“What is this place?” I hesitated, then took a step back, pushing away Dean’s hand. “I’m not going in there.”
In addition to that building looking like it was on the verge of collapsing in on itself, there was something else stopping me from going another step closer.
This place felt wrong.
Something had happened here, and I could feel it in the air. This place reeked of sadness, decay, and loss.
Dean turned around to face me, backing up toward the house. “So you can feel it?”
“I feel something,” I said, rubbing my hands on my arms, partly for warmth, partly to comfort myself.
“Like all the life is being sucked right out of you?” Dean asked. Rain cascaded over the toned lines of his bare arms.
I thought about it. “Actually, that’s exactly what it feels like.”
Dean nodded and jabbed his thumb in the direction of the house's front door. “Get used to it. Because if you want to take out this shapeshifter, you’re going to have to know what happened here.”
The rusty door hinge shrieked as Dean forced it open with his shoulder. I followed him in, my eyes on the floor so I didn’t step through any holes.
The walls creaked and groaned as they took a beating from the storm.
“You’re telling me teenagers make out here?” I felt my face contort as I scanned the room. “This looks like a horror movie.”
“Well, not here.” Dean waved his hand at the room as he stepped over a bent-up lamp shade. “This place is nasty. The making out happens in the car.” He threw me a look over his shoulder. “Don’t you remember being a teenager? It’s been a lot longer for me than it has for you.”
“I’m from a city,” I said. “Where making out happens in the parking lot of Panera.”
There were pieces of furniture scattered around the space. Everything was covered with dirt and mold, but I could tell from the torn up couch that this was probably the living room.
To my right, I saw another room with crumbling tile that might have been a kitchen floor at some point.
“This is the place everyone’s afraid to talk about. No matter how many books you read in Martha’s drafty old lair, you won't find a word written about this Shifter Hollow. Why? Because a group of shifters used to live here. They were a bunch of do-gooders. They took in other shifter orphans in, pretended like they were a little family. You know the type—good, wholesome folks.”
Dean’s eyes moved around the room. Frowning, he started looking at the couches, and kicking around the random pieces of trash.
Finally, he knelt down and picked a broken piece of glass.
“Why won’t people talk about this place?” I asked. “Not even Benjamin would tell me about it.”
Dean ran an hand over his head, flicking some of the water off. “She dusted him.”
“Martha memory dusted Benjamin?”
“Yup.” Dean folded his arms. “No else would know because Benny was the only one with her when it happened.”
“If it was something she didn’t even want Benjamin to know about, how the heck do you know?” I asked.
Dean shrugged. “Because she was ashamed of what she did, and I was the only person she knew who wouldn’t judge her.” He walked toward me slowly, holding the piece of glass out to me. “Good people do good things. Bad people do bad things. And heroes—heroes are the people who get their hands dirty doing the things that good people are too self righteous to do.”
I wiped some mud off my sneakers on an uneven floorboard. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Not many people do, but that’s what I believe,” Dean said. “At least Mattie did bad things with good intentions. I did bad things just because I felt like it.” He touched my shoulder. “Every hero needs someone who they don’t have to be a hero around. I was that guy for Mattie, and sooner or later, she knew I’d be that guy for you.” He held out the piece of glass. “Weren’t you wondering why I have a permanent invite into your cabin?”
Then he grabbed my wrist and gently pressed the broken piece of glass onto my open palm.
I noticed then that the glass shard was actually part of a mirror. I could feel the magic of the mirror radiating through my arm.
Dean brought my open palm to my forehead, so the smooth side of the mirror touched the skin between my eyebrows.
What happened next felt different than when I’d touched the mirror in Savannah’s trailer earlier. This scene felt older and disjointed. Instead of watching everything play out moment by moment like a movie, I saw quick flashes.
Images appeared like snapshots bursting at the front of my mind.
Some scenes disappeared before I could make sense of them, but one rose to the front of my mind, pushing out everything else.
Martha stood here, in this house when it was clean and cared for. Warm lamp light washed over the wooden floorboards. A TV flickered in the corner of the room. A movie was playing, but I couldn’t identify what it was. The bluish light from the TV washed over the smooth, polished floorboards of the living room.
A couch was angled across from the TV and two people were asleep on it. They were still in their clothes—jeans and sweatshirts, nothing special there.
A coffee table stood in the middle of the room with a nearly empty bowl of popcorn on it. Two cans of soda rested on coasters beside the bowl.
Martha moved closer to the sleeping people, and I could see that the people were a man and a woman. It looked as if they were any random couple who had fallen asleep on a typical weeknight in front of the TV.
The man had his arm around the woman, cuddling her. I couldn’t hear any sound, but I saw his mouth open slightly. I imagined him snoring softly. I noticed both adults breathing slowly and evenly, completely relaxed.
The room felt peaceful, safe, and full of love.
Martha planted her feet and held up a rectangular mirror about the size of a cookie sheet. She didn’t speak, all she did was aim that mirror directly at those people.
Light shot out from the mirror, covering the two people like a blanket.
