by Nova Nelson
I pointed at him. “Bingo. That’s what I want to talk about. Did you know someone’s offering a reward for information that leads to the North Wind?”
Eva’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”
Donovan nodded. “Yeah, I saw that in the paper.”
“I guess I didn’t realize how big of a deal a complete circle was,” I said. “I knew people would be upset and edgy, but I didn’t think—”
“They’d lose their fang-bitten minds?” Donovan supplied. “Yeah. For sure.”
“Even if they don’t find the fifth, we could be in real trouble,” I said. “If they get frustrated in their search, they could just solve the problem by, you know.”
“Killing one of us,” Donovan finished again. “Yeah, I realized that.”
“I didn’t,” said Eva, glaring at him. “You weren’t going to share that with me?”
“I figured you knew.”
She smacked him on the chest. “Why would I know that! I haven’t even been here a year! You’re the world’s worst tutor. I should have asked to work with Oliver instead.”
He leaned away from her as she took another swipe at him. “Sorry, sorry. I forget you’re so new. It’s just … I feel like we’ve known each other so long that—”
“Nuh-uh,” she said, glaring at him. “That’s not gonna work.” But I could see she was biting back a smile.
Donovan shrugged. “Had to try.”
“There’s something else,” I said, “and you’ll probably know more about this, Donovan. When I was speaking with Efarine, she mentioned that there hadn’t been a complete circle since the end of the war. I knew it had been hundreds of years and the war ended about three hundred years ago, but … are those two things related?”
Both Eva and I turned to Donovan, the only one who stood a chance of knowing that depth of Eastwind’s history.
He looked between the two of us and said, “Oh, I have no idea. I was a terrible student. Always found history class to be a snooze.”
Eva rolled her eyes. “What good are you?”
He grinned down at her. “I have other more useful skills you seem to enjoy.”
I choked on a sip of beer and only just managed to swallow it down. Then I followed it up with a few more long gulps. What Eva and Donovan did behind closed doors wasn’t anything I wanted to know about.
And it wasn’t because I still had a thing for him. I didn’t.
I was over him. Completely.
Or, okay, mostly.
Fine, fairly.
Enough to be fully invested in my relationship with Tanner, I’ll have you know.
“Look who it is!” came a familiar voice across the pub. I looked up and saw Jane striding over. “Mind if I join?” she asked as she approached the table.
“Not at all.” I patted the bench next to me, and she scooted in, setting her tankard on the wooden table with a clunk. “I tell you what, this not working thing is driving me up the wall. I love Ansel, but he’s been extra moody lately. He says it’s the full moon coming up, but Mother Moon! I’m just as affected by that as he is, and I’m not cranky all the time.”
“You kind of are,” I said. “But don’t worry. I love it.”
“There’s a difference between taking no nonsense off anyone and being cranky,” she said. “And it doesn’t matter what phase the moon is in, you know I can’t abide people flinging their emotional unicorn swirls my way.”
I raised my cup and we clinked before she turned to the rest of the table. “Why the long faces?” Before anyone could answer, she said, “Oh, let me guess. Something to do with the Coven and/or the High Council?”
“Surprisingly, no,” said Donovan. “Not this time.”
Jane shrugged. “Worth a shot. After all, they’re the cause of ninety-nine out of one hundred headaches in this town.”
“I don’t disagree,” said Donovan, the hundredth headache, in my very humble opinion. “Ansel didn’t want to come, I guess?”
Jane hedged for a moment. “Well … I didn’t invite him. I just told him I needed to get out of the house and left. Honestly, he’s been spending so much time around only werebears that he’s starting to rub his back on everything without even realizing it and I”—she put a hand on her forehead—“I just can’t deal with that. He did it the other day while I was in the middle of talking to him, just walked up to the corner of the wall and started rubbing. Didn’t even realize he was doing it! If that isn’t a reason to mingle with more than just your own kind, I don’t know what is.”
“He’s out with Darius tonight, I guess?” I asked.
