crossed the room, his movements fluid and graceful as he lowered me onto the bed. The sheets were soft and cool against my skin as he followed me down, his body pressing into mine, solid and warm.

His mouth found mine again, his kiss slow and demanding, igniting a fire that spread through me. His hands roamed over my body, his touch confident and possessive, leaving no doubt in my mind that he meant exactly what he said. I was his tonight.

I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth traveled to my neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against my skin. “Marcus…” His name was a whisper, a plea. He responded by wrapping his arms around me and holding me close as his kisses grew more intense.

He kissed me again, his lips hot and demanding, his hands exploring, teasing, igniting fires everywhere he touched.

I was lost in him, in the feel of his body pressed against mine, the way he moved, the way he kissed me like I was the air he needed to breathe. For the first time in days, I wasn’t thinking about the black market or Soren Tex or the missing artifacts. There was only Marcus. Only this moment.

He made me forget everything else, and I clung to him, letting myself get lost in him, in us.

Right now, nothing else mattered.

20

“What the hell are you wearing?” hissed Dolores, standing in Davenport House’s driveway, her hands on her hips like she was about to scold a teenager sneaking out after curfew.

“What?” Beverly gave a dramatic spin, showing off her red and black sequin dress that shimmered under the streetlight. The bodice was so tight it looked like she had been shrink-wrapped, and her pushup bra defied the laws of gravity, her breasts practically grazing her chin. “It’s my new pushup bra. You said go bigger. And I did.”

Dolores’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I didn’t mean you should look like a hooker.”

Beverly waved a dismissive hand. “You’re just jealous because your hips are too big to squeeze into such a petite dress.” She adjusted her cleavage with a practiced shimmy. “Besides, we’re supposed to look rich. Beautiful, rich women wear these types of dresses.”

Dolores let out an undignified snort. “In what universe? Sluts on Mars?”

I choked back a laugh. Beverly, however, was unfazed.

“Well, then call me Miss Mars because I look fabulous,” she declared, thrusting out her chest and flipping her hair. “And when I’m bidding at this auction, no one’s going to be looking at my wallet. They’ll be too busy looking at my voluptuous—”

Dolores held up a hand. “Please. Spare us the anatomy lesson.”

I looked between my aunts, my nerves slightly easing. Sure, we were about to infiltrate an illegal paranormal auction, but at least they were coming with me.

“Where’s Ruth?” I asked, scanning the driveway. “I thought we were all going together?”

Dolores sighed, adjusting the sleeve of her long, flowing navy gown. “She’ll be here. She said she was working on some last-minute preparations.” She smoothed a stray hair into her elegant updo, looking every inch the regal witch. “Probably trying to fit into that hideous outfit she insisted on wearing.”

A loud crunching noise pulled our attention as a dark BMW sedan pulled up to the curb.

Iris stepped out first, looking like a gothic princess from a Tim Burton movie in a black, off-the-shoulder dress with lace gloves. A delicate hat perched atop her dark hair, giving her an air of mystery.

Ronin followed, oozing charm in a sleek tuxedo that looked like it had been tailored by magical hands. He moved with the effortless grace of a predator, his eyes glinting under the streetlamp.

“Wow. You guys look incredible,” I said, glancing down at myself. I cringed. I didn’t have anything fancy to wear. Beverly had offered me one of her dresses, but it just didn’t fit. I was still carrying some extra weight. And unfortunately, I’d used up all of Martha’s Spray and Fit, so no magical wardrobe cheat for me. My black pants and shiny black top weren’t exactly couture. I’d paired them with a blazer, pulled my hair up, and even tried my hand at some makeup, but standing next to Iris, I felt like a poor relation.

“Ladies.” Ronin splayed out his arms. “Feast your eyes on this.”

“Yes, yes, you look good,” dismissed Iris, shaking her head. “But no one knows it took you three hours to get ready.”

The half-vampire grinned. “Can’t hurry hotness.”

“Where’s Marcus?” asked Iris, her gloved hands smoothing down her dress.

I opened my mouth to answer just as Marcus stepped out of our cottage, his stride confident and relaxed. My heart did a little flutter. He wasn’t wearing a tux like Ronin—no, my husband had opted for a short black leather jacket over a snug black shirt that hugged his muscular frame. Dark jeans completed the look, molding to his long legs in a way that made me grateful for good lighting.

I blinked. “Hey.”

Marcus’s eyes locked on mine, his mouth curving into that infuriatingly sexy grin. “Hey yourself.”

The front door to Davenport House banged open, and Ruth stumbled out, half-covered in a dark green robe that looked suspiciously like a bathrobe with glittery threads woven through it. A hood was pulled over her head, and she wore giant, round sunglasses that nearly covered half her face.

“What in the name of the goddess are you wearing?” demanded Dolores, her eyes widening in horror.

Ruth lifted her sunglasses, revealing a layer of gold glitter on her eyelids. “It’s my disguise. No one will recognize me. I look like a mysterious enchantress.”

Beverly giggled. “You look like Yoda’s mother.”

Ruth scowled. “Well, at least I don’t look like a two-bit escort.”

“Nonsense,” purred Beverly, adjusting her cleavage. “This is high-class couture.”

“Sure it is,” said Ruth, sidling up to me. “I bet it came with its own pole.”

I nearly choked on my laughter. But something nagged me. “Dolores. How did it go with Martha? Did you get the cash?” I eyed the large leather handbag she was carrying, which looked unusually bulky.

Dolores’s lips curled into a cat-like grin. “I did. Though it took some convincing. But I have my ways.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

She shrugged, her expression innocent enough to make me suspicious. “Just reminded her that the town’s emergency fund could be spent on ‘community safety initiatives.’”

Beverly let out a snort. “More like you blackmailed her.”

Dolores’s smile didn’t waver. “It was a negotiation. I just happened to have all the winning cards.”

My mouth fell open. “You blackmailed her?” Go Dolores.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. Martha owed me a favor.”

Beverly crossed her arms. “Did this favor involve those old photos from the Hollow Cove Harvest Festival? The ones with the clown costume?”

Dolores’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Perhaps.”

Beverly threw her head back and laughed. “You’re evil.”

Dolores shrugged. “It’s not my fault Martha has poor taste in costumes. Or that she got tipsy and danced on the float.”

I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “Well, whatever you did, I’m just glad we have cash. At least now, we have a shot at buying all those artifacts.”

A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest. I tried to take a deep breath, but the worry refused to leave.

It wasn’t the fact that we were about to waltz into an illegal black-market auction that was occupying my thoughts. It was Darian.

His show of… what? Alphaism? (Yeah, I just made that up) was seriously concerning. If he could control a group of demons, what else could he control? And how could he do that at just a month old? What would six months look like?

I chewed on my bottom lip, my head spinning. Leaving him with my mother had been hard, even though Darian had been fast asleep when I left. My father was there too, watching him with those silver eyes that missed nothing, but I still couldn’t shake the worry.

Would he show more magic tonight? Would my parents be able to handle him if he did? And what did it mean that he had that kind of power?

I must have looked as anxious as I felt because Marcus reached over and squeezed my hand. His touch was warm, grounding me. “He’s fine,” said Marcus softly. “Your father can handle it. And Darian’s tough—just like his mom.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, I know. But it’s still hard.”

Marcus’s gray eyes softened. “I know.”

What my wereape wasn’t saying, though I could feel it in my witchy bones, was that he was proud. Proud that Darian was able to command those demons.

“What time is Cedric supposed to be here?” asked Dolores, pulling me back to the present. “It’s half past eleven. I don’t want to get there late. We’ll look like amateurs.”

“He’ll be here,” said Iris, though she looked a little worried.

The little I knew of Cedric, he was probably making us wait on purpose, to prove his importance.

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel pulled our attention. A sleek black Range Rover SUV with tinted windows rolled up to the curb. After a moment, Cedric stepped out, dressed in an immaculately tailored suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. His dark hair was slicked back, gleaming under the streetlight.

“Speak of the devil,” muttered Dolores.

Cedric’s eyes raked over us, his expression oozing disdain. “I see you all decided to make an effort. How… quaint.”

Beverly cocked her hip, her sequins sparkling under the light. “Jealous?”

Cedric’s mouth twitched. “Not in this lifetime.” He started to laugh. “Did you really think you were all on the list? Because you’re not.”

Cedric’s laughter made my skin crawl, a cold, mocking sound that echoed off the surrounding trees. He looked at us like we were ants he was about to squash. His eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as he folded his arms, his tailored suit stretching flawlessly over his shoulders.

I shot him a glare. “What do you mean not all of us?”

He gave a slow, mocking smile, his eyes drifting over Marcus and Ronin with pure disdain. “I mean, you really thought they’d let in a half-breed and a…” His lip curled. “A mangy beast?”

Ronin’s eyes went black, a warning flash of his vampire rage. “You better watch your mouth, Clairmont.”

Cedric waved a hand dismissively, his smugness practically radiating off him. “Oh, please. You’re lucky I’m even letting you breathe the same air as me. As for the auction, only the witches are on the list.”

My mouth dropped. “Are you serious?”

Cedric’s eyes flicked to Marcus, his smile growing even nastier. “Dead serious.”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. I could practically feel the fury rolling off him. “That right?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Well, that’s too bad. Because I’m coming.”

Cedric’s eyes danced with amusement. “Really? And how do you plan on getting in? They don’t let animals into these types of events.”

Ronin took a step forward, his eyes glowing an even darker red. “Keep talking, buddy. I’ve always wanted to see how much you can bleed.”

Iris’s eyes widened, her face paling. “Cedric, enough.”

Cedric’s gaze flicked to his sister, his expression softening just a little. “I’m doing this for you, Iris. Not for them.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Marcus and Ronin again. “Especially not for them.”

Marcus took a step forward, his eyes locked on Cedric’s, unflinching. “Don’t worry, I don’t need your permission. I’m getting in, one way or another.”

Cedric snorted, his eyes flashing with superiority. “I’d like to see you try.”

Marcus’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “You will.”

Cedric’s amusement wavered, but he quickly recovered, tossing his head arrogantly. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when they toss you out on your flea-ridden ass.”

Marcus didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned in, his voice low and deadly. “I don’t care what you think. And I don’t care about your rules. I’m going to protect my family. And nothing is going to stop me from being there tonight.”

The intensity of his words sent a shiver down my spine. I looked up at him. Marcus was serious. He wasn’t going to let anyone keep him out, not even Cedric and his pretentious list.

He turned to me, his gray eyes softening as he cupped my face in his large hands. “See you later.”

I nodded. “Be careful.”

His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, his touch warm and steady. “We’re getting those artifacts back tonight. And we’re ending this.”

I nodded, feeling a rush of determination. “Damn right we are.”

He grinned, his eyes glinting. “That’s my girl.” He leaned in and kissed me, soft and sweet, before pulling back. “I’ll find you inside. Just stay close to your aunts and Iris until then.”

Was he overprotective? Yes. Did I like it? Hell yes.

The chief glanced over at Ronin. “Let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

Ronin’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Thought you’d never ask.” He shot Cedric a dark look. “See you inside, pretty boy.”

Cedric’s face went crimson, his eyes narrowing with fury. “You wish.”

Ignoring him, Marcus and Ronin walked over to Marcus’s Jeep, their shoulders squared and their postures tense. I watched them go, my chest tightening with a mix of worry and admiration.

When I turned back around, Cedric was watching me, his eyes calculating. “You certainly have interesting taste in company.”

I rolled my eyes. “And you have interesting taste in hair gel. We all have our flaws.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t take the bait. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

He turned and marched to his sleek black Range Rover SUV, his coat billowing behind him. I shot a look at Iris, who gave me a small, apologetic shrug before following her brother.

“Come on,” I said to my aunts, turning toward Cedric’s car. “The sooner we get there, the sooner this nightmare ends.”

Beverly grasped her clutch to her chest. “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

Dolores sighed, her shoulders stiffening. “Neither do I. But it’s the only way.”

Ruth’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I think it’s exciting.”

Dolores shot her a glare. “Of course you do. You’re insane.”

Ruth beamed. “It’s called eccentric. But I can see how you’d confuse the two.”

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “You guys are crazy. Come on.”

Together, the four of us climbed into the backseats of Cedric’s Range Rover while Iris sat in the front. The leather seats felt cold against my skin as I looked out the window, watching as Marcus and Ronin climbed into the Jeep.

Marcus caught my gaze, his eyes locking on to mine. He gave me a single nod, his face set in determination.

Cedric climbed into the driver’s seat, his face a mask of irritation. “Don’t touch anything.”

I scoffed. “Trust me, I don’t want to catch whatever you’ve got.”

His eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, narrowing dangerously. “Cute.” He turned the key, and the engine roared to life. “Let’s go.”

As the SUV sped down the road, my heart thudded in my chest, anticipation building. This was it. Tonight, we were taking back those artifacts. Tonight, we were facing the black market.

And tonight, we were going to confront Soren Tex.

