The Witch's Quest. Michele Hauf

did not want to think any more about the skills that giving away his wings had stolen from him.

      “Denton Marx is a peller,” he explained as he parked the Firebird on the gravel drive before the guy’s place.

      “A spell breaker,” Valor confirmed. “They are generally good, bad or nasty. I’m guessing Marx was the nasty sort?”

      Kelyn wobbled his hand back and forth. “Depends on whose story you listen to. He did some bad things for what he thought was a good reason. My sister, Daisy Blu, suffered because of it. But her husband, Beck, who was under a curse that was killing him, gained back his life, so they both sort of won because of Marx. I’d call him situationally convenient.” He peered out the window, eyes taking in the periphery. “Doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

      The lot did appear abandoned. Massive willow trees hung over the unmown front yard that edged a gravel road. Tall grasses disguised the ditch and frothed along the narrow drive. The rambler-style house was dark, as was the garage. The forest grew thick right up to the back of the house, though Kelyn knew there was a shed beyond it.

      He’d been here a few winters earlier with his brothers. Denton had sought Daisy Blu’s werewolf soul to rescue his lost love who was trapped in another time, a witch who could time travel. And Denton also time traveled. Wonders never ceased. A soul had been a requirement to work a spell to breach time. The man had failed. Thankfully.

      “I don’t think he’s around.” Kelyn opened the door and thrust out a leg, sniffing at the air. Normally his senses were dialed up to ultra. But since losing his wings? Forget about it. “I don’t scent any others beyond the wildlife and floras. Let’s take a look out back.”

      Valor followed silently, which he appreciated. If anyone were on the premises, he didn’t want to alert them that they had visitors.

      Pressing his wrists together to invoke magic that would heighten his senses, Kelyn cursed under his breath and swung his arms away from each other. Even after four months, he still forgot about his missing sigils. And a twinge in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, reminded him what a fool he had been. Could a man be too damned nice?

      Obviously, he could.

      The grass was dry and brown here behind the house, and his footsteps crunched even as he left the gravel drive. He hadn’t come armed. He didn’t want to call up any more bad mojo from the universe than his actions had already done.

      He didn’t consider this venture breaking and entering. Just...taking a look around. Surely Denton owed the Saint-Pierre family for the pain he’d put them through with Daisy Blu and Beck.

      “How do you know this guy?” Valor asked quietly as she caught up and reached his side. They wandered over some old, rotted wood boards that had been placed on the ground as a sort of walkway leading to the shed.

      “He almost killed my sister and her boyfriend. Of course, that was when Beck was cursed as the ghost wolf.”

      “I remember that! That was a couple years ago. There was an article in the local paper about a big white wolf roaming the area.”

      “Beck was cursed as that white wolf.”

      “Wow. And you’re friends with this Denton guy?”

      “Not officially.” He stopped before the steel door to the shed, suspecting the security would be excellent for a man who might take frequent trips away—to completely different centuries. “But if anyone has a werewolf claw, it’ll be this guy. Keep watch on the house, will you?”

      “Larceny. Love it.” Shoving her hands in her back pockets, Valor turned to face the house.

      Satisfied there were no cameras attached to the outside of the building, nor any connected on the nearby yard lightpost, Kelyn jiggled the doorknob. It was a standard knob and lock. Nothing digital. He didn’t have anything to pick the lock with, so...he stepped back and gave the door a fierce kick right beside the lock mechanism. It slammed inward with a loud bang and a plume of dust.

      Valor turned and gaped at him.

      He smiled at her and shrugged. “Some of my talents have less finesse than others.”

      “So it would seem.” She walked in after him. “Nothing like making an entrance. I like it.”

      The shed was dark, but pale moonlight strained through a dirty glass window panel set into the roof. The paned glass stretched eight feet square. It was littered with fallen leaves, yet the center of the room was lit enough to make out the dirt floor and assorted items sitting about. A mounted full-bodied buck greeted them with eerie glass eyes, its ten-point rack gleaming like ivory.

      “Yikes.” Valor walked up to the taxidermied creature. It stood as high as she. She studied it from head to tail, then walked back up to look into its eyes. She stroked its nose, pausing with her palm flat on its fur. Bowing her head, she said, “I’m so sorry for you.”

      Her empathy hit Kelyn right in the heart. Any chick who cared for nature was all right by him. “You see? The guy is an asshole.”

      “Duly noted. This poor creature didn’t deserve such an end. I hate trophy hunters. So let’s take a look around. I’ll look over here and you—” He’d already begun to explore the north wall. “Yep, you know what you’re doing. So, are you prepared to leave the country?”

      “What?” Kelyn brushed his fingertips over an assortment of knives and tools he assumed were taxidermy items. None were clean, which made him wonder about the man’s methods. Trophies would be created and tended with care and clean instruments. Magical items, on the other hand, wouldn’t require such surgical cleanliness. He called over his shoulder, “Why leave the country?”

      “The next item on the list is in Western Australia. Lake Hillier. The pink lake.”

      “Pink?”

      “Yeah, I think it’s algae or something that colors it literally a bubble gum pink. We need water from that lake specifically.”

      “Right, the unruly lake. What is an unruly lake anyway?”

      “Apparently, a pink one.”

      “Australia is a long flight.”

      “That it is. And...spendy.”

      He caught her anxious tone. “You mean you’re not going to treat me to an adventure across the globe?”

      “I can pay for my own ticket. I’m just hoping you’ll pay for yours?”

      “I can cover us both,” he offered.

      “No, I can take care of myself.”

      “Valor. Send me the flight details and an online link and I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

      She nodded and picked up an old, rusted spring-loaded trap that creaked as she turned it about. “This looks dangerous and it smells.”

      “Probably blood on it from whatever the man last trapped.”

      She dropped it with a groan.

      Kelyn’s hand landed on a dusty glass quart jar without a cover. He could feel the vibrations wavering out from within and he bowed his head over it, placing both hands on the glass. Thankful that his senses were not currently superreceptive, he could only imagine the pain he’d sense if they had been at normal capacity.

      “What is it?” Valor walked up behind him and gasped at the sight of what he held. “That’s a lot of claws. And big. Sure they’re not bear claws?”

      “No,” Kelyn said with a swallow. “These are werewolf.” It pained him to think that his brothers had gone up against Denton. Yet they had survived. Thank the gods for that. “Take one,” he said quickly.

      Valor reached in and pulled out a black claw that was as thick as her finger and twice as long. Then she took another. “Two to be safe.” And another. “And three—”

      “No.”