Her sense of elation returned. That had hardly taken any power, and the dresser had to weigh a ton.
She hurried over to her bed, stooping down to pull the box from underneath. Her altar was technically a stool, wooden and small enough to fit inside the boot box, but it worked. She set it up as fast as she could, lighting the candles, sprinkling a few different herbs out before sinking cross-legged onto the carpet. There were a few items she’d collected over the years, things Bronagh had told her were good to practice with: a silver spoon, a bit of cork from a wine bottle, a few coins.
Dayna wove her fingers together again, letting the electric buzz pulse through her hands and arms. A whisper, and the objects shot into the air around her, so fast she had to clamp down on the power before the cork hit the ceiling. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.
She added more.
A book. A jar of skin cream. A stray flip-flop.
Dayna added another book, and another, until she had over twenty objects floating around her. It was exhilarating. She was full to the brim with magic. Powerful. Untouchable. The Butcher could try to come for her coven; she was ready for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DUBH
Dubh stood at the edge of the lake facing the abbey, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. The water was flat and mirrorlike, reflecting the abbey and its green surroundings upside down beneath the surface.
His breath rose in the air around him. He smiled, attention fixed on the abbey, on people moving back and forth across the lawn, voices carrying faintly over the water, colorful insects swarming over the green grass.
Someone had spread a picnic blanket out, and a tour group had settled in the shade of an oak, snapping pictures and unpacking food. Laughter echoed, mingling with birdcalls in the trees above.
For one serene moment, time was suspended in that cool, still reflection in the lake.
Dubh waited. The only movement was the rise and fall of his chest, though he couldn’t stop the smile that stretched over his face.
Any second now. The place was packed with tourists, it wouldn’t take long.
One minute. Two.
A scream, high and panicked, echoing across the water.
Small figures ran back and forth over the lawn. Now there was shouting, crying, shrieking.
Dubh tipped his head back and smiled at the abbey.
The noonday sun now hung directly overhead, bathing the stone walls, glittering in the windowpanes of the abbey, reflecting back on the lake, making it look like the building was on fire.
Tiny figures crowded around a spot just under the oak tree. There was a figure on the grass in the middle of the activity, still and silent and stretched out on the lawn, as if she had fallen asleep on the grass in the shade. You wouldn’t know the difference until you got closer. Until you saw the blood.
More people came running from all directions now, shouts and screams mingling, growing louder as the wind picked up and carried the noise.
Dubh’s smile grew wider.
For a moment he allowed himself to watch their frenzy. To take in the noise. To imagine one of the tiny figures turning and spotting him there across the water, a dark silhouette. Like death himself.
Then he glanced back down at the cooler.
The last two witches he’d been sure about. But now…now he wasn’t sure. He needed the book, and the list inside, and he was sure he wasn’t the only one looking by now. He had to find it before the witches did.
Dubh reached down to pick up the cooler at his feet. Turning, he walked back into the forest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SAMUEL
It was always crowded in O’Neal’s. The insides were done in dark cherrywood, with a marble-topped bar at the front that took up half the place. Mr. O’Neal, one of the church deacons, had bought the old pub years ago and turned it into a soda shop.
Sam slid into the corner booth, dropping his bag onto the table. Mrs. O’Neal waved to him from the bar, and Sam grinned. His Bible study met every Monday for breakfast during the summer, and hogged the booth for most of the morning, but the O’Neals didn’t seem to mind.
He leaned back, glancing up at the TV on the wall. The news anchor was going through the weather report. He slid the lock off his cell screen. It was a futile gesture, since he would have had a notification if Dayna had texted him. He’d half hoped she would check in for new information about the case.
Not that he had any.
He’d hung around the house earlier that morning, hoping to overhear something as his father got ready for work. The sergeant had waited in the kitchen while Sam’s mother had filled his travel mug, complaining about pushback from his force about something—how they were working the case, Sam would guess. Then his father had begun complaining about the Kellys’ farm, and how people were calling in because the new paint on the barn was an eyesore from the road. “It’s completely different colors in places, like they ran out halfway.”
To his disappointment, his father had stomped out without saying more about the case.
Sam retreated to his bedroom, grumbling to himself.
A serial killer in town, and he’s complaining about patchy barn paint….
Sam had paused at the bedroom door, frowning. Why did that jog a memory? It wasn’t as if he’d paid any attention to the paint when he’d spotted the dead cows….
He’d realized a second later and frozen in the doorway. He hadn’t been thinking of the Kellys’ barn, or even one he’d seen in real life at all. It was the barn in the video.
He’d watched it over and over this week. Something about what his father had said made it click in his brain. There was a piece he’d been missing, he was suddenly sure of it.
Sam opened the link to the video again and rewatched it, flipping his phone over to enlarge the screen. He’d played it so many times that morning that his eyes started to glaze over right away, and he shook himself, squinting at the footage. Sure enough, there was something on the wall of the barn behind the blurry figures.
There was a small part of the wall that looked somehow redder than the rest. He hunched over his phone, squinting harder. It was probably just paint that had faded, or…the fuzziness of the camera. It was probably nothing.
Unless it was something.
Whatever it was, it had been enough to imprint on his subconscious after hours of watching the video. So maybe that made it something he should check out.
He blew out a breath and logged into his account, typing out a quick message.
Anyone see the red patches on the barn behind them?
The bell over the door jangled, and Sam jerked upright, shoving his phone into his pocket.
Morgan and her friend Amanda were the first inside, arms linked as they walked in, and Darius trailed behind them. Morgan paused just inside the door, long enough to announce, “The town is in an uproar, Samuel,” before steering her friend toward the booth.
“She’s so dramatic,” Amanda said.
Morgan slid into the seat, flinging her blond braid over her shoulder. “It’s not dramatic. There’s a murderer in town. If anything I’m not being dramatic enough.”
Sam sat up straight in the booth. “You— Who told you that?”
“People drove past the tape.” Amanda leaned forward, eyes glittering. “The question is, who was it?”