Chapter 7

Hendrix

After a sleepless night, thanks to my inconsiderate neighbors, I was in a foul mood as I packed my bags to continue my journey. The bumping and thumping of several people moving around set my teeth on edge. Why was the world full of neanderthal lesser beings who didn't understand the concept of courtesy? They were in a motel. People could be trying to sleep, dammit. The slamming of their door thundered through my room, and I grimaced, partially relieved they were finally out, but also more mad than ever that they couldn't close a goddamn door quietly.

I wandered toward the window, pulling the curtain out of the way just enough to glimpse the dark-haired woman I'd spoken to the day before. She was as crass as the rest of her party, but also… intriguing?

With a huff, I released the curtain and returned to my luggage. Today was the day. I could feel it. Treasure was close, and nothing would stand in the way of me making it mine. My spine itched with the urge to release my wings and take to the skies. To feel the wind in my mane and clouds chilling my paws. Soon.

From what I'd read, Spells Hollow was deserted. Some silly tale of ghosts and curses kept the dullard masses at bay, which meant no one would be around to notice an 850-pound gryphon flying around. Not that I personally cared about the exposure, but my clan had been hunted in years gone by, and I didn't want to deal with the headache it would all bring about. It would divert me from my true calling: treasure hunting.

Dragons may have been well known in pop culture for hoarding treasure, but my kind could sense it. We were far superior to those flying lizards in every way. Case in point: because they couldn't keep their mouths shut about their hoard, plus the whole stealing women thing, they had barely survived the centuries of genocide humans brought down upon them.

A vibration started in my chest as the roar of an engine outside announced the motel was finally free of my raucous neighbors.

"Not a minute too soon," I muttered, checking the room for anything out of place.

The bed was neatly made after my terrible night's sleep, nothing on the floor beneath it. The wet towel was in the tub, as per the sign posted in the bathroom. My toothbrush and toothpaste were tucked in a plastic bag in my backpack, with my dirty laundry in a separate bag in the back pocket. I'd meant to launder it the night before, but that woman and her crew had thrown me out of routine.

I scratched my chest, glancing at the remote controls for the television to ensure they were straight, before hiking the bag over my shoulder and retrieving my key card from the small table under the window.

Right before I stepped out the door, I retrieved my iPod from the side pocket of my bag and threaded the headphone wire through the front of my shirt. Tucking the buds into my ears, I hit play and felt my shoulders drop as Sam Sparro filtered into my head, singing "Black and Gold". My cousin had tried unsuccessfully to upgrade my music choices and the device I listened to them on, but there was something material about having the system connected. To know I can pull the plug if I need to use the headphones as a garotte at a moment's notice. You couldn't do that with a Bluetooth headset. Even throwing it at someone wouldn't slow them down.

Stepping outside, I gently pulled the door closed, because I wasn't a heathen, and paused at the empty parking spot.

They're gone.

"Good."

Trudging across the parking lot, I braced myself to deal with the unwashed masses for a greasy breakfast.

"How you doin', honey?"

Barely a step into the diner, and I'd already drawn unwanted attention. The waitress smiled cheerily, rosy cheeks spread wide to show perfect white teeth. Despite the warmth of her expression, ice slid down my spine as she waved me toward an empty booth. Popping out an earbud, I nodded in greeting and moved quickly past her.

"Our special today is pumpkin pie with walnut cream. Can I get you a coffee?"

"Thanks," I muttered, eyeing the cherry pie on display by the register. Was she messing with me?

The scent of old grease and sugary sweet perfume hung in her wake as she moved around the deserted diner, retrieving my coffee and a laminated menu for me to peruse. I sighed, leaning back in my seat and looking out the window toward the motel. Maybe I should have booked another night so I could be sufficiently rested before I continued on my hunt. Spells Hollow could be dangerous according to what I could find on the place in the urban explorer chat rooms. People go in and never return. I wasn't just people , but with the way gravity pulled at my bones after last night, I needed to be sure I had my wits about me before venturing into the unknown.

A tiny elderly woman in an obnoxiously gaudy leopard print top and pink pants emerged from the motel's reception area hauling a bucket and mop. Her lips moved at lightning speed as though cursing someone out. I thought of the neighbors I'd had the previous night. The reason my sleep had been so poor in the first place. Nope. Camping was definitely the better choice.

"Here you go, dear. Now, what can I get you to eat?" The waitress patted her perfectly styled hair and pulled a notepad from her apron.

"What's the camping like around here?" I asked, sipping my coffee and hiding a grimace as the stale sludge slid over my tongue.

"Best in the country. The farther into the woods you go, the better it gets. Some people never want to leave."

I grunted, wondering if I'd have to compete with other campers, but dismissed the thought quickly. This place was deserted and the only other travelers I'd seen were the neighbors from last night who had already left. I'd be fine. I placed an order for a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, and sausage on waffles and took the time to plan the next leg of my trip. My skin buzzed with the sense of treasure close by, and I knew this one would be life changing.

After wolfing down my meal, including the coffee—because caffeine was caffeine when I was tired enough to feel my pulse in my eyeballs—I paid and headed toward the motel parking lot where my 1967 Ford Eleanor 500GT sat waiting for me. I'd debated leaving her here and hiking in, but the itch under my skin leant an urgency to the hunt that would make the rough two-hour walk unbearable.

Turning over the ignition, I closed my eyes and felt the roar of the engine coming to life beneath my hands. Popping my earbud back in place, I pulled out of the parking space and turned toward the long road to Spells Hollow, humming to Spandau Ballet singing about gold . My favorite subject, and hopefully some of the treasure I'd find in the mysterious town ahead.

