I meet his gaze. “Logan was attacked in his bed last night because he’s a werewolf. I wanted to warn you about that since you are, you know, a werewolf, and you brushed me off like I was making up crap to get your attention after you dumped me.”
“I didn’t mean that at all.”
I start pacing the room, scanning it, not sure what I’m looking for, but keeping busy as I talk. “You treated me like shit, Elijah. I thought you were someone I’d like to get to know as a friend with or without the fake boyfriend nonsense. But you turned out to be just another garden-variety asshole who thinks every girl is chasing him for a hookup.”
“I never thought that about you, Kate. I just . . . I needed some distance and—”
“And now you can’t get it because you’re stuck with me. That’s awkward, and not only for you. So I’m going to suggest that we drop it. Forget what happened. You’re just a fellow camper who escaped with us like Cranky-Vamp back there. Now, you’ve said your piece, and I have work to do.”
“I haven’t said anything. I’ve barely gotten a word in with you presuming what I came to talk about.”
I glare at him, but he only meets it with a level stare.
“I am sorry for what happened,” he says. “I suck at apologies, so I’ve been trying to show you that I’m sorry. I realize now that it looks as if I was trying to wriggle back into your good graces because I wanted to join your escape. That’s not true, but I’ll table that discussion. Right now, there’s something we need to—”
“Son of a bitch!” I say.
“What?” His face hardens. “I get that you’re pissed with me, for good reason, but . . .”
I’m on my knees, fingers running over the floorboards as he trails off.
“What are you doing?” he says.
“I need your fingers,” I say.
“Uh . . .”
I glance up. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Really?”
I’m pretty sure he’s blushing as he mumbles some unintelligible apology and drops to his knees beside me. I point out the extra-wide crack between the floorboards. He wedges his fingers in, and I do the same.
“Easy,” I say . . . and he yanks, boards cracking and flying into the air.
“So, when I say, easy, what exactly do you hear?” I ask.
He smiles sheepishly. “Pull really hard and open it easily?” He looks down at the broken boards. “I don’t know my own strength, being a werewolf and all.”
“Yeah, yeah. Well, being a fellow werewolf, I would love to challenge that statement with an arm wrestle at a more appropriate time.”
He grins. “It’s a date.” The smile falters. “I, uh, mean . . .”
“Elijah?” I say. “You are one fine package. I will not for one second deny that. While most girls appreciate a hot guy, they value the inside of the package even more.”
And on that count, you fail to meet expectations. I don’t say the last part. That would be cruel, and no matter how much he’s hurt me, I won’t retaliate. He still knows what I’m implying, and his gaze drops.
“Yeah . . .” he says. “I haven’t exactly shown my best side.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re not interested. That’s all I need to know.”
He shifts his weight. “It’s not that—”
“Stop. Please. My ego doesn’t need reassurance. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or a hookup. I’m still not. You’re safe from me, so I’d appreciate it if you’d accept that and stop worrying you’ll say the wrong thing and give me false hope.”
“It’s not—”
“I have no hopes.” I meet his gaze. “No interest, either.”
His eyes shunt to the side, and his lips part in a faint curse before he says, “I’ve royally screwed this up, haven’t I?”
“Hey!” I say. “Did you notice we just broke open a secret passage into an equally secret basement level? Wow. I bet that would help divert us from any ongoing awkward conversations, huh?”
He grants me a quarter smile but then shakes his head. “I really do need to talk to you, Kate.”
I point down. “Secret passage?”
He sighs and eases back onto his haunches as we take a better look. There’s a hatch cut into the floorboards. Or there was before He-Wolf yanked it off and shattered two boards. Now it’s a gaping hole into darkness with pieces of the former hatch scattered around us.
“Looks dark,” Elijah says.
“Which is good, right?”
He glances up at me.
“Would you rather see a mysterious light in the distance,” I say, “leading us into the killer’s underground laboratory where she waits to slaughter us both?”
“She? Oh, because it’s witch magic up here.”
“No,” I say. “I’d never presume the killer is male.” I turn around and grip the edge.
“Whoa!” he says. “You can’t just—”
“Can,” I say as I step onto the first ladder rung. I descend two more. “Did.”
“It’s dark down there.”
“Also dark up here.”
“Shouldn’t you warn your brother before you go crawling into subterranean passages?”
“That’s your job,” I say. “I think he’s in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, I’d rather face whatever’s down there.” Elijah turns around and steps onto the ladder as I descend into darkness.
Chapter Three
Logan
Holly and I are in the kitchen, pretending to be searching but really just talking away from the others. Kate is exploring. Mason is doing Mason things. Elijah is . . . wherever. Allan was with us, but we set him on watch duty, ostensibly making sure the hounds don’t find a way in. Again, I just don’t want anyone overhearing this conversation.
“How dark is that magic?” I ask Holly as she peers into a cupboard.
She straightens and glances at the door. Seeing it closed, she turns to me, voice lowered so only a werewolf could hear.
“The darkest,” she says.
