Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker

22

Even though Morgenhad decided not to scream, the man’s strong hand plastered over her mouth ensured that she couldn’t. She whipped her staff around, hoping to bash her assailant, but the antlers snagged in the branches. She lost her grip on it as he twisted her to pull her back against his chest.

His hand against her mouth smelled strongly of damp dirt and made her think of gravediggers. She tried to pull away, but he dragged her farther back between two towering rhododendrons. She threw an elbow behind her, hoping to get him to release her, but she only clipped the man, and it didn’t seem to hurt him at all.

“Don’t make any noise,” he whispered. “He’s right behind you.”

That voice had a familiar accent.

“Amar?” she tried to whisper but couldn’t get anything out around his hand.

Even though she knew who it was, she didn’t appreciate being restrained, and she had the urge to bite him. But rustling sounded in the yard, from the direction she’d come.

“Ms. Keller?” Franklin whispered loudly. “Come on. Where’d you go? We don’t have a search warrant. I can’t roam around the property. And neither can you.”

Her staff had fallen so that it stuck out from the bushes she and Amar were wedged between. There was enough exterior lighting around the mansion that Franklin was bound to see it. She pointed, hoping Amar would let her bend down and grab it.

“Ssh,” was all he said, whispering in her ear.

In the back of the mansion, a door opened. Barks and snarls erupted, along with the sound of claws clacking rapidly on a patio.

Franklin swore.

From her spot in the bushes, Morgen couldn’t see the dogs coming, but she had no trouble hearing them.

“Ms. Keller, come on. I can’t shoot someone’s dogs on their property.”

Morgen leaned further back into the bushes, inasmuch as she could. Amar’s hard chest was like a stone wall behind her.

He murmured another, “Ssh,” and didn’t move.

Foliage rattled as Franklin turned around and ran back toward his SUV. The dogs—two black-furred rottweilers—charged past the bushes. They were after Franklin, but what would happen once he left? They were sure to smell Amar and Morgen and return to check on them—or gnaw their favorite limbs off.

A car door slammed. More growling and barking came from the front yard. The engine roared, and Franklin drove off.

Morgen couldn’t decide if she was affronted or relieved that he was leaving her here.

The gate clanked shut after Franklin drove out, shutting Morgen and Amar in. Shutting them in with two angry rottweilers.

Amar lowered his hand, but he didn’t release her. What, was he afraid she would lunge out and fling herself into the dogs’ path? If anything, she was tempted to burrow behind him and push him out to deal with them.

The dogs trotted back from the gate and stopped in front of their hiding spot, two dark heads turning, two pairs of eyes focusing on them. The rottweilers growled low in their throats. Amar growled back, and the hair on the back of Morgen’s neck rose. Even though he stood behind her as a man, that growl sounded canine—lupine—and very dangerous.

Amar eased past her, putting himself in front of her, and growled again.

The dogs whined and slunk off toward the back door.

“Any chance you can do the same thing with security cameras?” Morgen whispered.

“Growl at them?”

“And cause them to slink off, yes. Or at least turn off.”

“That sounds more like witch magic than a werewolf ability.”

“I’ve been perusing Grandma’s grimoires. Security cameras aren’t mentioned. But if you need slugs driven from the garden or an ice dam melted out of the gutters, we’re covered.”

With the dogs gone, Amar eased back between the shrubs with her. Being mashed against a muscular man might have been titillating if not for the likelihood that the butler would run out at any moment with a shotgun—or a wand.

“You smell like dirt,” she whispered, the aroma wafting up again.

“I dug under the wall to get into the yard.”

“As a man or…”

“As a wolf. There’s magic about this place, including some kind of energy field above the wall. I spotted a few dead birds along the outside. It was enough to convince me not to try jumping over.”

“Does that mean we’re trapped inside?” Morgen was positive she’d heard the gate closing.

“Only if you’re too worried about getting dirty to squeeze out through my hole.”

“Is it large enough for a human?”

“I have the same body mass as a wolf that I do as a man, so likely so.”

She imagined him stepping onto a scale on his hind wolf legs to test that hypothesis. “You don’t have boobs and hips as either.”

“They can fit.”

“Okay, then I’m game. Dirt isn’t my primary concern tonight. Did you have a plan when you came here?”

“Kill Arbuckle.”

“Ah.”

“Did you have a plan when you fled the deputy?”

That had been a touch impulsive, but she’d hada plan at one point. “Find Arbuckle, pretend I want to discuss his offer, and snoop around while doing so.”

“Killing him would be simpler. You believe he arranged Gwen’s death, don’t you?”

“I can’t be positive without more evidence. If you kill him when you’re already in trouble for Christian, you’ll end up with a life sentence.”

