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Chapter Eleven
Ryder
I know a witch’s grimoire is her most prized possession. But Ven doesn’t look sad at the loss of it. She looks furious. She fumes silently as we exit the house and walk around to the little carport at the back.
When I catch sight of the Jeep, my eyebrows go up. “You sure that thing can get us up a mountain?”
“No.” She shrugs. “But do you want to stay stuck by my side the rest of your life?”
“Good point.” I grin and slap the rusty hood of the decrepit automobile. Dust clouds the air, and a spider runs for cover. “She doesn’t have to be pretty to give me a good ride.”
Ven rolls her eyes. “Well, I hope you like it rough.”
My grin widens. “You know I do.”
We climb in, which involves me going in first over the driver’s side since we can’t even get far enough apart to go around to our separate doors. The stick shift in the middle nearly impales my man parts, and Ven snickers. Then she settles in behind the wheel and cranks up the rust bucket. It sputters a few times before coming to life.
“So,” I call over the wind as Ven pulls out on the road and we begin to pick up speed. “Why do you think they took your grimoire?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” She chews on her lip a moment and looks off into the distance. “I mean, they obviously tracked us because we saw what happened in the club last night. But why ransack the house? What purpose did that serve? And my book of spells… that’s even more strange.”
“Maybe it’s just a dick move,” I say.
Ven looks over at me and blinks. Her hair whips in the wind as we turn onto the highway and head south.
“You know,” I continue. “Like, maybe it doesn’t have any greater meaning. Maybe they don’t need it. Perhaps they, whoever they is, just want to be an asshole. To rattle your cage.” I hope that I’m right. But a heavy feeling in my stomach tells me that we’re just falling further down the rabbit hole of whatever crazy shit we’ve stumbled upon.
“And you have experience in this arena?” She raises both brows.
“Dicks, absolutely.” I kick one of my feet up on the dashboard so my toes are practically hanging out the window. I keep my tone carefree. No need to share my worries with Ven quite yet. “But I like to think I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Ven lets out an actual guffaw. “Do you know how cheesy that sounds?” She clutches the steering wheel, laughing so hard that tears form in her eyes. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Focus on driving this death trap, will you?”
“You gotta sweet talk the lady or she’s not gonna take you where you want to go,” Ven says with a final giggle.
We turn left and head onto a dirt road that crosses a field. Palm and banana trees dot the perimeter. Before too long, the road begins to ascend into the hills. A toucan flies by overhead, and a monkey chatters in the branches of a nearby tree. We wind back and forth up the mountain, passing through dense stretches of jungle. Finally, Ven pulls the Jeep, which is whining in protest, onto a gravel road through a thick patch of trees. After several switchback turns, we arrive at a large cabin built next to a cascading waterfall. Far in the distance I catch a glimpse of the ocean through the trees.
“Nice view.”
Ven nods, then says, “I texted Maranda to tell her we’d be stopping by. Otherwise, we might run into some perimeter spells. It’s not a smart idea to show up at a witch’s house uninvited.”
I look around. Sure enough, I catch the shimmer of various spells strung around the house. I can even smell the acrid herbal scent of this witch’s magic. But it appears she’s cleared the way to the front door. My eyes dart back to Ven. “You know, you should probably do the same, once all this is over.”
“Oh, they were there,” she says, looking worried. “Just apparently not strong enough for whatever visited.”
The ominous feeling in my gut grows stronger. I have a strong suspicion exactly what it was at her house, and I’m very much hoping I’m wrong.
We climb out of the Jeep and approach the front door, which is round and painted bright purple. The rest of the cabin is made of polished wood in a deep cherry tone. A floor-to-ceiling stretch of glass makes up most of the front of the house. Ven knocks and then steps back.
A few moments later, the door is whisked open by a very tall woman with long silver hair. “Lavender,” she says in a deep, sonorous voice. “Come in, come in.”
“Lavender?” I mouth to Ven as we step inside.
She shoots me a glare and doesn’t answer.
“Take a seat. And introduce me to your gorgeous friend,” the older witch says. She looks me up and down, not in the least bit subtle. She smells of incense. Actually, the whole house reeks of it.