I motion her into the opposite corner where she hops on the table, perched there, her legs dangling. Straight black hair curtains her downturned face as she thinks. Sometimes, I meet a person like Holly, someone I like, have a lot in common with, even find attractive, and I wish I felt more. My brain swipes right . . . and nothing else does. Not my heart. Not anything lower in my anatomy, either.
The last part used to worry me more. I’ve been to parties, and I’ve had girls—and a few guys—offer me anything I want, no strings attached. Just a good time for all. Most of the guys I know happily jump on those offers, and when I don’t, I feel as if there’s something wrong with me. Free sex, what sixteen-year-old guy doesn’t want that? This one, apparently.
My testosterone levels are fine. Too fine, really. I definitely feel the urges, and I suspect I spend as much time taking long showers as any guy my age. I just can’t look at an attractive girl or guy and think, I want that. Which is good, I guess, considering what happens with some of those hookups where one person agrees it’s casual but is really hoping for a connection, and when that doesn’t happen, there’s anger and resentment and hurt. Not my idea of a good time.
But it isn’t just the sex. I don’t want to look at a girl like Holly and only imagine getting her in bed. I would, however, like to look at her, see our obvious compatibility and be intrigued, as Kate was with Elijah. With Holly, I only see someone I’d like to get to know better as a friend. Which is fine because I’m not getting any other vibes from her, either. It’s just . . . part of me wants to experience the rest, to fall for someone and go through the whole giddy, messy teenage infatuation thing I see all around me.
The thought passes with a brushstroke of regret and misplaced longing, seeing her sitting there, cute and sweet and very much a girl after my own heart, studious and quiet and thoughtful. And maybe that’s why there isn’t a spark. Also, I suppose, under the circumstances, that’s a good thing. We’re a little too busy for romance. I need only
to look at Kate and Elijah to remind myself I should be happy I’m not distracted by that.
“Talk to me about the magic,” I say. “What are we looking at?”
She goes quiet, gaze still down, feet swinging. I’m about to interject and tell her not to worry about it if she doesn’t know. Holly said she was one of Paige’s “Sabrinas”—part of Paige’s cyber coven for young witches. Those aren’t the kinds of girls who know dark magic, and there’s no reason Holly should, even theoretically. When I open my mouth to say so, though, I catch something in her face, a stillness and a tightness that tells me she’s not being quiet because she knows nothing about dark magic.
“Holly?” I say.
Her fingers drum the table edge.
“I’m asking theoretically,” I say. “I know you’re a research buff like me. If this isn’t an area you’ve read up on, just say so.”
Her lips twitch in a tight smile. “It’s not an area witches are supposed to read up on, but I was curious. Academically speaking. I just don’t like to admit it in case anyone gets the wrong idea.”
It’s a perfectly valid answer. Witches have a bad reputation for being nervous about power. That’s what happens when you’ve been the most persecuted supernatural race in history. Sorcerers have no problem mixing dark and light magic to achieve their ends. For witches, even “gray” spells like fireballs may cross into that place where the wicked witch resides. Better to just stand firmly in the light with healing teas and innocuous spells.
Paige doesn’t believe that, but she still treads toward darker magic with extreme care. In other words, she’s fine with fireballs, but the warding we saw on that doorway—complete with human bones—is firmly outside her repertoire. That doesn’t mean she isn’t aware of that magic. She’s read every book on magic in the council library. So there’s no reason Holly wouldn’t do the same simply to expand her education.
And yet . . .
I’ve stumbled on something here. I see it as her face closes off, and I hear it in her careful voice. Dark magic isn’t pure theory for her.
Disquiet settles in my gut and nudges that I should press her on this. All magic is something to be regarded with healthy respect. Like shape-shifting. Werewolves aren’t inherently dangerous, but we are dangerous. If Holly is a dark witch, we need to know it just as Kate and I wanted to be sure our roommates knew we were werewolves.
And yet . . .
If Holly has a secret, is this the time and place to press her on it? Hell, yes, as Kate would say. We’re in a cabin warded by dark magic. If one of our companions is secretly a dark witch—that’s a recipe for trouble.
Yet knowledge of dark magic doesn’t make Holly a dark witch. And if I press, I put her back to the wall, which could be more dangerous than letting her keep her secret.
It comes down to this: do I trust her? The answer is yes. Unlike Elijah, Holly has done absolutely nothing to earn my mistrust. She has been firmly on our side. I need to believe she’ll remain there.
When I don’t respond, she glances up, worry deep in her eyes. “Logan?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I was waiting for you to go on.”
She gives a short laugh. “And I was waiting for you to say something about the fact I’ve researched dark magic. Or maybe take a few careful steps toward the exit.”
“If you didn’t run at having a werewolf for a roommate, I’m not going to run from a witch who’s studied the theory of dark magic.”
Do I emphasize studied and theory? Unintentionally, yes, and I don’t miss the look that crosses her face. It only slides past, and then she’s herself again, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she straightens.
“Good,” she says. “I just didn’t want you to have the wrong idea about me. So, this magic, yes, it’s dark. Those bones . . .” She looks toward the door and bites her lip. Then she lowers her voice. “If the others ask, I’m going to tell them they’re all grave-harvested bones.” She pauses. “That means—”
“Bones that have been dug up like in necromancy.”
