Chapter Six

What do a stalker and a Pokemon nerd have in common?

They both hide in the bushes trying to get a Pikachu.

Leaving the discreet rental car on Main Street, Oliver kept to the shadows as he followed Eva the few miles to her home. Never once did his eyes lose her, even though she frantically peddled as if the devil himself chased her toward her destination. Technically, she wasn't wrong, but sweet Eva didn't appear to truly know anything about the devil. But like the devil, perhaps she was the trickster, the beautiful face luring in her unsuspecting victims with her innocent smile and not-so-innocent curves that even a frumpy coffee shop apron couldn't hide.

Eva. Like the first woman, full of life. Invigorating life.

As his bunny fled, he felt his fangs burst forth in excitement, reminding him of the early days long ago when he'd fought so hard to control himself against the blood lust. Different, but still the same loss of control needed to be wrestled down. This leggy imp provoked a side of him he refused to embrace. Just a few inches shorter than his six-foot-two, she'd looked only slightly up to stare at him defiantly in the eyes at the coffee shop.

Oliver forced his fangs to retract as he regained control of the strong desire to chase her down and pin her beneath him. Focusing on Ravyn, he reminded himself that Eva could be the enemy that tormented and threatened his maker. Although nothing about her struck him as such until he had proof either way, this investigation—this incredibly hot freaking mess of an investigation—would continue. Eva could easily be wearing a mask of innocence held in place by a beguiling face.

Settling down outside her cottage's boundaries under the branches of a buckeye tree older than him, Oliver reminded himself that too much time over the last few decades had been spent on the cyber-end of security, forgoing the thrill of fieldwork. He'd forgotten how fascinating and time-consuming it could be—and frankly, often tedious—but still enjoyable nonetheless. Leaning against the tree, he remained mindful of his white shirt, while also admitting it was probably going to be ruined by the unexpected stakeout and any future adventures the night might bring.

Hard to believe that just a few days ago, he'd set up a program to reset a certain genius billionaire's social media password every two minutes because that day's work hadn't interested him. Smirking, he thought of the extra add-on in which if the billionaire did make it past the password virus for thirty seconds the program would tweet random Disney emojis replacing all typed letters before it reset again. At the thought of the man's frustration, Oliver choked off a sharp bark of laughter. At the sound, a neighbor's dog let out a few low barks in the distance, and Oliver answered with a low growl of his own, carrying across the clear night to the distant yard, silencing the dog immediately.

Lights flipped on around the target's house, as if an attempt to fill it with light could keep anything out that really wanted inside. Why hadn't his compulsion stuck with Eva? For a second it had. After a flash of her name, she shook off the compulsion as easily as pulling off a jacket. That rarely happened. Yes, sometimes humans struggled against it, but to just remove it as if it didn't exist? Impossible. Impossible, unless maybe she was a demon or a witch, and a powerful one at that. But neither seemed likely. By all accounts, Eva was a normal, boring human, yet still a sense of otherness hung off her. In a few hours, his team would know everything there was to know about the intriguing Eva Nance, but until then, he was reliant on what he could see and hear alone.

Not even all the lights in the house could penetrate the shadows surrounding it. The house itself seemed determined to keep nosy neighbors from peering too closely into it.

Deciding to move closer to his quarry, he calculated that just a few steps would clear the yard and put him on the dimly lit porch. However, one aggressive step off the sidewalk edge had him jolted and shot back to the edge of the road on his backside.

"Shit," Oliver cursed at the unexpected jolt. Stunned, he sat momentarily in what he hoped was just dirt and gravel, knowing his overpriced pants were ruined. Embarrassment flooded through him; despite all of his training, he'd been knocked on his ass like a newbie.

Regaining his footing, this time Oliver eased forward much more cautiously. Reaching out gently with both hands, feeling the buzz that clearly warned of the impending danger, he detected the magic that flowed along the sidewalk edge marking the property but allowed anyone who ventured down the dead end sidewalk to remain unharmed. Maybe Eva wasn't a witch, but either someone who lived here was or she knew one who had cast this protective spell. Using the buzz of magic to guide his hands, he cautiously followed the protective shield around the shadowed boundaries of the half-acre yard.

As he rounded the back of the yard, his enhanced vision caught the plethora of vegetation overtaking it. It wasn't meticulously maintained and looked a bit overgrown, but it was oddly thriving and lush this early in spring. Sage, lavender, lemon balm, tansy, and yarrow could belong in any garden and were by themselves innocent enough. But among those plants, he spotted wolfsbane, belladonna, henbane, and monkshood—and those were just the ones he recognized. There was definitely something witchy going on here. Protection and poison weren't typical in most run-of-the-mill gardens. He suspected that the barrier keeping him off the land also kept the scents in. If he hadn't seen the plants with his own eyes, none of his other senses could have alerted him to their presence.

