Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
With my head and half my body stuffed inside my grandad’s toolbox storeroom, I hunt around for the things I’ll need. It’s time to go after the witch. I’ve given myself forty-eight hours to get the job done.
“Okay, you have almost everything on the list. You just need the potions to counteract any wards.”
I twist my hips and grab the final potion balls. “Got them,” I say with a groan as I wiggle back out. I open my hand and let the three potion balls roll. They bump along the carpet towards the dedicated magic pile within the organised chaos of the scattered equipment on the bedroom floor.
Story sits out of the way on the edge of the bed, and she swings her legs as she taps her notepad with a tiny pen.
“So let’s try that naff-looking thing first.” She points her pen at some random spot on the floor.
She must be on about the magic necklace.
I flop to the floor and cast my eyes around for the necklace she is talking about.
Aha, it is near my feet, so without moving, I grab it with my bare toes and drag it across the floor.
The necklace is a dark blackish-grey, the colour of fake silver.
I hope it doesn’t turn the skin on my neck green.
Story shakes her head and wrinkles her nose as I pull it from between my toes— What? They’re cleanish. I smirk at her as I put it on.
“Gross toe juice.”
I wiggle my normal-looking toes at her. “Ew, my toes aren’t juicy. Who has juicy toes… I can understand flaky.”
Story gags.
“I shifted. My toes are perfect and as soft as a troll’s bum.”
“Have you touched a troll’s bottom?”
I snort and shake my head. “I haven’t.” The grotty-coloured necklace settles around my neck, resting just below my collarbone, and as soon as it touches my skin, it immediately activates. I can feel the low-level magic buzzing across my skin. I’m glad it doesn’t need an incarnation to work.
Story zips into the air and circles me. “It isn’t perfect, but it seems to do the trick as it masks your shifter energy, less like a beacon”—she does another few circles around me that make me feel a little sick when I try to watch her—“and more like a trickle. You feel like a normal shifter human half-breed.”
“Fab, thanks, Story. It’s an old spell, but as long as it makes it so I can blend in, it’s perfect.
” I’m sure Jodie would have had a stronger necklace for me to purchase.
I should have thought about it when I was at the shop, but I was so focused on getting information on the witch that allegedly has my horn and getting the hell out of there… I didn’t think beyond that.
I am glad I have everything I need. Thank you, Grandad, as I’m not going back into that magic shop unless I’m being dragged by my hair, kicking and screaming.
I appreciate it wasn’t Jodie’s fault that her niece was rude, but I’m seriously not a forgiving person and the girl is on my shit list. Unless it’s a life-and-death situation, it’s no go.
I’ve spent my life avoiding drama, and I’m not gonna start now. Yeah, ’cause your face being on every media channel is low profile. I roll my eyes.
I carefully remove the necklace, and on my hands and knees I slowly, methodically, pack my kit.
Nerves bubble in my tummy, and I have to stop to fold my arms over my abdomen and hug myself to keep the crazy feeling inside.
I puff out my cheeks. Wow, this is all getting so real.
I let my arms drop and continue to arrange my things so they’ll be easy to find.
Story ticks everything off her list like she’s a military officer, and she makes a note of where everything goes. She’s going to be running my comms, so if I forget something, I’m sure my scary and kind of control-freak friend will know where it is.
The girl is impressive. I am so very lucky to have her, I think with a side-eye when the pixie tyrant prods me with her pen to hurry up. I pick up my pace, and when I finish, I rub my nose and sit back on my heels.
“Is that everything?”
“Yep. I think so. I guess we’ll know if you need anything pretty quickly.” She nervously smiles.
I nod. “Yeah, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Thanks for your help.”
Story zips towards me and lands on my shoulder. She rests a hand on my neck. “You’ve got this, Tru. From what you’ve told me, you’ve done hundreds of little recons like this over the years for your grandad. You can do this with your eyes closed.”
I blow out a breath and roll my shoulders.
Showtime.
I leave Story in our bedroom and hurry down the hall to access Xander’s portal, using the code my unicorn grandfather gave me. I take a deep breath as I step through.
The portal brings me out at the rear of a multistorey car park in what looks like a busy shopping area.