“Usually he would be, but not tonight. Seems Darius found himself a date.”
“Really?” said Eva, grinning. “He didn’t tell me about that.”
“Probably because he still wants to get with you,” Donovan said darkly.
She glared at him. “Your jealousy is showing. And you know it’s not like that.”
“Who’s his date?” I asked Jane. “I figured he’d burned all his options with the werebears.”
At some point, Darius must have angered the wrong woman who cursed him, because his dating life was as doomed as they came. I’d never seen a nicer, more handsome and successful man who simply couldn’t get a woman to stick around, no matter how hard he tried.
“Oh, he has,” said Jane. “It’s not a werebear, though. It’s a witch.”
I arched a brow at her. “Really? A witch?”
She nodded.
“I just figured he wouldn’t want to date a witch.”
She shrugged. “Just because he hangs out with Ansel doesn’t mean he has a wand up his backside about witches like Ansel does. At least not when it comes to matters of the heart.”
Donovan chuckled. “That’s cute that you think it’s his heart leading the charge.”
“Which witch is it?” Eva asked. “Do you know? I wonder if I’ve seen her hanging around the lodge and just didn’t put it together.”
“I think her name was Brianna or Britney … Maybe Bonnie.”
“Wait,” said Donovan. “Bonnie Bingham?”
Jane snapped and pointed at him. “Yes! That’s who Ansel said.”
“You know her?” Eva asked him.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. She was a couple years ahead of me in school. Always did have a thing for the weres. But …” He leaned to the side to see past Jane.
I turned in my seat to follow his stare, but wasn’t sure what he was looking at. “What is it?”
“She’s sitting right there.”
Sure enough, a witch around my age was slumped over a table for two, a nearly empty cocktail in front of her, and nobody sitting opposite.
Eva cringed. “Either the date didn’t go well or he stood her up.”
Jane turned back around toward the rest of us. “Another one down. For fang’s sake. It’s like Darius is trying to stay single forever.”
“Whoa,” said Donovan, pointing to the front door. “Look who decided to show up. Guess he couldn’t stand his wife having fun without him.”
Ansel had just entered the pub but had stopped a few feet inside, looking around. I hadn’t spoken to him since he’d started trying to persuade Jane to quit working at Medium Rare, and I prepared myself for the awkward interaction. It seemed just as likely to me that he was here to collect his wife and drag her home (good luck with that) as it did that he was here to kick back and enjoy the diverse company that Sheehan’s always had to offer.
Jane waved him over, and for a moment he stared at her like he didn’t recognize her. But then he moved toward our booth.
“Oh boy,” Jane mumbled before sliding out of the booth to greet him.
When she threw her arms around him and went in for the kiss, his eyes went wide and he recoiled for a moment.
Dang. Trouble in paradise. That was cold.
But then he relaxed, just slightly, and allowed her to kiss him. Yes, I said allowed.
And that was crazy. I saw th
e way men in this town looked at Jane, even though she was married to a gigantic werebear who would happily maul anyone who laid a hand on her.
The two of them must have had it out before she left the house and Jane had just failed to mention it, which was obviously her prerogative.
But even she side-eyed him after the rejection, indicating that she hadn’t expected it, which surely she would have if they’d left on a sour note.
“Grab yourself a drink,” she said, “then come join.” She turned to the rest of us. “You don’t mind if Ansel joins, right?”
We each said our own variation of “not at all.”
“Okay,” he said stiffly. Then he did the strangest thing.
He grabbed a bar napkin from the booth next to ours and dropped it on the floor right next to our table. “Oopsie.” As he bent over to pick it up, Donovan and I shared a confused and uneasy look. Ansel was definitely acting strange. I don’t think I’d ever heard the overconfident manbear say “Oopsie,” and I never would’ve guessed that the word was even in his vocabulary.
He stood up, the napkin in hand. “I’ll go get a drink now.” Then he walked away.
“Is he okay?” I asked. “No new meds from the Pixie Mixie or anything?”
