Page 48 of Of Magic and Murder

What? “Yes. Lodestones like the key to the wards Max has can be made of glass, crystal, or stone. True lodestones are always a magnetized mineral, and definitely a rock. Not metal.”

“You said metal detector.”

I poke him in the side. “You know what I mean.”

His mouth twitches. “Yeah. I do, Pen. But don’t worry. I’m sure there’s no rush to find this thing. If we do, we do, but until then, I don’t mind that it’s just the two of us looking for it.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. “I just feel bad. We’re supposed to be solving a crime so that no more witches get hurt. And instead of that, I’m focusing on finding a lodestone that, if it fell into the wrong hands, would be catastrophic.”

Like Morrigaine’s mirror. I decided it was best to put it out of sight, out of mind so that it wasn’t a temptation to me or any other witch after what happened with Olivia…

“I’m still investigating,” he tells me, and I don’t know why I’m so surprised that, unlike me, he can do two things at once.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Searching for the lodestone… it’s peaceful. Being outdoors… being with you instead of being at a desk… I can think better than I have in ages. Max has a couple of leads he’s following, and a few wolves who definitely lied to his face that he wants to interrogate again. We’re making progress. Real investigative work takes time, and in between that, why not search for an artifact that can change the world?”

I like the way he thinks. “So we keep searching?”

“As long as you want to, my sweet witch.”

Later that night, I wake up sometime after midnight because I have to pee.

That’s not so unusual. If I drink too much before bed, I sometimes have to get up instead of sleeping through the night, and that’s what happened.

What is unusual, however? Is hearing something downstairs while I’m washing my hands with the bathroom door open. It’s faint, but I heard it, a sound so out of the ordinary because, once Honey locks up the bakery, there shouldn’t be any noise down there.

And Honey? She left with Gus and Max more than six hours ago after she finished wiping down the kitchen.

Tiptoeing over to the flimsy door that’s the only barrier between the upstairs apartment and the stairs that lead into the industrial kitchen down below, I freeze and listen.

There it is again.

It’s a scrape, then a dull thump. Silence. A soft whining sound.

What the…

Unless Honey returned to the bakery for something in the middle of the night, it can’t be her. It’s too loud and kind of throaty to be Gus. I also know it can’t be Olivia. Riordan has been bringing me fresh wormwood every couple of days, asking politely that I keep some upstairs, some in my car, and a sprig in my pocket. I haven’t seen Olivia since, and I’m not sorry about that.

Considering how much she frothed at the mouth to get her hands on Morrigaine’s mirror, I’d hate to think how she would react if she knew about the lodestone. She’d dead, but with enough spectral energy, she might be able to grab it and who knows what would happen after that?

So, no. It’s not Olivia, but if it’s not Olivia, and it’s not Honey or Gus, who the hell is downstairs?

My pulse begins to pound as I think about what to do.

Logically, I should call Max or Riordan. They’re powerful wolf shifters and the heads of the sheriff department. If there’s an intruder, it would be smart to call them and have them drive over and check it out while I hide out upstairs.

Instead, because spending a couple of weeks helping investigate murders has given me an entirely undeserved amount of confidence, I decide to go downstairs and check it out myself.

I can’t rely on my spellcasting to save me. The last thing I need is to blast an intruder and have the spell reflect and put me out of commission instead. That’s why I dart into the small kitchen upstairs, grab the first heavy thing I can think of—one of Honey’s spare rolling pins kept in a lower cabinet—and slowly ease open the door before easing down the stairs.

Heart in my throat, I make it all the way down to the dark, empty kitchen before I breathe again. I don’t reach for the light switch because I don’t know why. I just don’t. Relying on my night vision, I peer around, about to let out a sigh of relief that I imagined it all when the door to the bakery pushes open and, if I hadn’t already had a bathroom stop, I might’ve pissed myself.

My night vision has adapted enough that I can’t deny what I’m seeing: a big, black wolf pads into the kitchen as though he has any right to be inside of Dough You Believe in Magic.

A big, black wolf. Just like the description that Olivia gave about her murderer. The witch killer.

And I’m a witch.