Page 62 of Werewolves and Witches AU

“My dreamscapade.”

“That’s not a word.”

I fold my arms and pout. Rowan’s eyes bounce between my lips and my torso before cutting back to the words.

“That’s what Ray said,” I sulk. “But it makes sense, so I’m keeping it.”

“Ray again,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing. So… taglock?”

I stare hard at the side of Rowan’s face, but he doesn’t budge.

“What Sarah’s trying to communicate is a scrying spell. Basic stuff. But there’s a need for some powerful amplifiers to handle the fact that we’re moving through time, not space. A taglock is an item that belongs to the person you’re trying to find.”

“Like a scent item?”

“A what?”

“What ye’d give a rescue dog to help them find someone who’s lost.”

I chew on my bottom lip as I think that over. Nodding, I add, “Yeah, that. But a hairbrush?”

“Maybe she wants ye to find a genetic link? Someone with shared DNA?”

I open my mouth in a combination of thought explosion and, embarrassingly, a burp. To seal the mortification in place, my tummy then rumbles. Loudly.

Embarrassed, and immediately a fetching shade of pink, I dip my head and fight my phone out of my tight jeans pocket to search the internet. “Are there any living descendants of the Lost Colony of Roanoke?”

Because he’s a gentleman—gentlewolf?—Rowan doesn’t comment on my stomach’s outburst.

I try my best to style it out by reading the results. “It says here it’s possible that some descendants still live in Robeson County.”

“How far?”

“Three, maybe four hours’ drive.”

Rowan pulls the papers from the wall and folds them away. “Right. Here’s the plan: ye’ll get your witchy crystals and things…” I raise my eyebrow at that and pocket my phone. “On the way, ye can use my laptop to narrow that possibility down to an actual person, and their address.”

“And we’ll drive to this person’s house and just what? Knock on the door and ask to borrow their hairbrush?”

“I mean, ye can, but I generally find people call the police when they encounter unsettling situations.”

“So what? We break into their house and steal a hairbrush?”

Rowan nods. “Aye.”

And before I can answer, he puts both hands on my shoulders and steers me through to the kitchen. “But first… lunch.”

23

Tuna Mayo Wrap

Rowan

The wide neck of Milo’s hoodie means that my hand rests flat against his soft and warm skin. I should let go; manhandling him like this isn’t necessary, or appropriate. I don’t.