Jane stared after him, seemingly as confused as I was. “No. Not that I know of. Maybe he— What the spell? Where’s he going?”
Sure enough, Ansel wasn’t heading to the bar. Instead, he was making for the exit. Guess he wasn’t in the mood for a drink after all.
“I’ll be right back,” Jane said before hurrying after him.
I turned to Eva and Donovan, who were staring after the couple. “That’s probably something, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah,” said Eva. “That was weird.”
“Hard to know what to make of it,” said Donovan. “Meds from the Pixie Mixie was a pretty good guess.”
“First Darius stands up his date,” Eva said, “then Ansel … does whatever the heck that display was just now. Folks sure are acting strange lately.” She stared down at the surface of her drink for a silent second before addressing me. “Think it’s just the Winds of Change?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know much about the extent of their powers.”
“No one does,” said Donovan. “That’s why it’s such an adventure.” His sarcasm was heavier than Grim soaking wet.
“Something’s gotten into people lately, even if it’s not the Winds,” Eva added.
Something indeed. Was it a controlling spirit?
“Another round?” I asked.
“I’m good,” said Eva.
Donovan nodded. “I’ll take another.” He slid me his cup, then pinched the collar of his black T-shirt and began fanning himself. “Did it just suddenly get hot in here?”
I groaned. This was something sexual, wasn’t it? I’d leave him alone to try out whatever come-on he was conjuring up for his girlfriend.
I scooted around the booth, ignoring the giggling followed by the sounds of sucking face right next to where I’d been.
But when I shifted my weight onto my feet, I knocked right into something warm and firm, but with just a little give, only a few inches beyond the edge of the booth. “Sorry,” I said, assuming I’d bumped into someone while I was staring at my boots and trying not to clumsily trip over my feet. But when I looked up, no one was there.
“Huh.” I tried to stand again, and this time the tankards that I gripped in my right hand hit the invisible barrier first, causing the warm dregs of the drinks to splash back at me. “Jumping jackalope!” I brushed off the beads of moisture from the front of my shirt then looked back up. I couldn’t see a thing, and yet some sort of wall was clearly right in front of me.
Then it dawned on me.
We were trapped.
Chapter Eight
“You’re right,” said Eva quietly, “it is getting hot in here.”
I could tell by her tone she meant it literally. And as I stared, dumbfounded, at the invisible barrier ahead of me, I started to feel it too. Nothing too crazy. More like a late-September in Texas terms rather than a mid-July.
“Hey, uh, guys?” I said, looking over my shoulder at them.
“What’s up?” asked Eva.
I hesitated, opening my mouth to start before snapping it shut. Finally, I said, “I can’t get out.”
Donovan scrunched his nose. “You’re already that drunk? You’ve only had one beer.”
“No, I’m not drunk.” Suddenly the heat was mid-July. I blinked, wondering where it could be coming from, and collapsed back onto the edge of the booth, setting down the empty drinks. “I mean I literally cannot get out. Something is blocking my way.”
They shared a concerned glance. “If you don’t want to get this round, just say so,” Donovan said before scooting around his side of the circular booth.
I groaned. “It’s not that—I was going to put them on your tab anyway. It’s that—”
I was spared further explanation when Donovan hit the wall himself and bounced back, rubbing his nose. “Fangs and claws! What?”
His eyes traveled back and forth between the empty air and me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I wasn’t kidding.”
Eva fanned herself with both hands. “What are you two talking about?”
Donovan said, “We can’t get out. There’s a wall or something.” He held out a hand until he felt it. “I can’t see it, just feel it.”
“What do you mean a wall?” she asked.
“A wall!” he said, frustrated. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Like what they make buildings out of!”
I reached out and ran my fingers over it. It was warm to the touch, but it wouldn’t be long until the air on this side of it was warmer. As I dragged my hand across it, I realized it wasn’t a straight wall, but curved one. It had the same arc as our booth, only it was half a foot beyond the edge.
I looked around the pub. I could still see and hear everything just fine. What was happening? Jane had managed to get up and leave without a problem.