They didn’t fight. They didn’t scream. They didn’t even wake up as they turned to light themselves and got sucked up into the mirror.
My eyes shot open and I stumbled backward. The piece of mirror flew from my hand and bounced on the dingy flood, disappearing through a hole.
Dean’s arm was there to steady me. “Easy there.”
“She sucked them up in the mirror. She did it when they were sleeping. They couldn’t even fight back,” I said, staring at the couch that was now caked with mud. Stuffing spilled out of the cushions. I pointed to the corner. “That’s where they were when she trapped them.”
Dean nodded. “With that very same mirror you held in your hand. She had to bring her own mirror since shapeshifters don’t keep them in the house. She went room to room, until she’d sucked every last shapeshifter into that mirror. Then she broke it, trapping them forever.”
“What happens to them after they go into the mirror?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dean said.
I rubbed my hands over my wet hair, interlacing my fingers behind my head as I let the weight of what Martha did settle in. “She did it while they were sleeping. They were completely defenseless.”
Dean strolled back to the front door and wedged it back open. “That’s the best time to do it. Shapeshifters are dangerous, maybe the most dangerous out of all of us supernatural creatures. The element of surprise was the advantage Mattie needed.” He stepped onto the porch and held his pale hand out, checking to see how hard it was raining. “I get that it doesn’t look all that heroic to go after people when they’re snoring on the couch in their own home, but these shapeshifters were killing people. She had to stop them. Mattie made a judgement call. Her intention was to suck every last one of them up into that mirror,” he said. “Man, woman and child. But something tells me she missed one. I think that’s the key to solving this thing.”
/> “Why did you show me this?”
“Because that’s what you’re going to have to do to stop this shapeshifter. She might give you a whole sob story, but you need to be prepared to do what needs to be done. Don’t hesitate.”
I thought about what Dean had shown me as he drove me back to my cabin. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and finally, I knew what I was supposed to do with that mirror that had kept falling off the shelf.
18
Shortly after Dean had dropped Benjamin and I off at my cabin, I got another wave of bad news. Roger Spitz had been found dead, and it had likely happened moments after I’d left him.
Angie and Blake had come over to tell me in person, and I had thought it was best to call Dean and have him bring Savannah to my cabin.
With two people dead, she was in real danger now.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “I still don’t know who the killer is, but I learned quite a bit about your life today, Savannah.”
The actress didn’t have that same breezy energy as she had when Benjamin and I left her this morning. Her lips were pressed together tightly, and her eyes looked dull.
Blake and Angie walked into the living room wearing grim expressions. Behind them, stood Dean.
Savannah’s green eyes flicked over to me. “I heard about Roger,” she said. “And Blake filled me in on who your prime suspects are—the two women I’ve worked inside for the last eight years.” She sat down in the arm chair beside the fireplace and touched her fingers to her forehead. “How did I not see it?”
“Don’t feel too bad. I’ve hired a murderer in the past, too. Apparently, it’s a lot more common than you think.” I gave her a rueful smile. “Lenny Holmes is also still on the suspect list.”
Savannah gazed into the fire. “I used to think all this supernatural stuff was fascinating.” She shifted in her, drawing her legs up underneath her. “Now, I want to get as far away as humanly possible.”
“We all need to stay calm,” Angie said. “Roger’s murder might have shed some light on what our murderer’s true motives are. Roger Spitz’ camera was missing and his room at the lodge had been ransacked. His laptop is also missing. It looks like whoever did this was trying to keep the information about shapeshifters from going public.” She touched my shoulder as she passed me and sat down in the other chair opposite of Savannah. She was in her uniform, and I could see the drops of rain gleaming on her bronze sheriff badge.
“The murderer must have been close when Roger confronted me,” I said. “Roger was practically yelling about how he had everything he needed to expose shapeshifters to the world.”
Angie nodded. “I think we’re close to making an arrest, but we’ll need everyone to cooperate.”
Just then, Benjamin stirred, rolling onto his belly. The transformation spell had taken a lot out of him, and he’d taken another nap as soon as Dean dropped us off at the cabin. Groggily, he pushed up onto all-fours and lumbered over to the couch. I gave him on the head and helped him up onto the couch.
“Welcome back,” I said, giving him a scratch behind the ears.
“Promise me, we are never doing that again,” Benjamin said in his low, no-nonsense tone.
“At least we didn’t die,” I offered.
He snorted, and sat up, taking count of the people in the room. “It looks like it’s midnight and we’re home, so I’d bet a cinnamon roll that someone has taken care of the paparazzi.”
“Something like that,” I said. “Were you able to figure out what exactly happened to Roger?” I asked, directing my question to Angie.
“I’m still waiting for the report from the coroner, but from the marks on his neck, I believe he was strangled,” she said.
Dean perched on the arm of the couch. “That doesn’t help us narrow it down at all,” he said. “The shapeshifter could have changed into anyone who was strong enough to do that. Even Savannah’s two-bite assistant could have strangled that guy if she’d shifted into some burly man.”
