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The magic shop Owen brought me to was nothing like I was expecting. The walls were not dark purple with silver stars. There were no strings of beads serving as doors. There wasn’t even any creepy music. It looked like a spa. It was clean and bright, with light walls and serene photos. It was a real letdown.

“Where’s the bubbling cauldron, the eye of newt, the jars of dark scary things floating in liquid? You call this a magic shop?” I whispered to Owen.

He rolled his eyes and smirked. “No, I don’t. A magic shop is where little boys buy trick cards and finger traps. This is a wicchecraft supply store. And the eye of newt is on the back shelf.”

“Seriously? I am so getting some of that.” I scampered off in search of other cool wicchey things. Ooh, wands. I totally needed one of those. I wondered where she kept—I’d only made it a few steps before I saw a display of grimoires, or spell books. I carried most of the ones here, but there were a couple that appeared ancient, with cracked leather covers and intricate metal bindings that locked the books closed. I reached for one and was repelled. It was as though the book had its own force field, one that didn’t want me to touch it. I reached out again and was pushed back almost immediately. “Owen, come look at this!” I whispered.

“Good evening. What can I do for you?”

I turned at the woman’s voice. Like the shop, she defied the stereotype. Short ash blonde hair, pinched features, conservative clothes in neutral tones. She looked more like an accountant on casual Friday than a wicche.

“Schuyler, it’s good to see you. Thanks for meeting us.” He turned to me. “This is Sam.”

Walking back, I smiled and shook her hand. Pain. Intense, unbelievable pain. Her handshake was like getting hit with a taser. Assuming there was something horribly incompatible with our magic, I tried to tug my hand free. She gripped my wrist with her other hand, a hard glint in her eye, her smile turning knife-sharp.

A growl vibrated in the back of my throat. No damn wicche was going to overpower a wolf. Yanking, I pulled her off-balance and sent her crashing into a display case, shattering glass and sending candles flying.

Eyes wide and swimming with unshed tears, she made a production out of getting up, reaching out for Owen’s help.

“Sam! What are you doing?” He looked at me as though I’d turned rabid.

Cringing, she moved behind Owen, placing him between us, before she checked the shallow cuts on her palms. She looked to Owen, offering up her shaking hands.

Owen took them in his own, worrying over her injuries, mouth moving in silent spells. “Do you have a first aid kit? A couple of these cuts look deep and you know it’s Lilah who has the gift of healing magic, not me.”

Looking at me with shock and disappointment, Owen said, “You should wait outside. I need to take care of Schuyler, and she shouldn’t be afraid in her own shop.”

“Why are you petting her? She’s the one who started it,” I said, glaring at the wicche.

“She shook your hand, Sam. You’re the one who threw her into the glass.” He turned his back on me. “I need to stop the bleeding. Please leave.”

“She tried to electrocute me!”

Owen’s eyes darted to me and then back to Schuyler. His gaze turned strange and distant. Disbelief was etched in his features. He moved further away, eyes narrowing as he said, “What have you done, Schuyler?”

“Nothing. She’s the crazy one who attacked. She’s a werewolf. They’re animals.” Chin lifting in anticipation of his censure, she continued, “I think a better question, Owen, is why you’d side with her kind, rather than our own.”

“Excuse me?” Owen was a step behind and seemed to be struggling to find an explanation that didn’t cast either Schuyler or myself as the villain.

“What is so special about her?” Schuyler grabbed at Owen’s arm, but he moved before she could latch on. “Wicches, demons, vampires, even the fae defend and protect her. Why? Because of her, good people have been lost. Why shouldn’t she have to pay for that?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t hurt anyone—”

“You have no idea the pain you’ve caused,” she ground out.

And then I sensed it, just like at the Tonga Room, a barely-there scent lingering in the air. Wolf and vampire. And…demon? I’d never been here before, so I couldn’t be sure, but an odd scent hung in the air. I was surrounded by a brew of candle fragrances battling for dominance, but what caused my pulse to jump was the sulfurous undertone. It was similar to the way Dave smelled after moving heavy boxes in the storage room.

Feeling we were in over our heads, I started to back toward the door, my shoulders tight, sweat forming on my brow. My wolf wanted to come out and deal with all possible threats. This close to the full moon, she was hard to rein in. The woman was unhinged, and she could do magic. We needed to get away from her before something very bad happened.

Owen, however, wasn’t moving. “Since when do you do black magic, Schuyler? Your aura has black running all through it. Have you been working with a wolf, using the torture and death he inflicts in your magic? Is that where those black streaks are coming from?” Owen looked formidable, staring down the psycho wicche.