“Sweet baby jackalope,” Donovan muttered.
The heat made my head swim as it settled into my skin like a sunburn. “What? What is it?”
He pointed at the ground.
When I saw the markings, I had no idea what they were, just that they were probably related.
“What?” asked Eva, scooting around toward him. “What is it?”
“A witch snare,” Donovan said.
Lining up with the invisible wall was the edge of a circle carved into the floorboards. Inside the circle, which stretched under the table as the edges encompassed the corner booth, were strange patterns and symbols. I recognized a few as ones Oliver had wanted me to memorize that I never had.
Man, who would have thought his boring textbooks were worth something in the real world?
“This might be a stupid question,” I said, “considering I have a pretty good guess, but what’s a witch snare?”
“You’re right,” he said, “it’s a stupid question.” He lifted the waistband of his shirt to wipe off his face, and I forced myself to look away. “There are different types, though, and this one seems hell-bent on making us sweat to death. You know, assuming it doesn’t burn us to a crisp first.”
Eva and I exchanged a panicked glance. “I thought you said they didn’t burn witches here,” she said.
“Not like what you were describing, but that’s not to say it’s never been done. Or that it can’t happen.”
I looked around for the closest person who might know how to help.
“Hey!” I hollered.
Two tables over, Ted looked up from an apparently rousing debate with Count Malavic. He waved. “Hi, Nora!”
“Come here!”
He did in a hurry, and began scooting into the booth before I could stop him. I scooted over quickly to avoid brushing up against him, though the icy chill that contact with Ted usually produced might have been a welcome one as I felt drop
lets of sweat run down my back.
“It’s so great to be invited to join. Don’t tell the count, but I’ve heard that story he was telling about thirty times before. Heh.”
“Um. We’re not … That’s not why—”
“We’re trapped in this booth!” cried Donovan. He looked only moments away from removing his shirt, which … well, I wasn’t sure if I’d intervene or not.
“You’re what?” said Ted, his posture straightening. “Stuck in the booth?”
“Can’t you feel that heat?” Eva said.
“Well, no, I don’t feel anything. I understand you need skin for that. I don’t have any, strictly speaking. Heh.”
“It’s a witch snare we think,” I said, pointing to the floor.
He leaned to see over the table. “Oh, whoops. Yep. That’s a witch snare.” He scooted out and easily left the circle to lean down and inspect it. “Huh. Haven’t seen one like that before. You’re hot, you say?”
Even my fingers were sweating by that point. While this was uncomfortable, I had a feeling it would get much worse if we couldn’t find a way to stop it. “Like I’m under a broiler,” I replied.
He nodded his hood. “Yeah, that makes sense. These little squiggles here”—he hovered a finger over them—“they’re all about hellfire and damnation.”
“Hellfire?” Eva and Donovan shouted.
“Damnation?” I added
“You rang?” said a smooth Eastern European voice.
“Not now, Malavic,” I said, hardly sparing a glance for the vampire who’d obviously come over to gawk.
“Three witches shouting about hellfire and damnation? Not my fault I assumed you were trying to flirt. Nothing pairs with my eternal damnation quite like hellfire.”
“You ever seen anything like this?” Ted asked, pointing at the carvings.
When Malavic’s eyes landed on it, his shield of smooth disinterest cracked, pierced by genuine curiosity. “Fascinating! I’ve seen witch snares before, sure, but not one this well done. How did anyone manage to do this without being seen?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “It could have been here since before they opened. Someone just broke in and—”
“Uh-uh-uh,” he said haughtily, shaking a finger at me. “You’re not the first witches to sit in this booth today. Before you came in, I saw Clarence Clearwater and Sophie Ariva sitting right there. And not only were they able to vacate the booth and stumble out of this classy establishment together, much to the chagrin of Sophie’s husband were he to find out, but neither witch was sweating profusely.” His upper lip curled. “I assume that is a side effect of the snare and not some sexually transmitted glandular problem.”
