Chapter Seven
Izabela told herself whatever was troubling Saintcrow was none of her business. So what if he’d gone to see the witch in the Everglades? The two-faced Alara.
Izabela grimaced. Half-human, half-reptile. What kind of union had produced such an abominable creature? And why did she care?
If Saintcrow wanted to seek help from another witch after all she’d done for him, well, to hell with him. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t jealous. And she wasn’t angry, she assured herself as the force of her outrage shattered the glass in the two narrow windows on either side of the front door.
After taking a deep, calming breath, she sat at her kitchen table. A wave of her hand produced pen and paper and she began to make of list of everything she knew about Rylan Saintcrow. It was a long, long list. Sadly, it held no answers.
Going upstairs to her work room, she filled her favorite cauldron with water, added a few drops of Saintcrow’s blood, a dash of sage, a sprinkling of mugwort, and chanted softly.
“Blood of blood, stronger than fire, show me that which I desire!”
For stretched seconds, silence reigned. And then, slowly, a faint orange cloud rose from the center of the cauldron.
Gradually, it took on the hazy form of a tall woman with long blond hair and coal-black eyes.
A small, green dragon tattoo with yellow eyes adorned the left side of her neck.
The woman fastened her unblinking ebony gaze on Izabela.
Even though the illusion wasn’t solid, power lanced through Izabela. Startled, she took a step backward.
The sound of amused laughter filled the room.
Izabela swore softly as the illusion gradually dissipated. What the devil had just happened? Who in Hades was the woman? A witch caught up in her spell by mistake? A female from Saintcrow’s past? Another vampire, perhaps?
She spent the rest of the night trying every spell and incantation she knew to resummon the woman’s image in hopes of learning more but to no avail.
Mouth set in a determined line, she turned to the pages of her grimoire, but found no help there. One thing she was sure of – whatever was plaguing Saintcrow was somehow linked to witchcraft, perhaps a curse she had never before encountered, perhaps an enchantment gone awry.
When the sun came up, she was still in search of an answer.