Page 9 of Wicching Hour (The Sea Wicche Chronicles #3)

NINE

The Night Owl

A fter a quick stop at a diner for burgers—plural for Declan—and fries, we started the 17-Mile Drive through Pacific Grove, Monterey, and Carmel. It was dark, so we didn’t have tourists to contend with. The few other drivers we saw probably lived along the scenic route.

Declan drove us in his truck. I sat in the middle of the bench seat and Bracken took the window seat. We had both windows open. Declan was parsing scents, hunting for the sulfurous odor that would tell us demons were nearby. Bracken and I had our eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of magic, trying to sense spells and wards.

There was one stretch of about five miles where we thought the house could be. Declan drove slowly, often pulling over on the narrow road to let others pass him, while Bracken and I concentrated. At one point, we got out and walked a section that had the potential to be hiding a secret lair.

We struck out.

Disappointed, Declan headed for home. When I realized we were close to the Night Owl Bookstore, I asked if we could make a detour. We needed more help.

“Do you remember when I told you we’d met an owl shifter?” I asked Bracken.

He nodded. “Of course. You said her name was Orla. I wonder if she’s a relation of Cowen.” Pausing, he tapped his finger against his lips. “He was a Eurasian eagle-owl shifter, as I recall. Charming man.”

I tried to remember. Turning to Declan, I said, “Isn’t that what Orla is?”

Declan shrugged. “Not sure. What I remember is the tension with the falcon shifter.” He turned off the main road.

“Oh my, yes,” Bracken responded. “Raptors do not get along well. They hunt each other. And if she is a Eurasian eagle-owl, then she is one of the largest raptors there is. I’m sure the falcon shifter felt very uncomfortable—perhaps even threatened—in her presence.”

Declan nodded. “That guy did take off quickly.”

“I didn’t get fear from him,” I said. “It was more like tightly chained aggression.”

“Understandable,” Bracken murmured. “And you said she owns a bookstore?”

I pointed up the long, dark hill, at the light on top. “That’s it. It’s an old Victorian house she’s converted into a bookstore. I think you’ll like it.”

He leaned forward, trying to get a better look, and I smiled to myself. The more I thought about it, the more Bracken and Orla seemed quite similar. Perhaps all of Bracken’s quirks merely meant he was supposed to be an owl shifter.

One of the side gigs that comes along with being a member of the Corey Council is serving on a committee of supernaturals whose job it is to police other supernaturals. We can’t expect human law enforcement to deal with our enhanced gifts.

I’d met Orla recently when we’d been investigating a possible abduction. An almost-victim had been able to break away from a supernatural serial killer and run to the light on the top of the hill, Orla’s place, Night Owl Books.

Declan parked his truck to the side of the wide front stairs and checked the time on his dash. “We can’t stay long.”

“We won’t,” I said, shoving him out the door.

“Pushy little thing,” he grumbled.

The bookstore was at the edge of the woods. The nearest neighbors were at the bottom of the long hill, which meant Orla’s home was quiet and private. That was part of the reason we wanted to use it as our crime-fighting clubhouse.

As we walked in, Orla came out from around a tall bookcase. Head tilted, she watched us for a moment and then said, “Is there another problem?”

She was a tall, thin woman—probably six feet tall—with long brown hair twirled up in a messy bun. Unlike those who aspire to the artful messy bun, Orla came by it honestly. She really seemed to just want it out of her way so she could see the page she was reading.

“Not tonight, no,” I assured her. “I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

She had bright gold eyes with orange flecks, ones that rarely blinked. At all. Clearly not feeling the need to make small talk, she waited for me to elaborate.

“Is there anyone else here?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Good. First, let me introduce my Great-Uncle Bracken. Like me, he’s a wicche.”

Orla stared at him a moment and then returned her focus to me. “I know. You both smell like wicches.”

“Might I ask,” Bracken began, “do you know a man named Cowen?”

Her head tilted to the other side as she moved forward, zeroing in on Bracken, who, strangely enough, didn’t seem at all bothered by her intense scrutiny. “Yes. How did you know him?”

Bracken sighed. “ Did ? Is he no longer with us?”

A line formed between Orla’s eyebrows. She was a beautiful woman, whose owllike mannerisms made her seem alien to humans. “My parents both died twelve years ago.”

“Oh, my dear,” Bracken said, shaking his head. “My condolences. I never met your mother, but your father was such a lovely man. He granted me an interview—let’s see—it had to be thirty-odd years ago now. I was researching shifters. Very little has been written about raptors and I was quite interested.”

He gestured to Declan. “People seem to believe werewolves are the only shifters.” He shook his head.

She barely spared Declan a glance before focusing on Bracken again. “True, but other than my parents, I’ve never met another Eurasian eagle-owl shifter.” Her hands fisted. “Do you know? Am I the last one?”

