“Or we just take a vial of her blood while she’s sleeping or whatever, and you undo this whole mess. It is blood magic. That's the only reason we even need her,” I growl.
“It’s not,” Laz roughs out, crossing his arms and glaring. “We've had this conversation already, Conall. I don't know how to undo the spell yet, so a vial of her blood may not do a thing. As the chosen descendant, Ivy may be able to sense Shipton’s magic and help us suss out exactly what spell was used, which will give me the key to undo it.”
“Either way, having her in the dark doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything. It’s only through sheer, stubborn, human will that she hasn’t figured us out yet,” Amy insists.
I catch movement through the crack in the door. Shoulder-length curly brown hair and a spattering of freckles.
My hound is a constant presence at my center, and the sight of her sends him into a growling, snapping fit every time. It’s hard to keep control, and for the first time since I was a pup, I’m concerned I’m going to lose it and shift.
I'm not like Amy's species. I'm not a shapeshifter who can become anything. Almost every monster on this island has their humanoid form, and their true form. Thanks to Laz's protection spells, we can snap between the two whenever we want.
Not for the first time, I wonder if this reaction from my hound is a side effect of the way Shipton's spell went wrong. Is it interfering with my ability to hold a human form?
“You really think that’s the best idea?” I ask, still tracking her movement through the crack. She’s taking inventory of a shelf of books, herbrow furrowed. "You wanna just march in there and tell her everything she believes is wrong?"
Laz follows my gaze and studies her. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I want to snap my teeth at him.
Fucking God, get it together. He's just looking at her. What the hell do I care?
“No,” he decides. “No, I still have a few leads to follow in my spell book. If they don't pan out we'll tell her, but let's give it another day or two.”
I sigh. Continuing to protect a frail, ignorant, human on an island full of dangers doesn't sound ideal to me.
Because that's my job. To protect her.
It was the witch's one last magical decree before she died. My contract passed to a slip of a human who has no idea anything is going on at all.
Ivy
Something really strange is happening on this island. Amy walks back into the store through the back door, and I swear her eyes are brown now. Plus, her hair looks shorter. That can’t be right, but I didn’t spend six months in therapy after the divorce just to question my instincts.
It’s not just her eyes, either. It’s the strange products on the shelves. The customers at the café. The dreams last night. Everyone stares as they pass the shop window, like I’m some kind of exhibit.
Amy continues to go over the various aspects of the business. The man from the café this morning stands across the street on the grassy roundabout in the statue's shadow. He’s staring into the shop, which is creepy for sure. But I find it pretty hard to concentrate on my would-be stalker when I’m so distracted by the statue itself.
The strange, modern gargoyle with sweats and horns and wings was in the thinker’s pose yesterday. But now he’s standing. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his brow furrowed, glowering down Main Street.
“What in the hell?” I breathe. I hadn’t even looked at the statue this morning. I’d been afraid to meet those eyes again.
“Something wrong?”
I nearly jump out of my skin and turn and find Amy standing not a foot behind me. I open my mouth to answer, then stop. Her eyes are blue now. I snap my mouth shut.
“Nope. Just can’t believe how fast the time flew. Closing time already?”
She looks at her watch. “Yeah. If you want, I can lock up. I know that was a lot to take in for one day.”
Internally, every alarm I have is telling me to get away from this woman as fast as possible. On the outside, I keep things professional. Whatever is going on here, I don’t have many options. Still, I feel the pull to get back to the cottage quickly.
“That would be amazing. Thank you, Amy. I think I’m still just exhausted from the trip over,” I lie, and I’m proud to find my voice steady. God only knows what my face is doing.
Gathering my things, I walk out. When I glance back, Amy is still watching me from the window. Snapping my gaze to the road, I don't dare look at the statue. I don't need to. I know what I saw.
My stride slows once I've left the shop. I'm going back to a cottage with empty cupboards, no Wi-Fi, no TV as far as I could see, and no sort of hobby distraction. I'm looking down the barrel of a long night staring at the walls…or climbing them. Glancing around, the Alexandria Book Nook catches my eye. If I can’t doomscroll or even watch TV, getting something good to read is the next best thing.
My hand finds the gold handle of the black front door. The hinges squeak as I step inside.
Just inside the entryway, I stop.