Or a death sentence. Morgen grimaced as she thought of the deputies tramping around in Wolf Wood with guns.

Amar sighed. “That is likely already in effect. I’d hoped… I’d hoped to take care of this before you showed up. Right now, you’re not guilty of anything, as far as I know. Nobody believes you’ve had anything to do with any of this. Better things stay that way. I’m already in trouble. It hardly matters.”

“So you’re going to kill more people?”

“Just one,” he said grimly, no remorse in his tone.

If this Arbuckle had arranged Grandma’s death, could she feel remorse over him being killed? Maybe not, but until they knew for sure…

“He’s not here,” Amar added. “I can smell others in the house, that butler and perhaps another female employee or lover, but Arbuckle is not here.”

“You know what he smells like?”

“I can smell the difference between men and women when I’m in wolf form. His scent is so faint I almost missed it.”

What did that mean? That he was out of town? That he hadn’t been here for a while? Morgen frowned in confusion. Arbuckle was the one who’d put in the offer on Grandma’s property. Of course, he could have done that remotely. Everything was handled online now.

“Interestingly,” Amar added, “I’ve caught one of the women’s scents before. Near the spring in Wolf Wood. She’s the one who always managed to make her trail disappear somehow, so I was never able to follow her and find out who had trespassed.”

“I want answers, Amar.”

“I want revenge.”

She shook her head, unwilling to agree to that.

“Let’s go into his house and find…” Evidence, she almost said, but it wasn’t as if they were here legally and whatever they found could be used to construct a court case against Arbuckle. If anything, they wouldend up in court for trespassing.

“Where the dogs bed down for the night?” Amar asked.

“I guess what I’d like to find is a room full of tusks and the blueprint for the clip that sabotaged Grandma’s motorcycle.” Morgen didn’t mention the moss, though she was sure that was tied in to all of this.

“Yes,” Amar growled. He lifted his nose in the air and sniffed.

“Is he coming back?” Morgen had no trouble imagining Amar able to smell someone turning off the main road a mile away. After all, Lucky could do that, assuming that someone was a favorite person or carrying a pound of brisket.

“No. Not yet.”

“Is someone else coming?”

Amar hesitated. “Another werewolf. One of the Loups. It’s possible he’s just passing through the forest on a hunt.” He waved toward the wall around the house and the yard, reminding her of the woods beyond it—and the fact that there weren’t any neighbors nearby. Nobody to hear her scream if she ended up locked in some castle dungeon. “Either way, we can’t linger. It’s possible the butler believes the deputy was the only one out here, and that the dogs scared him off, but it’s also possible she’s watching us right now on one of the cameras.”

Since they were wedged into the bushes and couldn’t see the side of the house from there, Morgen doubted that, but she allowed that it was likely someone knew she was there. Her escape from Franklin hadn’t been smooth.

“I suppose you want to snoop,” he grumbled.

“Does that mean you approve of that?” Morgen peeked out to check the yard. Was it wrong that she was secretly delighted that Arbuckle wasn’t home? She might not have to confront him or talk to him at all. What a relief.

“No, but you didn’t spring from the deputy’s SUV for a night stroll. You’ll snoop whether I approve or not.”

“True.” By now, she felt committed to that line of action. As long as she was trespassing on his lawn, why not stroll through his mansion? “Are you going to join me or keep leaning against that rhododendron like a misplaced rake?”

“I just protected you from rottweilers, and you’re comparing me to garden tools?”

“Sorry, that was rude. If you help me get into the house for my snooping, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Plant-based sausage patties aren’t going to inspire me to risk my life.”

“I don’t need you to risk your life, just growl at the guard dogs. And I saw some boxes of pork-sausage links wedged into the freezer. I could make those for you.” Assuming the entire sheriff’s department wasn’t still hunting around the house when they finished here.

“Gwen used to make those. And omelets. She got a lot of boxes of them and a lot of cartons of eggs because of me.” He sighed. “I miss her.”

“Yeah,” Morgen said, though she mostly wished she’d spent more time with Grandma before she passed. “I’m sure she appreciated your company.”

“Let’s go in now if we’re going to do it. I’ll watch your back the best I can. If there’s magical security… it may be beyond me to thwart it. Or protect you from it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a staff with antlers on it and a witch’s grimoire. I’m a force to be reckoned with.”

“Do you know what either of them does?”

“I told you about the slugs-be-gone incantation.” Morgen hefted her books. “And one of the antlers gouged a hole in the upholstery of my car, so it’s clearly a formidable weapon.”

“Just stay behind me.”