Like Dolores, I was beginning to think we were going to be late, but after a ten-minute drive, Cedric pulled his big Range Rover onto a dirt road on the outskirts of Hollow Cove. I turned and looked behind me. I couldn’t see Marcus’s Jeep, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

The dirt road was bumpy, the Range Rover’s tires crunching over loose gravel and kicking up clouds of dust. I peered out the window. The trees grew thicker, their branches arching over us like skeletal fingers. It was dark, the moon barely peeking through the clouds, casting eerie shadows that danced across the ground.

Cedric drove in silence, his jaw set and eyes locked on the road ahead. I glanced at Iris, whose face was pale, her hands clasped in her lap. Beverly sat next to me, fussing with her hair while muttering about how the dirt was ruining her shoes.

Dolores, on the other hand, sat ramrod straight, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head, plotting at least a dozen ways to kill Cedric if he tried to double-cross us.

And Ruth… well, Ruth was practically bouncing in her seat, her eyes wide with excitement. “Ooh. I wonder if they sell bottled lightning. I’ve been dying to get my hands on some.”

Dolores shot her a look. “Are you insane? That’s illegal. Highly illegal. Even by our standards.”

Ruth shrugged, her grin widening. “So? That’s why I want some. You have any idea how hard it is to chase a thunderstorm with a mason jar?”

Dolores closed her eyes. “I need a strong drink.”

The road dipped, and suddenly the trees opened up, revealing a sprawling field bathed in moonlight.

And there, at the center of it all, was the paranormal black market.

I inhaled sharply, my eyes widening. It looked like a dark, twisted version of a carnival—a warped, sinister circus that had been pulled straight out of a nightmare. Tents of all shapes and sizes were scattered across the field, their colors faded and tattered, flapping in the wind like shredded sails. The fabric was black, purple, and deep crimson, with strange symbols painted on the sides that seemed to move and writhe under the moonlight.

I pressed the “window down” button on my door. The air smelled like smoke and ash, like burning sage and something rotting beneath the earth. My nose crinkled, the stench clawing at my throat.

In the distance, I could hear the murmur of voices—low, growling, and sinister—mixed with the eerie sound of laughter that echoed through the air. This place was… wrong. Twisted. Like darkness itself had wrapped everything here.

“Welcome,” drawled Cedric, his voice cold and dripping with satisfaction. “To the paranormal black market.”

21

Okay, so this paranormal black market wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. Not that I knew what to expect, just, not this.

It was basically mobile. Everything could be packed up and moved. No wonder it was never in the same place. Smart. But that didn’t mean we weren’t taking them down.

I looked at Cedric, my mouth tightening. He looked far too pleased. “This is it?”

Cedric’s eyes gleamed as he parked the SUV, killing the engine. “Disappointed?”

I didn’t answer. I was too busy taking in the scene. Creatures and beings of all shapes and sizes roamed between the tents—witches with hooded cloaks and skeletal faces, vampires with glowing red eyes, shifters in half-beast forms, and even lesser demons with curled horns and wicked grins.

“Those are necromancers,” Iris whispered, pointing to a group of figures wearing robes of shadow, their faces hidden behind silver masks. “I can feel their magic from here. It’s cold… and hungry.”

“Great.” I shifted my gaze to the massive tent at the center of the market. It was the largest structure, looming over the others like a dark cathedral, its fabric shimmering with protective wards. The entrance was guarded by two massive creatures, trolls by looks of their stone-like skin, with tusks curling from their mouths.

“That must be the auction,” I said pointing.

Cedric’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “You catch on quick.”

Beverly let out a low breath, her eyes wide. “I’ve been to some wild parties, but this…”

Dolores scowled, her arms crossing over her chest. “We’re here for the artifacts. Not to gawk at this lot of lowlifes.”

“No,” said Beverly, shaking her head. “I’m gawking.”

Ruth was practically vibrating with excitement. “Look at that booth over there. They’re selling cursed cauldrons. Maybe I should get one.”

Dolores grabbed her arm, her eyes flashing. “Are you mad? We are not buying anything but those relics.”

Ruth pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“When has Dolores ever been fun?” mocked Beverly.

Ruth shrugged. “True.”

Dolores glared at her sisters. “This is why I don’t like either of you.”

I tore my eyes away from the market and looked at Cedric. “And you’re sure we’re on the list?”

A glint of amusement flickered across Cedric’s face. “Don’t worry, Merlin. You’re on the list. As long as you don’t embarrass me.” He opened his door. “Try to act like you belong here. Don’t draw attention to yourselves.”

He stepped out, his coat billowing behind him as he straightened his suit. I exchanged a look with Iris, who gave me a nervous smile.

“Well, this is it,” she said, her voice trembling.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Yeah. Ready?”

She swallowed hard. “Not even a little.”

I forced a smile. “Good. Let’s go.”

We climbed out of the SUV. The cold night air bit at my skin, and I shivered, adjusting my blazer as I looked around. The shadows seemed to move, whispering and shifting, like they were alive.

Cedric watched us with a smug grin, clearly enjoying our discomfort. “Welcome to the paranormal black market,” he said again, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Try not to die.”

I shot him a glare. “Thanks for the tip.”

He just laughed, his eyes cold and mocking. “Follow me. And keep up.” He turned and started walking toward the massive tent in the center, his posture regal and arrogant.

I looked at my aunts, who were all staring at the market with varying degrees of horror and fascination.

“This place is pure evil,” Beverly whispered.

Dolores’s eyes were hard, her jaw set. “Stay close. And Ruth, don’t touch anything.”

Ruth’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “I won’t.”

For some reason, I didn’t believe her.

I took a deep breath. “Come on. We’ve got artifacts to buy.”

We moved forward, our footsteps crunching over the dirt as we followed Cedric. I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Marcus and Ronin lurking in the shadows, but there was no sign of them. My chest tightened. I knew Marcus would find a way in. He was stubborn like that. But this place… something was wrong with this place. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

The massive tent loomed before us, its fabric shimmering with protective wards and illusions that made my skin prickle. Cedric stopped in front of two towering trolls stationed at the entrance. Their skin was the color of granite, their muscles bulging beneath ragged leather armor. Each held a spiked club that looked more like a tree trunk than a weapon.

Cedric flashed them a wicked smile and spoke in a language I didn’t understand. It sounded like hisses and clicks, almost serpentine. Maybe it was. After a moment, the trolls grunted and stepped aside, allowing us to pass.

My shoulders tensed as we stepped inside, and my jaw nearly hit the floor. It was like stepping into another dimension—an underground coliseum draped in opulence and Black magic.

Rows of plush red velvet seats were arranged in a semi-circle around a raised platform in the center. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. The air was heavy with enchantments, the scent of rare magical herbs mixing with something more sinister—something rotten and decaying. I resisted the urge to gag.

Iris leaned closer, her face pale. “This place… it’s strange. I can feel a cold presence crawling on my skin.”

I nodded, my senses buzzing from the energy swirling around us. “It feels like walking through a curse.” Like I said. Something was off about this place.

Beverly wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. I think I stepped in something.” She lifted her foot, revealing a gooey, black substance that oozed off her stiletto.

Cedric didn’t even look back, but I caught the laugh in his voice. “Try to blend in, ladies. We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves.”

Dolores shot him a look. “Keep talking, Cedric, and I’ll show you what real embarrassment feels like.”

Yeah, love my aunt Dolores.

He merely arched a brow and led us down a narrow aisle toward the front. My eyes roamed over the crowd, taking in the bizarre assortment of attendees. Vampires with slicked-back hair and predatory smiles, warlocks with glowing sigils tattooed on their faces, and shifters who kept twitching, as if they were seconds away from losing control of their human forms.

I caught sight of a woman in a flowing crimson robe, her face hidden behind a silver mask. Her fingers were long and bony, adorned with rings that glowed with dark enchantments. She turned her head slightly, her eyes locking on mine for a brief moment before she turned away.

Yeah, creepy.

We passed by a cage where a creature no bigger than a cat was curled up, its fur shifting colors like a chameleon. It had enormous, soulful eyes, filled with fear and misery. A sign above the cage read: RARE CHANGELINGS—PERFECT FOR CURSES AND POSSESSIONS.

Ruth gasped. “That’s horrible. We should let it out.”

Dolores grabbed her arm, her grip firm. “We’re here for the artifacts. We don’t have time for this. And we can’t afford another kerblix episode.”

Ruth clamped her jaw in frustration, but she nodded, her eyes lingering on the creature as we moved past.

We approached the raised platform, where artifacts sat behind glass cases, each one exuding a different shade of evil. My gaze flicked over the small brass plaques in front of them, their labels written in sharp, elegant script.

A cursed violin—Plays haunting melodies that drive listeners to madness. Okay, that was a hard pass.

Next, a vial of dragon’s blood—Highly volatile. Handle with extreme caution. The liquid shimmered like molten fire, pulsing as if it had a heartbeat. Yeah, no thanks.

Then, a jeweled dagger—Forged in darkness. Grants ultimate power at a deadly cost. Fantastic. It was practically whispering to me as we passed, its voice as cold and malicious as a tax collector.

I resisted the urge to shudder. Whoever was buying this crap either had a death wish or was the death wish.

We took our seats, the velvet cushions sinking under our weight. I couldn’t help but notice how very male this place was. Apart from that one woman in the mask, who I suspected was someone’s date, we were the only females in here.

I kept glancing over my shoulder, scanning the tent for Marcus and Ronin, but I saw no sign of them. Cedric noticed and leaned in, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Missing someone?”

I shot him a glare. “Just admiring the view.”

There was a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “Sure.”

The lights dimmed, and the murmurs of the crowd died down. A figure stepped onto the platform, his presence commanding and regal. He was tall, his body lean and graceful, dressed in black robes that flowed around him like shadows. His hair was as white as snow, falling to his shoulders in silky waves, and his eyes were a pale blue, gleaming with cold intelligence.

That had to be him. Soren Tex.

He stood there like a king surveying his kingdom, his lips curling into a faint smile as he looked down at the crowd.

And then his gaze landed on me.

I stiffened, my heart skipping a beat. His eyes were piercing, calculating, and far too amused. He knew who I was. That much was clear.

Beverly let out a low whistle, fanning herself dramatically with her sequined clutch. “Well, well, well,” she purred, her eyes locked on to Soren like a cat spotting an especially appetizing canary. “If that isn’t the finest specimen of elven manhood I’ve ever laid eyes on. I wouldn’t mind getting auctioned off to him, if you know what I mean.”

Dolores snapped her attention to Beverly. “For cauldron’s sake, keep your vagina in check. We are not here to seduce the enemy.”

Beverly gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Who said anything about seducing? I’m just admiring the architecture. That man is built like an ancient temple, and honey, I would worship.”

Ruth chuckled, shaking her head. “Slut.”

Beverly just grinned, her eyes still firmly fixed on Soren. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Soren’s gaze traveled through the crowd, his smile widening as he spoke in a deep, melodic voice that echoed through the tent. “Welcome, honored guests, to tonight’s auction. You will find only the rarest and most powerful artifacts here. Objects of legend, steeped in magic both ancient and forbidden.”

My hands curled into fists. Forbidden magic. Ancient artifacts. Artifacts from my family’s vault, motherfracker.

“Enjoy and good luck.” Soren stepped off the platform and walked over to a high-backed, throne-like chair at the edge of the tent. He sat, leaning back like he wasn’t orchestrating the most illegal event I’d ever witnessed.

That was fine. It was fine. I just needed to breathe. Maybe count to ten. Maybe not launch myself across the tent and kick him in his elven face.

And where the hell were Marcus and Ronin? If they were able to slip inside, they’d have been here by now. Which meant… they couldn’t get in. Damnit.

Another figure stepped onto the stage, and I had to suppress a visible ugh. He was thin and bony, with dark greasy hair and a mustache that looked like it was halfway through abandoning his face. His head jerked sporadically, like he was either powered by faulty wiring or perpetually on the verge of sneezing.

I leaned over to Iris. “If a cockroach could be a man, this would be him.”

Iris snorted, clutching her bag tightly where Doris was tucked away inside. “That’s offensive to cockroaches.”

“Bring out the first item!” the auctioneer croaked, his voice like someone who had chain-smoked for the last four hundred years.

An assistant shuffled onto the stage, carrying a velvet-lined tray with an ornate dagger that hummed with black energy.

“This, dear bidders, is a one-of-a-kind artifact,” said the auctioneer, gesturing dramatically at the dagger. “Forged in the depths of the Blood Wastes from the Netherworld, imbued with magic that ensures one fatal strike.” His voice took on a hushed, reverent tone. “One stab. One death. Guaranteed.”

“Oh good,” said Beverly next to me. “A murder starter kit.”

“I don’t like that guy,” said Ruth, eyeing the auctioneer with a frown. “He smells funny.”

I had no idea how Ruth could actually smell that guy from our seats, but, whatever.

I leaned forward, my pulse spiking. “Dolores. Is that one of ours?”

Dolores flipped through her notebook, her fingers tight around the pages. “Yes,” she confirmed grimly. “That’s Mors Anguis—the Death Serpent Dagger.”

I shifted in my seat. This was it. It was happening.

