Page 29 of Witch (Gray Wolf Security #24)

There were no news reports about Marcus Hopkins. Nothing that told the world that a horrible evil had been removed from the planet. No one asked where he was. No one found his body. No one wanted the answers. They were happy in the knowledge that he had disappeared from New Orleans.

Each of his victims, the women who succumbed to his disturbed mind, was given a memorial in their hometowns and buried according to their personal beliefs.

The cellar of the mansion in New York was filled with cement, intended to block that memory and to never allow evil in or out of there again. The tours of the historic mansion would not wander there, nor would it tell the story of the deranged son of the Hopkins family.

They’d returned in time to see the children parading about in their Halloween costumes, each one cuter than the last. There was plenty of candy, games, cupcakes, and even bobbing for apples.

It was wholesome, pure, and filled with childlike wonder and play. The way it should be.

Within a week, the cases for the Gray Wolf team were completed, and the new Legacy team was ready to take over. When the briefing was done, they sat in the grove, drinking their coffee, watching as the younger men scrambled from one location to the next.

“I’m actually enjoying this view,” smiled Ghost.

“Same,” nodded Tailor. “I never thought I would, but this is fun watching them be overwhelmed for a while.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Matthew. “There is a great deal to do.”

“Pops, what do you mean? We’re retired,” said Rafe.

“You are retired from employment. You are not retired from this earth. I have much that you need to help me with. The holidays are coming, and that doesn’t change just because I have moved on.”

“Well, we can help with the baskets and the toy delivery,” said Wilson.

“Come with me. All of you,” said Matthew.

He led them to one of the larger boats, all of the men boarding, and then another filled as well. When they were all moving slowly through the bayou, Miller frowned at his brothers.

“Pops, where is this taking us?” he asked.

“Our land. It’s all our land,” said Matthew.

They wove through the trees and the swamp, the bayou narrowing to a tiny inlet. At the apex of the land sat a massive warehouse. Matthew docked the boat and moved toward the doors, not saying anything. They all knew they needed to follow him.

Disappearing through the metal of the building, the doors suddenly opened, and Matthew smiled at them, opening his arms wide.

Like a huddled mass of bees, the men stood in the large doorway, staring at the scene. At first, they could say nothing. They took it all in, amazed at what they were seeing. Then, it was Trak that finally spoke, a very unlike Trak statement.

“Holy fuck.”

**Matthew Hopkins was a real witch-hunter in England. He tortured and murdered more than two hundred men and women, attempting to get confessions of witchcraft. He died in 1647 after holding the title of Witch-Hunter General.