Chapter 10
Purchasing a home took painstaking effort because I was saddled with making sure it was nearly equidistant between the Houses of Knight and Hollows to prevent claims of favoritism, or requests for work that fell outside of my contract “because I lived so close.” I’d ended up with a property in Illinois that with traffic was about an hour from Indiana.
That worked in my favor now because the Indiana werewolf packs still maintained some elements of Midwest hospitality that Illinois packs were missing; more specifically those in the Chicago pack.
It left me with a nugget of hope that if my wolfsbane lead in Chicago failed, I’d succeed in Indiana.
The city’s traffic tested my frayed nerves, as did Rachel’s witch contact, Paige, who kept leaving me on read.
My numerous calls went ignored as well. Against a ticking clock, I made the decision to go to her apartment.
Rachel was confident that if any witches of the Earthroot Coven had wolfsbane, it would be Paige.
I’d met her a few times but hadn’t established a connection strong enough for her to risk admitting to having wolfsbane and thereby making her a target of the Chicago pack.
It was why I’d left text messages and voicemails that were vague, simply stating that Rachel had suggested I speak with her.
While searching for parking, I wondered if this would have been better handled by Rachel.
I dismissed the thought. Her time was better spent working with her coven on a reversal spell and one to locate the curser.
Having snagged a parking spot a block from Paige’s apartment, I rushed past the strip of brick buildings, the setting sun casting shadows along the buildings.
It was hard to ignore the alluring aroma of coffee from the café I passed, the scent of roasted beans, vanilla, and cinnamon beckoning me to take a short break to have a cup and a pastry.
Inhaling whiffs of chocolate had me stopping in front of the café.
Caffeine and sugar would give a needed jolt to my waning energy.
Then Cirrian’s smug smile resurfaced in the forefront of my mind, a reminder of my time constraints and how much I wanted to be done with him.
He wasn’t wrong: Time was of the essence.
I didn’t have the luxury of wasting any of it.
Picking up my pace, I reached Paige’s apartment.
Wicker Park was where a lot of the witches lived, and each time I visited, I understood why.
The area’s rich history, vibrant galleries, and eclectic boutiques radiated creativity, inspiring witches to hone their craft and facilitate new spells.
East Village with its lush canopy of trees and horticulture naturally appealed to Earthroot Coven witches.
In this part of the city, a person with a plethora of plants and vegetation wouldn’t seem so peculiar.
I frequently visited the park with Amelia, where she’d settle on the grass, digging her fingers into the earth as she tilted her face up to the sun.
She’d close her eyes, basking in the sunlight.
I’d jokingly comment that her actions reminded me of the Earthroot Coven witches, who were often seen sprawled on the grass looking reverently at the trees, flowers, and plants around them.
My comments always made her face flush and earned me a sharp look of irritation.
“Some of the ingredients we use for our spells come from the earth,” she once chastised. “You have to respect it.”
No one needed to remind me to respect magic and all that it encompassed.
It was deeply rooted in me from the moment my parents made claims of the great magic I’d supposedly acquire.
Being constantly surrounded by magic made me acutely aware of its absence in me.
Cirrian’s confirmation that my parents were right and there was dormant magic in me waiting to be unleashed ignited a fierce determination.
It quelled the pang of hopelessness I felt at its absence.
Despite the heartless deity’s negative view of the type of magic it was, I was eager to prove that it’s the person wielding the magic who determines if it’s good or bad.
Every memory of Amelia gut-punched me with an overwhelming fear of failure. And I hated the reminder that if I wasn’t successful, I wouldn’t be able to make any new memories with her.
I stopped to take a deep breath and compose myself.
The bravado and confidence I’d shown Cirrian had vanished, leaving me to face the daunting reality of what needed to be done to break the curse.
Wolfsbane, fig from a Balic tree, and “whatever fool vampire” who’d agree to help with the spell.
I also needed a witch to perform the spell.
Considering what had happened to Amelia’s coven before, convincing them to risk their lives for another spell—especially a demon spell—would be a tough challenge.