She exhales a little. “Right. Your grandmother is Jaime Vegas, isn’t she?”
“Somehow, I don’t think Jaime would appreciate being called our grandmother. But yes, she’s been with Jeremy since Kate and I were little. So I know a bit about necromancy.”
“Jaime’s cool. I’ve seen her TV specials. Even caught her live show once in Los Angeles.” She clutches the table edge and swings her feet, gaze shifting down again. “Which is me wandering off-topic when you really need to know this.” She glances up. “Should Kate be here?”
“She’s exploring. I’ll leave her to it, and we can bring her up to speed later. Otherwise, the others will realize we’re having a group conference without them.”
She manages a smile. “The adults talking behind their backs. Right. So, some of the bones are grave-harvested.”
“Some. Meaning the rest are by-products of human sacrifice or some other kind of ritualized death.”
“Right. Grave-harvested wouldn’t work for that magic. You need to start by taking a life and then use those bones in the warding itself. I don’t know the specific type of ward they’ve used. Same as the symbols etched into the foundation. I only recognize them as warding. If it’s over the door then, like you said, we’re dealing with threshold warding.”
“Against a being that needs to come in the front door and can’t just break in a window like we did. Which vastly narrows down the possibilities. As Mason said, that particular bit of lore isn’t true for vampires. Some fae lore says that they can’t harm anything unless they’ve been invited in. Mostly, though, it applies to demons but only specific subtypes. We already suspected that’s what we were dealing with. A demon.”
“The hell hounds gave it away, huh?”
“They did. Which doesn’t entirely solve the mystery because hell hounds shouldn’t cross over with a demon master. Still, something’s here. It’s controlling the hell hounds. And it threw Kate and Elijah but didn’t give chase when we ran.”
“Just set its demon puppies on our tails.”
“And they weren’t chasing nearly hard enough.”
“Felt hard enough to me,” Holly says. “I haven’t run that fast since middle school track when I discovered I’m not an athlete. But you’re right. They could have caught us. They didn’t.”
“I got the sense they were toying with us. If the demon is controlling them and didn’t want us dead—”
“Guys?” Allan says as the door creaks open. He sees us and withdraws. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt.”
Holly slides off the table. “We were just talking. What’s up?”
“I found something,” he says. “And you really need to see it.”
Chapter Four
Kate
I stand at the bottom of the ladder, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the faint light coming through the hatch ten feet above. Behind me, Elijah’s shoes squeak down the rungs. Then there’s a click, followed by a burst of weak light. I spin to see him holding a penlight.
“Found it upstairs,” he says.
“Excellent. I’m almost glad I let you come along.”
I take the penlight, leaving him protesting as he tries to snatch it back.
“Uh-uh,” I say. “Giving me the flashlight is step three on the road back into my good graces.”
“Three?”
“One was coming to our aid at the bonfire. Two was helping us against the demon and hell hounds though I’m not really sure that counts since helping us was also helping yourself. Consider the flashlight step two-point-five.”
“On a very, very long road.”
“Yep. Feel free to decide it’s not worth it and . . .” I point at the ladder.
Elijah shifts his weight. “I heard you and Logan up there. Talking about your asshole ex and the bitches at your school—”
“Whoa!” My hands fly up. “Excuse me? That was a private conversation.”
He points at one ear. “Werewol
f, remember?”
“Exactly. As werewolves, who realize we hear conversations we shouldn’t, we take steps to avoid it, getting farther away or warning that a conversation can be heard.”
“I . . .” He shoves his hands into his back pockets and rocks on his heels. “I realized what I was hearing, and I kept listening. I wanted to understand—”
“Why I’m making such a big deal about you being an asshole?”
“No, of course not, but what your ex did is going to affect—”
“What he did is something that guys do to girls all the time. We move on. Right now, I’m not at the moving-on stage, but that only means that I was fine with having a fake-boyfriend to keep other guys from pestering me. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m not ready to forgive you for being an asshole, Elijah. Take the boyfriend part out of this equation. You were just a person who treated me like shit.”
I face him. “So, do me a favor—treat me like I’m my brother. I’m not a girl you made out with. I’m not a girl whose tender feelings you bruised. I’m not a girl who might be hoping you’ll take her back. I’m a fellow werewolf who doesn’t like you very much because he doesn’t trust you. Proceed like that, please. If I were Logan, and you decided to team up with me to explore a secret passage, you’d accept that he’s not pleased with you and put it aside. Can we do that?”
“I still need to talk to you before we go back upstairs.”
I sigh. “And you’re not even listening to me, are you?”
His eyes flash. “I have something important—”
“Fine. We’ll talk. Right now, though . . .” I waggle the light and wave it around the room. “Secrets to explore. Okay?”
His lips press in a firm line. He says nothing, and I take that as agreement, however grudging. I shine the penlight more thoroughly around the room. Or maybe I should say around the “cave”—the walls are dirt with wooden support beams. It looks like a cold-storage pantry, with crude shelves covered in dusty cans and jars.
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