As the car bumped along the increasingly neglected road, my gut churned with a sense of unease. Chills skittered along my arms, making the hair stand on end. Magic. No wonder this town had such a reputation. Trying to shake off the effects, I rolled down my window and focused on steering around the potholes that threatened to destroy my car's suspension.

By the time I pulled up to the remains of a broken and rotted gate, I was done. I could practically feel the damage to the car's undercarriage, and I wasn't having it. Pulling the car up parallel with the fence, I killed the engine and rooted in the backseat for my car cover. The spot I'd chosen was relatively clear of trees, so there wouldn't be any damage from falling limbs, and once the cover was in place, the paintwork would also be safe. Not a foolproof plan, but definitely better than continuing to drive.

Once the car was locked tight and covered, I shouldered my backpack and made my way through the gate. A metallic crunch underfoot drew my attention to a small sheet of metal marked KEEP OUT . Magical wards, physical signs… this place grew more interesting by the second. Beyond the sign, tire tracks proved how ineffective both warnings had been to previous visitors. Curiosity won every time.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I decided to give in to my earlier impulse. I wouldn't walk the last mile into town. I would fly. It had been weeks since I was able to stretch my wings, and the promise of freedom was too much to resist. I dropped my bag in the dust and backed away a few steps, reaching deep to find the beast within. It cried in triumph, a loud keening sound as fur sprouted from my skin and my bones cracked with the change.

The first time I ever shifted, the pain had been blinding. Barely into puberty, I'd shifted long before I'd gotten my first erection. The intensity of the experience made me blackout, and when I'd woken in a body I couldn't control, I'd found a single gold coin on the pillow beside me.

Gryphons didn't buy into the tooth fairy myth. No Santa Claus or Easter Bunny, but our first shift was sacred, and it was marked by the gifting of our first piece of treasure.

Much like it had that first time, my sense of the proximity of treasure doubled as my wings expanded across my back. I dropped onto my paws and stretched back, enjoying the pull along my spine and through my shoulders. Thank whatever magic created gryphons that my clothes shifted with me, because I didn't have the space on my hunts for endless clothing changes. With a lazy flick of my tail, I scooped my backpack up with two claws.

It's time.

Rearing onto my hind legs, I beat my wings and screeched in joy as my paws left the ground. In a matter of seconds, I cleared the top of the trees and saw the land stretch out toward the sea below me. The wind whipped at my beak, ruffling my mane as I swooped toward the tree line and climbed up through the cloud cover a couple of times, enjoying the freedom of flight.

With the sharpened vision of my gryphon form, I caught movement in the woods. Bears, wolves, a white lone wolf that almost seemed to be watching me. They were as insignificant as the humans I'd left behind at the diner. Nothing mattered when I was chasing updrafts and tasting the cold moisture of low-hanging clouds. Nothing except…

My beak twitched, and I turned toward the cluster of buildings on the cliff's edge. Spells Hollow. Treasure.

Turning into a lazy downward spiral, I aimed for a clearing beside the river that ambled around the outskirts of town before cutting through the cliff side. I looked back toward the woods, considering heading deeper to find a good campsite for the night. Eh, the sun was nowhere near its zenith yet, and the call of treasure begged me to head toward town. Shaking out my mane, I took a deep breath and called to the man inside me, releasing the beast with a promise to fly again soon.

The scent of salt and seaweed danced in my nostrils as the onshore wind swept over me, invigorating me on my walk as I passed dilapidated buildings that would have housed working-class families in years gone by. Some were little more than rubble, collapsed chimneys, and rotten log cabins, but every now and then I would glimpse one whose frame had withstood the battering of the elements.

According to my research, it had been three hundred and fifty-odd years since Spells Hollow was a thriving community. Centuries since some event, lost to time, had caused the inhabitants to abandon the town. I could admit that the history buff in me was almost as interested in finding out what happened here as I was in the treasure that called to me like the sweetest siren song.

The earth crunched beneath my boot, and I glanced down, frowning at the dark line on the ground. Glancing left and right, I noticed it extended out on both sides. Behind me, the grass grew green and lush, the trees plentiful. Before me, there was only death. Dirt and shriveled stalks that may once have been plants littered the ground, and I wondered what could have caused such a marked distinction between the two. It was as though someone had burned and salted the earth. Like life had been leached from everything this side of the line.

Like a curse.

The soft murmur of voices reached me from the far side of the nearest house. This one appeared to be in far better repair than the ones I had passed earlier. Two stories high, it had not only maintained its walls, but most of its windows, too. Keeping hidden from whoever else had decided to explore the abandoned town, I moved closer to the house, noting there were several others that appeared to be arranged in a circle around the town square. I wished I'd taken the time to map out the town while I was airborne, but the novelty of flight had outweighed my curiosity about the town while I was up there. No chance of flying now, though. I had company.

Huffing in annoyance, I quietly circled the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of the interlopers and barely suppressed a curse. A familiar dark head and admittedly spectacular ass was climbing the stairs to the front door. Behind her, the noisy entourage from last night continued to bicker and jest.

Of all the abandoned towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.

And if she was after my treasure, we were going to have a problem.

A low growl caught my attention. I swung around, coming face to face with the white wolf I'd spotted earlier; although now I was closer, I knew he wasn't just any white wolf. He was a raiju, a creature native to Japan, whose powers were linked to lightning.

"You're a long way from home, pup," I murmured.

His lip curled as the low growl came again. I could take him with my eyes closed, but something in the back of my mind cautioned that the animal could be useful. Holding my hands up, I took a careful step away from the house and turned my back on the stampede of feet entering it.

"Nothing to worry about. I'm not here for them."

The wolf chuffed, his hackles dropping as he moved forward and took a long inhale. His thick tail twitched a half wag before he turned and disappeared between the buildings.

Maybe I'd made a new friend.

Not that I needed one.