Page 37 of Bewitched by the Wicked Witch (The Bewitching Hour #4)

Twenty-Three

Sage

A fter depositing Paige safely at Cindee's house, a process that involved considerable arguing, creative cursing, and promises that we'd return with her best friend intact, Callum and I had retreated to Gran's library to research the symbols we'd encountered.

Three days of fevered investigation later, we finally had answers. Unpleasant ones, naturally.

The symbol that had been haunting my thoughts since the alley encounter glared up at me from the yellowed pages of Protective Wards and Ancient Symbols , looking as malevolent in print as it had carved into brick.

"Here," I said, stabbing my finger at the relevant passage with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary. "It's a binding rune. Specifically designed to contain magical energy or magical beings against their will."

Callum leaned closer to read over my shoulder, his proximity sending unwanted sparks of awareness through my nervous system. I ruthlessly suppressed them; we had more pressing concerns than my inconvenient attraction to my former heartbreaker.

"'The Purity Binding,'" he read aloud, his voice growing increasingly grim with each word.

"'Historically employed by extremist factions to neutralize mixed-blood magical practitioners.

'" He looked up at me, those green eyes dark with dawning understanding.

"Sage, this isn't just about kidnapping teenage girls. Someone's attempting to..."

"Strip away their magic permanently," I finished, ice flooding my veins as the implications crystallized. "Transform them into mundane humans."

Cosmo lifted his head from where he'd been sprawled across a stack of ancient grimoires, golden eyes reflecting the afternoon light. "Well, that's delightfully horrifying," he observed with characteristic dryness. "Nothing like a bit of magical genocide to really brighten one's day."

The horrifying reality crashed over us like a tsunami of malevolent possibility. Paige, Beverly, and the others weren't just missing, they were being systematically drained of everything that made them who they were, turned into empty shells of their former selves.

"We need to find them immediately," I declared, slamming the ancient tome shut with enough force to send dust motes dancing through the late afternoon light streaming through Gran's diamond-paned windows.

Callum caught my wrist as I started to rise, his touch both steadying and distracting. "We need a coherent plan first. If someone possesses enough power to create binding runes and hide four girls from an entire magical community's search efforts..."

"Then they're certainly powerful enough to eliminate us both if we stumble in like amateur vigilantes," I conceded reluctantly, sinking back into the worn velvet armchair that had been my reading sanctuary since childhood.

"Fine. But the girls are still out there somewhere, and every hour we spend in academic research is another hour they're systematically destroying them. "

"I understand that," he said softly, his thumb tracing unconsciously over my pulse point in a way that sent entirely inappropriate shivers up my arm. "That's precisely why we need to approach this intelligently rather than emotionally."

I yanked my hand free, ignoring the flash of hurt that crossed his expression like a cloud over sunlight. "What exactly did you have in mind, Agent Renshaw?"

"Magical tracking," he replied, his tone shifting back to professional efficiency. "You mentioned feeling dark magic emanating from that rune. Can you follow the signature like a trail?"

I considered the proposition, calling up the memory of that oily, fundamentally wrong sensation I'd experienced when touching the carved symbol. "It would be similar to following a scent trail, except using magical resonance instead of physical senses."

"And I can enhance your magical perception," Callum offered. "Amplify your range and sensitivity to magical signatures."

I raised an eyebrow with genuine surprise. "Since when do you possess that particular skill set?"

A shadow crossed his features like a curtain falling. " Since I spent five years learning specialized investigative magic for the High Council."

Right. His mysterious departure and the subsequent years of silence that we still hadn't properly discussed. Another complicated conversation for another time, assuming we survived the current crisis.

"Very well," I said crisply. "But we conduct this operation according to my methods and my magical protocols."

"Agreed without reservation."

"Excellent," Cosmo stretched luxuriously before hopping down from his perch. "Nothing I enjoy more than a well-planned venture into obvious mortal peril. Shall I prepare my will, or are we optimistically assuming survival?"

***

We began our investigation at the Hexes and Brews where the original rune had been discovered. Someone had scrubbed the symbol from the brick wall with obvious haste, but magical residue clung to the mortar like an invisible stain that reeked of malevolent intent.

I pressed my palm against the rough surface, closing my eyes and extending my magical senses outward with careful precision.

Callum's power flowed into me like warm honey, amplifying everything until I could perceive the lingering traces of whoever had created the binding rune.

