Page 3 of Of Magic and Murder

And since I’m the only cursebreaker actively working in America, I had to come. Because if I didn’t? Who else would?

I don’t exactly enjoy the weight of knowing that so many cursed supes rely on me, but when the alternative is leaving them in their cursed state… I’ll do whatever I can to help.

I always do.

The sheriff station is located between a butcher shop and a laundromat. When I reach the address I’ve been given, I find an unmarked door that’s flanked on each side by a window made of tinted glass.

Almost as if they knew I was coming, there is a spot right in front of the station. I angle the rental car into the gap and kill the engine. Leaving the keys in the cup holder, I pop open the driver’s side door. I scoop up my flowing skirt so that it doesn’t get trapped. Once I’m perched on the curb, I ease the door closed again before turning toward the entrance.

I’ve only taken one step when the unmarked door opens and a male comes stalking out onto the sidewalk. He’s about a head taller than I am, and I’m on the taller side for a woman. He has broad shoulders and thick biceps that are shown off by the noticeably tight silk shirt stretching across his chest. His top is a light blue color, his slacks are as dark as his slicked-back hair. A star-shaped badge is pinned at his waist, but that’s all that is there. No weapons or cuffs.

Then I get a good look at his strikingly handsome features and, in a heartbeat, I know precisely why he appears defenseless.

Moonburrow is a supernatural town. It has witches, and it has shifters—and I’m looking at a predator who is staring right back at me.

His golden eyes flash, all the more obvious against the shadows beneath the awning over his head. Canines punch out, and all I can think is: wolf. He’s a Goddess-damned wolf.

I gasp. Anyone on the street—and there are plenty, though I only have eyes for him—would think it’s because of how he misses a step during his predatory stalk, one foot tripping over the other as he nearly takes a nosedive down to the pavement. Ordinarily, that would be true. I’m the sort who would rush forward, hoping I can help him to his feet after he hit the floor.

Only he’s a wolf shifter, and that is why I can’t find it in me to move at all.

It doesn’t matter that he stumbled or that I didn’t offer to guide him back to his shiny dress shoes. He recovers so quickly, and I’m frozen in place as I squeeze my folded hands to my chest. My heart is thundering. He’ll know. With his senses, he’ll be able to tell that I’m scared shitless. Some wolves like that. They like knowing their prey is terrified of them⁠—

He clears his throat, making sure to keep his lips pressed together as though he’s aware that his fangs are causing my heart to trip. Lifting his hand, he smooths it over his immaculate hairstyle.

I gulp, trying hard not to quiver in place.

He stops when there are about six feet between us. “Sorry about that.” He offers out his hand, sees that his claws are on display, and drops it to his side. “Ms. Willows?”

My voice is caught in my throat. I simply nod.

It’s not just that he’s a wolf, though that definitely caught me off-guard. I mean, I should’ve expected it. In most shifter-run towns, it’s the local pack that doubles as the law enforcement team. The Alpha is the sheriff here; I knew that. I guess… I guess I was just hoping that Moonburrow was maybe a big cat town rather than led by wolves.

I… I have a thing about wolves. I’m usually better at hiding how uncomfortable the predators make me, but now that I’ve gotten over my initial fright, I realize that there’s a reason why he affected me so strongly.

He’s cursed.

If you’re not a witch, it wouldn’t make sense when I tell you that magic… it comes in different colors. Not every witch can see the shades. I can because of my innate power as a cursebreaker. Similar to aura-reading, I can see certain colors clinging to people and objects and know that they’ve been touched by magic, whether it’s dark or light.

Curses have a unique color. More of a neon green than anything, when someone is a victim of curse magic, they’ll bring that shade with them everywhere they go. Out in the sunlight, it’s harder to tell, but now that I’m pushing past my fear… oh, yeah. He’s had a run-in with a witch before.

You’d never know it from the polite way he addresses me as he nods a greeting my way. “I’m Chief Deputy Riordan Lobo of the Moonburrow Sheriff Department. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Lobo, Pen. If you’d been thinking clearly instead of rushing to get to Maryland, you would’ve realized that the chief deputy’s last name is Lobo and been prepared that he was a wolf.

I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. “Yes, well, when I heard that there was a supe who needed my help, of course I had to come.”

“We appreciate it. The vic… Ash? He’s my brother’s mate’s cousin. I’d like to fix him up if we can before we have to tell her that he died on my watch. Honey doesn’t deserve that, and Max will have my head if I upset his mate.”

I get it. Witches… we don’t have fated mates. We can be one, of course, if one of the supernaturals that have them—such as shifters or vampires—recognize that we’re meant to be theirs. No wonder the chief deputy went right to the national coven for help. This isn’t just a murder in Moonburrow he’s trying to solve. This is family business.

I don’t have a family of my own. Not anymore. Mom passed a couple of years ago, and I never knew my dad. He found out Mom was a witch and took off, and since I was a witch—dud or not—I stayed with her because, well, that’s how it works in a coven. But if I did have someone to call my own? There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them.

I think about what Chief Deputy Lobo just said. “Is he dead then? The victim? Or is he cursed?”

The chief deputy mulls that one over for a second. “Ash is something all right. And, from what I was told, you’re supposed to be the only one who can tell us which one he is.”

He’s not wrong.