“Holly?” I say.
Her fingers drum the table edge.
“I’m asking theoretically,” I say. “I know you’re a research buff like me. If this isn’t an area you’ve read up on, just say so.”
Her lips twitch in a tight smile. “It’s not an area witches are supposed to read up on, but I was curious. Academically speaking. I just don’t like to admit it in case anyone gets the wrong idea.”
It’s a perfectly valid answer. Witches have a bad reputation for being nervous about power. That’s what happens when you’ve been the most persecuted supernatural race in history. Sorcerers have no problem mixing dark and light magic to achieve their ends. For witches, even “gray” spells like fireballs may cross into that place where the wicked witch resides. Better to just stand firmly in the light with healing teas and innocuous spells.
Paige doesn’t believe that, but she still treads toward darker magic with extreme care. In other words, she’s fine with fireballs, but the warding we saw on that doorway—complete with human bones—is firmly outside her repertoire. That doesn’t mean she isn’t aware of that magic. She’s read every book on magic in the council library. So there’s no reason Holly wouldn’t do the same simply to expand her education.
And yet . . .
I’ve stumbled on something here. I see it as her face closes off, and I hear it in her careful voice. Dark magic isn’t pure theory for her.
Disquiet settles in my gut and nudges that I should press her on this. All magic is something to be regarded with healthy respect. Like shape-shifting. Werewolves aren’t inherently dangerous, but we are dangerous. If Holly is a dark witch, we need to know it just as Kate and I wanted to be sure our roommates knew we were werewolves.
And yet . . .
If Holly has a secret, is this the time and place to press her on it? Hell, yes, as Kate would say. We’re in a cabin warded by dark magic. If one of our companions is secretly a dark witch—that’s a recipe for trouble.
Yet knowledge of dark magic doesn’t make Holly a dark witch. And if I press, I put her back to the wall, which could be more dangerous than letting her keep her secret.
It comes down to this: do I trust her? The answer is yes. Unlike Elijah, Holly has done absolutely nothing to earn my mistrust. She has been firmly on our side. I need to believe she’ll remain there.
When I don’t respond, she glances up, worry deep in her eyes. “Logan?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I was waiting for you to go on.”
She gives a short laugh. “And I was waiting for you to say something about the fact I’ve researched dark magic. Or maybe take a few careful steps toward the exit.”
“If you didn’t run at having a werewolf for a roommate, I’m not going to run from a witch who’s studied the theory of dark magic.”
Do I emphasize studied and theory? Unintentionally, yes, and I don’t miss the look that crosses her face. It only slides past, and then she’s herself again, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she straightens.
“Good,” she says. “I just didn’t want you to have the wrong idea about me. So, this magic, yes, it’s dark. Those bones . . .” She looks toward the door and bites her lip. Then she lowers her voice. “If the others ask, I’m going to tell them they’re all grave-harvested bones.” She pauses. “That means—”
“Bones that have been dug up like in necromancy.”
She exhales a little. “Right. Your grandmother is Jaime Vegas, isn’t she?”
“Somehow, I don’t think Jaime would appreciate being called our grandmother. But yes, she’s been with Jeremy since Kate and I were little. So I know a bit about necromancy.”
“Jaime’s cool. I’ve seen her TV specials. Even caught her live show once in Los Angeles.” She clutches the table edge and swings her feet, gaze shifting down again. “Which is me wandering off-topic when you really need to know this.” She glances up. “Should Kate be here?”
“She’s exploring. I’ll leave her to it, and we can bring her up to speed later. Otherwise, the others will realize we’re having a group conference without them.”
She manages a smile. “The adults talking behind their backs. Right. So, some of the bones are grave-harvested.”
“Some. Meaning the rest are by-products of human sacrifice or some other kind of ritualized death.”
“Right. Grave-harvested wouldn’t work for that magic. You need to start by taking a life and then use those bones in the warding itself. I don’t know the specific type of ward they’ve used. Same as the symbols etched into the foundation. I only recognize them as warding. If it’s over the door then, like you said, we’re dealing with threshold warding.”
“Against a being that needs to come in the front door and can’t just break in a window like we did. Which vastly narrows down the possibilities. As Mason said, that particular bit of lore isn’t true for vampires. Some fae lore says that they can’t harm anything unless they’ve been invited in. Mostly, though, it applies to demons but only specific subtypes. We already suspected that’s what we were dealing with. A demon.”
“The hell hounds gave it away, huh?”
“They did. Which doesn’t entirely solve the mystery because hell hounds shouldn’t cross over with a demon master. Still, something’s here. It’s controlling the hell hounds. And it threw Kate and Elijah but didn’t give chase when we ran.”
“Just set its demon puppies on our tails.”
“And they weren’t chasing nearly hard enough.”
“Felt hard enough to me,” Holly says. “I haven’t run that fast since middle school track when I discovered I’m not an athlete. But you’re right. They could have caught us. They didn’t.”
“I got the sense they were toying with us. If the demon is controlling them and didn’t want us dead—”
“Guys?” Allan says as the door creaks open. He sees us and withdraws. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt.”
Holly slides off the table. “We were just talking. What’s up?”
“I found something,” he says. “And you really need to see it.”
Chapter Four
Kate
I stand at the bottom of the ladder, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the faint light coming through the hatch ten feet above. Behind me, Elijah’s shoes squeak down the rungs. Then there’s a click, followed by a burst of weak light. I spin to see him holding a penlight.
“Found it upstairs,” he says.
“Excellent. I’m almost glad I let you come along.”
I take the penlight, leaving him protesting as he tries to snatch it back.
“Uh-uh,” I say. “Giving me the flashlight is step three on the road back into my good graces.”
“Three?”
“One was coming to our aid at the bonfire. Two was helping us against the demon and hell hounds though I’m not really sure that counts since helping us was also helping yourself. Consider the flashlight step two-point-five.”