“Wait.” Morgen gripped his shoulder before he stepped out of the bushes, moved to say something in case… in case this didn’t go well. “Thanks, Amar. Thanks for helping me tonight and for being there for my grandmother.”

“You are welcome.”

He led the way to the back of the house, staying behind bushes and trees in an attempt to avoid the security cameras. He crouched near what Morgen could only think of as a tower—a round stone tower that rose up five stories. It had a pointed metal roof instead of crenellations, but it still put her in mind of castles. A window on the third floor was open.

“Are you suggesting we climb up there?” she whispered. “When the dogs used a lovely back door around the corner?”

“It’ll be locked, monitored by a camera, and likely the dogs. They won’t back down as easily if I try to enter their house.”

Before Morgen could think of more objections, such as the fact that the smooth stone wall had neither trellises nor conveniently placed ivy anchored into the mortar, Amar jogged toward the tower and sprang onto it. Even though she watched him scramble up the side, she couldn’t tell what he used for hand and footholds. The windows were set into the stone, so they didn’t even have frames or ledges to grab.

Amar reached the third-story window without trouble, eased the pane farther open, and squeezed his big frame inside. Morgen stood in the bushes below with her books and staff and wondered if there was some witch incantation that assisted with climbing. Even if a handy rope ladder had dangled down, she would have struggled to get up there with her unwieldy items in hand. As much as she hated the idea, she might have to leave them behind.

“Note to self: take a backpack on future enemy-compound infiltrations.”

Amar leaned out and lowered the end of what looked like a dusty blue velvet rope down to her. A handmade rope. It was little more than strips of fabric tied together. From sheets? A comforter? Maybe velvet duvets were popular in castle mansions.

Reluctantly, Morgen hid the staff and the books under some bushes before approaching the end of the makeshift rope. Amar glanced backward, making her think someone might be wandering around on the third floor, so she dared not hesitate.

Awkwardly, she started up the velvet rope, doing her best to laboriously pull herself up while having flashbacks of gym class in elementary school and her PE teacher assuring her that climbing up to ring the bell at the top was far more satisfying than playing Oregon Trail in the computer lab.

Partway up, the rope started moving, and she nearly squawked aloud. Amar must have lost patience with her meager climbing skills. He was pulling her up.

“Would you be offended if I told you your grandmother was a better climber than you?” he asked softly as he pulled her through the window.

“No,” she whispered, worried about the dogs hearing them. “I know where my talents lie, and I’m self-assured and confident in my abilities.” That had been truer before she’d been let go. Funny how that rankled more than her husband leaving her.

“What did you say you do for a living? Something with computers?”

“Program databases.”

“Does that mean you can hack the security system if we come across the control panel?”

“No. It means I can maintain, program, organize, and manipulate the crap out of any databases we find in this castle.” She eyed shreds of velvet on the floor and realized he’d used curtains for his rope.

“I’ve not seen any of those things done by the thieves in heist movies.” Amar pulled up his rope, tossed it in a corner, and closed the window. They were fully committed now.

“That’s because Hollywood lacks imagination. As for the rest, since the window was open, it probably means the security system isn’t armed.” Something she wished she’d realized before she’d started up the castle wall.

Oh, well. Morgen glanced around but didn’t see any interior cameras. They were in a bedroom, the lush velvet duvet matching the now-shredded curtains. Bottles of perfume and possibly potions rose from the top of every flat surface like stalagmites in a cave. The carpet smelled like it had been marinated in patchouli.

Morgen’s phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. She was glad she’d set it to vibrate instead of ring, but in the quiet room, it still sounded noisy. As she tugged it out to silence it, Amar sniffed at the air.

She didn’t recognize the number, but it was a local area code, and it wasn’t the caller’s first attempt to make contact. She must not have noticed the first vibration when she’d been climbing. An alert for two voice messages popped up. She had a feeling they were from Deputy Franklin, wanting to know what the hell she was doing.

As she stuffed her phone back into her pocket, certain she couldn’t come up with a satisfactory response if she answered, Amar touched her shoulder and pointed at the door.

She almost swore aloud. A cloud of green vapor was wafting in under the crack.

Images of being knocked unconscious—or killed—by a toxic substance flashed through her mind, and she tried to think of something she’d read in the grimoire that might help, but she’d only memorized two incantations thus far, the one that revealed secret weaknesses and the one that Phoebe had given her to control werewolves. She had no idea yet if that one worked.

Amar strode around, opening the windows to air the room out. But the currents didn’t seem to affect the green vapor. The cloud thickened in front of the door, then swirled about. So far, it didn’t smell like anything that Morgen could detect, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t kill them.

It thickened even further, and letters formed within the cloud.

HELP ME.