Chapter 3

Three

Part of the reason I moved back to this quaint coastal town was the tourist trap of a boardwalk and the shops that lined it. The weather and salt-worn gray planks clatter under my feet as I walk the chilly gauntlet toward Wexxon's.

Under the guise of a holistic and new age shop, Anthony Wexxon turned his craft into his trade. He's a handsome man and he knows it. Which is fortunate for him, because he isn't a good witch, and he knows that too.

But a pretty smile can hide all manner of mistakes.

The bell above his door chimes as I push inside. Warmth and patchouli greet me. But Anthony doesn't look up right away. Glaring down at a text, his jaw is set, brows pinched.

"I'll be with you in a moment."

I manage not to laugh at how grumpy he sounds. "Not a problem, I know my way around."

His head jerks up and his face shifts to a smile so wide, it might as well be witchcraft. "Scarlette! I had no idea you were going to visit me today. I hope you had a blessed Samhain."

"I did," The memories are going to keep me smiling for a while. "And you?"

"It was quiet and uneventful. Just the way I like them." He looks at the items I've already grabbed down from higher shelves. "Restocking after your ritual?"

"Something like that." I grab a bundle of purple sage and take it and my other items up to the counter before turning back for the rest. A cute, tiny pot of living cinnamon basil catches my eye.

As soon as I pick it up, I hear Anthony coming around the counter to me. "I knew you'd like those."

They smell divine. Bright green leaves topped with bursts of deep purplish-brown flowers. It's not the right season for that display, but that never stopped one witch trying to impress another.

The magic was sloppy, the plant feels a little ill when I stroke one if it's leaves. I don't look at him as I set the pot on the counter as well. If nothing else, I won't let it die because Anthony wanted to show off.

"You got your black tourmaline order in." I say, going to the rough black stones.

"I did."

He beams at me, and I imagine he put in the order shortly after our conversation on its protective capabilities.

I don't have to reach out to feel how muddy their intentions have become. Dozens of hands have held these stones. I won't touch any of them until they've been cleansed.

Instead, I take one of the little canvas bags on the shelf below and when I look back, my gaze catches on a chunky stone that is almost a cube… if it wasn't so jagged.

Drawing the strings tight, I hand the bag to Anthony. While I look at his new stock.

Nothing else calls to me other than…

"That is a beautiful piece of blue calcite."

"How did I know it would catch your eye?"

"I'm getting predictable."

"You?" He shakes his head, but there's an amused smile on his face. "Never."

"I'll take that one too."

"I'll be back with the ladder."

He hurries away, placing the tourmaline with my other things, and I move to the basket that is full of amber. Using another canvas bag, I let their energy guide me until I have four pieces that look… perfect.

By the time Anthony is back with his ladder, I've grabbed the last of what I need and am staring at the new lava lamp set at the back of the room with black lights and other novelty items.

"Don't judge," he says as he brings the calcite back, handling it with white gloves and gently setting it on a piece of butcher paper. "I have to get the younger ones in or give them something to do while their parents are busy deciding between white pear and pear spice candles."

"I will continue to judge, but I'll keep my mouth shut."

Weighing out the tourmaline and the amber, he rings me up, telling me about the woman who came in the week before with her granddaughter and had no clue that the younger woman was clearly looking to make a love potion.

"Did you give her the warning?" I ask as I hand over my card.

"Yep." He swipes it with a flourish. "She got one of the warnings you wrote out for me. Let's just hope she reads it."

"Even if she doesn't, it takes a lot of practice and a whole hell of a lot of luck to get one of those to work right."

I swear I hear Anthony sigh and say "I know." But when he turns back with my bags, he's got a huge smile on his face. "I put the receipt in the bag with the box."

The bag with my blue calcite.

"Thanks. Have a great rest of your day, Anthony."

"You too."

I leave him leaning on his counter, looking after me and I sincerely hope he's never tried to use a love potion before. If he has, I'll smack him upside his pretty head and then dampen his already weak powers so he can't hurt anyone with that sort of nonsense.