Oliver continued his methodical journey around the borders of the yard, carefully moving his hands down to the ground and up higher than his head. The buzz threatened retaliation, but as long as he didn't press, he should remain unharmed. Patience, he reminded himself as he fought the urge to jump as high as he could to see if he could clear the barrier. So far it didn't appear that his previous attempt to enter had alerted Eva to his presence, but a stronger attempt might, and he had no desire to be knocked out by apotropaic magic as it protected its occupant. His staff witch would be impressed that he remembered her lesson on protective magic well enough to recognize it. Oliver made a mental note to mention it to her.

About forty-five minutes later and two-thirds around the perimeter, he found a silent spot just waist high. Probing the area cautiously and then more firmly proved that a dead space about two feet wide and maybe half as tall existed. More probing showed the area weakened several more inches outward. Even with this vulnerability, Oliver gave a mental nod, impressed with the creator of the rather large protective bubble. The witches in his employ hadn't created such a power barrier for him, so either they were weaker, or they were holding out on him. A powerful witch created and maintained this fortress, but nothing was impenetrable, as this spot showed. Time, patience, and power were all weapons against any sort of magic. This barrier required a combination of all three, but his goal was still to remain silent and unassuming, so he would have to add cleverness to the arsenal.

Of course, Oliver realized to actualize this plan, he had to get through this space. Unfortunately for him and his dress clothes, stepping through upright wasn't an option. Attempting to maneuver his tall frame through the fissure proved to be as awkward as he'd imagined, and also ended with him dirtying his knees and shins, as well as his hands. Due to its height and size, he considered a dive through, followed by a tuck and roll, but that would be irresponsible given that he didn't know if any traps on the other side would immediately rear up to attack him. Not for the first time, Oliver appreciated his tall, slight frame that permitted him to fit a bit more easily than a bulkier man would.

Half-way through the opening, he discovered that if he pushed up on the magic in its weakened state, it didn't react; it simply allowed itself to be pushed up or out, further enlarging the null spot. For a moment, regret about destroying part of the protective spell flitted through him. Clearly, it had been put in place for a reason, and he knew from his studies that it had been made of green hedge magic; whoever had cast it had done so with pure intentions. Delta, his staff witch, had been attempting to teach him to recognize various magical components beyond what his vampire senses told him; she would surely be impressed at his real-world practice. Grudgingly, Oliver admitted that her incessant chattering was paying off for him.

All of his employees would be shocked if they could see their normally impeccable boss in such disarray, and there was a good chance there was a hole or two in the seat of his pants. Certainly, dearest Ravyn would find it hysterical, reminiscent of their early days traipsing around various countrysides with muddy shoes, often filthy clothes, but with mostly high spirits.

Inside the yard, he realized how cut off the house and land were from the outside world. The garden scents were magically trapped inside the dome of magic. Not only did it smell different, but the air felt different; the crisp, clean magic permeated the very earth as well as all the plants. The air, nearly electric, flitted across his skin as if lightning were preparing to strike, and his body tingled in response, as if the hair on his arms could protect him if such a thing happened.

Of all the scents, naturally the most prevalent and irritating to him were the mustard seed and garlic. Of course, an earth witch with all these plants would have the most irritating, disgusting weeds among her plants. Contrary to popular belief, the plants didn't exactly protect a human from a vampire as much as irritate the hell out of their sinuses and enflame their eyes. Despite the lack of light, his eyes could clearly make out the glorious garden that had obviously been nurtured for years, if not generations.

Rubbing his burning eyes with a prayer that his nose wouldn't also begin running, Oliver made his way to the back ivy-covered porch, stepping lightly to avoid any errant boards that might let out a creak, alerting of his intrusion. Turning the doorknob, he gently tested it first, then with a crack, he popped the lock to the door leading into the kitchen, which thankfully opened with only a light sigh.

Walking in with all the confidence of an immortal vampire, he quickly ascertained that nothing stood in the way to threaten him. According to legend, vampires couldn't enter a home unless invited, but that simply wasn't true. It was a myth created to make peasants feel safer in their homes. And garlic didn't really offer any protection. It simply irritated eyes and sinuses; the same as mustard seed, but apparently draping oneself in yellow flowers never caught on quite the same way.

Surveying the kitchen, he began to wonder if he'd wandered on to the 1980s set of Stranger Things. Just as quickly, he came to the conclusion that he would never, ever tell Ravyn about these observations. Ravyn knew he watched a lot of Netflix, Hulu, and whatever other streaming services were offered, but he did try to keep the exact number of hours spent somewhat of a secret. Needing but a few hours of sleep left a lot of endless hours, and television easily filled them. Not everyone had parties and events most nights of the week, he ended the argument with Ravyn in his mind before it even started. Oliver knew she assumed he only watched science and tech documentaries, and truthfully, he did watch those, just not only those types of shows.

The cracked orange-and-yellow linoleum held a well-worn path between the refrigerator and the doorway with a lighter one toward the stove. Normally, he wouldn't notice a stove or refrigerator, but they were both yellow. Yellow! Yeah, the 1980s definitely called and wanted their appliances back. And of course, the countertops were orange. Why wouldn't they be? Bright flowered curtains that somehow both matched and clashed with the room hung from the small window over the sink. The counter next to the—yup—orange scratched up porcelain sink had been cut away, and a completely out-of-place stainless-steel dishwasher awkwardly jutted out from the space.