“The bidding starts at fifteen thousand dollars,” the auctioneer announced.

Hands shot up immediately.

“Twenty thousand!”

“Thirty-five!”

“Fifty!”

The numbers climbed at an alarming pace, and I felt sick. I looked at Dolores, whose face had turned to stone as she clutched her purse. “Unless you’ve got a million dollars stuffed in that bag, we are so screwed,” I muttered.

Beverly leaned in. “How much do we have again?”

Dolores exhaled through her nose, her grip tightening. “Enough to bid on one artifact. Maybe.”

My stomach bottomed out. “Maybe? I thought you said you got the town treasury.”

Dolores didn’t take her eyes off the stage. “I did. But it turns out ten grand doesn’t stretch far when you’re up against ancient crime lords and supernatural warlords with Swiss bank accounts.”

Beverly scoffed. “I told you to skim more off the top.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to be mayor from prison?”

“Depends,” mused Beverly. “Are we talking minimum security or orange jumpsuits? Because I look amazing in orange.”

I tuned them out as the dagger was sold to a male paranormal radiating serious mage or warlock vibes. Dressed in deep crimson robes, he curled his long fingers around the hilt like he’d just won the supernatural lottery.

Shit. Shit. Shit. We were running out of time.

Cedric, of course, was enjoying this far too much. He leaned over, wearing the kind of grin that begged for a swift chair kick. “Having trouble keeping up, Merlin?”

I turned my head slowly to glare at him. “Oh, I don’t know, Cedric, why don’t you tell me how I’m supposed to outbid ancient vampires, black-market psychopaths, and uber-rich paranormals?”

He shrugged, his smug grin widening. “You’re the one who wanted to play in the big leagues.”

“I also want to punch you in the face, but you don’t see me acting on that.”

Dolores grabbed my wrist. “Not now,” she hissed. “But you do have my permission to punch him later.”

I forced my eyes back to the stage just as the next artifact was wheeled out—a tall glass display case containing a glowing red orb.

I sucked in a breath.

Dolores sat up straighter, her jaw tightening. “That’s ours too.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse roaring in my ears. “What does it do?” Though I had a pretty good guess if it had been locked away in our family vault and was being sold here.

“It was designed to amplify the user’s magic to three times its normal strength,” answered my tall aunt. “Sounds great. Doesn’t it? Until you realize it does that by draining the life force of the user. Over time, it would rot them from the inside out—until there was nothing left but dust.”

I shook my head. “Who the hell comes up with this stuff?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Ruth, still staring at the auctioneer like she wanted to spit on him.

Iris tensed. “We have to win this one.”

“Yes, we do,” I agreed. How many power-hungry paranormals in this room were desperate enough to bid on that?

I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

The auctioneer gestured at the glowing orb inside the glass. “A rare magical amplifier. Increase your power threefold at the cost of nothing but your own energy. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” He smiled like a damn used car salesman. “The starting bid is twenty-five thousand dollars.”

A silence fell over our group.

Beverly slowly turned to Dolores. “I don’t suppose we could borrow some more money from the town?”

Dolores gave her a look. “We already stole the town’s emergency fund.”

Cedric tapped his fingers against the armrest. “What’s wrong? Not enough in the Davenport piggy bank?”

I ignored him, my heart hammering as the bids skyrocketed.

“Thirty thousand!”

“Forty-five!”

“Sixty!”

This was insane. I gritted my teeth, gripping the arms of my chair until my knuckles went white. We weren’t even in the bidding. We didn’t have enough money.

Dolores muttered something under her breath that I was pretty sure wasn’t in English but sounded very much like an ancient curse.

I wasn’t sure whether it was aimed at the auctioneer or our dire financial situation.

Probably both.

I turned my gaze back toward the stage and stiffened. Because across the room, past the crowd of bidders and under the dim, flickering chandelier light—Soren was watching me.

He lounged in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, his white hair catching the low light in an almost eerie glow. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, like this whole thing was just another Tuesday for him.

But his eyes—piercing, assessing—locked on to mine. Unblinking. Like he knew something I didn’t. Like he was just… waiting.

I couldn’t tell if he was amused, intrigued, or planning my untimely demise. Either way, it sent ice through my veins.

The bids kept climbing, and we were powerless to stop them. The first artifact was already lost. The second was slipping away. And we still had two more to go.

This wasn’t just not going well. This was a disaster.

We needed a new plan. Fast. Or we were leaving here with nothing.

22

Who can come up with a plan on a whim that’s somehow worse than the original plan? This witch.

I leaned forward in my chair and waited until I had my aunts’ and Iris’s full attention. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Sold! For seventy-five thousand dollars,” announced the auctioneer, gesturing at a short, stocky man with a pointed hat and gray robes, whose brown-stained teeth were now showing through his grin.

Fantastic. Another one of our deadly artifacts gone.

“Better make it quick because we’re losing,” said Dolores, her voice tight, her fingers gripping her purse so hard I thought she might snap the handle clean off.

“What are we going to do?” asked Ruth. “We’ll never be able to outbid them.” Her eyes darted between the stage and the deep pockets in the audience, throwing around absurd amounts of money like they were at a casual charity auction and not bidding on deadly relics.

“I know,” I said, lowering my voice. “So… we steal them.”

Silence. Except for the auctioneer’s booming voice announcing the next cursed object up for grabs.

I could feel Cedric’s gaze drilling into the side of my head, but I ignored him. If he wanted to rat me out, I’d deal with him later. Right now, this was our only shot. And if he got in my way? Well, I’d kick his smug, overpriced-loafer-wearing ass out of my way.

“How are we going to do that?” asked Iris.

My eyes flicked to the stage, where a pair of heavily tattooed male paranormals rolled out a new artifact—a wickedly curved dagger with an obsidian blade and intricate golden runes carved along the hilt.

“Sold!” the auctioneer bellowed after only a few seconds of bidding. The numbers had skyrocketed before I could even blink. I watched the men wheel the dagger back toward the same curtain the orb had disappeared behind.

That’s when it hit me.

I gestured toward the trolley. “We steal the artifacts before they’re handed to the buyers. They’re being put in some temporary holding room back there behind that curtain. We go in. We take them. And we get the hell out.”

“Oh, of course,” Dolores hissed sarcastically. “You’ll just waltz backstage, scoop up the deadly artifacts like you’re shopping for produce, and then stroll right out the front entrance.” She leveled a glare at me. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Most days,” I admitted. “But do you have a better idea?”

Dolores clamped her jaw shut, her eyes narrowing. “No.”

“Then we do this,” I said. “Or risk those family heirlooms killing more people. The Gray Council won’t be too far behind. They’ll find out. And then it’s all over for us. We’ll be finished.”

Dolores stiffened in her chair. “I will not let that white haired freak take my mayorship away from me.”

I cocked a brow. “So, you’ve already won? I don’t remember an election.”

Dolores glowered at me. “You know what I mean. I have aspirations, and I won’t let them slip away.”

“How will we do this without being seen?” asked Ruth. “Those two tattooed guys are standing right next to the curtain.”

I looked at my aunt’s worried face. “We’ll need a distraction.”

“I’ll be the distraction.” Beverly raised her chin, looking way too pleased with herself.

I blinked. “What?”

“Oh, come on.” Beverly rolled her eyes. “We all know I’m the obvious choice. I’m the most beautiful one here.”

Dolores groaned. “Please don’t.”

Beverly ignored her and dramatically adjusted her push-up bra, giving her already gravity-defying cleavage an extra lift. “I’ll go up to the stage, cause a scene—maybe pretend I’m a drunken socialite looking to throw around obscene amounts of money. That should keep their attention.”

Dolores shook her head with a sigh. “This is an underground black-market auction, not a seedy bar in Vegas.”

Beverly waved a hand. “Oh, please. Half the people here probably got rich from questionable means. Besides, males—no matter the species—are easily distracted by a woman in a low-cut dress with the right amount of confidence.”

Ruth nodded. “She’s got a point.”

Dolores shot her a glare. “Oh, don’t encourage her.”

Iris, who had been suspiciously quiet through all of this, finally chimed in. “I hate to admit it, but… it might work.”

I thought about it. If anyone could distract an entire crowd of men with her looks, Beverly was the one. “Fine. Beverly plays the distraction. But you better not get yourself killed.”

Beverly grinned. “Oh, honey, I’ve been playing men like fiddles since before you were born.”

She had a point.

Dolores muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like harlot.

I looked over to my Dark witch friend. “Iris? You with me?”

Iris’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah.”

“Then it’s settled,” Beverly said, already adjusting her hair to maximize her distraction potential. “I’ll give you a solid three minutes of glorious chaos before they realize something’s up.”

“Three minutes isn’t much time,” I murmured.

“Three minutes is a lifetime in a high-stakes operation,” Beverly countered. “It’s all about confidence, darling.”

I glanced at Iris. “You ready?”

She grinned. “Yes.”

Cedric, who had been listening the entire time with an expression of smug amusement, leaned in and said, “This is a bad idea.”

I shot him a glare. “If you’re not going to help, shut up.”

His grin widened. “Oh, but I am helping,” he drawled. “I’m helping by being the only one in this group who isn’t completely delusional.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Such a buzzkill.”

He ignored me, turning his attention to Iris, who was already rubbing her temples like she had a migraine. “You can’t seriously be going along with this.” He scoffed, looking around. “Think of what will happen if you get caught.”

“We won’t,” said Iris.

“No one cares about the Davenport witches,” continued Cedric. “They’re over. Ancient. Washed up. But you still have your life to live.”

Dolores, who had been quietly calculating something in her notepad, suddenly stopped, her pen snapping between her fingers.

Cedric gave a slow, mocking grin. “Oh, I struck a nerve. Didn’t I? Poor Dolores. Once feared, once respected. And now? A joke.” His dark eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. “The Davenports used to be a force in the magical world, but now? You’re nothing. A bunch of old crones clutching at relevance while the world moves on without you.”

Dolores set her notepad down very slowly, a tight smile stretching across her face. “You know, I was planning to let you off the hook for being such a brat. But now?” She cracked her knuckles. “Now I might have to rethink that.”

Ruth leaned over and said, “I have potions that’ll make your toenails grow inward. Just saying.”

“Cedric, stop.” Iris shot her brother a warning look. “This isn’t helping.”

He scoffed. “Oh, Iris, sweet, naïve Iris. Do you really think these idiots can pull this off?” He gestured lazily toward us. “They can’t even keep their bladders from failing. You think they can outmaneuver Soren Tex?”

This guy was really pissing me off. I gritted my teeth, my fingers itching to power word the smug right off his face. “If you’re done monologuing like a third-rate villain, some of us have work to do.”

His smile didn’t falter. “I’m far from done. Because when this little heist of yours falls apart, and it will fall apart, I want to be front and center to say I told you so.”

I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Cedric, the day I take advice from you is the day hell freezes over.”

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Oh, Merlin,” he purred. “Hell’s already getting chilly.”

If he hadn’t gotten us on the list, I would have punched him in the throat. I know it. You know it.

Steeling myself, I turned my attention back to the stage as the auctioneer announced the next artifact.

It was now or never.

Beverly stood up, adjusting her dress one last time. “Watch and learn, ladies.”

And with that, she strode toward the stage like she owned it, her hips swaying with confidence, her chin held high, and her sequins glittering like a disco ball under the dim auction lights.

I grabbed Iris’s arm. “We move the second they take their eyes off the curtain.”

She nodded, her face set in grim determination.

The moment Beverly reached the stage, she hopped up onto the platform with an exaggerated flourish, throwing her arms in the air. “And now, for the most exquisite artifact of the night.”

I smiled. Beverly was awesome.

The auctioneer, with the kind of face that suggested he spent too much time in dark basements, jerked his head toward her, his eyes bulging. “What the hell are you doing? Get off my stage! This is an auction.”

Beverly turned to him, all dazzling confidence and dramatic flair. “Darling, I am the auction.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. A few paranormals barely spared her a glance, more interested in their bid paddles and expensive artifacts.

Not quite the reaction she was hoping for.

Beverly frowned but then quickly recovered, sticking out her breasts. “I am the rarest of gems. The most sought-after treasure. A priceless beauty waiting to be claimed.”

Silence.

A man in the front row casually checked his watch.

Another yawned.

A vampire, judging by his stupidly handsome features, whispered something to his friend, who promptly chuckled.

Beverly’s eye twitched.

Okay, Plan A wasn’t working. Did we have a Plan B? Nope. Nada.

My blood pressure rose dangerously high as Iris and I were casually inching toward the curtain. If this didn’t work, we were screwed.

I glanced at Soren, who was still seated, lazily swirling a glass of dark liquid. His gaze was fixed on Beverly, his mouth twisted into a small smile.

Beverly’s distraction wasn’t working. We needed something bigger.

Beverly must have realized it, too, because when I glanced back at her, her eyes suddenly gleamed with determination.

“Oh, fine,” she voiced. And before I could blink, she reached for the zipper of her dress, yanked it down, and let the entire thing drop to the stage floor.

The room collectively inhaled.

