The figurehead from the Flying Dutchman would definitely stand out in this cold futuristic interior, not that she’d keep it in plain sight, but he had to check. He hustled farther along the perimeter until a storage shed came into view to the right of the main house. His pulse kicked up a notch.
As he approached the shed, the hair on his arms prickled. Shit. He brought his hand up, his fingers searching for the source of the tension in the air. Magic sparked near the deadbolt lock on the shed. He circled the structure, hoping for another opening or a window, but the rest of the shed’s construction was solid. No way to see what was inside.
He circled back to the door, staring at the lock. Ashley had set powerful magic wards around this shed, and like artists with their different paints and techniques, every magic-worker had their own style, their own take on a spell. Some wards were simple enough to disarm, while others could take him a week to find the right combination of symbols and words to release the metaphysical lock.
The back door opened and the beam of a flashlight swept across the yard.
“Who’s there?” Ashley shouted.
And some wards were complex enough to warn the one who set them when they were being touched or tampered with. Shit. David reached into his pocket, brushing his thumb across a smooth stone as he murmured a few words in Latin.
For now, she wouldn’t be able to see him, but his invisibility spell had limitations. The moment his skin came in contact with anything that he wasn’t holding when the spell was cast, it would be broken. But it was the best plan he had for now.
David stalked across her backyard again, passing her silently as she walked to the shed. Once he was a few feet away, he increased his pace. At the side gate, he checked over his shoulder. The moment he touched the latch, he’d be visible.
Ashley inspected the lock on the shed, and David made his move. He freed the latch without a sound, but hinges of the gate screamed as he pulled it open. The flashlight swung in his direction as he bolted through the gate.
David didn’t stop running until he reached his car. He fired up the engine, the tires screeching as he cranked the wheel into a tight U-turn and punched the accelerator. He hadn’t laid eyes on the figurehead, but he had a good idea where it could be. The trick would be getting it out before Ashley decided to move it.
…
While Drake was in the kitchen having hushed conversations with some of his crewmates, Heather opened her laptop and clicked on the Skull & Crossbones icon. The game loaded, and the chat screen beeped with repeated messages. Heather scrolled back through Queenie’s notes, frowning. Yes, Heather had been neglecting their gaming time since Drake came into her life, but Queenie’s messages were a little over the top. They devolved as they went on from pouty, to passive aggressive, to threatening to stop playing altogether.
Heather sighed, her fingers poised over the keyboard.
GrayGhost: Sorry to be MIA for so long. Life got crazy.
The cursor blinked in silent answer. Queenie usually kept her settings on offline to stay cloaked from other players, so Heather had no idea if Queenie was even playing right now. Heather clicked on a solo quest, but as the screen changed and the weapons choices came up, the chat chimed.
PirateQueen817: How’s Drake?
Heather glanced at the kitchen door and back to the screen.
GrayGhost: He’s better actually. I’ve never met anyone like him.
She braced herself for something snarky like the earlier posts she’d missed while she was out with Drake.
PirateQueen817: So tell me everything.
Heather smiled, the tension leaving her shoulders as she shared the past few days with her closest friend. She started with the romantic dance in the attic after she found the hope chest her mother and grandmother had put together for her. And ended with trying to find the coven who was attacking him.
PirateQueen817: Wow. Sounds like you’re getting in pretty deep with this guy. You haven’t known him very long. Just don’t want you to get hurt.
Heather stared at the keyboard. Queenie was right, she hadn’t known Drake long, but he’d stepped in front of a gunman for her. Their souls had recognized each other even before they did. How could she explain all that without outing Drake’s immortality?
Queenie knew all about Heather’s metaphysical work, so she didn’t think her friend would freak out, but she needed to tread lightly.
GrayGhost: This is going to sound crazy, but we talked about the night he put himself between me and a gun in the Bonaventure Cemetery, and I had a vision of him from another lifetime. In a past life, we were in love, but the story had a different ending. Maybe we can fix that this time around.
She held her breath, waiting for Queenie to respond.
PirateQueen817: How do you know it was him? Did he look exactly the same?
Heather worried her lower lip. A little lie to protect Drake wouldn’t hurt anything.
GrayGhost: His eyes looked the same, but it was more of a feeling. I asked him about it and he told me he’d had a recurring dream with that same scene.
PirateQueen817: No offense, hon, but that sounds pretty convenient. He’s a carpenter, and you’re a famous spiritual medium with a big house in the historic district. Don’t get played.
Heather straightened up on the couch, aching to defend Drake’s intentions and his honor. But as her fingers brushed the keys, she stopped, skimming Queenie’s reply. Her eyes narrowed, and a chill shot down her spine. How did Queenie know where she lived?
Did I tell her at some point? Her heart raced in answer. They’d been chatting online for months. Maybe she’d mentioned Savannah or