Was there still an eighty-one-year-old lurking around here somewhere? Eva had claimed her grandmother had passed years ago, but who didn't at least do some upgrades?

Oliver had assumed Eva lived here alone, but so far every single assumption he'd made about this investigation had been blown to bits. He really needed to do field work regularly, he reminded himself again. He couldn't possibly have always been this sloppy and incorrect. His senses continued rebelling against the scents of the garlic and mustard. Pinching his nose to hold off a sneeze, he hoped he hadn't brushed against the damn plants. The way the night was going, it wouldn't surprise him if his backside were covered in yellow pollen.

Silently heading through the door into what he correctly assumed to be the front room, he wasn't surprised by the green carpet. Not surprised one bit. Despite the drapes being tightly closed, he already knew the light leaked into the street outside. The plush baby blue sofas had blue-and-green matching knit afghans sitting across the back. No artwork adorned the walls or end tables; just family photographs, mainly on the walls and just a few on the tables.

Oliver picked up the picture of a young Eva with a man and woman wearing happy smiles, arms wrapped around each other. Eva had her mother's dark brown eyes, he noted, but hadn't inherited either's blond hair. On the wall, a graduate stood with her back to the photographer and arms spread out, flaring a robe while one hand clutched a diploma. The rich brown hair that flowed from the cap seemed like Eva was most likely the subject. Eva appeared to be the subject of most of the pictures, only none of them showed her entire face outside of the one with her parents. All the other pictures had her face angled away from the camera or hidden by hair or a book. A hint of cheekbone in one, an eye in another, but none showed her entire face.

Odd.

Opposite him, he could see a short hallway that, if he were guessing, contained the bungalow"s single bathroom and two bedrooms. Sticking a head through the doorway, he saw that all the doors were closed, but also that lights shone from under all of them. Leaning on the door frame, pondering his next move while listening carefully to determine which room his prey occupied, he once again felt a distinct buzz of magic. Turning and placing his hands on the frame and the wall simultaneously, he could feel the ebb and flow like waves on a beach as the magic buzzed through the house, moving down under the floor, testing him as it rolled along his feet, testing his balance and, if he were to guess, also his intentions.

He wasn't an expert but if he were to guess, this house sat imbued with powerful generational magic. Not just simple hedge witch magic worked here. Definitely not the magic of just a single witch, but several. Familiarity flowed with the magic, and it didn't battle with itself, but flowed as a unit feeling ancient, but at the same time new.

Fascinating.

Achoo!An unexpected sneeze rose up, bursting forth, followed by a shrill, sharp scream which broke his reverie of the magically infused home. Oliver found himself spraying mucus while standing face to face with a shocked, wet-haired, towel-clad Eva. Suddenly it became clear what door she'd been behind.

Her surprise immediately turned to fear at the realization that her sanctuary and her safety were under attack in her own home. Eyes wide, she opened her mouth, drawing in a deep breath to scream with more vigor, possibly hoping a neighbor would hear or it would frighten the intruder away.

Immediately acting on instinct as old as his existence, Oliver grasped her face with both hands, forcing her eyes to meet his, and ordered "sleep" with all the vampire coercion he could compel. She immediately dropped. Oliver easily caught her and her towel before either hit the floor. Thank the gods it had worked this time.

Resisting the urge to wipe his nose, he scooped her up, holding the towel tightly around her curves, acutely aware of her warmth and the feel of her in his arms as well as the sweet scent of spicy vanilla and a hint of lavender wafting from her, causing his fangs to once again pulsate. Holding his breath while pushing open the first door, he found a tiny room with a giant bed covered in an assortment of pillows. Squeezing around to the side of the bed, he lay her gently down and with a glance at her towel-clad body, briefly squeezed his eyes tight before covering her with the soft blanket strewn across the bottom of the bed.

Well, crap. Oliver ran a hand through his hair and then by habit smoothed it back into place as his stomach turned flip flops. The entire room smelled of her, and it placed him firmly on the outer edge of his control. Tonight wasn't going according to plan, any sort of plan at all. The hope was that once the compulsion wore off, he would have regained control of this bat-shit situation as well as himself. His control was an armor, and it was slipping tonight inch by inch. Grinding his teeth into submission, he held his jaw tight until pain emanated from the insistent canines.

The years had made him lackadaisical and inattentive, and in this world that was a death sentence. Falling victim to ego, consistency, and relying on his vampiric powers to override any threat would be his downfall. Even more sobering was the knowledge that it could also get Ravyn hurt—or worse. In any situation that required it, he could easily compel a person to do his bidding or tell him exactly what he needed to know without even getting up from a chair. But Eva had already demonstrated that she could shake off his power with ease. Even now, he had no idea how long she would rest. He needed to come up with an alternative and fast.

Ravyn's voice admonished him in his mind. "Brute strength," she'd scoffed long ago. "So many weapons in our arsenal, never rely on that. Seduction," the memory purred. "Innovation, flattery, cleverness, honesty. So many weapons at our disposal that brute strength would never be needed." The lessons had been learned and disposed of after years of relying on authoritarian relationships with his employees.