Because there she was. Standing in nothing but her red lace push-up bra and matching panties.

Beverly flicked her hair over her shoulder and took a slow, sultry stroll across the stage, her curves on full display. Then, with all the grace of a seasoned performer, she turned to the front, placed a hand on her hip, and smiled.

“Well?” she purred. “Who wants to start the bidding?”

The reaction was instant.

Every single male in the room—every single one—leaped to their feet, shouting bids like maniacs.

“Five thousand!”

“Twenty thousand!”

“Fifty thousand!”

A vampire in the back hollered, “A hundred thousand, and I’ll throw in a private island!”

“Five hundred thousand and my firstborn child!” yelled a man with a short beard.

Dolores, sitting in the audience, slapped a hand over her face. “By the cauldron, she’s loving this.”

And she was. Beverly flashed a dazzling smile, soaking in the attention like a flower basking in the sun. If Ronin were here, he’d be clapping and cheering on my aunt.

The thought that Marcus and my half-vampire friend were still not here had me wondering if something had happened to them. Nope. Not going there. I had a job to do first. And that was to grab those artifacts and get the hell out.

Iris and I didn’t wait around for round two of Who Wants to Buy Beverly? We used the commotion to slip through the curtain.

The guards, too busy losing their minds over my aunt’s unexpected career change, barely glanced in our direction.

And just like that, we were inside.

Trouble was, we weren’t alone.

23

The white-haired elf, who had been lounging outside the curtain just moments ago, smug and self-satisfied, now stood in the center of the back room like he’d been there all along.

“How did you do that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. Could elves manipulate ley lines? It was the only thing that made sense. One second, he was there, and the next, he wasn’t. I knew that trick all too well. I’d mastered it myself.

The tall, pale elf gave me a slow, patient smile, like he was explaining something very simple to a very slow child. “Magic,” he said, his voice cool, smooth, and controlled. The voice of someone who thought he’d won.

I didn’t like it. I also didn’t like the fact that he stood between me and our artifacts.

I felt Iris tense beside me, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag, undoubtedly reaching for one of her Dark witch hexes. I didn’t blame her. Everything about this screamed bad.

I pulled my attention back to the elf. I wasn’t going to leave without our stuff. If I had to fight an elf to get them, so be it.

“We just want what’s ours,” I told him. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

Soren’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, like someone who had just lured a fool into a trap.

He lifted his wrist and snapped his fingers.

I felt a sudden influx of cold magic, and then, everything around me vanished. If I wasn’t so stressed out and a tad frightened, I might have been impressed.

One second, an entire crowd of questionable paranormals had been throwing around money like they were at a supernatural stock exchange, and the next—poof. Gone. Every single one of them. The auctioneer, the bidders, even the guards. Vanished.

My aunts, Cedric, Iris, and I were the only ones left standing—along with Soren.

I had a full-on brain fart moment. A blinking, buffering, does-not-compute kind of moment.

The massive tent, once filled with noise and energy, now held nothing but silence. An eerie, unnatural silence that was just… wrong.

Beverly, still standing on stage in nothing but her lacy bra and panties, quickly grabbed her dress off the floor and shimmied into it with zero shame. “Well, that’s disappointing,” she muttered. “I was just about to rack up a fortune.”

I wasn’t paying attention to my aunt’s brief stint in the adult entertainment industry. My focus was locked on him.

Soren Tex.

“Master of illusions?” I asked, remembering what I’d read. The Merlin database had said they could conjure up illusions, I just hadn’t expected this level of manipulation.

“I have many skills,” answered the elf.

I glanced at Cedric, who, annoyingly, looked way too calm about this. A little too aware of what was happening. And then it clicked.

My mouth fell open. “You knew.”

There was a glint in Cedric’s eye as he smiled. “Of course I knew.”

“Oh, you son of a b—”

“Language, Merlin,” Cedric cut me off, adjusting his perfectly tailored cuffs. “You’re in the presence of nobility.”

I turned back to Soren, who had been watching our exchange with mild amusement. His lips tilted upward, but there was nothing warm about the expression. It was cold, sharp, the kind of smile that promised pain.

He spread his arms. “Welcome, Davenports. I see you found your way here, just as I expected.”

Dolores advanced, her chin lifted and voice strong. “Who the hell are you? And why did you steal from my family vault?”

Soren tilted his head slightly, his eerie pale blue eyes locking on to my aunt. “Because I was taking back what was mine.”

Dolores scoffed. “You have no claim to the Davenport vault. You’re not a Davenport. You’re not even a witch.”

A slow, cold smile curved Soren’s lips, and the temperature in the tent seemed to drop.

Soren’s eyes flashed. “I was wondering when you’d ask.” He took a slow step toward us, his movements graceful, effortless. “Like you, I come from the Davenport bloodline.”

The words lingered between us, heavy and suffocating.

“Bullshit,” I snapped, trying to see a family resemblance but not finding any. “Nice try, Legolas.”

Ruth blinked. “I’m sorry, what did he say?”

Beverly propped a hand on her hip. “I don’t remember a sexy elf cousin on the family tree. Trust me, I remember these things.”

I glanced over to Iris who was staring at Soren with the same amount of confusion as me. She gave me a “what the fuck” look.

Dolores, to her credit, didn’t react outwardly, but I saw it—the narrowing of her brow, the flicker of recognition in her eyes. She knew something.

Soren’s gaze flicked to her. “Ah. You do remember,” he said, sensing the same shift in her that I did.

Dolores’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I remember a Tex from old records. But that was nearly two hundred years ago.”

“Two hundred and seventeen,” Soren corrected smoothly. “Not that anyone cared to remember.”

I crossed my arms. “Okay, enough with this crap. Let’s get to the part where you explain why you stole from my family’s vault and put people’s lives in danger.”

Soren’s smile vanished, and his pale blue eyes turned glacial. “Because your family took everything from me. And now, I’m taking it back.”

“Back?” I repeated, my pulse quickening. “What is he talking about?”

Dolores inhaled sharply, like something had clicked into place. “You’re the bastard son of Theron Davenport.”

Soren’s jaw ticked. “Not a bastard. The rightful heir.”

Huh. Now, this was unexpected.

Ruth’s eyes rounded, looking excited. “Does this mean you’re our great-great-uncle?”

Soren’s eye twitched. “I prefer cousin.”

Ruth clapped her hands. “Cousin! We just found out we have another relative. Isn’t this great!”

“No, Ruth,” snapped Dolores. “It’s not. This isn’t like the time you found that lost puppy. This… elf wants something from us. And I’m guessing we’re not going to like it.”

“Oh.” Ruth’s face fell, but she was still looking at Soren with a bit of hope.

Cedric chuckled under his breath, but when I shot him a glare, he just shrugged. “What? This is the most entertaining family reunion I’ve ever attended.”

I pulled my attention back to Soren. “Look, I don’t know what history books you’ve been reading, but just because you share some DNA with us doesn’t mean you get to come in and steal from our vault.”

But now it all made sense. The fact that he was able to get past the wards was because he had Davenport blood. He was, in a disturbing way, one of us.

Soren’s gaze snapped to mine. “Your vault?” His voice dripped with venom as he took another step forward, and for the first time, I felt the full force of his magic press down on me like a crushing wave. My lungs clenched. My bones felt like they might crack.

“What’s in that vault belongs to me. By blood. By birthright. By everything that was stolen from me.” His pale blue eyes burned with fury. “Your family took it all. My father’s name. His legacy. His power. And now you stand here, claiming what’s mine as if I don’t exist?” His lip curled. “I’ve existed far longer than you, cousin.”

I glanced at my tall aunt. “Is that true?”

Dolores exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. “Theron Davenport had an affair with an elven noblewoman. When his indiscretions were discovered, the council deemed the child illegitimate. His claim to the family name was erased. He was… erased.”

Soren’s lips twisted. “That’s a polite way of saying I was exiled, hunted, and cast aside like trash.”

Yikes. Even I had to admit, that sucked.

“My parents were secretly married,” continued Soren. “But you Davenports saw it as a betrayal of your bloodline.”

Beverly tilted her head. “Wait, wait, wait. So all of this…” She gestured around. “The black market, the cursed artifacts. This was all because you had daddy issues?”

Soren’s expression darkened. “This is about justice.”

I arched a brow. “And justice looks like throwing deadly relics into the hands of idiots?”

His eyes flashed. “Justice looks like reclaiming my power.”

A dangerous hum of energy pulsed in the air, crackling like static electricity and making my skin prickle.

Dolores tensed beside me, her fingers twitching at her sides. “What exactly do you think you’re reclaiming, Tex? Because all I see is a petty little thief who couldn’t earn his own power, so he decided to steal it.”

Soren’s jaw twitched, and for the first time, his carefully constructed mask cracked. “You would see it that way. Wouldn’t you?” His voice was smooth, but there was something underneath it now. Something sharp, something furious. “You Davenports never change. Always hoarding power. Always deciding who is worthy and who isn’t.”

I folded my arms, despite the fact that every instinct in my body was screaming at me that this guy was dangerous. “I don’t know, buddy. You sound like someone who just didn’t make the cut.”

That did it.

The air around him surged with magic—thick, oppressive, almost suffocating. My breath hitched, and I took a step back as an invisible force pressed against me. It felt like my bones were vibrating, like the very ground beneath me was trembling from his rage.

Whoops.

Soren let out a humorless laugh. “You really have no idea. Do you? I did this all for you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “For us?”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I planned every step, every move, every misstep you made. And you followed along, like obedient little sheep.”

Beverly frowned. “We are not sheep.”

“We might be sheep,” Ruth whispered.

Dolores let out a slow, measured breath, but I could see the tic in her jaw. “Why?” she demanded. “What could you possibly gain from this?”

Soren’s eyes gleamed with something sharp, something victorious. “Your family has held power for centuries. You’ve shaped this town, dictated its laws, policed its magic.” His fingers twitched, and I could feel his magic coiling around us like an invisible snake, slithering and tightening. “You hold the title of Merlins, the gatekeepers of balance, the protectors of the community. People trust you. They rely on you.”

He took a step forward, the air around him crackling. “But trust is a fragile thing. Isn’t it? And once it’s broken, it can never be fully restored.”

I knew where this was going. “That’s what this was about?” I scoffed, trying to keep my voice steady. “You wanted to break our reputation?”

“Oh, I didn’t just want to break it,” he said, his voice a purr. “I wanted to shatter it. To make sure no one ever looked at a Davenport with anything but suspicion and contempt. To ensure that the name you hold so dear is forever stained.”

A cold dread slithered through me.

Soren tilted his head. “It wasn’t enough to take what was stolen from me. No, no. I wanted more than that. I wanted to see you fall, to watch you crumble under the weight of your own mistakes. To watch Hollow Cove turn its back on you, just as your ancestors turned their backs on me.”

His voice grew darker, filled with something old and twisted. “Your family took everything from me—my name, my legacy, my right to stand among you.” His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. “So I took something from you. Your precious artifacts. Your responsibility. Your reputation. And your Gray Council will do the rest.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “You wanted the Gray Council to come after us.”

“Oh, they will,” he said smoothly. “Once they put all the pieces together, once they realize every single cursed object originated from your vault? You’ll be lucky if they don’t lock you in a cell next to the criminals you claim to protect this town from.”

Beverly exhaled sharply. “He’s trying to ruin us.”

Dolores’s jaw was tight. “No. He’s trying to erase us.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Soren’s face. “And you made it so easy.” He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “It was almost disappointing how quickly the pieces fell into place. All it took was a few missing artifacts, a few well-placed rumors, a handful of desperate people willing to buy power they didn’t understand… and you did the rest.”

My fingers curled into fists. “You mean we tried to stop the damage you caused.”

Soren’s eyes locked on to mine. “And look where that got you.”

The air in the tent was stifling, charged with energy so thick it made my skin prickle.

I could see it all now—his entire plan, laid out like a cruel game of chess. He hadn’t just wanted to hurt us. He wanted to dismantle us, piece by piece. To turn us into the villains, to strip away every last shred of trust the town had in us.

“Revenge,” I said. “This is about revenge. All of it.”

“I wanted you to feel what it’s like to lose everything. To lose your name. Your reputation. To be shunned and turned away from every paranormal community.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “And I let you walk right into this.”

I nodded. “We kinda did.”

Soren’s presence radiated so much power I swore the ground shook beneath him. “You don’t deserve what you have.”

Dolores let out a sharp breath. “And you do?”

His eyes gleamed. “Yes.”

Magic crackled in the air, thick with fury. His body vibrated with it, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was barely holding himself back.

“For generations, my family was erased. Denied. Cast aside because we weren’t pure enough.” His voice turned sharp, raw. “Because we were mixed. Because we weren’t worthy.”

Half-breed. That was what he was saying.

“You Davenports took everything from me.” His voice grew louder, angrier. “My name. My inheritance. My legacy.” His eyes flashed, glowing with a near unnatural light. “And now, I’m taking it back.”

Ruth slowly raised her hand. “Okay, but, like… wouldn’t therapy have been easier?”