I have to cross the puddle strewn highway to get back to the parking lot, and a light drizzle starts as the walk sign turns white.

So much for my sunny Sunday…

It's barely two in the afternoon, and the clouds are already so dark, the stop light glares against the dark pavement.

Parking in the town's version of a "downtown" can be just as tricky as parking in a major city's downtown. If you don't know what you're doing or where you're going, it's easy to wind up in the wrong place, with a ticket stuck under your windshield.

But I imagine most people are still sleeping off hangovers, whether they're from sugar or alcohol, so the one free lot is almost completely vacant. I stash my goodies in the back seat—the last thing I want is for the shovel to smash the box to pieces if something happens. The car might be small, but it has hooks on the headrests to deal with exactly this problem.

The door shuts with a satisfying thump, and when I turn for my driver's seat, I catch sight of a familiar blond head. Thomas might have been done with football practice already, but he's headed toward the boardwalk basketball court with a group of four kids. They're all talking animatedly and over themselves, trying to get his attention—to gain his approval. And based on their reactions to what he responds with, he's just as eager to give it to them.

Most packs have a man like Thomas in them. That loyal and loving guy who's the human embodiment of sunshine. What I've read says they have to.

Packs without them don't tend to last long. The monthly change is rough, and fear and doubt can mix too easily to create a volatile combination.

I shiver, even though there's no foul wind sweeping over me.

With a deep breath of salty air, I have to remind myself: the wolves are mine now. The men aren't. These protective, possessive feelings I have could get me into trouble.

There's a crack of thunder overhead and I get into the driver's seat as the kids break out into a run. The court is covered, but they'll all be soaked by the time they get there.

Watching Thomas for a moment longer—the scene out my window turned to an oil painting by the rain—I finally flick my wipers on, ruining the illusion, and head for home.

The roads are dark and by the time gravel crunches under my tires, the water rushing through the ditch on the other side of the highway could safely be called a torrent. And when the wolves who escorted me from the edge of the drive back to the house get under the porch, they shake off the rain that didn't actually stick to their fur.

"Did you have fun terrorizing rabbits this morning?" I ask as I open the door and let their ghostly forms rush into the house past me—not that they need the door open to get inside.

My phone rings almost as soon as I close the door, and if Elaria was a different kind of witch, I'd think she'd put some sort of spell on my front door. But Elle's just lucky.

Tossing my phone on the counter, I answer the call on my tablet. It's still in the cookbook prop from two days ago.

"Hey!" I say as her face appears on the screen and she smirks at me.

"Your mother is an absolute nightmare!" She spears her black stiletto nails into her neon red hair.

"And good afternoon to you too."

Elaria is still a part of the coven in all ways, not just in name.

She rolls her eyes at me and lets out a long sigh. "Good afternoon and blessed Samhain. You look like you had a wonderful night."

"Better than you know…"

She looks past me to the wolves. Her brows pinch a bare moment before her eyes go wide. "What did you do?"

"This is not the way to talk about that." Not over the phone.

"We are definitely going to meet up so you can spill every last detail."

Chuckling, I start to unpack my purchases. Grabbing a jar of moon water from the sill, beside a trio of newly charged crystals, I fill a rose quartz bowl, and slip the amber into it, watching it float for a moment before turning back to Elaria.

"What is my mother up to now that is so strange it warrants a call?"

"For one thing, she wants five dozen truth tarts by tomorrow morning. She won't tell me why, and when I told her I don't have the ingredients for the filling and don't actually know where to source it this time of year, she flipped . Always fun. So, I'm expecting her to bust down my front door in the next few hours having magically found those tart cherries I've only seen imported in late winter."

"Couldn't you swap them out for those sour oranges?"

"Not for the specific truths she's hoping to find." She shakes her head, bright hair fluttering around her face. "What are you doing?"