I wasn’t sure what would be worse, asking them to perform another spell that they didn’t create or getting a vampire to help with the demon spell.
“One problem at a time,” I told myself as I approached the converted warehouse apartment. I attempted to slip in behind the woman entering it.
Giving me a regretful smile, she asked, “Do you have a keycard?”
When I told her no, she blocked me from entering, just opening the door enough for her to slide through and quickly close it.
She suggested I wait for the tenant I wanted to visit to grant me access.
I didn’t blame her. And telling her my attempt to enter the apartment without the resident’s knowledge was because she hadn’t responded to my messages or calls definitely wouldn’t have helped.
She offered an apology before confirming the door was completely closed and waving as she left.
Checking my phone, I hoped there was a missed call or response from Paige.
“You need in,” came a rough, deep, fatigued voice behind me. I turned to find Madoc sporting a tousled look different from his usual curated style. His eyes were red rimmed, and he kept blinking as if it was a struggle to keep them open.
“Long night?” I questioned.
He nodded. “Rachel is still at it. She really needs to sleep before she does something dangerous.” I wasn’t in a position to chastise Rachel because I was doing the same thing. Deprived of sleep, I was running on fumes of determination and adrenaline.
Easing past me, he used his keycard and opened the door for me. When we got into the elevator, he pressed buttons on two different floors. One I assumed was to his apartment and the other to Paige’s. He responded to my curious look with a small smile that didn’t reach any other part of his face.
“Rachel didn’t think it would have been a good idea if I’d approached Paige about the wolfsbane,” he admitted with a sly smirk, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“Madoc,” I said, unable to withhold my judgment of this hoe-bag from my voice or the accusation of him being the coven’s problem child.
His unrestrained libido and indiscriminate relationships were going to cause a conflict eventually that would lead to bigger problems. But it was hard to be too critical because he was always up-front about his intentions.
We’d been partying one night when he extended his offer to me for a hookup, which fell along the lines of, “You’re sexy as fuck and so am I.
We should do this. Only for tonight, no strings.
Just a night of us enjoying each other.” I appreciated his honesty, and he had the good looks to reward his low effort.
I wasn’t in the habit of giving out participation trophies.
I didn’t need a sonnet or overly romantic gestures to get my interest, but a matching sexiness rank didn’t get it.
“I’m getting you a chastity belt,” I teased.
Madoc’s brows furrowed in a frown. “You don’t judge, that’s what I appreciate about you,” he muttered, his scowl softening into a sulk.
“Not judging,” I countered. “I’m a problem solver. That’s what I do. And that”—I gestured toward his crotch—“is becoming a constant issue.”
Too exhausted to argue, he slumped against the elevator wall. “So,” he started in a lazy drawl, “any idea when you can introduce me to the kinborn witches?”
I met his intensely expectant look. “Once this is over, I’ll work on that.” His deep curiosity was a live wire humming between us.
Before he could start his rapid fire of questions about them, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. He tipped his chin to it. “This is her floor,” he said, a slight flush moving over the bridge of his nose.
He reminded me of the promised introduction as I exited. If other witches behaved like obsessed superfans, I understood why the kinborn witches kept to themselves.
After knocking on Paige’s door the third time, it swung open.
A petite, harried-looking woman in her mid-thirties stood at the entrance.
Strands of copper-colored hair had unraveled from her French braid.
Freckles smattered her nose and cheek. Blotches of dirt clung to her blue long-sleeve shirt and white leggings. A sheen of sweat covered her skin.
Pressing the back of her hand to her forehead, her ivory skin flushed pink. “I didn’t respond did I, Kara?” At least an introduction wasn’t needed.
She blew out a breath. “We finally meet.” Paige gave me a withered smile, wiping her hands on her pants. It didn’t remove any of the dirt on it, but I shook her hand, anyway.
“We’ve met a few times,” I pointed out.
Studying me, her lips dipped into a frown. “Of course. I remember.”
She was lying and pretty bad at it. Working for the vampires had given me an appreciation and fondness for bad liars. Stepping aside, she invited me in.