Soren’s power surged again. A gust of wind tore through the tent and knocked over a table of artifacts, sending priceless objects crashing to the ground.

Ruth squeaked and dropped her hand.

The corner of Dolores’s mouth twitched with restraint. “You can’t rewrite history just because you didn’t like your role in it.”

Soren’s lips curled in a snarl, his breath coming harder now. “No? Then watch me.”

The magic in the tent coiled tighter, thicker, suffocating. He was furious. And I didn’t just mean “regular” furious. This was something else. Something worse.

I had been around powerful witches, demons, shifters, and gods. But this? This was something I’d never felt before. It was like a combination of the elemental magic of a hundred witches. A thousand.

His rage wasn’t just emotional. It was tangible, an actual force, a storm on the verge of breaking loose. He wanted us to feel his anger.

I steadied myself. “You talk a big game,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “But all I see is someone throwing a temper tantrum because he didn’t get a seat at the table.”

The elf’s hands twitched at his side. “You Davenports will burn for what you’ve done,” he whispered as his power surged again—so strong, I swore the entire tent groaned under the pressure.

And I realized, with a sinking feeling, that he intended to do just that.

To take us down, one by one.

He had set up this entire thing just to get us here, to this exact moment.

We’d walked straight into his trap.

And now, we were about to find out exactly what kind of monster he really was.

24

What does a witch do when she’s been trapped and she knows it? She tries to play it cool. That’s what.

“We’re going to take those illegal artifacts that you stole from us, and we’re all walking out of here.” See? Totally doable.

Soren’s pale face darkened, so did his eyes until they were dark blue, nearly black. “I don’t think so.”

“Uh… Tessa?” said Iris next to me. “He looks really mad.”

“No shit.” Okay, so the elf had some serious mojo. But so did I. And so did my aunts. I stood my ground. I wasn’t about to show any fear to this elf. In fact, I didn’t feel fear, just anger that he was messing with my family.

A sudden crackling sound filled the air.

I turned just in time to see Cedric raise his hand. A bolt of dark energy shot out, slamming into Iris.

She gasped, her body locking up before collapsing to the ground.

A chill shot through me. “Iris!”

Cedric moved forward, casually adjusting his jacket like he hadn’t just blasted his sister unconscious. “Relax, Merlin. She’s fine. But she’s not staying for this part.” He crouched beside Iris, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You’ll thank me for this later, little sister.”

Then, without another word, he scooped her up into his arms and disappeared in a swirl of dark magic.

Motherfracker.

Soren didn’t even flinch at Cedric’s grand exit. He just turned back to us, utterly calm. Too calm. “Now that distractions are out of the way,” he said smoothly, “we can get down to business.”

I yanked on my magic. I half-expected him to have put some kind of magical restraint in place, but no. My power surged, hot and ready. Oh, buddy. You picked the wrong family to screw with.

I wiggled my fingers for show. Because, why not? “If you hurt my aunts, you’re going down, Legolas.”

Soren tilted his head, amusement flickering across his annoyingly perfect face. “Hurt? I’m going to do more than hurt.”

Before I could get another quip out, a gust of unnatural wind slammed into me like a pissed-off hurricane, lifting me clean off my feet.

I spun. Like, full-blown midair cartwheel—arms flailing, legs kicking, probably looking like one of those inflatable tube men outside a used car dealership.

Then—bam. I hit the ground. On my butt. Hard.

The impact sent a shockwave of embarrassment straight to my soul.

Oh. Oh no.

Did I just—

A tiny, traitorous dribble of pee confirmed it. Wonderful.

I moaned, rolling onto my side and gasping for breath. “Okay,” I wheezed. “That was rude.”

Soren barely even looked fazed. If anything, he looked mildly disappointed. “Get up, cousin. I expected more from you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still a little rusty from giving birth recently.” I gritted my teeth, grabbing the ground to push myself up. “Round two coming up.”

Okay, time to get serious. After I reclaimed my dignity.

But Dolores beat me to it.

My tall aunt didn’t wait for Soren. She was already moving, her hands lifting as white-hot magic crackled at her fingertips. “Aerofero!”

The scent of pine needles and earth filled the tent, just as the air around us shifted, a violent cyclone forming at her command. The wind howled as it twisted in an instant, forming a controlled vortex before launching itself straight at Soren.

And that smug bastard didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he raised one hand, and the wind stopped midair, turning back on itself like a rabid beast responding to its master’s call. It shot back at Dolores with double the force.

She barely had time to lift a defensive barrier before the impact sent her skidding back, her boots digging trenches in the dirt. Her eyes widened.

“You think you can fight me with elemental magic?” Soren laughed, dark and ancient. “I was born from it.”

Beverly cracked her knuckles. “All right, pretty boy. Your skin might be smoother than mine, but let’s see how you handle this.”

She pulled her hands up—her magic swirling around her, bright white light bursting forth. “Ignis Voco!”

Flames erupted, curling like a fiery serpent, twisting and snapping as it roared toward Soren.

And just as easily as he had with Dolores, Soren sighed like we were exhausting him, and then the fire turned to ice in midair.

The flames froze solid, shattering into glittering shards before they could touch him.

“Oh.” Beverly blinked. “Well, that’s not good.”

Dolores was already recovering, her fingers curling as she called upon her White witch magic. The ground beneath Soren’s feet cracked and trembled, jagged rocks shooting up in sharp, towering spikes.

This time, I saw Soren exhale. Like he was mildly inconvenienced.

He lifted a hand—and the earth went still.

And then the entire cavern shook as he sent a shockwave through the ground, turning the spikes to dust.

His power, ancient, raw, merciless, slammed outward.

Dolores barely had time to throw up a shield, but it didn’t hold.

The moment Soren unleashed his power, it was like the entire room caved in on itself. A blast of raw, ancient magic, thick, heavy, suffocating, crashed into her shield like a wrecking ball. For half a second, I thought she had it.

And then the shield shattered.

The force of the impact hit Dolores. She didn’t just stumble. She was flung. Launched backward like a ragdoll, her body twisting in midair before slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. Hard. Too hard.

“No!” I screamed, my stomach plummeting.

She wasn’t moving.

I drew in a ragged breath, terror squeezing my ribs. My ears were ringing, my vision tunneling, but I couldn’t look away from where she’d landed, sprawled out with limbs at odd angles and her dark hair a mess against the dirt floor.

“Dolores?” My voice barely broke past my throat.

Nothing.

A sharp spike of panic punched through my gut, hot and nauseating. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be the strongest. The unshakable one. The one who lectured me about taking unnecessary risks and scolded Beverly for her ridiculous outfit choices. She couldn’t just be lying there.

“Get up,” I rasped, my throat tight. “Please. Get up.”

I took a shaky step forward, my knees threatening to buckle, but before I could reach her—

Soren moved. His cold, impassive gaze flicked between Beverly and Ruth. Like he was picking out his next victim.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Oh, hell no. Not again.

Beverly roared, pulling on her magic so fast and hard that the entire room pulsed with energy.

White light crackled at her fingertips, raw and powerful, sparking like a live wire. She wasn’t playing around anymore. The playful seductress who had flirted her way onto a stage in her underwear was gone. Now, she was a Merlin, a Davenport, a witch with enough power to level a city block.

She launched her attack. A roaring bolt of energy shot from her palms, bright enough to blind and hot enough to incinerate. A direct hit like that would leave nothing but a smoking crater where Soren stood.

But Soren? He barely even looked up.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he deflected the spell like he was swatting away an annoying fly.

And sent it straight back at her. Twice as strong.

The force of Beverly’s own magic slammed into her chest like a battering ram. She let out a choked gasp, her body arching as she was lifted off the ground, the blast hitting her so hard that I swear I felt it in my ribs.

She flew, straight into a heavy wooden table, crashing hard. The entire thing splintered on impact, sending cursed artifacts flying, glass shattering, books tumbling to the ground in a mess of magic and destruction.

Beverly crumpled against the wreckage, her body limp and her breathing ragged.

She coughed, blood splattering her lips, her once-pristine makeup now streaked with red. Her chest heaved, but she didn’t try to get up. She couldn’t.

I inhaled sharply, rage exploding inside me.

I whipped my head around just in time to see Ruth launching glass vials at Soren with the wild precision of an unhinged alchemist on a warpath.

“You bad, bad cousin!” she shrieked, her voice cracking, her cheeks flushed with fury, and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You’re no Davenport!”

Soren barely spared her a glance.

Glass shattered on impact, exploding in a burst of colorful, toxic-smelling smoke.

One potion hissed as it hit the ground, sending up tendrils of glowing green fog. Another burst into violet sparks, crackling with unstable magic. A third fizzled like acid, eating into the wooden floor beneath his feet.

For a second, just one hopeful, heart-pounding second, I thought Ruth might have done it. But then, the smoke shifted.

And Soren stepped out.

Completely unscathed. His eyes locked on to Ruth, his expression still eerily calm. Too calm.

Then he lifted a hand. Ruth’s feet left the ground. Her breath caught, her arms flailing and her bag of remaining potions swinging wildly at her side.

“Uh-oh,” she muttered, kicking her legs uselessly.

Then Soren flicked his wrist.

Ruth whipped backward, her bag of potions snapping open as the contents spilled out in a glittering arc.

The moment the potions made contact, magic combusted around her like fireworks.

One potion—a vial of liquid lightning—exploded in a web of blue-white electricity, snapping and crackling across her skin.

Ruth let out a strangled gasp, her body jerking violently as her limbs locked up like a marionette caught in a storm.

Her mouth opened in a soundless shriek as her spells turned against her, one after the other, warping reality in unpredictable ways.

Another potion shattered. This one was a glowing turquoise color, and her entire body pulsed with magical energy.

For a moment, she hovered there, her form crackling with unstable magic, her wide eyes darting around frantically.

Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, she dropped.

She hit the ground with a thud, her body still twitching as the static of the lightning potion danced along her skin.

I watched, horrified, as Ruth tried to lift her head, but her muscles spasmed, another sharp crackle of energy snapping through her limbs. Her arms twitched uselessly, her face contorted in shock, pain, and the kind of betrayal that cut deeper than any spell.

And then she went still. Like the others, like every last member of my family, collapsed around me, defeated, broken.

And I was the only one left standing.

I whipped around to Soren, my entire body vibrating with fury.

“You son of a bitch. You’re going to pay for that.” Heat inside me surged, white-hot and burning as it tore through my veins. Magic. My magic.

And it wanted blood.

Soren turned to me now, his expression unreadable. “This is what you call the great Davenport power?” His voice was laced with something I hadn’t heard before. Not just amusement. Disappointment. “Pathetic.”

I shook—not with fear but with fury.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the heat of my magic surge through me.

Soren tilted his head slightly, sensing it. His lips curled in amusement, his too-perfect face a picture of smug satisfaction. “Ah. The Shadow witch.”

“Ah. The elf bastard.” My demon side stirred, rolling in my gut like a beast stretching its limbs after a long, delicious nap. Heat spiked through my veins, an electric pulse crawling over my skin like static before a storm.

I grinned, though I might have snarled. “I am so going to kick your ass.”

Soren’s eyes flashed, something ancient, something powerful lurking behind them. “Let’s find out.”

Then he moved.

Or—all of him moved.

Because suddenly—there wasn’t just one Soren.

There were five.

My breath caught as his body split, the air shimmering and warping, as duplicates stepped out from him like echoes come to life.

Five identical Sorens stood before me, each one just as solid, just as smug, just as terrifying.

I blinked. “Oh, come on.”

The Soren directly in front of me offered a cool, amused smile, stepping forward just as the others did the same. Perfectly in sync.

I swallowed, my heart thrashing.

One Soren was already a nightmare. But five?

Well, that was a kick in the magical nuts.

25

Istared at the identical versions of the elf, each standing perfectly still, their eerie, dark blue eyes locked on to me with the same knowing smile.

“Well,” I muttered. “This is new.”

My body coiled, every muscle screaming at me to run, but I wasn’t about to run. Not when my aunts were lying unconscious around me, not when Soren was still standing, still grinning, still acting like he had already won.

One of the Sorens tilted his head, an amused glint in his eye. “You look nervous, cousin.”

“Please.” I scoffed. “I’ve been more nervous watching Beverly parallel park.” Totally true.

Another Soren—identical sneer, identical infuriatingly perfect face—stepped closer. “Or you could surrender now and save yourself the embarrassment.”

I snorted. “You don’t know me very well. Do you? I don’t do surrender. But I can do a perfect cat-eye while driving.”

The first Soren—no, maybe the third?—tilted his head. “No? Then you do humiliation?”

And then they all moved at once.

Oh shit!

One Soren flicked his wrist, sending a stream of fire racing toward me.

Another threw out his arms and the ground beneath my feet exploded upward, sending me stumbling.

The third Soren summoned a wall of ice, cutting off my escape.

The fourth conjured a gust of wind so strong it knocked me sideways.

And the fifth? He just stood there. Watching. Waiting.

The real one, maybe? If I got the real Soren, would the other four disappear? It was worth a shot.