I take only a few minutes of frantic searching before I get an idea of where I am.
I don’t know this city, but I’ve spent a few hours immersing myself online with Google Maps, and I’ve memorised enough to know my way to the witch’s address from here. It’s about a twenty-minute walk.
I’m dressed in black combats and a long winter coat that hits my calves.
The outfit has so many pockets full of things I need I’m surprised I don’t rattle with each step I take.
If this recon mission goes wrong, I should have enough tricks to get myself out safely.
The masking necklace buzzes along my skin.
I tuck my hands into my pockets, and my fingers nervously jiggle the stuff jammed inside.
With my baseball cap pulled down low, I hunch and walk with a little bit more of a swagger.
I have some leaflets for a local Indian takeaway to deliver as cover. So when I get to the witch’s street, I ignore the battling moths bouncing around in my stomach, and I immediately open the gate and walk up the path of the first house and slip a leaflet through the letterbox.
So far, so good.
On to the next house.
My eyes flick about as I take mental notes: which of the houses are busy, and which houses aren’t. Who are the nosy neighbours? I jump when the window next to me squeaks from a woman with her nose pressed against it. I give her an awkward wave. Avoid the human granny at number six.
The letterboxes scrape against my hand as I push each leaflet through.
I decide straightaway I dislike the ones with the brushes inside and the ones that have two flaps.
I’m sure they’re good for the environment, but each time I try to stuff the piece of paper through, I end up losing a few skin cells as the letterbox either snaps closed on my hand or the paper gets stuck in the brushes and I have to give it an extra poke.
I keep going. Gosh, I don’t know how the postal workers at Royal Mail stand it.
When I get to Karen Miller’s house, I get my extra-special leaflet ready.
I’ve already prefolded it, and it’s full of little micro cameras.
These cameras are expensive, and they’re all tech without a sniff of magic.
Hopefully, they’ll be undetectable to the witch.
I’ve programmed the cameras to go into different rooms, one in each corner. Their batteries will last a week.
I haven’t got a week, and I’m on a deadline to do this as soon as possible, but before I take on the witch, I need eyes inside this house.
It’s a risk, and when I step to the door, my hands shake, and I have to take a deep fortifying breath as I open the letterbox and stuff the leaflet inside.
Go, go, go little cameras.
I turn and stroll away, maintaining the same lazy teenage boy walk. Nothing to see here. Then I go to the next house, all casual-like, as if my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.
I feel like I’m going to puke.
I cringe and duck my head. My ears strain for any early indication that I’ve been caught. I keep mechanically delivering the leaflets as I wait for someone to catch me, for somebody to run out from the witch’s house waving the leaflet and screaming about spy cameras. But nothing happens.
My heart beats madly, but the further I get from the witch’s house, the easier it is to breathe. I finish that side of the street, then I cross over the road and put leaflets in the houses opposite.
Once my heart rate has gone back to normal, and I’m no longer panicking, I analyse what I felt when I went to her door.
Karen Miller’s house has a strong blood ward.
The only way to get inside that house is to be recognised by the ward—yeah, that’s not going to happen—or have skin contact with the witch.
Yay.
I pay particular attention to the house across the road from Karen Miller’s.
It’s one of a set of three similar-designed houses in an art deco style.
Sadly, the other two houses next to it have lost a lot of their art deco features, but the house opposite the witch has retained its almost-flat roof.
I smile at the For Sale sign and grin when I have to knock the lodged post out of the way to get my takeaway leaflet through.
The house is empty. It couldn’t be more perfect.
When I finish, with a last look around, I quietly… like a ghost, leave the area and head back to the portal.
I ring Story’s mobile on the way. “How’s it going?” I ask as I rub my tender right hand. Within a few minutes, that should heal. I won’t even need to shift now the vampire side of me isn’t fighting with my dying unicorn side. I heal like a pureblood.
“Hi, the cameras are up and running. They’re all working. She’s alone watching television and eating breakfast.” I sigh. Phew, that is a relief. “Tru, she has a chunky necklace on.”
“Shit, God, I’m so nervous. That’s good… perfect. Thanks, Story. I’m on my way home. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“See ya.”