The words whispered through my head. I glanced around, but I didn’t see any ghosts.
“He swore death wouldn’t bind him. That he would come back and obliterate the line of the witches that had obliterated his.”
“He could have had more children,” I said. “His line didn’t have to end.”
“Because a kook like him was such a great prize,” Todd muttered. “I bet he had a damn hard time getting dates when he smelled like dead people.”
“How did he die?” I asked.
“Plague of 1636 in England. He should have used fire for more than killing. A little sterilization would have worked wonders.”
“Not a word of him since?” I continued.
Bobby cast me a glance. “Really?”
I shrugged and spread my hands.
“Not that I’ve heard, though if the Venatores Mali are trying to raise him—”
“Raise him?” Bobby interrupted. “Dude.”
“The Venatores Mali are killing witches,” Todd began.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I can add. Witches are dying. The snarling wolf symbol is involved. If McHugh isn’t back—”
“He’s dust,” Bobby said tightly.
“If there are people calling themselves Venatores Mali, following McHugh’s rules, hunting, killing, burning, then McHugh isn’t really dead. He never will be.”
“Why now?” I asked. “Why here?” I left out why me. But from the glance Bobby gave me, he heard it anyway.
“If we find that out, we might find them,” Bobby said. “I should take a look at that athame.”
“You’ve got the key to her apartment.” Todd indicated the stairs to his left. “Knock yourself out.”
“You know where she kept the knife?”
“Last I saw the thing it was on her bedside table.”
Bobby went up the stairs with me close behind. He inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door.
Expecting the apartment to be dark and musty, I was pleasantly surprised by a room full of sunshine, which smelled of mint. The reason for both was immediately apparent. The shades on Anne’s eastern windows were up, the sill lined with tiny pots of herbs. Even without the scent I would have recognized mint leaves.
I crossed the room, set my fingers on the soil. “I should water these.”
Bobby didn’t answer; he’d already stepped into her bedroom. I followed, curious to see the athame. He stood next to her bed. The only thing on the table was a lamp. He opened the drawer; stuff rattled; he cursed.
“Not there?”
“No.” He went onto his knees and peered beneath the bed, then straightened. “We’re going to have to toss the place.”
The apartment was smaller than mine, and that wasn’t easy. “It shouldn’t be hard to find.”
Bobby headed for her dresser. I found the watering can next to the kitchen sink and sprinkled the pots before I forgot. Besides mint, she had basil, thyme, and rosemary. I plucked a few leaves of the latter and tucked them into my pocket. Just in case.
A loud smack had me spinning, sloshing water onto my foot. A Siamese cat sat on the coffee table, peering at me with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen on an animal. The face was such a dark brown it was nearly black, which might have contributed to the intense shade of those eyes. The ears were huge, also deep brown, matching the paws and the tail. Everything else was the shade of sand.
The cat let out a long, loud, very human yowl, and the tail twitched once as it stared pointedly at the book on the floor before lifting those freaky eyes to mine. He, she, it must have knocked the volume off the table.
“Raye?” Bobby appeared in the bedroom doorway. “You o—” He saw the cat. “Where did that come from?”
“Must be Anne’s. It knocked something on the ground.” The cat jumped down and sat on the book, claws flexing against the binding and making a sound that caused my skin to prickle.
“I’m fine.” I kept my gaze on the cat. “You can go back to what you were doing.” When he did, I moved closer. “What’s your name?”
The cat didn’t blink. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d never had a cat, or a dog either. I’d once had a goldfish from the goldfish game, but it hadn’t lasted long enough for us to bond.
I knelt and the cat scooted behind the sofa so fast, I barely saw it move. I considered following and trying to coax the animal out, then I saw the title on the palm-sized volume that lay on the floor.
Book of Shadows.
Compelled, I opened the cover and forgot all about the cat.
This Book of Shadows belongs to Anne McKenna, an air witch. Should any harm befall her, the book is gifted to the next witch of that element who beholds it. Use the information wisely and well. Harm none.