Schuyler blanched. “Of course not. How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

That didn’t smell right. Was it a lie, an evasion? I didn’t know if she was the one who was torturing women or the one who kept sending me horrible visions. Maybe neither, but she was dirty.

“Owen.” The shop appeared empty except for us, but the lingering reminders that others had recently been here had me ready to go.

“Oh, yes, by all means. Run along home and tell your vampire and your demon. Who will die this time? Go home and cry so all your big protectors can tear the city apart looking for whatever scared you.” Her voice dripped disdain.

“Listen, Glinda, I don’t know what the munchkins have been telling you, but you don’t know me. You have no idea what I have or haven’t done, so back the fuck off! Owen, it’s time to go now.” I walked forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the door. I would not let Owen get hurt because of me.

“Schuyler, you’re being used. Look at her. There isn’t a stain on her. She’s never hurt anyone or encouraged anyone to hurt another. Think about what you’ve been doing. If you want to help us stop the murder of innocents, tell us what you know.”

When Schuyler only glared, Owen reluctantly left with me. On the drive home he was so quiet, I was worried he was thinking about doing or saying something that would put him more firmly in the crosshairs.

He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. “She knows something, Sam. She’s involved in this. I can’t believe it. How could she be involved in something so evil?”

I didn’t know how to respond. Someone, maybe a few someones, had a hand in these deaths. At this point, I wasn’t sure if the why of it was as important as stopping them.

* * *

Owen droppedme off in the Land’s End parking lot. “I’ll stop by my parent’s house on the way home, talk to my Mom. She knows everyone and has an ear for gossip. If anyone knows what’s going on with Schuyler, my Mom will find out.” He grabbed my hand. “Hey, I’ll ask about you, too. Maybe she knows something about your Mom or your family line, something.”

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good person, Owen. Thank you.”

“Sam Quinn willingly kissing someone? The world has gone topsy-turvy.” Shaking his head, he squeezed my hand. “Okay, go away. I’ve got to get my Scooby-Doo on, and Dave has probably scared all your customers away.”

“True.”

“I’ll wait until I see you go down the stairs.”

“Thanks, Mom!” I left Owen with a wave and a backward glance.

The night was cold and clear, the moon heavy in the sky, its reflection dancing on the water. Jogging down the stairs, I realized something was wrong, the night unnaturally still. No roar of the surf. No car engines revving. No dogs barking. No footsteps sounding, not even my own.

“Ssssssaaaaammmmm,” hissed a voice in the stillness.

Panicked, I scanned the bushes near the path, the murky shadows at the base of the stairs. Face raised, I scented the air. Nothing. And yet I knew someone or something was watching me. I was close to home and wards that would hopefully keep me safe, if I could make it.

Before I’d taken more than a few steps, the ground swooped out from under me. Sliding, I was pitched into total darkness. I threw my arms out, scrabbling for something to hold on to, something to slow me down, but there was nothing. I screamed and yet the silence remained unbroken.

Tumbling around an unseen turn, I realized the darkness was taking form. My arms and legs were inky shadows silhouetted against the dark. Light. There had to be light source somewhere far ahead. Perhaps a way out. Whatever the reason, the tunnel I was racing through was gaining definition.

Throwing myself backward, I barely avoided an outcropping of rocks from taking my head off. Stomach turning inside out, I tried to think. I’d been falling too far for too long. It was impossible. If it was impossible, it was a spell.

A blast of heat from below took my breath. Sweat prickled my scalp as the light increased almost imperceptibly. I reached for my mother’s necklace before I remembered. The cuff. Grabbing my wrist, I needed to dispel the vision, to grind the bracelet into my skin. I ripped up my sleeve. Nothing.

I hadn’t taken it off, not even when—Schuyler. She’d grabbed my wrist when she sent an electrical current through me. She’d known I had it. Or one of those visitors I’d sensed in her shop had told her. It had all been a ploy to strip me of another layer of protection.

I was slowing. The light was growing, and the passage was beginning to level off. This vision wasn’t as terrifying as the previous ones. Maybe Owen was right, and my natural powers were growing, my mental barriers getting stronger.

Sliding around another bend, the passage seemed to widen. Dull red light and another blast of heat hit me. And then I was plummeting through the air, into a deep cavern. Fires flickered in the oppressive dark as I dropped like a stone through the void.

Stalagmites rose from the rocky floor of the cavern. Certain death raced towards me, as I hoped against hope for a miracle. A shadowy figure emerged, watching as I dropped like a stone.