“Okay,” I wheezed, wiping a smear of dirt from my cheek as I stood up. “So, quick question. Is this a fight or a supernatural Cirque du Soleil?”

The Sorens laughed in eerie unison. My creepy-meter just hit a level it was never meant to reach.

“This is me playing with you, cousin,” one of them said, stepping through the swirling mist his magic had left behind. “Letting you run, squirm, flail around before I really start.”

I balled my hands at my sides, magic burning beneath my skin.

No. I wasn’t going to be some pawn in his game.

I yanked at my power, letting the raw energy build up, and then threw my arms out. “Fulgur!”

A jagged bolt of white-purple lightning snapped through the air—

And hit nothing.

The Soren I’d aimed for vanished, the bolt fizzing out as it slammed into the tent wall.

“Damn it,” I hissed.

“You missed,” one of the Sorens taunted.

Another tsked. “Sloppy, Merlin. That’s disappointing.”

The fourth one let out a mocking sigh. “I thought you were supposed to be powerful.”

Okay, screw this.

I threw out both hands. “Inflitus!”

A wave of kinetic force exploded outward, rippling the ground and sending dust flying.

But again, nothing.

Well, that’s not good.

Another Soren advanced, and as he moved, the air around him shimmered, almost like heat waves on pavement.

Damn it. My mind raced. How do you fight five versions of the same guy?

Very carefully.

“How about I make it easy for you?” One of the Sorens raised a hand.

The temperature in the tent dropped instantly.

Ice crackled along the floor, crawling like frostbite and curling around my boots. At the same time, the wind howled to life, whipping through the tent so violently the fabric snapped like a ship’s sail in a storm.

I threw out my arms, bracing myself.

One Soren chuckled. “Elves don’t just control the elements, cousin. We are the elements.”

He raised a hand, and suddenly, the wind exploded outward, lifting me off my feet.

I spun in the air, flailing wildly before crashing to the ground with all the grace of a drunk giraffe. Stars burst in my vision, pain radiating from my tailbone, and I groaned.

Above me, one of the Sorens sighed, shaking his head. “Disappointing.”

I gritted my teeth. “Oh, yeah? How about a little bit of this!” My hand shot up. “Fulgur!”

A bolt of white-purple lightning crackled from my palm, slicing through the air.

It struck.

The Soren I hit vanished in a wisp of shadow.

I pushed myself up. “One down, four to go.”

The remaining four Sorens spread out, moving like synchronized dancers and circling me in a slow, measured pace. Real. Not real. Real. Not real. My brain scrambled to figure out which was which.

And then, they attacked.

One blasted a firestorm toward me.

Another summoned a spear of ice, hurling it at my chest.

A third sent the ground beneath me rippling like water and knocking me off balance.

And the fourth? He did nothing—just stood there, watching, his arms folded with a damn smile on his face. Bastard. Or was it bastards? No idea.

“Declinare!” I threw up a white shield, deflecting the ice spear just in time.

I leaped over the rippling ground, twisting midair to dodge the flames. But the heat still licked at my face, the scent of burning fabric filling my nose.

Crap. That was my only decent jacket.

I hit the ground, rolling onto my feet just as the last Soren flicked his fingers, and the flames vanished, replaced with a suffocating gust of wind.

I staggered back, barely holding my ground.

The four remaining Sorens circled me, moving like predators, their identical dark blue eyes gleaming in amusement.

Yeah, I really hated these guys.

“Did you really think you could win this?” the Soren directly in front of me asked, his voice smooth and condescending, like he was lecturing a particularly dumb toddler.

I clenched my fists, my body screaming in protest. “I don’t need to win. I just need to beat you.”

Soren laughed a slow, arrogant chuckle. “Oh, cousin, you have no idea what you’re up against.”

The other Sorens offered matching, taunting smiles, shifting around me and closing in.

“Maybe not,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “But I’m known in these parts as someone who wings it.” Totally true.

And then I moved.

I dropped low, throwing my hands out. ”Inflitus!” A concussive blast rippled outward. The force knocked back two of the Sorens, sending them tumbling across the ground.

Yay me!

The third dodged, flicking a hand, and a spear of ice shot toward me.

Crap.

“Protego!” I screamed, just as the ice shattered against my magic in a burst of frost. I turned, spotting another Soren, and hurled a bolt of lightning straight at his chest.

It hit—hard.

For a split second, his form flickered, his body crackling with energy. Then he let out a distorted, almost static-filled hiss as his entire frame sizzled and popped like a soap bubble in a bonfire. A second later, he was gone.

Damn it. Not the real guy.

“Wrong again,” one of the others crooned, his lips twitching with cruel delight.

A column of fire erupted beneath my feet. I leaped back. But not fast enough. The heat seared my leg, sending pain exploding through me. It hurt like a sonofabitch. I hit the ground hard, rolling to put out the smoldering fabric.

A shadow loomed over me.

I flung out my hands. “Cataracta!” A sheet of water crashed down on the nearest Soren.

He flicked his hand. The water froze solid, midair, shattering into a thousand glittering shards.

Of course.

My chest heaved. My limbs felt heavy. My magic was draining. Fast. And I wasn’t making a dent.

Soren smiled, watching me struggle. “Tired already?”

“Oh, I’m just getting warmed up, you pale bastards,” I panted. Then I charged.

I slammed my fist forward and shouted, “Inflitus!” A pulse of kinetic force rippled through the air, aimed straight for his smug, supermodel-perfect gut.

He caught it. Actually. Freaking. Caught. It. Like I’d just tossed him a damn frisbee.

And then—because he was a massive freaking overachiever—he flung it back at me.

I flew backward, my spine slamming into the dirt, hard. I lay there, gasping, choking, my vision swimming.

One of the Sorens prowled closer. His boots crunched over the ground, slow and deliberate, like this was a leisurely Sunday afternoon and not a full-blown magical beatdown.

The other three Sorens fanned out around him, their movements eerily synchronized. They didn’t speak, didn’t breathe, just stood there like creepy magical mannequins waiting to strike. Which one was the real Soren? Hell if I knew.

“Are we done yet?” the center Soren asked, his voice light, amused, insufferable.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself onto my shaking, jelly-like knees. My body screamed in protest, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me stay down.

One of the left Sorens chuckled, low and dark. “She’s got spirit.”

The right Soren tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Not for much longer.”

The Soren nearest me crouched low, tilting his head like he was examining a broken toy he wasn’t sure was worth fixing.

“You fought well,” he murmured, almost admiringly. “But you were never going to win.”

I swallowed back the wave of nausea, trying very hard not to pass out and lose the only thing I had left—my dignity. “I’m not done yet.”

His smile sharpened. “You’re done. All you Davenports are finished.”

I coughed, dragging in a breath through the pain. “Listen, buddy, I don’t know if you missed the memo, but I don’t even know you.”

Soren’s eyes flashed. “No,” he agreed, his voice smooth, almost pitying. “You don’t. And that’s the real tragedy. Isn’t it?”

I blinked. “I—what?”

The left Soren leaned closer. “You don’t know your history.”

The right Soren tilted his head. “Your family erased it.”

The one behind me whispered against my ear, sending a full-body shiver down my spine, “Erased me.”

That was unfairly creepy. “Okay, first of all, boundaries. Second, I wasn’t even born when any of this happened, so let’s not lump me in with whatever medieval grudge you’ve been nursing.”

The Soren facing me let out a slow exhale. “You don’t get it. Do you? The Davenports took everything from me. From my bloodline.”

I frowned. “Okay, but not me. You wanna be mad at someone, dig up my great-great-great-grandwhatever and yell at them.”

The Soren’s face darkened, his hands curling into fists. The air around us crackled, charged with raw energy.

“It wasn’t just them. It was all of you. Generations of Davenports, pretending I never existed.” His breath came harder now, his magic pulsing against my skin like a pressure building inside my ribs.

I scoffed. “Right, because that was totally me. Little baby Tessa, sitting in a high chair, sipping on a juice box, plotting your downfall.”

The left Soren’s lip curled. “You think this is funny?”

The right Soren’s eyes flared. “Your family made me invisible.”

The front Soren took a step closer. “I’m done being invisible.”

I forced a smile. “It’s not my fault you never made it on the Davenport family tree.”

The Sorens surrounded me now, boxing me in like a pack of wolves closing in on wounded prey. I could feel his magic pressing against my chest, trying to squeeze the air out of my lungs.

“You don’t get to pretend I don’t exist anymore,” he growled. “And you don’t get to stop me.”

I fought to keep my expression neutral. Panic wouldn’t help. “Look, I get that you feel wronged. And maybe—just maybe—you have a point. But if you think I’m just going to lie down and let you rewrite history in your image, you clearly haven’t done your homework on me.”

The Soren’s grin sharpened. “You will if you’re dead.” His eyes darkened. “You have no more magic. I can sense it.”

“You can?” Freaky. But he was wrong. I had some. Just not enough to beat him.

No tricks. No clever comebacks. No last-minute miracles.

For the first time in a long time, I realized… I couldn’t win. Not against this. Him. Them.

The only thing I could do was ley line my ass back home. But that meant leaving my aunts behind. Were they even alive? If they were, they wouldn’t be for long if I abandoned them to the Sorens.

And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ran away like a coward.

I wasn’t a coward.

I was a Davenport.

I was a Merlin.

I was a witch with giant lady balls (yes, I know how that sounds) and I wasn’t about to leave a fight.

Not in my lifetime.

And then… I realized I had one more card to play.

26

“You’re a liar,” I said, straightening as much as my battered body would allow. “You’re nothing but a liar.”

Soren’s cold eyes sharpened like a blade.

Oh yeah. That got his attention.

“You weren’t cast aside because you’re part elf,” I continued, my voice dripping with mock sympathy. “There’s more to it than that. Isn’t there?” I tilted my head, pretending to ponder. “No, see, I read the Davenport history books, and I don’t recall any mention of a Davenport elf sob story.” Total lie. But I was going with it.

His jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides as magic crackled around his fingertips like a storm itching to break loose.

I smiled. Poked the bear. Now to set it on fire.

“It’s because your father wasn’t even a witch,” I said, letting my voice drop into a low mock whisper, like I was letting him in on a dirty little secret. I leaned forward, my eyes locked on his. “He was a dud.” My own mother was, so that was totally possible.

The air snapped like a whip. The four Sorens tensed, their expressions flickering between rage and something else. Doubt?

The Soren facing me flared his nostrils. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I arched a brow. “Oh? So, you mean to tell me that your big, scary ‘I was betrayed’ speech had zero lies in it? Please. Every villain has a little distorted history in their tragic backstory.”

His fingers curled into fists, his magic surging outward, pressing against my skin like a crushing wave.

I forced myself not to show how much that freaking hurt.

“You have no idea what it was like,” he bit out.

“Oh, I can guess,” I said, tapping my chin. “Let me paint the scene. Big dramatic moment, your dad standing before the Davenports, all noble, asking for acceptance, but he’s got no magic. How could a family that literally breathes magic accept a dead battery into the fold?” I tilted my head. “That’s what happened. Isn’t it?”

A vein in Soren’s temple throbbed.

Oh. Oh. I had hit something.

“I bet your dad begged,” I added because, apparently, I had a death wish. “Begged to stay. Begged to be accepted. But nope, the Davenports saw him as a weak link and tossed him out.”

Soren’s magic pulsed violently. The tent’s fabric rippled as dust shook from the ceiling beams.

I should shut up. Really. I should. But why start now?

“Which makes you…” I exhaled slowly, enunciating every word, “not even a real Davenport.”

Boom.

The magic in the air exploded, knocking me backward a few inches. The other Sorens staggered, their forms flickering for a second.

Oh. Interesting. He hadn’t meant to do that. I barely contained a grin. So he wasn’t as in control as he thought.

Soren’s chest rose and fell, his hands shaking and his magic crackling around him like an unstable live wire.

“You think you can mock me?” he snarled, his cool facade cracking. “You think you’re better than me?”

“Well, technically, yeah,” I said, brushing imaginary dust off my pants. “Since, you know, I was actually accepted into the family.” I widened my eyes. “Oh, shit. Does that make me more of a Davenport than you? That’s gotta sting.”

The four Sorens lunged at the same time.

I dodged just in time, rolling sideways as I felt the whoosh of displaced air where they had nearly grabbed me.

Okay. Maybe I was pushing it.

But I wasn’t done yet.

I spun, my magic flickering weakly, but I held my ground. “You’ve been lying to yourself for centuries. Haven’t you?” I continued. “You weren’t shunned because you’re a half-elf. You were shunned because your father had no magic, and you weren’t Davenport enough.”

Soren’s eyes blazed with pure rage, his magic whipping around him in violent, chaotic swirls.

I was getting to him.

“You have spent two hundred years trying to prove you belong,” I continued. “Trying to prove you should have been born into this family. That you should’ve been its heir. But you weren’t. Were you?”

His fingers twitched—and the three other Sorens blurred, flickering like unstable static.

Holy hell. I was right.

His illusions were tied to his emotions. The angrier he got, the harder it was for him to maintain control.

