Warlock Brothers of Havenbridge 01 - Spell Bound (7 page)

I had no doubt I’d find out what that was about later. “Then what brought them here?” I asked.

“A great enemy is coming, and we must be prepared.”

“Enemy?” Thad asked. “Who?”

He sighed and shook his head. “We don’t know. The Conclave senses a great disorder on the horizon, and not even their combined magic has been able to pierce the veil and reveal the identity of our foe.”

That wasn’t good. Anything that could hide from them was an opponent not to be taken lightly.

“Is it the witch hunters?” I asked. They had pursued us since the earliest of our race first cast a spell in front of nonmagical humans. Their sole purpose in life was to exterminate us as well as the threat we posed to their mundane lives.

“Doubtful,” he responded. “They are thorns in our side, yes. But they don’t have the power to shield themselves from the Conclave. They are just humans, after all.”

“How can anyone or any
thing
hide from the Conclave?” Thad asked.

“They don’t know, but it’s being done. They sensed a riptide within the river of magic that flows from the Gate, and when they tracked it to its source, they realized Havenbridge had suddenly turned into a blind spot for their powers. They have been unable to sense anything that happens here for almost a month.”

“And that’s why they didn’t know about the murder?”

Dad nodded.

“And they didn’t tell us sooner?” Pierce’s temper was ready to flare out of control. “That’s information we should have known from the start.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he agreed. “We asked them why they waited so long to inform us. Their answer was that they had their reasons.”

“Of course they did,” I said. Everyone obviously knew what was on my mind. I could see it in the way they stared at me. This was one more reason why we should question everything and accept nothing at face value. Thad’s gaze lingered on me. Why did I get the feeling he might be agreeing with me now?

Dad snapped his fingers at us to regain our attention. “We’ve been charged with keeping our eyes open for anything or anyone suspicious.”

“And the woman on the field?” Pierce asked. “What about her murder? We don’t know if magic was involved or not.”

“The Proctors have been assigned the task of determining if magic was used in connection with the woman’s death. If they find out there was magic involved, they will inform the Council of White, who will notify the Conclave.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “You told me warlocks have a stronger connection to death than witches. I may have screwed the pooch this afternoon, but that doesn’t mean we can’t figure it out now.”

From the tense expression on my father’s face, I could tell he agreed with me and was equally concerned by the Conclave’s decision. “The Conclave believes too much time has passed to manipulate any lingering death energy.”

“But they don’t know for sure,” Thad said. “They told you they couldn’t sense anything in Havenbridge anymore.”

“Yet that is their decision. The Proctors are tasked with the murder, not us.”

Pierce punched the couch. “That’s bullshit! Finding out if magic was used in her death should be our task. Once we make that determination, the Stonewalls should be the ones putting all the pieces together. They’re the logical ones. And the Proctors? They should have been given our assignment. Mr. Proctor works for HPD, and isn’t defense their family specialty?”

Father gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Was he angry at our words or at the Conclave’s ridiculous decisions? He blew out a lungful of air and said, “The Conclave suspects our enemy is already here in Havenbridge and the Gate is already in jeopardy. We don’t have time to debate their orders. We have to find out who or what might be responsible for cloaking the events of this town from them.”

“Holy shit!” I said, standing up. “I think I might have a lead.”

Pierce and Thad peered up at me in amazement.

“Who?” Dad asked.

“I met a boy today in the woods.”

Pierce groaned. “Your lack of a sex life has nothing to do with this.”

“And neither does your big fat head, so shut up.” Thad chuckled at my comment while Pierce silently fumed. I’d likely get zapped in the ass before bed tonight. “Can I continue?”

Dad motioned for Pierce to be silent and gestured for me to go on.

“Something drew me outside this afternoon before we left. I didn’t know what it was, but it smelled weird. I was about to cast a spell, use my magic like you told me, to figure out what it was, but this big oaf,” I said, smacking Pierce upside the head, “interrupted me. By the time I managed to get out there and check, the smell was gone.”

