Chapter 14 Delia
Delia
The car engine growls as we tear through the quiet streets of Pennington Falls.
The stop signs usually get more respect than this, but we’re on a mission.
I grip the passenger door handle, my knuckles white as Jasper takes a corner too fast, his face locked in that emotionless mask I’ve come familiar with.
Frost spreads across the steering wheel beneath his grip, tiny crystalline patterns blooming outward like frozen fractals.
"Easy on the turns," I mutter, though my heart isn't in the complaint.
I know every second matters now.
Jasper doesn't respond, just presses harder on the accelerator as we speed past the Moonlit Bakery, its windows glowing amber against the morning sky.
"I still can't believe it's Cassie," I say, the words feeling inadequate against the horror of what we've discovered. "All this time, sitting at town meetings, organizing bake sales, smiling at everyone like she wasn't plotting to carve out their hearts."
"People are rarely what they seem," Jasper replies, his voice flat as the road stretching before us. "Hunters are taught from childhood to blend in. To become part of the community they're planning to purge."
I notice his knuckles whitening as he grips the wheel tighter, more frost spiraling outward to cover nearly half the steering column now.
The temperature in the car drops several degrees, and my breath mists in front of my face.
His emotions might be muted without his heart, but it’s starting to seem like his body still remembers how to react, even if he doesn't.
Whiskers sits in my lap, the crescent black moon on his head is nearly hidden by the pale static electricity bristling in his whiskers. "Turn right at the next corner," he says, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "If we cut through Willow Lane, we'll save two minutes."
Without hesitation, Jasper veers right, tires crunching over scattered autumn leaves as we take the corner. My fingers dig deeper into the door handle, but I remind myself that his wolfy reflexes are sharp enough to handle this speed.
"We should have seen it," I say, the guilt gnawing at me. "We should have connected the dots sooner."
"Self-flagellation can wait," Jasper says, eyes never leaving the road. "Focus on what we're going to do when we get there."
He's right, of course.
There will be time for regret later, assuming we survive whatever comes next. I take a deep breath, centering myself, feeling the magic at my fingertips like electricity waiting to discharge.
"If Cassie's there," I say, "I can try to bind her. I've been working on a containment spell that should hold even someone with hunter's blood."
"And if that fails," Jasper adds, "I'll handle it." The certainty in his voice sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold air.
We turn onto Elderberry Road, a quiet street lined with matching cottages, each with its own meticulously tended garden. At the end of the cul-de-sac sit two nearly identical houses belonging to Millie and Mrs. Henderson's daughter, Sabrina, separated only by a shared garden and picket fence.
Jasper brings the car to a stop a few houses away, engine quietly idling. "No sense announcing ourselves," he says, switching off the headlights.
We exit the car silently, Whiskers leaping from my shoulder to the ground, where he takes point, scampering ahead with his nose to the air.
Millie is on her front porch, rocking peacefully in her chair, a half-finished crochet project in her lap.
She seems completely unaware of the danger lurking in her future.
"She looks okay," I whisper, relief washing through me.
"For now," Jasper murmurs, his eyes scanning the surrounding area with the wariness of prey that knows it's being hunted. "But we need to get her somewhere safe."
I follow his gaze across the shared garden to Sabrina’s house. Her silver Honda sits in the driveway, its presence a discordant note in an otherwise normal morning.
My stomach knots.
"That's not right," I say, pointing to the car. "Mrs. Henderson and her daughter meet for breakfast every Tuesday morning at the Blessed Star Cafe.”
It’s a tradition of theirs ever since Mr. Henderson passed.
Jasper's expression hardens. "Could be nothing. Maybe she's sick."
We share a look, and I can tell we’re thinking the same thing.
"You check on Millie," he says, already moving toward Sabrina’s house. "I'll investigate next door."
"No," I grab his arm, my fingers closing around cold skin. "We stay together. We don't know where Cassie is, and I'm not letting you face her alone."
Something flickers behind his chocolate-brown eyes. Annoyance, surprise maybe, or the ghost of appreciation, but he nods once, then turns toward Millie's porch.
"Goodmorning, Millie!" I call out, forcing cheer into my voice as we approach.
Millie looks up from her crocheting, a smile warming her face. "Delia! Jasper! What a lovely surprise." Her gaze shifts to Jasper, and her eyebrows lift slightly. "How the renovations coming along? I’ve missed the market this year!"
Right.
Our cover story.
“Oh, you know Jasper. All or nothing.” I say smoothly.
"We were just passing by and thought we'd check in. Have you by chance seen Sabrina today?"
Millie's smile fades slightly. "Now that you mention it, no, I haven't. Which is odd. She always waves goodbye when she leaves for her breakfast with Caroline." She glances toward her neighbor's house, concern etching lines around her mouth.
The unease in my gut solidifies into dread. I exchange another look with Jasper, whose jaw has tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I think we’ll go check on her. Just to be safe." Jasper gives Millie a reassuring wave.
"Here, dear. I've got a spare key somewhere…" She begins to rise from her chair.
"No need," Jasper interrupts. "You stay here. We'll just knock first."
Millie settles back, her fingers resuming their rhythmic work with the crochet hook. "Such good people," she murmurs. "Do let me know if something's wrong."
We move away from Millie's porch, heading across the shared garden toward Sabrina’s cottage. Whiskers darts ahead, disappearing around the side of the house.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," I whisper to Jasper.
"Me too," he replies, as we edge up the short flight of steps toward the front door "Stay alert."
My hand trembles as I raise it to knock.
No answer.
Whiskers reappears, his eyes wide with urgency. "Back door's ajar," he reports, "And there’s blood."
Jasper sniffs the air, “He’s right, I can smell it, but barely. Millie is wearing her perfume a bit thick today.”
The back door creaks open at my touch, swinging inward to reveal a darkened kitchen. “Sabrina?” I call out softly, though a part of me already knows she won't answer.
The kitchen is immaculate—dishes washed and put away, counters wiped clean. A pot of tea sits on the stove, long gone cold. Two teacups rest on the table, one empty, one full.
A visitor's cup.
Cassie's cup.
A floorboard creaks beneath my foot as we move deeper into the house. Whiskers skitters ahead, his white form barely visible in the dimness. We follow him through the dining room and into the living room, where the lamp casts a soft glow over the horror before us.
Sabrina lies on her floral sofa, her eyes staring upward, her chest cavity yawning open, a dark hollow where her heart should be.
"Damn it," Jasper hisses, the curse fogging in the suddenly frigid air.
The room tilts slightly, colors sharpening then blurring at the edges of my vision. "She doesn't look like she fought back," I say, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "Just like the others."
Jasper's nostrils flare slightly as he speaks.
"Tranquilizer," he announces. "Did you see how the teacups were arranged?
Like old friends having a chat." He points to the table.
"One empty, one full. Sabrina drank hers.
Cassie didn't touch her own." His jaw tightens.
"She put something in Sabrina's cup, waited for her to get drowsy, then went to work. "
Jasper crouches beside the sofa, his eyes scanning the scene with clinical precision. "The cuts are clean," he observes, his voice detached. "Just like mine was. Like all of them were."
The rage building inside me feels too big for my body, like it might crack my ribs from the inside out. I bite down the urge to scream.
"We need to call the sheriff," Jasper says, standing. "This is evidence they can't ignore."