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After the grimoire became the Hunk, even Dad hadn’t known when he was in the grimoire’s presence. He, of all people, should have sensed his own creation. But he hadn’t. Not until Lake Pontchartrain and the coven it decimated the first time it took control of me.
Perhaps that was why the rogues had finally quit trying to steal it from me. They couldn’t sense it either. Its magical signature had become too muddled by the other components to track it singularly.
But how had Luca learned of the book’s existence? Its ties to Dad? Its value to the director?
Had she questioned Dad while he was delirious with hunger and thirst? While whatever spell or charm or curse kept Dad docile and his magic contained? Under normal circumstances, I doubt anyone could break him, but after spending decades in the dark, with his father twisting his mind, he could have been driven mad with grief and fury when they first met.
That could mean she was not only aware the grimoire existed, but she knew through a firsthand accounting by one of the authors exactly what filled those pages. Maybe having such a powerful witch—one capable of casting any of the spells in the book that caught her fancy—was Dad’s true value to her.
Maybe the vow was simply what she asked for in return because she knew it was what he wanted too. To kill his father. And when that was done, she would set him to her true purpose. There had to be one. All of this couldn’t have been for nothing but spite and vengeance. No one was that petty, right?
“Rue, we need you to weigh in here.” Marita squeezed my shoulder, helping anchor me. “What do we do with the Hunk?”
“I would suggest a pickup,” Derry said, shaking his head, “but it’s too dangerous for our courier.”
The pendant was no more, the grimoire trapped within a molten cage. But what to do with the cage? The book was clever and wicked, and I had no doubt it would figure a way out eventually. To destroy it was the goal, but I was starting to believe that wasn’t possible. For now, containment would have to do.
“I agree.” I didn’t want to admit he was right, but I wasn’t going to endanger anyone else. “I’ll carry it.”
“No.” Marita yanked me back so fast, I almost tipped over again. “You’re not touching that thing.”
“We’ll take turns carrying it.” Derry smoothed his hands down the sides of his legs, like he was searching for his pockets. “Anybody got a donation to wrap it in? We shouldn’t let it touch our skin.”
“What if you need to shift?” I shook my head. “We might need both of you on four legs for where we’re going. If you change on reflex, you’ll drop the Hunk where anyone can pick it up and use it against us.”
“I’ll carry it.” Colby fluffed out her fuzz. “I’m not afraid.”
“Sweetie,” I began, but determination radiated off her.
“I can do this. Iwantto do this.”
I hadn’t been the only one burned by the Hunk. Its insidious tendrils had wormed into her through our bond and caused her to almost kill Moran’s son, Peleg, while the kids had been playing. She had as much reason as I did to hate it, and her innate goodness repelled most forms of dark magic. With the Hunk not touching me, our connection broken, she ought to be safe. Butought towas a loaded phrase when it came to the Hunk.
“The second you hear a voice or sense anything out of the ordinary, you tell me.”
“I will.” Her antennae stood on end, her chest puffing out. “I won’t let you down.”
“You couldn’t even if you tried.” I ignored the prick of tears in my eyes. “I’m going to cloak you so no one can see you.” I almost wept with relief when magic leapt into my fingertips, eager to be spent. “The spell might not stick to the Hunk. With you carrying it, the spell might slide off both of you.”
The mass wasn’t something she could carry in hairbow mode. She was too small for the weight. Even cat-sized, she would strain under the burden. But I could see how much she needed to do this. How much she wanted to face her fears that the Hunk would ensnare her again and drag her down with it.
Gripping the hem of my tee, I ripped a thick band off the end, leaving me in a stomach-baring crop top.
“Okay.” Lowering her ward, she hesitated only long enough to size up before knotting the Hunk in a sling with the fabric. She looped it over her head, wiped her hands, and lifted off. “Here we go.”
Once she got within range, I drew my wand and tapped her on the shoulder, casting the concealment.
“Can you see me?” Dust stirred in front of me, and wind kissed my cheeks. “How about now?”
I had no trouble picturing her doing loop-the-loops in front of my face, probably sticking out her tongue.
“Just stay close and be ready to run if you—or the Hunk—are in danger.”
With a small gust of air, she rose to—I hoped—an approved height. “Okay.”
Losing sight of her, even when she wasright there, made me nauseous after I had just gotten her back. It didn’t help knowing she was giving the Hunk a lift. All I needed was for a black witch loyal to the director to sense it and attempt to shoot her down to claim it.
Not for the director. For themselves. Which might prove even worse, since it would place the Hunk back in circulation.Its iron will would guarantee that. It would bounce from witch to witch until it found someone as easily stamped withSUCKERon their forehead as I had been.