“I didn’t smell anything,” Dad said. “But I did sense something earlier. I attempted an amplifying spell to heighten my senses, but I detected nothing unusual.”

I briefly contemplated telling my family that it smelled like bleach and pancakes, but I didn’t feel like being teased. Thad would find some way to make fun of me by telling me to think with my head and not my stomach, so I decided against it. “Like I said, it was gone before I got there. But that was when I ran into Drake. He was bounding all over the forest.”

Thad looked at me askance. “What do you mean?”

After I relayed my encounter with Drake, the room grew quiet.

“I don’t believe this Drake could be the enemy the Conclave has sensed, especially if he’s human, as you say.”

I nodded. “He is. I sensed no magic from him whatsoever.”

“That doesn’t mean someone hasn’t bound his powers to avoid detection,” Thad said.

Fuck. I hadn’t even thought of that. If someone had bound his powers, it would also remove all traces of magic from our senses. Maybe I did need to read our books more.

“That’s true,” our father replied. “Mason, since he goes to your school, I want you to learn as much information as you can about this boy. While I’m certain it’s just coincidence, no one is above suspicion.”

I’d planned on doing that anyway. Something about him tugged at me in ways I’d never experienced before. Perhaps it was my magic’s way of warning me of danger. If Drake was my enemy, I’d make him regret ever coming to Havenbridge.

I
SPENT
the next few days following Drake around school, which was pretty fucking boring. The kid was about as exciting as a bowl of cold oatmeal.

He went to class, did his homework, chatted with friends he’d made—which aggravatingly included Miranda—and got to and from school by running and jumping over every fucking thing in his path.

I spent so much time thinking about him, I’d started dreaming about him too. And some of the dreams were wicked hot. My favorite was when Drake waited for me in the bathtub after school, his naked, smooth body dripping water as he played with the white towel that hid what I longed to see the most. He pulled me into the tub, but before I hit the water, I woke up.

That happened far too often. Right before I was about to touch him or feel his lips against mine, something interrupted us. When he walked down the empty hallways at school, performing a striptease, my alarm would go off as he was about to lose his underwear. When I got him into the backseat of my car after ripping off his clothes, the annoying beep would wake me for school before I could grab his dick.

It was fucking aggravating getting cockblocked in my dreams, but not as frustrating as the nightmares that played in between. In them, something chased us, and it wouldn’t stop until it had us.

“You will be mine,” the whispering voice that always followed us through the dreamscapes often repeated. It didn’t matter where we were—in the woods, at school, in my car—the gravelly voice said the same thing over and over as we tried to escape. “You will be mine.” But what made the dreams even stranger was that along with the voice drifted the ever-present smell of someone burning breakfast.

I sat up in bed after escaping the voice for the third time that week. Drake and I had been in the forest behind the house, getting ready to get it on, when the voice spoke and the tree limbs suddenly turned to long claws that had finally managed to grab us.

It was the first time whatever had been chasing us had made contact, and I didn’t like it one bit.

My heart jackhammered in my chest and an uneasy drunken feeling set the world spinning like a top. What the fuck was going on?

My door was suddenly flung open, and I yelped in surprise. Pierce stomped into my room, dripping perspiration and wearing only his gym shorts and a fuck-you grin. “Dad says to get your ass out of bed. You’ve got shit to do today, remember?”

“Don’t you ever knock?” I asked as I swung my legs out of bed. “Or shower?” The stench of moldy gym socks and stale sweat polluted my room.

“What?” he asked, raising his right arm and sniffing his ripe pit. “You don’t like the smell of greatness?”

“Not when it smells like your ass,” I replied as I shoved him out of the room and locked the door behind him.

“Stick with the plan,” Pierce said from the other side of the door. “Don’t screw it up.”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.” I hated that my reply made me sound like a little kid, but it pissed me off when my family naturally assumed I’d fuck things up.

Pierce replied with only a snort before his footsteps padded down the hall.

Since I didn’t have time to start what would likely turn into a wrestling match, I flipped him off from my side of the door before I hopped in the shower, got dressed, and shoved some breakfast down my throat.