"I felt a barrier on the way back into town from our Carraway plot. I need to know if it's something I should be worried about."

Elaria sits up straighter. "What kind of a barrier?"

"Not sure. It didn't try to force me out, but it also wasn't there this morning and I haven't checked to see if it would try to keep me from leaving…

"Honestly, I don't think it's meant for me. I probably wouldn't have noticed it if it was a few degrees weaker."

"Any of the local witches suspect?"

"There are only two others. Gena lives down the coast near the lighthouse and all of her spells taste like salt and sadness. She doesn't leave sight of the ocean if she can help it. But it might have been the guy who runs the local herb shop."

"That Wexler guy?" Elaria's scowl tells me she knows she's wrong.

"Wexxon."

"I thought you said he was a dabbler."

"Gotta rule everyone out, right?"

"Fair. But if it's not a local… has someone else has moved in?"

"Hence the spell."

Her lips twisted in a scowl, Elaria nods. "Okay. Let me know what you find and if you need any help with anything . An excuse to get away from your mom is always appreciated."

She blows me a kiss and disconnects before I actually say goodbye.

Elaria hates the word.

I twine the new purple sage with mugwort hanging on the wall across from the kitchen window speaking the binding enchantments slowly. It takes two seconds to slip the purple candle from its place among the others and set it in the pewter stick at the center of my altar.

The map however… That takes a little longer.

There's a creased and folded Triple-A version I could use… I set that one close by, but I don't think the barrier is big enough to need it. And a hand-drawn map of town, sketched into calf skin with hot charcoal, will always be more receptive to magics than mass printed paper and ink.

It's tucked away in a small trunk and once I have it, there's nothing between me and finding out whatever this barrier is meant to do.

I light the candle, speaking the words to one of the very first spells I learned before snapping my fingers over the wick with the final command.

Dezva.

Behind me, the wolves shift, restlessly. They haven't been with me long enough to know what magic is safe and what would be beyond me. I glance over my shoulder. "Don't worry, I've done this dozens of times.

Even if I get the words wrong. This is a little white spell. The recoil might singe my fingertips… but it's not like the big ones.

I stay away from spells that could eat me alive—I glance at the wolves again—most of the time.

The bundle of herbs catches fire the instant I pass it over the candle flame. A tiny flare of light and I swirl it around in the air as that flash fizzles, and the smoke pours from the brittle leaves.

More words… more concerns from my wolfy audience, and the smoke reverses direction. Like a waterfall, the white stream falls from those herbs to cover the calfskin map as if a peet fog has settled over the city.

The bundle goes in the cauldron, its smoke leaking down the sides, and I take the pendulum from the onyx bowl where it lives.

A simple swirl moves that viscous smoke, and it runs up against that barrier, thickening in a line to show its location. A jagged fence blocking in the town.

As I coil the pendulum up and return it to its home, I watch that smoke. That barrier doesn't push it inward or out, it simply exists… But the snaking line of darker smoke tells me exactly what that barrier was meant to do.

I follow the line of my path from the edge, to Wexxons, and then back home. Someone wants to track witches… or maybe just me. And if they're paying attention to their spell… I've led them right to my home.

That line fades as I leave Wexxon's and one glance at the box on my table reminds me why.

I cut the paper tape open, and pluck the thing from its wrappings.

The full moon has passed, and I don't feel like waiting fourteen days for the new moon to cleanse this beautiful hunk of stone. Smoke it is.

The palo santo is almost a charred stump, and I pull a sprig of rosemary too, seeking the indications quickly as I light them from the same purple candle. Pouring the smoke over the crystal, offering it clear intentions.

When the smoke has covered every inch of it, I look back and the line inches backward, away from my home as if it was never there.

It stops at Wexxons. It's erasing its own path, not mine.

And I have to hope that whoever placed the barrier wasn't paying attention… or if they were, their intentions aren't the cause of this sickly feeling that's washed over my skin.