My mind was racing. It hadn’t occurred to me there might be another kind of stone in addition to the two we knew about.
I studied the plain stone in my hand.
What if there were more?
The question was too overwhelming to contemplate.
Grimsby rounded the corner clutching a sheet of paper. “The list you requested, miss.”
“Thank you.” I accepted the paper. “If you think of anything noteworthy that happened around the time of the storm, will you let me know?” I retrieved a business card from my pocket and handed it to him.
“Yes, miss. Of course.” He turned and scuttled back to the house.
Callan was staring at me. “What kind of stone would cause shifters to go crazy?”
“No idea, but think about it. There’s been a history of berserkers in this specific area for centuries. Even before the Great Eruption, there were reports of rabid wolves that attacked travelers here.”
Callan nodded. “And then the storm blows through, knocks down the wall, and suddenly they’re gone.”
“And wolves in Britannia City who were otherwise normal before are now acting like berserkers, which means they weren’t born berserk. It suggests they were influenced by an external source.”
Callan patted a loose stone. “Why would anyone bring a stone from here to Britannia City?”
I wasn’t sure. “Maybe they sensed it had power, but they didn’t know what kind. If it’s anything like the other two stones, it would have markings.”
Callan whistled. “I hate to admit it, but I think you’re on to something.
But what kind of stone controlled the ability to shift?
“We need to find a local berserker,” I said.
“Even if we find one, who’s to say they’ll be able to communicate with us? They were stuck as wolves their whole lives.”
And not just any wolves. Wolves that were out of their minds.
“It’s worth a try.”
He tossed a stone back on the pile. “Let’s go then.”
“Brumhilda first.”
“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.” He hopped into the driver’s seat. “Is this part of being a knight or is it just you?”
I closed the passenger door and looked at him. “Is what?”
“The helpfulness.”
I clicked my seatbelt into place. “My mother always said no act of kindness, no matter how small is ever wasted.” I paused. “Actually, Aesop originally said it, but my mother quoted him a lot.”
“She was a learned woman, your mother?”
“Very.” Unlike me, who now had a list of names but far more questions than answers.
9
Down a dirt path and nestled amongst the trees, Brumhilda’s cottage was relatively easy to find. The hot pink neon sign on the side of the road that spelled out Brumhilda’s and pointed us in the right direction probably helped.
And the blinking neon sign on top of the thatched roof of the cottage with an arrow that pointed downward.
Callan parked the jeep and I unbuckled my seatbelt. “I think you should wait here.”
He grinned. “You’re worried about someone stealing the jeep and being forced to spend the night?”
“I’m worried that Brumhilda won’t appreciate a vampire on her doorstep and turn us both away.”
His smile faded. “But I’m…”
“Exactly. What if she recognizes you?”
“Then she’ll be more inclined to let me in.”
“And she might be inclined to report your presence to House Peyton to gain their favor.”
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I see your point.”
“Take a scenic drive while I’m gone.”
I closed the door and approached the cottage. A small brown and white animal scurried behind a dark green pot that would’ve once served as a decorative planter. I caught sight of the short tail as it disappeared.
As I lifted my hand to knock on the door, the animal’s head popped out from behind the pot. A weasel.
“Hey, friend,” I said.
I reached out to touch the animal’s mind and see whether the vibe was friendly. I quickly withdrew when I felt a second presence. She wasn’t a random weasel.
“You’re a familiar.”
Not all witches had them so they weren’t as common as they once were. They seemed to fall out of fashion at some point during the Eternal Night, most likely because witches were too busy struggling for survival to care for a companion. My mother never had one and neither did I. Barnaby was the closest thing I had to a familiar, but we didn’t talk to each other in the traditional sense. I was unusual in that I could form a bond with almost any animal I chose. I didn’t need a familiar in the same way another witch might.
The weasel crept out from behind the pot and watched me with interest.
“Throw a girl a bone,” I told the weasel. “Am I about to get roasted and have an apple shoved in my mouth or what?”
The weasel trilled.
“Thanks.” If she’d hissed or chirped, I would’ve been more on edge. A trill was a good sign.
I rapped lightly with my knuckles on the wooden door.
“Come in!”
The door creaked open and I poked my head inside. The interior of the house was as small as my flat but crammed full of…stuff. There were cushions in a variety of shapes and colors. Pink leopard print blankets were tossed over every available surface and the floorboards were covered by multiple rugs that appeared to have no colors or patterns in common. Tennis racquets, framed maps, and watering cans adorned the walls as objets d’art. A disco ball hung from the low ceiling, catching the fragments of light that flickered from the lit candles. The style could best be described as indoor junkyard meets casino chic.
A woman stood beside a large black cauldron that was tucked in an Inglenook fireplace. Her lavender hair was streaked with white and she wore it rolled in a thick bun at the base of her neck.
“Brumhilda, I presume?”
The witch barely looked up from her cauldron. “Just a second. If I don’t time this properly, I’ll ruin the whole batch and have to start from scratch.”
She tossed a few seeds in the mixture and gave the whole thing a final stir before setting down the spoon.
“Who are you and why does Winnie seem to like you so much? She doesn’t like anybody.”
I looked down to see the weasel had accompanied me inside. Slick little creature.
“My name is London Hayes.”
Suspicion gleamed in her eyes, which were accentuated by thick black mascara and smears of light purple powder that sparkled. Upon closer inspection, I realized her skin was coated in a fine layer of foundation that matched her bronzed skin tone. Coral lipstick covered the cracked skin of her lips.
“I don’t know anybody by that name,” she said. “It’s a strange one at that.”
“That’s a lovely shade of lipstick.”
“It’s called seashell. I made it myself.”
“Is that what’s in the cauldron?”
She glanced at the cauldron as though noticing it for the first time. “Dearie me, no. That’s a protein shake.”
Right. “I’ve come on behalf of the earl and his wife.”
Grimacing, she turned back to her cauldron. “Then you can find your way out again.”