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Everett pushes past the other pack’s Betas to open the gate to the back yard. It’s like a slightly smaller version of the front of property gates, which we almost always leave open. The back yard gates are always locked. Everett takes his time with his house keys. He leads everyone into the yard, and I close and lock the gates behind us.
The woods have a few entry points that can’t really be policed, but we keep this one secure because we can. I’m not about to be lax about it now.
It feels weird to walk a handful of strangers through our personal space, even if it is outdoors.
Everett marches on ahead, leading us through the forest to the place I took him in the early hours of yesterday morning. I catch up to Oscar and take his hand when we get to the patch of ground where I found him passed out and covered in blood. He doesn’t react to it. He frowns as he looks around.
He doesn’t remember. He was blacked out.
I was glad he didn’t have to see her, but the spell is going to change that.
“This is the place?” The witch asks, looking at Everett.
He nods, steps back, and keeps his gaze on the other pack’s wolves.
The Alpha and his Betas are standing on the other side of Mabel, their chosen witch staring in boredom at her nails behind them. Rachel’s at my side, watching the witch as she takes in everything around us. Noah’s next to Oscar, and my Omega rests his head on my shoulder as we wait around.
Mabel turns to all of us. “I will now begin casting the spell that will show what happened to cause the spilt blood on the ground here. The spell will show beyond a shadow of doubt who killed Alyssa Morgan. Your witches will be allowed to test the veracity of the spell with spells of their own once the evidence has been seen for everyone who is here to witness it. I’ll assess what needs to happen next only once Alyssa’s murderer has been revealed.”
She waits a second, as if she’s waiting to see if anyone has questions. It’s silent. Tense. We’re all standing here waiting for her to prove Oscar didn’t do this, so we can move on from this shitty situation without starting a war with a pack of strangers who invaded our forest.
My skin prickles when she starts to cast.
She’s powerful. Most older witches are. She’s spent a lifetime in a coven, accumulating spells and perfecting her craft. This spell has many interwoven elements and can only competently be performed by witches who’ve been chosen by The Fates. That’s why Rachel checked Mabel out.
She was chosen ten years ago. She can cast spells that link the past to the present.
It gets colder as her magic swirls in front of her, over the area where it happened.
She invokes the vision of the past with a complex string of commands that partly overlap, making it obvious she’s able to split her focus and her voice and chant as a group at will.
The image of the same spot we’re looking at forms in the projection screen of her magic, widening and lengthening to show more until a wolf runs into the frame at full pelt. I jerk back from the past projection. It’s so real I can’t believe it’s only an image.
Another wolf comes into the frame, moving faster and growling loudly.
The first wolf stumbles and falls. She whines as she gets up, but the other wolf doesn’t stop chasing her. He lands on her, snaps at her as he pins her down.
It’s dark, and blurry and the wolves could be anyone, so why do all the hairs on my body feel like they’re standing on end right now? Oscar squeezes my hand tightly. I can’t tear my eyes away to comfort him. This is a horrible thing that actually happened and we’re seeing it in full color, up close.
The second wolf scratches the first before his head dips down at her throat.
The tearing sounds are sickening. The keening whine the first wolf makes before she dies cuts me down to the bone. This shifter died right here in our forest, in our territory, and we didn’t even know it was happening. Tears prick my eyes when she returns to her human form in death.
Her attacker moves back and shifts.
My chest tightens as I stare at the projection.
Even with his back to us, I know it’s Oscar.
He turns to the side and wipes at his mouth with his arm. His eyes look glazed over, unfocused.
He stumbles slightly before he crashes to the ground beside her, passing out right next to the girl he just killed.
“No,” I whisper, not believing it. “That’s not what happened.”
It can’t be. He couldn’t do this. Not him. Not his wolf.
I stare at the image, but it doesn’t change.
