Stuart’s excited smile spread to everyone else.
“DeShaun, Candace, little bro—thanks for pitching in. Now, let’s kill it.”
* * * *
“You’ll just have to make do without me, Maisie,” Violina said into the phone, as she traipsed to the bay windows to check the roundabout drive. “I have bookings into the middle of next year.”
It was an exaggeration. Violina had become wealthy and successful through the craft. Indeed, she was truly set for life. But when it came to the others in her business, and especially what was left of her coven, inflation of even her formidable success was mandatory.
Violina Malandra had to be the most famous, the most in-demand, the wealthiest, the best, and in due time—The Only Witch.
“What can I say to change your mind?” asked the younger witch.
Violina was both contemptuous and resentful of Maisie’s humility. The girl was young, well aware of her own lack of knowledge and experience. At thirty-five, well-established in both business and social circles, Violina could never allow herself to be so humble.
“Ysabella wants you here,” Maisie continued. “She says we can’t do this without you.”
The sitting room of her three-story Victorian, with its occult trappings, was meticulously designed to ride the fence between theatrical and inviting.
Violina waved a hand over the table she’d prepared for her expected guest, with an ornate, gilded tarot deck and velvet-lined tray of crystals. “Me specifically?”
“All of us,” the girl answered. “Those of us left.”
This was not what Violina wanted to hear. “Like I said dear, I’m very busy.”
“Violina, I have a feeling this might be too much for her,” explained Maisie. “I’d feel better having you here.”
Violina strolled to the window. In the driveway, the expected gleaming-white Bentley crept over fresh-fallen New England maple leaves.
“I have a client, Maisie,” Violina said. “Sorry I can’t help.”
“Would you at least call me back when you’re free? We’re at the Blue Moon Inn in Ember Hollow, North Carolina.”
Violina raised a manicured eyebrow, her interest suddenly sparked. “Did you say Ember Hollow? Where they had that parade disaster? And all those awful murders?”
“Yes. Matilda Saxon was here, up in the hills. We think there’s a connection.”
“Give me the number there,” Violina allowed. “I’ll consider it.”
“Oh, bless you, Violina!”
Violina wasn’t interested in the naïve apprentice’s gratitude or “blessings.” But she had wanted to get out to Matilda Saxon’s isolated farm since meeting the solitary witch some years ago. She wished she had learned of her fellow baneful practitioner’s death earlier, in time to scour her substantial inventory before the police or anyone else got to it.
Nonetheless, Violina’s elegant nostrils flared at her favorite scent: opportunity.
With Ysabella weakened and supernatural forces clearly at work in the troubled town, Violina realized she could easily come away from the job with greater power than any witch. Ever.
Chapter 2
She Wolf
Covered in a blanket that was bound with Hudson’s silver chain, the monstrous gray wolf lay motionless on her side. Though her head remained uncovered, a leather strap was tied around her snout, and this strap was wrapped with a Saint Christopher medallion on a chain. The necklace had served a similar purpose on Bravo’s collar a year ago.
The wolf’s eye lolled from Hudson to Yoshi and back. She displayed her long, gleaming teeth in an eerie, silent snarl.
“That’s starting to freak me out,” Yoshida admitted. “You sure she can’t move?”
“Well, I skipped the day they covered skinwalker biology at the academy,” Hudson deadpanned, “but the boys have been reading everything they can get their hands on about werewolves.”
“The boys” was how Hudson Lott referred to both his own son DeShaun and DeShaun’s best friend, Stuart Barcroft, whom he considered just as much a son. “But I doubt she’s playing dead just to see if we’ll give her a doggie treat. So stay alert.”
As they squatted to grasp the edges of the thick mover’s blanket on which the chained beast lay, Yoshi gave a faux-bitter laugh. “Now I know where DeShaun gets his smart-assery.”
“Honestly, I think I caught it from him,” Hudson said. “And it’s probably contagious, so…”
“Now you tell me.”
Hudson couldn’t know that the word “contagious” made Yoshida bristle with dread.
They hoisted the monster and slid it into the chain-link cage—essentially an oversized kennel—they had fashioned two weeks earlier.
“I’m still not sold on this dinky pen,” Yoshida said.
“If those silver chains don’t hold her, the cage is meaningless anyway.”
They closed and locked the cage door, dropped the heavy canvas tarp flap over the front and raised the tailgate.
“The fawn’s okay?” Hudson asked.
“Scared shitless, but not a scratch. She ran off without so much as an ’Eff you.’”
“Good work, my friend.” Hudson offered his gloved hand.
Yoshida clasped it. “That’s what I’m gonna say to my shower, because it sure has its work cut out for it.”
They climbed into the front, and Hudson started the engine. “We’ll stop and look in on her in ten or twelve miles.”
Yoshida checked the chamber of the trank rifle and propped it against his leg. “You really think the witch’s farm is the best place to take her?”
“We damn sure can’t put her in the drunk tank.”
Yoshida chuckled at the image. Not so much of a gigantic wolf in a cell full of sots, but of Hudson explaining it to the chief. The wisecracks were a welcome diversion. But his thoughts would not stray far from the tiny tingling nick on his arm, where the werewolf’s fang had pierced his skin half an inch deep.
* * * *
Flipping black locks out of his eyes, Pedro cocked his head sideways and grimaced. “What do these words mean…‘too loud’?”
“Just your backup vocals,” explained Dennis, as he muted the preprogrammed rhythm track on the new keyboard. “Understated. Not screamed.”
“Am I even audible?”
“You will be,” reassured Dennis. “That’s why we’re so wide open.” He arced his arm to indicate the Community Center’s vastness. “To get a good echo effect.”
“What about me, babe?” asked Jill. “I mean…Dennis.” Though her tone was playful, it carried an edge