Bracken’s expression softened. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that. I, too, have never met another, save your father. If I ever do, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

She nodded, accepting his offer, though she looked sadder than when we’d arrived.

“I have a favor to ask you,” I began. “I have a cousin who’s a sorcerer.”

One long blink.

“Nick told me that,” she said, “but I wasn’t sure if he was making a joke I didn’t understand. Sometimes that happens.” She was referring to Officer Nick Garra, one of Detective Osso’s many black bear cousins. Nick was also a member of the Supernatural Justice League and the one who had invited Orla to join.

“No joke, unfortunately,” I confirmed.

Her eyes suddenly got wider. “I forgot refreshments. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

Declan and I grinned. She’d done this the last time we’d been here. She’d said she’d read about offering refreshments to guests in books across multiple genres, so she was sure it was the proper thing to do.

“We’ve eaten,” Bracken explained, “but I would very much like a cup of tea.”

Orla nodded and then disappeared into the back of the bookstore.

“Do you still have your notes from your interview with her dad?” I asked.

He turned and gave me a rare smile. “We think alike. I’m sure I have it in one of my journals. I’ll look when we get home. I’ll make a copy of it for her.”

Hearing him call our place home warmed my heart.

Orla returned a few minutes later with a mug for Bracken and then she looked at Declan and me. “Did you want tea as well?”

We both shook our heads.

“My favor,” I said, trying to get us back on track, “is to ask if you’d be willing to fly along the coast—Bracken can show you where—and see if you see or hear or smell anything off. We believe my cousin is holed up in a house that’s been warded to keep it safe from detection. We were just driving the 17-Mile Drive tonight, searching for any kind of magical buzz.”

Bracken handed me his mug and took one of his journals out of his tweed sport coat pocket. He most often dressed like an absent-minded professor, with mildly rumpled shirts and worn jackets with leather elbow patches.

He flipped open the journal and took out an old hand-drawn map. “Do you see here, where it says shades ? We believe that refers to the lair Corey sorcerers have been using for generations.”

“Not a terribly accurate rendering, is it?” she observed.

Shaking his head, he said, “It is not. Ergo, our need for help.”

“Honestly,” I said, “at this point, it would be great if you could fly the whole coastline, from maybe Santa Cruz down to Point Sur State Park. I’m not sure how big of an ask that is.” I grimaced. “I’ve seen a vision of where she is. I know it’s on the water and we know that she has to be close to do what she does.”

“We also know,” Declan said, “that there’s been an uptick of violent crimes in Monterey over the last decade or so when one sorcerer—Arwyn’s aunt—and then her apprentice—Arwyn’s cousin—were working with demons. From what we’ve been told, when a sorcerer is working in a particular area, the evil seeps into the community, affecting humans and supernaturals alike. Because crimes are up here and not north or south of us, we think she’s nearby.”

Orla nodded slowly, thinking. “I can close early over the next few days and go out searching. I’ll take smaller sections and go over them multiple times. I don’t think it would be helpful to fly the entire coastline at once. You’ll get an answer faster, but if they’ve stayed hidden for generations, finding them will be more challenging than spotting a smoking chimney in the middle of nowhere.”

“True,” Bracken said before drinking his tea.

“If you could do that,” I said, “we would all be incredibly grateful.”

Orla looked up at the clock over the front door. “My regulars usually arrive by midnight or one. I’ll close after that and then begin the hunt.” She glanced at Bracken’s pocket, where he’d stowed his journal. “I have a better map than that one. I’ll make note at the end of each night’s flight if I’ve found anything I think you should study more closely.”

“That would be fantastic,” I said. “Thank you.”

Bracken’s attention had drifted to the bookcases. I knew Declan wanted to leave ten minutes ago, but I also loved that Bracken seemed comfortable here.

“We should come back soon so you can browse Orla’s books,” I suggested.

Bracken’s attention snapped back to Orla. “Yes. I’d very much like that. I too have a large collection, though mine are predominantly old histories, not new fiction. Once we have solved our problem, I’d love to come back. You, too, may visit my home and see my books anytime you wish.”

Orla, eyes bright with interest, bowed her head, accepting the offer.

“Great,” Declan said. “Orla, it was good to see you again, but we need to get going. I have a pack meeting tonight.”

Orla stared a moment and then nodded. “It’s good to get the wolves away from the sorcerer. You have too much natural aggression as it is.” She opened the book in her hand and wandered off, already reading as she disappeared behind a bookcase.

Declan and I looked at each other in surprise. We’d known she was smart, but to have made that connection so quickly was remarkable.

“Let’s hit it,” I said.

We all walked out and piled back into Declan’s truck. He dropped Bracken and me off in front of the gallery and drove off, heading out of town later than he’d intended. The responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders. He knew the safety of our community relied on him wearing out the wolves.