Shannon Curtis - Witch Hunter

No, damn it. She’d learned her lesson, and wasn’t prepared to make those same disastrous mistakes again. Ever.

She wound down the driver’s window, trying to get some fresh air, some snap to reality. Her car was so old it didn’t have air-conditioning. She lifted her chin as the wind ruffled her hair. The warm breeze carried the scent of salt and brine, and almost as though he had a homing device in her brain, her thoughts returned to the man on the beach.

She’d been shocked to see him collapse, and had reluctantly, cautiously approached him. She’d lightly kicked him, but he hadn’t stirred. She’d tentatively relaxed her shields and discovered he truly was unconscious. She couldn’t blame him. That branding—damn, that had stung like the bejeebus.

She should have left him there for the crabs, or for the tide. Her mouth tightened. When he’d been poised above her, ready to deliver the death strike, she’d sensed him.

He’d been fighting his own reluctance to kill her. She’d felt the burden of his duty, his responsibility to the Ancestors, to the covens. She’d sensed—of all things—his honor that gave him a core of steel. She’d felt his pain, too, over the killing, and his absolute commitment to delivering her to the Ancestors for her crimes, and his determination to save the vulnerable from her actions. Having all these emotions, the true metal of his character, she’d glimpsed something she wasn’t expecting. She’d seen beyond his actions, beyond his awareness, and she’d seen through the veil. She’d sensed the nothingness. No dark, no light, no pain...no emotion. She’d seen a glimpse of...peace. No emotions to dodge or defend herself from. No effort required to constantly shore up her defenses, to protect her own heart and mind from the pain of others. And for the briefest of moments, that oblivion seemed heaven-sent.

She’d spent so much energy shielding herself, the constant effort to mute the emotions of others on a daily basis was tiring. At that moment, when the veil parted, and time stood still for her, offering her a glimpse of what could be, she’d realized how alone she was, and how tired she was of playing at being someone else for those who thought they were closest to her, yet knew her not.

For that briefest of moments, she was ready to step through the veil into the Other Realm, and accept the solace it offered.

And then he’d received that bodyline text from the Ancestors, and she’d snapped out of it, thank goodness.

She was such a sucker . The guy had passed out on her after expending all that cosmic energy fighting her, and then enduring some epic pain, and what had she done? Checked on him. What a sap. She’d gone and made him a darn poultice for his wound. She’d even packed the sand into a pillow for him. She told herself it was to get back on the good side of the Ancestors, by looking after their Witch Hunter.

But she was an empath witch, and she didn’t have the luxury of being able to walk away from a person in pain without making some effort to help. That, and he was the Witch Hunter , for crying out loud. She couldn’t begin to imagine how pissed off the Ancestors would be if she turned her back on their warrior.

She sighed as she rounded a bend in the road. He certainly looked the part. Hard muscles, skin that was warm and smooth, and strong, handsome facial features. She was surprised the Ancestors had chosen such a hunk for their most difficult job. She’d always expected the Witch Hunter to be some twisted, not-so-attractive guy who looked on the outside as mean and harsh as she thought he’d have to be on the inside.

Only he hadn’t been mean and harsh on the inside. He’d been determined, yes, and ruthless to boot, but she’d sensed a surprising hint of fairness in him, and a heavy dose of honor. Surprising as she hadn’t expected to find either in the Ancestors’ assassin.

She turned off the highway, and after a short drive turned onto the street where Mary Anne Adler lived. She frowned at the flashing red-and-blue lights, and slowed to a stop when a county deputy held up his hand.

A man emerged from Mary Anne’s house, his hat in his hands, and the sheriff nodded when he saw Sully’s car. He trotted down the stairs and over to her car, and she propped her elbow on the window frame. She leaned her head out slightly to look up at him.

“Evening, Tyler.”

“Sully. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to move on,” he said, resting his hand on the roof of her car.

She frowned, and picked up the boxes that sat on the passenger seat. “I’m here with some tea for Lucy and Mary Anne.” She knew Lucy and Gary had moved in with Mary Anne for a little while, to help her get her house ready for sale so that the older woman could downsize and move to a place closer to town.

The sheriff grimaced. “Well, Lucy’s in the back of an ambulance on her way to St. Michael’s Hospital,” he told her.

“Is she all right?” Sully asked, concerned, then realized what a stupid question that was. Of course the woman wasn’t all right. She was on her way to the hospital.

Tyler nodded. “She will be.”

“Uh, well, do you want me to stay with Mary Anne until she gets back home?” Sully offered. The poor woman had to be devastated by her son’s murder, and probably just a little anxious with her daughter-in-law being rushed to hospital.

Tyler’s face grew grim. “Mary Anne isn’t going to be needing your tea anymore, Sully. She died earlier tonight.”

Sully gaped, and sorrow pierced her from within. Mary Anne was a sweet lady. “Oh, no. That’s so sad. Gary’s death was too much for her, huh?”

Tyler shrugged. “We’ll never know. She was murdered.”

Sully blanched, stunned. “No.”

“Well, we’re still investigating, obviously, but from what I saw, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a suicide or an accident.”

Sully tilted her head against the backrest. “How—how did it...?” she couldn’t quite finish the sentence. How did Mary Anne die?

Tyler glanced back at the house. “I can’t say. Not yet.” He looked down at Sully. “But I will say this—go home and lock your doors. Stay safe.”

He tapped the roof of her car, then turned back to the Adler house. A deputy was unravelling yellow tape along the front veranda railing, and Sully’s blood cooled in her veins at the sight, and what it meant.

The Adler house was a crime scene. Sweet little Mary Anne had been murdered in her home. That woman was so lovely, Sully couldn’t imagine anyone having enough animosity, enough rage, to want to kill the older woman. And so soon after her son’s murder. Were they connected? She couldn’t quite believe that one murder had been committed in their sleepy little cove, let alone two. What were the odds that they were two separate, random acts? What were the odds they were connected? Poor Mary Anne. Sully shifted gears and reversed down the street until she could do a U-turn. It wasn’t until she was pulling into her darkened yard, with only the moonlight and the stars to illuminate her garden, that Tyler’s words really sank in.

Lock the doors. Stay safe.

What the hell kind of danger was out there? And why did he think it could visit her?

Dave frowned at the Closed sign on the shop door. There was a lot of that going around Serenity Cove, today. He’d just tried to get some breakfast at the diner in town, only to find it was temporarily closed for business. He’d managed to find a burger joint down near Crescent Beach. He’d also found a bar, but it was too early to open.

He had not found a certain witch, though. He’d checked the beach he’d first seen her on, and then had taken the walk up the stairs to the top of the cliff. He’d found a cleared area at the top, and then a little road that led back to the highway. He’d found her home—her garden was very impressive, along with a little shed out the back. He hadn’t been able to find her, though.