Page 36 of The Sea Witch’s Son (The Villains of Wolf Hollow #1)

Chapter 35

MARLIN

Calista is waiting for me the next morning.

For a woman who got no sleep, she looks deceivingly put together with lipstick that matches the red soles of her stiletto boots.

“I trust the other affair went according to plan?” Her eyes roam over me, hunting for a wrinkle in my clothing, “It’s not like you to have sleepovers.”

“Who said anything about a sleepover?”

“Nice try. I saw you sneaking out of Melody’s house this morning.” She grins, “Did you tell her about our encounter last night? I thought it went swimmingly well.”

A smirk hits my lips, “Did you manage to leave him alive?”

“Of course.” She clucks her tongue, “Men have much lower breaking points than women.”

“So you keep telling me. ”

Despite the success of last night’s encounter with Finley, I find myself feeling rather restless. My dark grey dress pants are in perfect order, as is the lavender dress shirt paired with them, and yet I feel unsettled this morning.

Perhaps I did lose a piece of my mind in that maze.

“I must admit, I was surprised to receive your phone call last night.” Calista lifts a brow, “It’s been years since you’ve asked me for a favour.”

“Is it a favour if I knew you were going to enjoy it?”

“You know me well, old friend.” She gives me a sly smile, “Although, not too well if you thought I would contribute to your little revenge scheme without some sort of reward.”

If there is one thing I have learned about Calista Drache over the years, it is she never gives when there is an opportunity to take.

“I would never forgive myself if I showed up empty-handed.” I smile, passing over the personnel file, “A token of my appreciation. For your tremendous efforts last night.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have.” Calista grins, flipping open the recruitment report I put together for her this morning.

Walking over to the large bolder in the clearing, I brush off the residing dirt and lean against it.

“Miss Hendrix is a full-time archeologist and part-time treasure hunter. She’s been searching for the lost city of Atlantis for years, and her government grants are about to run out. She’s desperate for funds and is willing to do anything for the right price. ”

Calista nods along, skimming her eyes down the report.

“She is strong enough to make it past physical obstacles and smart enough to make it past a vault.” I pause, waiting for the appropriate reaction, “Checking nearly every box on the skillset you need.”

“Another blonde.” Her lips curl in disgust, “There is nothing I hate more than a pixie cut.”

“Shall I make the arrangements?”

“No.”

I pause, “No?”

“Your debt has been paid, but I’ve already got my eye on another recruit.” She smiles, all teeth and no sweetness, “I’m going to take a trip to Silverwood while you have a heart-to-heart with Jack.”

“I told you I would get it done.”

“And yet you got side tracked, even though time is of the utmost importance right now.” Her smile sharpens, “Mother has started asking questions.”

“The Dragon has found out already?”

“She knows something is going on. She just hasn’t figured out what it is yet.”

We both hear the silent emphasis on the yet.

“You will have an answer by the end of the week.” I drop my head in acknowledgement, “If not, you are welcome to find a replacement.”

“Oh, Marlin. Your methods are far too entertaining to ever replace. ”

“I aim to please.”

“I know you do.” She tilts her head thoughtfully, “Gus told me you broke Finley’s nose before I arrived. Something about a sensitive topic?”

For a group as small as ours, there ought to be no room for gossip.

I make a noncommittal noise, “There was a slight disagreement.”

“About a certain redhead, yes?” Calista taps her lip, “I’m curious, how does a man who claims to feel nothing instigate such a violent reaction? Surely, indifference would have been your typical response.”

“It had been a long night.”

“I can only imagine. Pulling Melody out of the water must have brought back so many painful memories for you. So many emotions.”

Mischievous eyes sparkle back at me. Calista is setting out another challenge, trying to bait me into revealing a past I do not care to remember.

We are similar in that way. Always poking at the other to see who will crack first.

So far, neither of us have succeeded.

“It was terribly difficult. I couldn’t help but think about my father.” I pause, meeting her stare, “And wonder whether his death was half as agonizing as I always hoped it would be.”

Calista throws her head back and laughs. The crows hiding in nearby trees immediately take flight, their sleek black wings tearing through the sky as the cackle resonates through the forest.

“Your mother would be proud of how far you’ve come.” Wiping her eyes, Calista shakes her head, “You are the town’s greatest treasure."

I offer a modest shrug, “Must run in the family.”

“Speaking of family, did you happen to look at Melody’s file again?”

“Did something capture your attention?”

“Not something. Someone .” Teeth flash my way, “The police file on the father’s murder was impressively sparse, but I did notice a phone number was left as an emergency contact.”

I nod slowly, “That would be the neighbour’s number. The one who filed the domestic abuse reports.”

“Correct, as always.” Calista pulls out her phone, “I did a little investigating and look who the number belongs to.”

I stare at the name for a moment too long.

“Now, that is an interesting development.”

She grins, “I believe your little plaything has some explaining to do.”

“Yes. I believe she does.”

Turning on my heel, I walk away hearing the echo of Calista’s laughter. It’s a manic sort of sound, one that does not sit right with my current state of mind.

One that does not sit right at all .

I keep walking until the familiar shoreline comes into view. The Seaborn Mansion rises like a wave over the beach, just waiting to crash down on anyone who dares to pass.

An old dock floats along the shore. Gentle waves lap at the wooden beams, the thick sludge of algae staining the faded colour green.

The grave sits just beyond the dock. A mound of dirt impaled by a sign that a little boy made once upon a time.

Tucking my hands into my pockets, I turn and start the journey home. I keep my gaze trained forward, not bothering to read the words I wrote so long ago.

Here lies T. Seaborn.

He lived and died a fool.