Oh, this was my in. And now I knew who was the real Soren.

“Let’s be honest. You weren’t denied power. You were denied validation.” I took a slow, deliberate step forward. “And now you want to destroy the Davenports, not just because of revenge but because you think it will finally make you feel worthy.”

The real Soren growled.

Yeah, I had him now.

“You think if you erase us from history, you’ll fix what’s broken in you?” I exhaled sharply. “That’s pathetic.”

The other three Sorens trembled, their forms shimmering like they were about to crack apart.

Soren screamed in fury, and a shockwave of power blasted outward, hitting me like a sledgehammer to the ribs.

I flew backward, my head slamming against the dirt and my vision exploding in white-hot pain.

Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed that hard.

The world spun. My body throbbed. But I forced my eyes open, blinking through the agony.

Soren was panting. Struggling. His chest heaved, his hands still shaking.

His illusions flickered again.

I was right. He was too emotionally invested in this. He was losing his cool and his grip on his magic.

I smiled, despite the pain splitting my skull in half.

“Hit a nerve, cousin?”

Soren’s magic crackled in the air like a live wire, pulsing with erratic energy. His illusions flickered, the other three versions of him shimmering like glitching holograms. His chest heaved, his hands trembled, and for the first time, I saw it—uncertainty.

Soren’s rage made the air thrum with raw power. “You don’t know when to shut up. Do you?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “It’s kind of my thing.”

The four Sorens raised their hands in unison, their magic crackling in the air, heat and energy swelling around them, pressing down on my chest like a closing fist.

But then… the air shivered.

The fabric of the tent seemed to pulse, like reality itself had caught a glitch. The walls flickered, rippling as if underwater. The faint hum of layered spells turned shrill, a high-pitched whine.

And then a thunderous crack split through the tent followed by an invisible shockwave that slammed outward, sending artifacts rattling in their cases. The space around us twisted, bent, and then broke.

The glamour hiding the black market peeled away like a veil ripped from a stage, its illusion crumbling in jagged, shimmering fragments that dissolved into nothing.

And through the now-exposed entrance—Marcus and Ronin burst in.

Soren’s head snapped toward them, his jaw tightening. His hold on his magic had slipped. He knew it. I knew it.

I blinked. “About damn time you showed up.”

Marcus’s gray eyes locked on to mine. He looked me over, checking for injuries. Yeah, I loved my wereape. His features pulled into a tight frown as he took in the scene. Four Sorens, my battered state, my aunts, unconscious or possibly dead, on the ground.

Ronin arched a brow at the four Sorens and then at my current almost-dying-but-not-quite position. “I feel like we missed the warm-up.” His smile faded. “Where’s Iris?”

“Cedric took her,” I told him, making sure to leave out the part where he’d magicked her unconscious so he could take her.

Ronin’s face shifted. “He took her? Where?”

I shook my head. “No idea. But I’m sure she’s safe. Probably back at his place.” I hated the bastard for tricking us, but I knew Iris was safe. At least he cared about his sister.

The half-vampire cracked his knuckles looking pissed. “After this smackdown, I’m going to get her back.”

“Of course,” I said. I doubted Cedric would keep Iris prisoner. Or would he? No idea.

Marcus leaned in, towering, the muscles in his neck flexing. “Sorry we’re late, babe,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. “Couldn’t find this damn place. It was like it didn’t exist, glamoured or something. But then, a few seconds ago…” He shrugged, his eyes dark with intent. “It just popped into view.”

I smiled. “Guess someone’s losing control of his magic.”

Soren’s magic surged, and his illusions flashed erratically, as if they were tearing apart at the seams. If I had to guess, I’d say his elf magic and witch magic were clashing now, fighting each other instead of working in sync.

Ronin rolled his shoulders, a wicked grin stretching across his face, baring his fangs. “Guess that’s our cue.” He flexed his hands, sharp talons sprouting from his fingertips.

Soren snarled and all four of him lunged.

In a blur of motion, Ronin vanished, reappearing in front of one of the Sorens and moving with his vamp speed.

The elf barely had time to react before Ronin’s fist connected with his jaw. The impact sent him flying, smashing into one of the wooden support beams, the entire tent shuddering.

The Soren staggered, but Ronin was already there, grabbing him by the collar and sinking his fangs into his shoulder.

The Soren screamed.

“Not so fun when the bloodsucker bites back, huh?” Ronin laughed, his voice a deep, dangerous growl.

The elf shoved him off, magic blasting outward, but Ronin was faster. He dodged the blow, his laughter dark, amused. He was enjoying this maybe a little too much.

I barely had time to react before Marcus’s entire body glowed white, shifting, expanding. Fur erupted from his skin, his muscles doubled in size, and his hands became massive fists.

And then Marcus was gone, replaced by a towering, silverback gorilla. He roared and launched himself at one of the elves. The ground trembled as the gorilla slammed into the elf, grabbing him by the throat and hurling him across the tent.

The Soren crashed through a table, sending cursed artifacts flying.

“Dats fur urrting mii wvyffe.” The gorilla pounded the ground with his fists, snarling, his eyes wild with protective fury.

That made me all giddy inside.

Soren coughed, staggering up with magic blazing around him. But Marcus was already on him, grabbing him, swinging him like a ragdoll and slamming him into the ground with bone-crushing force.

The last two Sorens circled me, their eyes glinting with pure malice.

Okay, yes, my magic was fading fast and my entire body ached. But I wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.

I squared my shoulders, raising my hands. “All right, you pale bastards. Let’s dance.”

One Soren struck first, throwing a wave of fire toward me.

I dodged, barely, feeling the searing heat graze my arm.

“Fulgur!”

A bolt of lightning shot from my palm, aimed straight at him—

But he vanished before it hit.

Motherfracker.

I turned just in time to see the other Soren behind me, his hand raised and magic crackling.

Crap.

“Protego!”

I threw up a shield just in time, the impact shaking my bones.

Soren laughed. “You’re fading, cousin.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah, well, you’re down to two, so who’s really losing here?”

His jaw ticked. And then he moved.

Too fast.

I barely saw it before I was slammed into the ground, hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

The remaining two Sorens stood over me, magic surging, ready to end me.

I braced myself for the pain. But it never came.

I blinked as a massive blur of fur and rage crashed into one of them—Marcus.

Ronin appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the last Soren and throwing him across the tent.

I gasped, dragging air into my lungs, as I rolled onto my knees. My body screamed in protest.

Soren, the real one now, staggered back, panting, his illusions finally gone.

Marcus stepped in front of me, solid and unmovable, his massive form radiating pure, protective menace.

Beside him, Ronin adjusted his cuffs, flashing a grin. “Hell of a party, Tess.”

“Glad you could make it,” I told him.

Soren swayed, his power flickering and his anger shaking the earth beneath us. He glared at me, fury burning in his eyes. “This isn’t over.”

I pushed to my feet, my entire body aching. My magic was drained to hell and still—I smiled.

“No, it’s not,” I agreed. “Because you owe me a new coat.”

Soren’s eyes flashed, his entire form shimmering—and then, he was gone.

The tent shuddered, the air settling and the magic dispersing. It was over. For now.

I exhaled sharply, my knees nearly buckling, but Marcus was there, catching me before I fell.

I looked up at him, his gray eyes scanning me, searching, worried. In just a few seconds he’d managed to shift back into his human form, his very naked human form. Not that I minded. I didn’t.

“You’re hurt,” said Marcus, his big hands cradling me gently.

“I’m okay,” I murmured, though I definitely wasn’t. But I would be.

Ronin cracked his neck. “Well, that was fun. Who the fuck was this guy?”

“Soren Tex, or should I say Soren Davenport.” Marcus and Ronin both looked at me like I’d sprouted horns. “He’s family.”

Ronin’s jaw dropped. “No shit.”

“Is that how he got into your family vault?” asked the chief.

“It is.”

“But what’s his deal?” asked my half-vampire friend. “Why do all of this?”

“Revenge,” I said, my voice hoarse and my entire body aching. “Long story. But first, we need to check on my aunts and then get all the missing artifacts packed and ready to go before the Gray Council gets here.”

Because we all knew they would. Somehow, word would get out. It always did. And when the Gray Council arrived, I couldn’t risk them connecting all these deadly, illegal artifacts back to our family vault.

Ronin gave a lazy stretch, rolling his shoulders like he’d just come back from a casual bar fight. “Good call. The last thing we need is those old bastards breathing down our necks.”

Marcus stayed close, his towering form solid beside me, as his eyes scanned the wreckage around us. His posture was tense, his protective instincts still dialed up to ten. He wasn’t relaxing until we were safe.

And honestly? Neither was I.

Another groan cut through the silence.

I spun, my heart lurching—Ruth. She stirred, her hand clutching her head as she sat up with a pained wince. “Ow.”

That one word was the best sound I’d heard all night.

I limped over to her side, helping her sit up properly. “You okay?”

She squinted at me. “I think so.” Then, blinking, she sniffed the air. “Why do I smell burnt hair?” Ruth frowned, patting her head, and then let out a small shriek. “Oh no, is that me? Did he fry my hair? Am I bald?”

“Not quite. But you can fix that,” I told her, knowing she had helped me multiple times with her magical hair growing ointment.

Ruth grinned. “I wouldn’t mind being bald. Makes us look smarter.”

Yup, only Ruth would say something like that.

Beverly let out a pained groan from the other side of the wrecked tent. I turned just in time to see her slowly pushing herself up, her sequined dress torn and her usually immaculate hair an absolute disaster.

She coughed, spitting something out. “Ugh. I think I swallowed dirt.”

Dolores stirred last, moving slower than the others. I rushed over just as she tried to sit up, her face twisting in pain.

“I swear,” she grumbled, her voice rough, “the next time I see that smug little elf, I’m hexing his balls off.”

My lips twitched. “Get in line.”

I let out a shaky breath. They were all okay. Battered. Beaten. But alive.

Marcus knelt beside me, and I was glad to see he’d managed to find his jeans in this mess. He helped Dolores sit up fully, scanning her for injuries, his jaw tight. “You took a bad hit.”

Dolores exhaled, rubbing her ribs. “I’ll live.”

Good. Because we barely had.

I glanced around at the destruction left behind—the shattered auction tables, the cracked floor, the smoke still curling in the air from our battle. And then my gaze flickered to the empty space where Soren had stood moments ago.

The air was still charged with his power, a lingering reminder that he had been here.

I took a slow, steadying breath, shaking off the exhaustion clawing at my limbs.

“We need to move,” I said, my voice firmer now. “We need to grab the artifacts and get the hell out of here before the Gray Council gets wind of this.”

“Yes, boss.” Ronin flashed a smile. “Finally. Let’s steal some shit.”

I sighed. “We’re not stealing. We’re reclaiming.”

Beverly waved a hand. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Marcus caught my gaze, his gray eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts. No words were needed. We both knew.

This wasn’t over.

Soren had lost the battle, but he wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. He’d be back—stronger, angrier, more determined. And next time? He wouldn’t just be after revenge.

He’d be out for blood.

Mine.

I exhaled slowly, my pulse steadying.

Let him come.

Because next time? I wasn’t just going to fight.

I was going to end this.

27

Isat on a hard wooden chair, shifting uncomfortably as I tried to keep Darian from launching himself off my lap like a tiny, determined escape artist. My butt had officially gone numb. Not a little numb—full-on, might-never-feel-my-own-ass-again numb.

I didn’t blame Darian for getting antsy. I was bored too.

We’d been stuck in Hollow Cove’s community center for the past two hours while a group of paranormals painstakingly counted votes for the town’s new mayor.

Yes. The mayor of Hollow Cove votes.

And, yes, somehow, I’d gotten tricked into being here.

Dolores stood next to the long folding table where three paranormals were hunched over ballots, counting and recounting like their lives depended on it.

Across from them, Martha sat stiffly, her manicured fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the table. Dolores? She was the picture of calm. Which was never a good sign. That was her war face.

Of course, both she and Martha were the final candidates for mayor. At first, there had been a third contender—Vance Something-or-Other—but he’d dropped out after only two days. Something about a mysterious stomach bug. (No one could confirm Ruth’s involvement, but the woman did know her way around a well-timed hex.)

So now, it was just the two witches. And the whole town was on edge.

Marcus and Lori stood off to the side with a few of his deputies, their expressions neutral, watching for any foul play. Which, honestly? Was smart. Because if a fight broke out, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Beyond the line of deputies, a scattering of townspeople sat in the folding chairs arranged in loose rows. It wasn’t a packed house, more of a mildly curious but not overly invested turnout. A few local business owners, some of the older coven members, and a handful of shifters and vamps who apparently had nothing better to do on a Monday night.

Two weeks had passed since the black-market disaster, and we’d barely managed to recover. Once my aunts had healed from their magical beatdowns, we’d retrieved every single cursed artifact from our vault and secured them in Marcus’s Jeep.

And just in time. Because the moment we locked up the last item, six black SUVs rolled up like we were starring in a paranormal cop drama.

The Gray Council.

Their officers had taken their sweet-ass time interrogating us, acting like they had all the time in the world to ask the same question in ten different ways.

