Chapter 30

Thirty

I should go home.

My phone has been silent. They don't want to talk to me.

And one little warnaway at Mrs. Miller's house isn't enough to cause any real harm.

But I need to be certain they're okay.

I just need to see them.

It's early, but I know at least one of them will be home.

When I pull up in front of the house, however the windows are all dark.

Maybe they took off for a few days.

The idea of abandonment sits in my stomach like a stone. Heavy, hard, and cold.

I should go home. Focus on what I can do.

But this ugly feeling in my stomach isn't going anywhere soon, and my mint plant died yesterday…

I turn the car around and in a blink, I pull into a spot near the boardwalk.

The drizzle that's started is more annoyance than actual rain, and I don't bother with an umbrella as I rush across the nearly empty highway.

But the store is dark when I get there.

For a moment, I question what time it is, but the store should be open.

When I touch the door, it swings open, not locked.

I walk through the storefront quietly, a different kind of dread seeping through me. Solidifying when I see Anthony's wingtips, the bottom of his pinstriped pants disappearing behind the counter.

Hurrying past the last of the displays, I step over him, holding my breath until my fingers find his pulse.

He's unconscious, but alive.

"Anthony?"

I shake him, just a little, and the arm that had been draped over his waist falls to his side. There are at least a dozen cuts across it.

A quick check tells me the other arm is the same.

If any of them had been deeper, he'd be dead.

Scrambling to my feet, I rush through the shop and grab the pouch of healing herbs he sells.

I hold the sachet to my lips, whispering the incantation as I sink to my knees beside him. This close to my nose, I can smell each of the dried herbs he's packed inside, so I know it will serve my purposes.

It won't do anything for the cuts, but for the mind…

Holding it in front of his face, I crush the bag in my hand and a shimmering cloud falls over his face.

He jerks as his eyes fly open, and I press my palm to his chest.

"Don't try to move, you're going to be very weak." When he meets my eyes, I know he'll do as I've said. "What happened?"

He blinks, five sharp flutters of his eyelids, and looks down himself. "I—"

When he tries to push up on his arms, the hiss drawn through his teeth is so sharp, it hurts my ears.

"Let me help you up, and then I need to know how this happened."

He nods, the barest movement of his chin and together, we get him scooted back up against the counter.

"We did a translocating spell. Just a little fun, but it was heavy and hard, the thing we moved… and I couldn't back away from the spell." His eyes widen, a fractional amount, but enough to know…

"Aphrodite didn't let you go." I don't make him tell me it was her.

He shakes his head, a little too hard and he has to screw his eyes shut. "She forced me to finish it with her and her acolytes.

"I don't remember how it ended, I guess I blacked out."

"Where is she?"

"Right now? She could be anywhere." He shrugs, the movement sliding him a little to the right. "She's renting a room from an old lady."

It isn't hard to guess which old lady.

"Where's your kit?"

"It's in the back."

He gestures vaguely behind him, and I push through the curtain into the strange little cubby before the stairs that lead up to his home.

But the kit is easy to find in and among his overstock. When I pick up the chest-like box, the soothing items inside leach out into my finger tips, calming. The effects are like a magic menthol.

I hand it to him, closed, and turn away as he pulls items from it. The things a witch keeps in their kit are sacred. Private.

Even if he had a hand in whatever's happening, I won't break the sanctity of that.

"If she has acolytes, and she's pulling from them as well as you, it would explain how she's doing spells above her skill level…"

"I thought she was just a powerful witch."

I hear the kit snap closed and turn back to him.

"Based on those cuts, I don't think she's as powerful as she let you believe. But if it's blood magic, those acolytes aren't a potential coven, she's taking advantage of them."

We both know what that means. I don't have to spell out the danger they are in. He knows just as well as I do that blood sources rarely survive the witches that hold them.

"There's three of them," he says as he helps me hold the bandage wrapping around his arms. "Sisters. Charity, Victoria, and Bethany."

"Let me guess. Last name: Miller?"

"Yeah." He looks confused. "You know them?"

"I know their grandmother." I stand, giving him a once over. He'll survive without my help. "I have to find her before she hurts those girls."

"Scarlette?"

I stop by the door, turning back.

"She didn't tell me what she was after, but…"

"But the blood connection let you see?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me your boyfriend was a werewolf."

I don't need to handle him with kid gloves anymore. "What did she do, Anthony?"

"I think she took him. She wants to, at the very least. Him and his whole pack."

And the house had been dark.

"She wants to hurt you, Scarlette."

"Killing the men I love would certainly do that."

I don't stick around to see his reaction to that.

My shoes make too much noise as I run back to my car. The rain is too loud against the car's roof when I start it.

Everything is too bright and dark all at once.

It's not that late in the day, but this time of year, I'm already starting to lose the light.

And I need help.

The phone rings and rings. Finally it goes to her voicemail.

I shouldn't leave a message.

There are rules.

Screw the rules.

"Mom. I don't care if you haven't believed me before now. I need you to listen to me and listen carefully. Aphrodite is working with blood magic. She is using her vampire friend and three very young witches as her blood sources and she has kidnapped my wolves. I don't know what she is planning, but I need your help. You guys cut her loose. You need to take care of the mess it caused."

I hang up before I say something else out of anger that can't be taken back.