Their magical signature tasted as bitter as burnt coffee, tinged with fanatical purpose and old, deep hatred.

"I have the trail," I murmured, opening my eyes and following the invisible path that only I could perceive. "This direction."

We moved through Old Hollows like supernatural bloodhounds, following a magical trail that led us past the town square where early evening shoppers instinctively gave us a wide berth.

Past the elementary school where I'd transformed Tommy into a frog during our childhood years, a decision that seemed remarkably prescient in hindsight.

Past the shifter district, where modest homes gradually gave way to the trailer park marking the town's outskirts.

"They're deliberately avoiding the main magical districts," Callum observed as we paused at a crossroads where the trail branched in multiple directions.

"Tactically sound," I admitted with grudging respect. "Considerably less chance of detection if you conduct your dark magic experiments away from the council's monitoring zones."

The strongest magical trace led toward the old industrial district, a collection of abandoned warehouses and defunct textile mills that had once provided employment for half the town's population.

Now they stood empty and decaying, their broken windows resembling dead eyes while weeds pushed through cracked foundations with vegetative determination.

As we approached the hulking brick building that seemed to be our destination, the magical trail grew stronger, more concentrated. But there was something else, layers of concealment spells woven so carefully that I almost missed them.

"There." I pointed toward what appeared to be a service entrance partially hidden behind overgrown vegetation. "The trail terminates at the structure. But it's heavily warded. "

Callum studied the entrance with the practiced eye of someone trained in magical security. "Multiple layers of concealment, but they're focused on hiding the entrance from casual observation. Not necessarily from determined investigation."

"Can you unravel them without triggering any alarms?" I asked.

"Give me a moment," he said, his hands moving in complex patterns as he began carefully dismantling the magical protections. "These are sophisticated, but they're designed to keep people away, not to detect intrusion."

After several tense minutes, the concealment spells flickered and died. What had appeared to be a rusted steel door now revealed itself as a modern entrance with electronic locks and what looked suspiciously like a keycard reader.

"Well," Cosmo observed with dark satisfaction, "that's not ominous at all. Very 'abandoned warehouse meets high-security facility meets obvious trap.'"

"The magical trail leads inside," I said, studying the door mechanism. "But getting through this is going to require more than just magical lockpicking."

Callum examined the electronic components with growing concern. "This is professional-grade security. Military or government contractor level. Someone spent serious money on this installation."

"Can you bypass it?"

"Probably, but it'll take time, and there's a good chance it'll register the intrusion even if I can get us through."

"Then we find another way in," I decided, leading us around the perimeter of the building. "There has to be emergency exits, maintenance access, something that isn't quite so heavily fortified."

We circled the structure twice before Cosmo's superior night vision spotted what we'd missed, a partially concealed grate near the building's foundation that appeared to provide access to utility tunnels.

"Maintenance entrance," Callum confirmed, examining the grate. "Connects to the old steam tunnels that run under this whole district. We might be able to get inside without triggering the main security systems."

The grate was secured with nothing more sophisticated than heavy-duty padlocks, presumably because whoever had installed the electronic security hadn't considered the possibility that intruders would be willing to crawl through utility tunnels to reach their target.

Callum made quick work of the locks with a combination of magic and mundane lockpicking skills that made me wonder exactly what kind of training the High Council had provided him.

Within minutes, we were squeezing through the narrow opening into a cramped maintenance tunnel that smelled of rust and old steam pipes.

"This is remarkably unpleasant," Cosmo complained as we crawled through the confined space. "My magnificent coat was not designed for utility tunnel exploration."

"Your magnificent coat will survive," I muttered, trying not to think about what was soaking through my costume at the knees.

The tunnel led to a larger chamber that had clearly been part of the building's original infrastructure, but someone had been busy making modifications.

Modern lighting had been installed alongside the old steam pipes, and the tunnel continued deeper into the building's foundation than the original blueprints would have suggested.

"Someone's expanded this significantly," Callum observed, studying where new construction met old infrastructure. "This isn't just maintenance access anymore."

We emerged from the utility tunnel into what should have been the building's basement, but instead found ourselves in a space that extended far beyond the warehouse's footprint. The chamber was clearly artificial, carved from the bedrock beneath the industrial district with professional precision.

"This is massive," I whispered, staring at tunnels that branched off in multiple directions. "This isn't just about four missing girls. This is something much bigger."

And somewhere in this underground maze, four girls were running out of time.