Dolores, naturally, was not impressed.

“We’re Merlins,” she told them, her voice flat and unimpressed. “It’s our job to deal with illegal black markets and shut them down.”

One of the officers, a square-jawed prick with a permanent scowl, tilted his head as if he was actually considering her words. “Interesting,” he mused, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Because we have reason to believe that a group of witches were responsible for the break-in at our secure facility.”

Dolores’s brow arched. “Do you?”

He flipped through a black leather notebook, pretending to skim some very official-looking notes. “A very rare creature was stolen. Know anything about that?”

“Nope,” Ruth had answered a little too quickly.

The officer watched her a moment, and then said to Dolores, “So, let’s go ahead and confirm your whereabouts. Where were you the night of the warehouse break-in?”

Dolores did not blink. “Home. With my sisters.”

The officer’s lip twitched, as if he could already hear the lie he couldn’t prove. “How convenient,” he drawled.

Dolores tilted her head right back at him, her eyes sharp as flint. “You know what else is convenient?”

He looked at her warily. “What?”

“The fact that your security is so abysmal that someone waltzed in and stole several priceless artifacts from right under your noses.”

His scowl deepened. “You’re saying you had nothing to do with it?” he pressed.

Dolores clutched her chest dramatically. “Are you accusing me of a crime?”

Beverly, beside her, snorted.

The officer’s jaw twitched. “I find it hard to believe that a group of Merlins, who have a very strong history of meddling in things that aren’t their business, would just happen to be uninvolved.”

Dolores grinned. “And I find it hard to believe that a highly funded organization with dozens of security wards somehow let a few thieves waltz in and waltz out with enough contraband to start a doomsday cult.”

The officer’s gaze lingered on Dolores, clearly not buying a single word but not having the proof to push further.

Finally, he snapped his notebook shut.

“We’ll be in touch,” he muttered.

Dolores arched a brow. “Oh, I’ll be waiting.”

Luckily, the council had found enough other illegal contraband to keep themselves busy.

And somehow, by some miracle, we Davenports had dodged a bullet. For now.

All the deadly and illegal artifacts were back in our family vault and sealed with even more powerful wards than ever before. Well, according to Dolores.

“Let’s see if that elf can get through these babies,” Dolores had said after five hours of intense spell mastering.

But she’d been unconscious while I had been battling all five of the Sorens. She hadn’t seen the amount of power he wielded. And it was a crazy amount.

I just hoped that Dolores was right.

We’d had Gilbert’s funeral the next day, right before sunset, because apparently even in death, the man had to have a dramatic exit. It was held outside at the Hollow Cove Cemetery, a quiet stretch of land nestled between the woods and the cliffs, where the old paranormal families had their plots. The Davenport section wasn’t far from here, but Gilbert had been buried alongside his own lineage, right next to his dearly departed cousin, Gunner, whose gravestone looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since last century.

To my surprise, most of the townspeople showed up to pay their respects. Which, honestly? Was a little shocking. Gilbert had spent most of his time bossing people around, cutting budgets, and generally being a thorn in everyone’s side. But apparently, despite his grumbling and penny-pinching, the town had respected him. Or maybe they just came for the snacks afterward.

The ceremony was nice. Simple, with a few heartfelt speeches, some genuine, some just polite enough to keep people from getting hexed. The shifters in town gave a soft owl call as a final send-off, which might have been touching if it hadn’t also sounded a little like they were gossiping about who was going to take his job next.

And, weirdly, I missed him.

Yeah, the tiny, grumpy shifter who lived to cut my wages and lecture me about the town budget. The man who had once written me up for using magic to clean up after a bar fight instead of “following proper municipal procedures.” But Hollow Cove felt… different without him.

Ronin, who’d been sitting beside me in utter silence at the community center, finally spoke.

“Do you think Dolores is going to win?” His voice was low, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found.

I turned to him, studying his tense posture. Legs sprawled, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He hadn’t smiled once since that night at the black market. Not since he’d beaten the hell out of one of Soren’s illusions.

And I didn’t blame him.

Because… we still hadn’t found Iris.

Dolores had tried every tracking spell in her arsenal, and I mean every. Beverly had even consulted some seedy warlock who owed her a special favor. (His name was Jimothy, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.)

And still, nothing.

I looked for her every day for two weeks. I’d ley lined myself back to Cedric’s house in New York. No Cedric. No Iris. It was like Cedric had erased her from existence.

Ronin had done the same, driving back and forth from New York City, talking to Cedric’s friends, connections, even Iris’s family who were not excited to see the half-vampire on their doorstep. But they told him they hadn’t seen Cedric or Iris.

Did I believe them? I didn’t know. But I didn’t stop looking for her. I wouldn’t. Not until I found her.

“I’m not sure,” I finally answered. “Martha is quite popular, and she was on the board. Maybe people will vote for her because they’re used to her. They know what to expect.”

“And your aunt?” asked Ronin.

“If she wins, we’ll never hear the end of it,” said Beverly, sitting on my other side, lazily swirling her takeout coffee cup.

“That’s true,” Ruth agreed, seated next to Beverly, though she had a tiny flag in her hand that read “Dolores for Mayor” in glittery gold letters.

Ronin leaned back in his chair. “I had no idea Dolores actually wanted to be mayor.”

Beverly snorted. “Are you kidding? She doesn’t just want it. She needs it. Like air. Like coffee. Like a strict filing system for every aspect of her life.”

Ruth giggled. “Dolores does love to control things.” Her eyes widened as she added, “But she can be a real meany sometimes.” A small frown tugged at her lips, her expression turning thoughtful, like she was recalling a time when her older sister had been particularly mean.

I adjusted Darian on my lap as he tried to squirm away, his chubby little hands reaching for a shiny piece of foil on the floor. I barely caught him before he face-planted off my lap in pursuit of it.

“Sit still, you little gremlin,” I muttered, shifting him against me.

Ronin’s lips quirked. “So, what happens if she loses?”

“She won’t,” Beverly and Ruth said in unison.

I stared at them, surprised that they actually thought she could win. I mean, sure she had a good shot, but so did Martha.

Just then, the crowd hushed.

Martha stood stiffly near the front, looking confident but nervous, while Dolores stood right next to her, her arms folded across her chest like a general waiting to conquer enemy territory.

The official vote counter, an elderly male witch with a clipboard and the permanent expression of a man who was too old for this, cleared his throat.

“The votes have been tallied,” he announced.

A drumroll started, courtesy of Ruth, rattling her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

The witch gave her a look but continued, “The new mayor of Hollow Cove is…”

The room held its collective breath.

My heart hammered in my chest, and I held on to Darian a little too tightly, biting my lip.

“…Dolores Davenport.”

For half a second, there was silence.

“Get the fuck out,” expressed Ronin.

Then.

“I won!” Dolores roared, throwing her arms in the air. “I’m the new mayor!”

Dolores was already on a victory lap, shaking hands with people, giving curt nods like she was accepting a prestigious award.

Martha, to her credit, looked graceful in defeat. She smiled, shook Dolores’s hand, and muttered, “Congratulations, Dolores.”

“Congratulations, Mayor Dolores,” said my tall aunt, practically glowing with power.

I sighed, adjusting Darian again as he clapped his tiny hands. “Great. Now she has real authority. We’re doomed.”

Ronin clapped. His features were twisted like he wanted to smile but couldn’t. A pang hit my heart.

I was truly happy for my aunt, but Iris was still missing. And until I found her, I could never be truly happy. Neither could Ronin.

Iris, where are you?

Darian shifted in my lap, his tiny hands pressing against my chest before he lifted himself up, his gray eyes staring intently into mine. I blinked, caught off guard by the seriousness in his gaze—too wise, too knowing for a baby.

Then, without warning, he leaned forward, his little arms wrapping around my neck in an unexpected, tiny, but very firm hug.

Oh.

A lump formed in my throat as I held him tighter, burying my face against his soft curls. His warmth, his steady little heartbeat against mine, eased something raw and aching inside me.

He knew. Somehow, he knew that his mommy was worried about her friend.

I blinked fast and drew in a shaky breath, willing myself to keep it together. “Thanks, buddy,” I whispered, my throat tight. “Mommy needed that.”

Darian pulled back slightly and pressed both palms to my cheeks, his tiny fingers warm against my skin. Then he babbled something that, in my totally unbiased opinion, sounded suspiciously like “Mama” before shoving his entire fist into his mouth.

Hmmm. Could one-and-a-half-month-old kids talk? Nope. But Darian wasn’t a normal kid.

I pulled my attention back to Dolores. Marcus was shaking her hand, looking proud as hell. “Congratulations, Mayor Davenport,” he said with an amused smirk.

Dolores beamed, looking like a queen surveying her new kingdom. “It does have a nice ring to it. Doesn’t it?”

Oh, boy.

Beverly rolled her eyes but smiled. “Goddess help us all.”

Ruth leaped off her chair and started to dance, waving her tiny flags. “Who’s got two thumbs and is related to the most powerful woman in Hollow Cove?” She spun dramatically, nearly knocking over a chair. “This witch!”

“I think we’re gonna need more coffee.” I laughed.

A twinkle of gold pulled my attention around. Tinker Bell shot into the community center, her wings a blur as she zipped toward me, a white notification card clutched tightly in her grasp.

She stopped midair, hovering directly in front of me. “This just came in,” she announced, her voice urgent. “You need to see it.”

I sighed, reaching for the card. “Please tell me this isn’t another false illegal artifact claim. We’re still sorting through the piles from the black market—”

“Just read it,” urged Tinky, her tiny arms crossed. The worry on her face had my heart leap.

I narrowed my eyes but took the card. My stomach immediately turned to ice.

The words were scrawled in sharp, precise ink. Not a request. Not a suggestion.

A warning.

We know what he is.

We will be in touch soon.

Beneath the sharp, precise script, stamped in deep red ink, was a symbol I knew all too well.

The official seal of the Gray Council.

This can’t be happening. My grip on Darian tightened as my heart slammed against my ribs. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.

Marcus noticed my change in expression instantly. “Tessa?”

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I handed him the card.

His face darkened as he read it.

Ruth stopped dancing. Dolores and Beverly both stepped closer, sensing the shift in my stance.

“What does it say?” Beverly asked, her usual sass suddenly gone.

Marcus exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. Then he looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something I’d almost never seen in his eyes before.

Fear.

“It’s about Darian,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “About his blood.”

Ruth stilled, her victory dance forgotten. “What do you mean?”

Marcus hesitated and then handed the card back to me.

I forced myself to look at them and said, “He means the Gray Council wants Darian.”

Ruth sucked in a breath. Beverly’s perfectly shaped mouth fell open. Even Dolores’s gaze snapped to me, sharp and calculating.

Because we all knew exactly what this meant.

The Gray Council had their eyes on my son.

And that? That was the worst possible thing that could happen.

Because once they set their sights on something?

They never let it go.

Don’t miss the next book in The Witches of Hollow Cove series!

After fifteen years of marriage, I catch my husband cheating on me. What do I do? I laugh, which probably wasn’t the reaction he expected.

And then I laughed some more.

So, when a job comes my way from The Twilight Hotel—a paranormal hotel in midtown Manhattan that serves as a sanctuary and residence—I take it.

Cue in tattooed, sexy as sin, grumpy restaurant owner Valen, who can’t do drama or high-maintenance women. The problem? He’s cruel and dangerous.

And he’s hiding something.

Rumors arise of a dark spell that would mean the hotel's closure, and I don’t know who I can trust. Do I have what it takes to fight this new evil? We’ll see.

BOOKS BY KIM RICHARDSON

WITCHES OF NEW YORK

The Starlight Witch

Game of Witch

Tales of a Witch

THE WITCHES OF HOLLOW COVE

Shadow Witch

Midnight Spells

Charmed Nights

Magical Mojo

Practical Hexes

Wicked Ways

Witching Whispers

Mystic Madness

Rebel Magic

Cosmic Jinx

Brewing Crazy

Witchy Little Lies

Magic Gone Wild

THE DARK FILES

Spells & Ashes

Charms & Demons

Hexes & Flames

Curses & Blood

SHADOW AND LIGHT

Dark Hunt

Dark Bound

Dark Rise

Dark Gift

Dark Curse

Dark Angel

TEEN AND YOUNG ADULT

SOUL GUARDIANS

Marked

Elemental

Horizon

Netherworld

Seirs

Mortal

Reapers

Seals

THE HORIZON CHRONICLES

The Soul Thief

The Helm of Darkness

The City of Flame and Shadow

The Lord of Darkness

MYSTICS SERIES

The Seventh Sense

The Alpha Nation

The Nexus

DIVIDED REALMS

Steel Maiden

Witch Queen

Blood Magic

NEWSLETTER

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kim Richardson is a USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of urban fantasy, fantasy, and young adult books. She lives in the eastern part of Canada with her husband, two dogs, and a very old cat. Kim’s books are available in print editions, and translations are available in over seven languages.

To learn more about the author, please visit:

www.kimrichardsonbooks.com