A few minutes later, I was driving into town in my black BMW 335i convertible. It was time for a more direct approach, and the best place to start was at Drake’s aunt Millie’s house. I pushed the button that lowered the top, anticipating that the breeze from the drive would calm my agitation. Usually the whipping of my dark locks and the gentle brush of the wind across my skin centered me. It lifted my spirits when I felt like a failure as a warlock and as a Blackmoor.

But it did nothing to ease my still-fluttering heart. It was taking longer for the aftereffects of my nightmares to dissipate. What did that mean? I contemplated telling Thad or my father about the dreams, but I didn’t want a lecture.

I’d figure it out on my own.

Maybe some music would help. I turned on my XM radio, and “Fancy” blasted through my speakers. “Hell yeah.” This was my fucking jam. I rapped along with Iggy Azalea, and when Charli XCX sang the chorus, I belted it out because dammit, I
was
fancy!

By the time I reached the stop sign at the intersection of Winston and Salem, I’d hit the second verse and was in full-out karaoke mode. Whether it was the song, the drive, or a combination of both, I’d started feeling better.

And then someone suddenly slid across the hood of my car.

It was Drake. He landed on the other side of my BMW, glanced over his shoulder, and gave me a devious smile before sprinting off down the street.

“I don’t fucking think so,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. Drake sure as hell couldn’t have heard me since he was already about fifty yards away. I slammed on the accelerator and sped off in the direction he’d run.

He leaped over a mailbox before vaulting the fence on Mrs. Littlejohn’s property. When he found traction, he continued on in a straight line that would take him to a picnic table and a brick wall. But instead of going around either, he leaped across the table, landed on the other side, and propelled himself onto the wall. He grabbed the top, climbed over, and flipped to the other side. Where the fuck was he going in such a damn hurry?

I did know where he was going to end up, though. If he continued on his current path, which nothing seemed capable of stopping him from doing, he’d have to jump over the fence on Goodwine Road, and that was where he’d find me.

I sped over there and threw my car into park. He’d have no choice but to stop now. Goodwine was the narrowest street in Havenbridge. It was really no bigger than an alley. With my car between the fence and the rear of the small convenience store to my right, there was no way Drake could keep going.

“Nice try,” Drake said as he leaped onto the fence and jumped over my car. He caught the wall of the store with his right foot, and then he propelled himself to the left and in front of my car.

What the fuck was he? A cat?

I suddenly sat up in my seat as Drake bounded down Goodwine. Maybe that was exactly what he was—a goddamn shifter!

Unlike my magic, their shifting abilities came from some ancient spell cast during a dark part of our history. I couldn’t remember the specifics and really didn’t care, to be honest, but I did recall that shifters had developed a means of masking themselves from nonshifters as a self-defense mechanism. That explained why Drake could do what he did and why I couldn’t detect anything magical about him. He was a motherfucking shifter!

I put my car back into drive and hauled ass after him.

This was amazing! Shifters were practically extinct. Most of what I knew about them could fit on an index card, but I did know one thing: shifters had departed our world for some magically shrouded island a long time ago.

And if they were back, they could very well be the enemy the Conclave had sensed.

When I turned onto Pleasant Street, Drake was nowhere to be found. I’d lost him. But as I drove by the Abbott Public Library, I saw an orange tabby cat lounging in the sun. It looked up at me with what looked like a shit-eating grin on its face and then proceeded to clean its fur.

The bastard! He’d shifted to avoid me catching up to him. There was nothing I could do right now. He’d won this round, but he couldn’t evade me forever. He’d eventually have to shift back into his human form.

When he did, I’d be waiting.

I
SAT
at the Starbucks across from the library. I sipped my fizzy root beer, studying Drake the Cat, who was stretched out in the sun. Every now and then, he’d stop licking himself and stare suspiciously at whomever strolled by. When he was satisfied they weren’t a threat, he went back to grooming, which included lifting his leg over his shoulder and swabbing his tongue across his more delicate parts.