Page 22 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

That all changed when Ambrose came along and noticed me.

And then things had changed even more when Elle made her discovery, offering me a possible out. Because the reality was, I couldn’t be so selfish as to deny my family—and future generations of my family—a cure for the curse that plagued us. However, if there was a way to do it without marrying into the Blackthorn family, you bet damn certain I was going to find it.

Starting now.

With that thought in mind, I strode forward and climbed into my car, heading out of town. The drive was gorgeous. Everything was mostly green still. But a couple of the buckeyes, dogwoods, maples, and sugar trees were showing a few yellow leaves. I grinned. Give it a couple of weeks and this place would be a picturesque postcard.

Which was why it got so many tourists in the fall season.

When I reached the turnout, I pulled off the road and started eating. Then I sent a quick photo of my half eaten breakfast burrito with the forest through the windshield to Elle.

Ready for a day of exploring.

It was still early for Elle, so I didn’t expect a text back.

Polishing off my burrito and latte, I grabbed my pack, locked up, and headed into the woods. I was already semi-familiar with this area. Still, I slipped my handheld GPS out of the side pocket of my backpack and checked it. I already knew what areas I wanted to check today, so once I was certain of my bearings, I tucked it away, using my lunarium detector instead.

The forest was alive. I could hear running water in the distance, one of the many creeks that ran through Axel’s land. There were birds and other insects. Squirrels were busy hiding nuts in preparation for winter, and a few chipmunks darted out across my path, scurrying for hiding places.

For the next hour, I simply enjoyed my surroundings. Once I reached new ground, I began my search in earnest, paying close attention to my detector, my GPS, and my surroundings.

I pulled out my laminated map that showed not just Axel’s property boundaries, but some of the surrounding land beyond. What was most special about it, was that it also showed key geological features. I balanced it against a fallen log while I marked section C3 with a green X. The GPS showed I’d covered the entire grid square. I made note of the readings from the detector. It was time to move to C4, where the contour lines showed a small ravine that might hide an entrance.

When I rolled up the map and slipped it back into my pack, the hairs on the nape of my neck prickled. I went motionless, just listening. The forest seemed quieter than usual, as if it knew there was a predator in its midst.

The wolf?

I spun around, searching, but found nothing.

The sensation of being watched didn’t go away.

After several long breaths, I set off again.

The sensation continued.

Eventually the forest sounds picked up again, though they ebbed and flowed when I got close to various critters.

Before I’d even arrived in Redding, I’d spent hours sitting at Elle’s kitchen island with county property records from the GIS website and a USGS topographical map, thanks to Bastian, who had acquired them for us. Fifteen thousand acres. The number still made my stomach sink.

Elle and I had devised a plan, dividing the laminated map into a grid of hundred-acre sections using a ruler and permanent marker. A1 through O15—each section roughly half a mile by half a mile. One hundred and fifty sections total. If the terrain was manicured hiking trails, it would be one thing. But this was raw, rugged, unforgiving wilderness. At four to six hours per section, I’d be searching for the next two years.

I didn’t have two years.

So we’d gotten strategic. Yellow highlighter marked the most promising areas first—sections near water sources where the contour lines showed streams and ravines, areas with steep elevation changes that might hide cliff faces, anywhere the topography suggested sinkholes or natural depressions. Caves didn’t just appear randomly. They formed in predictable geological patterns.

Twenty-three priority sections scattered across the grid. Still massive, but manageable if I was systematic.

The plan was simple: use the handheld GPS to mark waypoints for strong detector readings, then color-code completed sections directly on the laminated map. The turnoff I’d been using put me right into the C section of the grid, which was why I’d started there. The artifact was hidden in the caves beneath this land. The entrance had to be somewhere accessible—somewhere the original werewolves could have reached centuries ago.

I just had to be smart about where I looked.

C4 proved more challenging than I’d expected. The contour lines on the map had promised a small ravine, but they hadn’t prepared me for how steep the descent would be. I picked my way carefully down the rocky slope, using trees for support where I could find them. The sound of running water grew louder with each step—a good sign. Water carved caves.

I continued to feel the sense of being watched, and yet, I saw no sign of anyone—certainly not the grumpy werewolf.

My detector started picking up stronger readings about halfway down. I marked the GPS coordinates and kept going.

The ravine bottom was maybe twenty feet wide, with a creek bubbling over smooth stones. Moss covered everything, making the rocks slippery. I worked my way upstream first, checking every shadow that might hide a cave entrance.