“My biggest concern is that this shapeshifter will go after someone else,” Angie said, folding her hands. “If the murderer is systematically trying to kill everyone who could potentially expose their kind, we have a long list of people to protect around here.”
“I’d probably be high up on that list,” Blake said. “The Devil’s Charade was all about shapeshifters, and now, eight years later, I’m making the sequel. I’ve told their story to the world.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Everyone just thinks your movies are made up stories.” I shook my head. “And anyway, horror movies are a dime a dozen. Other directors have made movies about shapeshifters. The murderer can’t possibly think it’s possible to kill everyone who makes horror movies.”
“True,” Dean said, piping up. “But the difference with Blake’s movies is they’re based on real monsters, and the shapeshifter movies were filmed very close to where they lived.” He folded his arms.
Blake's forehead was furrowed as he tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I do know that some of the people who worked on the first movie saw the real shapeshifters. I suspect that’s what got them killed. The rest of the cast and crew either got memory dusted by Martha or pretended to have no idea,” Blake said.
“Well, what’s done is done,” Dean said. “That just leaves us with the task of figuring out which of our three lovely contestants wins the prize—an all expense paid trip to shapeshifter mirror jail.”
“I have an idea.” I lifted my finger. “I might not be the best way to do things, but we’re getting desperate here. I’m thinking we should throw a party right here in this cabin.”
“Martha’s wards,” Angie said, leaning back into her chair, and stretching her legs out toward the fire. “That’s not a bad idea. Blake, you can make it mandatory to attend, and make sure the three women are there. Natalie could be at the door. She can watch to see who is affected by the cabin’s wards.”
I crossed my legs and leaned forward, encouraged that Angie hadn’t immediately shot my idea down. “Is anyone else who is working on your movie supernatural?” I directed this question to Blake.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Even if they are,” Angie said. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Two people are dead. Who knows how many more people she’s targeting?”
“I’m in. Sounds fun,” Dean said. “I’ll bring the popcorn.”
Angie went on talking the plan through. “Subjecting the killer to Martha’s wards also solves the problem of how to safely apprehend the shapeshifter even in a packed room. The wards will weaken the shapeshifter and make it so she can’t fight back or use her abilities.”
“Perfect.” I nodded. “And then I’ll quietly perform a spell to contain the shifter just like Martha did eight years ago, and boom. We’ve caught ourselves a shapeshifting serial killer.”
I looked around the room, happy to see that no one was arguing with my plan.
No one, except for Benjamin. The Rottweiler gave me a withering look with his amber eyes. “I still stand by what I said this morning.”
I ignored him. “So it’s settled then.” I flattened my hands on my knees. “Party at my place, tomorrow night, 8 P.M.. Be there.”
“Oh Natalie. I’m too tired to argue with you.” Benjamin sighed. “A sting operation disguised as a party. A room full of people with cellphones who will document every detail of this takedown on social media. An ancient mirror spell performed by a novice witch. What could possibly go wrong?”
19
The soothing sound of symphonies filled the air as Fredrick Forbes, the slender vampire chef with a gelled mustache arranged the cheese plates and appetizers on my kitchen table. “I wish you’d told me you didn’t have any appropriate serving platters for your party, Natalie. This spread looks like something they’d serve in the lobby of a low-class convention center.”
“It’s fine, Fredrick,” I said, plugging an extension cord into an outl
et. I smiled at the white twinkle lights that illuminated the wooden balcony off of the living room.
“It’s not fine. These are notable guests who will be attending your party, and I don’t want them going back to Los Angeles telling everyone that Fredrick Forbes’ appetizers were subpar. An appetizer table is the focal point of any party.”
Lola Honeycutt was gently squeezing a piping bag of buttercream frosting onto a fluffy cupcake. “Quit your fussing, Frederick. I think most of the people coming tonight just want to let loose and get drunk. Two tragic accidents in the span of a couple days is heavy stuff. I think it’s nice what Natalie’s doing—throwing a party to boost morale.”
I caught Frederick giving me a look out of the corner of my eye. Because of the amount of memory dust Lola had been dosed with over the years, she had no idea the extent of the “accidents” that have happened on Wolf Mountain. Unfortunately, two deaths in two days was not that rare of an occurrence around here.
But Lola overdosing on memory dust wasn’t my main concern right now.
I just had to make sure that the three murder suspects would show and that I’d be ready for them.
Lola made a perfect swirl of frosting on the last cupcake and set the piping bag down, wiping her hands on her apron. She pulled her apron over her head and undid her hair tie, letting her striking red hair fall loosely down her back. “No offense, Fredrick, but your music sucks.” She crossed over to the speaker where Blake’s phone was playing a playlist picked out by Frederick. She tapped on the phone screen, scrolling through the music app. Then she glanced up, smiling as a pop song with heavy bass cut through the air. “That’s party music. Trust me on this one. No one’s going to walk through that door if we have Mozart playing.” She absently tucked a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear and grabbed two bottles of beer out of the fridge. With a grin, she pushed the bottle of beer into his hand and went out onto the balcony.
Frederick stared after her, a look of annoyance on his face. Then his gaze moved down to the beer in his hand.
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