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“No one’s answering, but that’s her car.” She pointed.

“Maybe some friends picked her up.”

She shut the door. “What about Harold?”

Logan’s brow puckered. “Who?”

“Her butler.” She chewed her lip. “I think that’s his name.”

“Butlers have to run errands sometimes, Sab.” He eyed her while she stared at the quiet mansion in thought. It was too far away to hear anything, and she saw no movement in the windows. “Try again, if you want,” he offered. “Or we can wait and see if anyone comes home.”

She buckled up. “No, let’s get going. Maybe we’ll come back later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Let’s take a drive by Darien’s, though.” This would be their third time checking on Hell’s Gate since the last of the Devils left town. While wolves lacked the Sight that would show them the otherwise invisible spell systems, what they didn’t lack was a sense of smell that would tell them if any lurkers had come by.

They pulled out onto the peaceful, palm-lined street. Not a minute later, the red-brick mansion came into view, the house quiet and empty.

Logan pulled over parallel to the gates.

“Be right back,” Sabrine said. She got out and shut the door, the muffled voices filling the truck as Logan flicked the radio back on.

Sabrine switched from her witch senses to canine, as if tuning in to a different radio station. She didn’t need to shift to get the job done, but she did need to summon her wolf in spirit to filter through scents.

She began by walking along one side of the gate. Nostrils flared, she sorted through the many different smells, being very thorough. Fresh-cut grass, mellow jasmine, dry earth… Spring blossoms, mulch, week-old paint from the neighbor’s house, candle smoke…

Her hair blew back as the wind changed directions. It smelled like...

Blood.

A tremor ran up her spine, her skin quivering.

A short distance away, closer to the neighbor’s house than Hell’s Gate, a brunette witch lay unconscious in the grass, a tangle of bloody hair obscuring her face.

Sabrine paled.“Logan!”She lurched into action, gravel crunching under her sprinting feet. “Call an ambulance!We need an ambulance!”She threw herself to her knees beside Tamika in the cool grass.

Logan was there in a flash, phone pressed against his ear. “What happened?”

“I don’t know—I just found her like this!”

“Yeah, we need an ambulance,” Logan was saying into his phone, his voice tight with urgency.

Tamika’s pulse was faint—a mere flutter against Sabrine’s fingertips.

“Venefica,” Logan said, answering the dispatcher’s questions.

“Location?” The voice was muted. Miles away as Sabrine begged Tamika to keep breathing. “Keep breathing, Tamika, keep breathing.”

“Victoria Amazonica District.” Logan searched frantically for the address, finding the numbers by the gate. “775237.”

“What’s the emergency?”

Sabrine’s head spun at the sight of Tamika’s shirt—wet with blood. “Oh gods. Oh gods, Logan, she’s been stabbed?—”

“Sir?” the dispatcher prompted.

Logan managed to spit out, “There’s been an attempted homicide.”