“Well,” I said, rubbing my forehead, “that explains a few things.”
Willow gave a soft, almost smug meow.
I looked back at the letter, pulse thudding in my ears.
Be kind to her.She has been my friend, my companion, and my guard in more ways than you yet understand.
That one got me right in the chest.
Alice hadn’t asked me to stay in Hickory Hollow.She’d required it.Built it into the will.And somehow, impossibly, she’d trusted me—only me—to uncover the truth behind her death, guard the crossing, and one day un-hex a witch trapped in cat form.
I took a long drink of wine.
“Of course you did,” I said softly.
I sifted through the remaining papers, growing more frustrated by the minute.Notes.Half-finished thoughts.Strange symbols.No clear instructions.No handy beginner’s guide to magical crisis management.
“How am I supposed to make a potion without a recipe?”I demanded the room.“Did you honestly think I’d just figure it out?”
Willow rose, hopped onto the coffee table, and nosed several papers aside before placing both paws squarely on one scrap.
I leaned forward.
It was a list—but not a mundane one.
Unpronounceable names sprawled down the page, each followed by a number.
Latin.Definitely Latin.
I looked at Willow.“You’re a genius.”
She flicked an ear.
Smiling despite everything, I reached out and scratched her beneath the chin.“I owe you tuna.”
I started toward the kitchen—then stopped.
Something scraped upstairs.
Metal against wood.
Slow.Deliberate.
Willow’s head snapped up, ears flat.
“Oh no,” I whispered.“Nope.I am not doing attic horror-movie nonsense tonight.”
Another thud echoed overhead.Then a dragging sound.I moved toward the stairs, one foot on the bottom tread staring up at the ceiling.
A faint orange glow leaked from the seams of the attic door at the top of the stairs.
My pulse spiked.
But I couldn’t ignore it, could I?With my heart in my throat, I ascended.
I pulled the ladder down, heart pounding—and immediately realized it wasn’t fire.
Light detonated from above, unnatural and pulsing.
