Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

I feel utterly drained.

My readings only confirmed that she'd made the terratoma at least five miles away from The Liberty. It also strengthened my theory… Blood magic would make the creature stronger.

Blood magic performed with a vampire's blood…

I couldn't decide if the coven was being willfully ignorant, or if my grandmother's writings were truly a secret.

It would not surprise me.

No one in the coven would approve. And gran did enough things to irritate the other women of her generation… it was, no doubt how she wound up in the Carraway plot.

Exhaustion had finally claimed me an hour or so before sunrise. And as I drink my tea now, staring out at the mist that still clings to the ground, despite the fact it's almost noon, I want to call Chase.

But I know he's still asleep. I can't imagine him waking up before five tonight… if he doesn't sleep clear through to tomorrow morning.

So I call Joshua instead.

No answer.

I look at the phone for a long moment, hoping he's just busy with work. So I text him.

Call me when you've got a minute.

He hasn't called me back by the time I finish eating my lunch and I know I can't sit here and do nothing… I'll go crazy. I need to get up and out and do something.

And there's one thing I know will take my mind off this.

Time for a doll hunt.

Who knows how messy that's going to get. Pulling on my jeans meant for the Carraway plot and braiding my hair to keep it out of the way, I head to the kitchen and start what little prep I need for this.

Digging through the ugly mess of papers and books strewn everywhere , I finally find the carved map of the town I use to find lost things.

The bag of stone marbles is at the front of the drawer where I keep the easily lost spell items, and I pull it out with the rough strings that hold it closed. I pour them out into a wooden bowl, three dozen tiny quartz spheres fill the bottom like boba. Covering them over with charged moon water, I take them to the table, shoving aside the papers again to make room.

Plucking a stubby stick of palo santo from the jar beside the window, I set it alight, cleansing the board, letting the magic heavy smoke floods into the crevices.

It lingers until, having stabbed out the palo santo, I gently blow the remains away. Offering my breath as a small sacrifice for clarity.

The marbles—once I've dried them—are small enough, I can hold them all in between my cupped hands.

I place my hands in the center of the board, holding them tightly together as I breathe in the lingering smoke. "Spirits help me find what I need most… vrea. "

When I release them, the marbles roll across the board like children scattering in a game of tag. Some immediately roll to the groove on the outside of the board. There's nothing for them to tell me.

Others stop as though they're held in place by magnets. The remaining quartz spheres circle and dance their way to their final destinations.

And when they're done I have to curse under my breath.

Why on earth would Aphrodite need twenty-six warnaways?

But why isn't important right now. I just need to get out the door and get these things taken care of.

Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture of the board.

I try not to be upset by the zero notifications… try not to dwell on what it could mean.

I did the one thing I said I wouldn't last night. If they're avoiding me because of it. I have to let them. They've got every right to be mad at me.

I leave the board out. As I deal with the warnaway, it will move and shift and by the time I get home, all of the stones should be on the outer edge. But I grab one of the big totes I made years ago. I can't start setting fires around town.

The wolves all stick close as I get into my car and head for the closest of the dolls. They haven't let me out of their sight since last night.

Getting rid of the warnaways will get us one step closer to getting rid of Aphrodite. And It's clear, I need to get rid of her for good.

I've spent two hours running around town, collecting the dolls from their various hiding spaces. Crossing them off the photo I took as I go.

There are twenty-five in my bag, a contained pile on the passenger side floor of the car, and I'm close enough to the beach, I take the turn off. No one gets curious about a bonfire on the beach in the winter. It's the only way to survive a visit to the gray water.

But when I get out—when the wolves bound away into the waist-high crab grass covering the tiny dune-like mounds between the sandy parking lot and the actual beach—the sound of crunching tires reach my ears.

I know who it is before the light bar on top comes into view.

I pull the bag from the passenger side, wrestling the bulky thing out and drop it to the ground at my feet.

"I don't have time for this," I grumble through a too bright smile as I turn to the Sheriff.

He steps out of his car with an equally wide smile, but his… looks genuine.

"Are you doing voodoo?" He nods down at the bag—not completely containing them—and raises a single brow.

But he says it with a chuckle.

"Not quite."

"Yeah, I didn't think they were made out of straw anyway."

He's being too friendly. "Can I help you with something, Sherriff?"

Faint confusion passes over his face. "Actually, I have no idea why I'm here. Isn't that weird?"

"It is."

"There must have been something I wanted to tell you?" But he doesn't look convinced. In fact, each moment that ticks by, he looks more and more confused.

I glance past him. The front bumper of his car is smashed. The paint chipped off to reveal the gray metal beneath.

"You hit a stop sign?" I ask, nodding down to it.

"No, one of the high school kids is learning to drive stick. He rolled backward down a hill and bumped me." He chuckles again, a different man than the one I've encountered the last few weeks. "He was scared shitless, poor kid."

"You didn't ticket him?"

"Nah. It was just a rookie mistake. No point in scarring him for life."

I might not have had any real interactions with the Sheriff before he started harassing me, but this wasn't the man I expected to see when some of Aphrodite's enchantment started wearing off.

"Did you get everything sorted out with Conner?"

Once again, his face shifts, like something's tickling at his brain. "Yeah, sounds like there's a small wolf pack that was heading through. Sorry about the trouble."

"Just doing your job, right?"

He nods, but he looks like he's forgotten why he's here again.

"Well, I should get back to—" the words trail off and I know he's forgotten what he was doing before.

The lingering effects of an enchantment, especially one that's all about control, can be disorienting.

But I don't have time to help him right now.

"You have a nice day, Sheriff."

Hefting the bag onto my shoulder, I follow the pale trail through the grass that scratches at my jeans where it touches me.

The beach is just over a mile long, stretching from the jetty on the north end, down to a craggy wall of trees on the south. And it's bitterly cold now that I'm past that tiny wind break.

But I can't rush.

I pick a spot far enough down that I won't send sparks into the grass, but not so far that I'll risk the tide—not yet.

When I drop the bag and go to my knees, I wish I'd brought a shovel… or that the wolves were corporeal enough they could dig this one for me.

But I didn't, and they're not.

Sand grits under my nails, but I ignore it as I get the hole to the size I need it.

I'm grateful the dolls are all fairly old. They've dried out and their brittle bodies will catch flame easily enough.

Sitting back on my heels, I wipe away the faint sheen of sweat on my brow and look at the beach around me. There's a man with a dog on the far end of the beach, and a jogger making his third pass along the water's edge. But otherwise the beach is deserted.

Time to get rid of this finger hold.

I pluck the dolls from the bag one by one, pulling down the twine that kept them in their shape this long and make sure they break apart as I drop them into the pit.

It looks more like a bird's nest than a fire pit when I'm done.

" Arde. " A snap of my fingers to fix that.

The dry and brittle remains of her warnaways spark and flare.

I watch the fire consume them, knowing Aphrodite will feel the warmth of the flames.

They burn to dark embers quickly, leaving a messy spider-like clump of remains behind.

I could bury them, but first…

Looking over my shoulder to the jogger and the man still on the other end of the beach, I reach my hand out toward the sea, and with a thought, with the barest movement of my fingers, I beckon the next wave to crash a little harder. It sends the thin layer of saltwater further up the beach, spilling into the hole, filling it and drowning out the last of Aphrodite's hold.