Blood Moon (10 page)

I just can’t help myself.

That’s the problem.

Exiting the cave, Ben and I wander back toward Fiona’s home. By my best estimate, the sun will rise within the next two hours. If we arrive at Fiona’s wearing nothing but the rags the witches clothed us with, she’ll question where we’ve been and what we’ve been doing—and we don’t want to act suspiciously, which will lead to new questions. We should have ample time, however, to change our clothes before the day begins.

“I can’t believe we made it out of there,” Ben says. “I mean, they could’ve made rugs out of us. Or coats.” He stares off toward the wooded expanse ahead of us and mumbles, “
Fur
coats.”

Raking my fingers through my hair, my hands rest at the nape of my neck, where I massage my skin in an attempt to loosen the taut muscles. I wince at the unexpected sharp pain. There’s tightness in my chest, and my stomach continues to twist like a pretzel. Ben’s correct—something is amiss about this whole situation. Witches poison us, carry us to their secret lair, then just let us go? Maybe they saw a smidgen of goodness in our souls—since the blind woman obviously has a third eye—and decided we weren’t of any use to them, and we weren’t any harm.

Our easy release isn’t all that’s upsetting me. The berry-picking lady was in there, and we already know she’s capable of magic. But the real question: is she Lavenia? Any one of those women could’ve been her. We have nothing to go by, except that they’re all in this together.

“Are you even listening to me?” Ben shouts.

“What?” I shake my head. “Oh, sorry. I was too busy thinking about how strange this place is.”

“Tell me about it,” Ben grumbles, as he pushes a tree branch out of the way. “You know what else is weird? How they have to be bitten to turn into werewolves. That’s definitely not how it happens five hundred years later. Did evolution take over down the line, or was another curse cast so that we, and all future generations, transform on our eighteenth birthday?”

Now that I recall the conversation we had with the witches, he has a point. “Look at you, being all Captain Obvious. Nice work.” I lightly punch his arm.

He straightens his posture, arms swinging merrily back and forth. “Why, thank you, madam.”

I can’t help but playfully grin at him. He’s too egotistical for his own good. Catching the twinkle in his eye, I mock his spry attitude, adding a little pep to my step—and totally trip over a tree root, flat on my face. Ben’s boisterous laughter ricochets through the forest. I peek up at him, and he’s doubled over at the waist. Pushing myself off the ground with both hands, I clean the front of my tattered potato sack as best I can and pluck a dead leaf out of my hair.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I say dryly.

“It’s just—” He cackles louder, until his amusement finally wears down. “It’s just that I shouldn’t be surprised, because it’s
you
, but I wasn’t expecting that. It reminds me of the first time we met. Do you remember?”

I cross my arms and trudge away.

“Ah, Candra, c’mon . . . Wait up!” He catches my arm and spins me around to face him. “I was just kidding. But you have to admit, it was kind of hilarious.” He fights to contain his impish smile.

Sighing, I say, “Let’s forget it happened. We have enough to worry about at the moment.”

“Yeah, but having some comical relief on the side is like an added bonus.”

I glare at him.

He throws his hands up. “Okay, okay. We’ll stick to our non-existent, ever-changing plan.”

Bobbing my head from side to side, I add, “And yes, it was kind of funny.”

He pinches his lips, refraining from a strong case of the chuckles. “I promise if I fall down, you can laugh at me all you want.” He holds up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

I jab his stomach. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, let’s get back before Fiona and Francine wake up. Today’s the day we really need to figure out a plan.”

I’m not a betting person, but if I had to place money on it, I’d say it’s about three-thirty or four o’clock in the morning. I don’t actually know how accurate my guess is, but judging by the fact that it’s still dark outside, and the sun is beginning to cast a faint glow over the hillside, I’ll say I’m pretty darn close.

We arrive at Fiona’s just in time—Fiona and Francine are still asleep. Less than thirty minutes later, Fiona is up and preparing herself for the day ahead. Ben and I, however, slowly drift to sleep. Before I fully succumb to my dreamland, there’s still one gnawing, irksome thought stuck in my head, and I can’t place my finger on it. It’s like I’m so close to solving a riddle but don’t have all the words. And just as my last bit of consciousness is swept away by exhaustion, I solve a missing piece of the puzzle: one of the witches looks an awful lot like Maggie.

Chapter Eight

“Are you sure?” Ben asks for the fifth time.

Annoyed that he’s questioning whether my mind is fully intact, or if I’m just imagining things, I once again reply, “Yes! I’m sure.”

“I mean, yeah, they resemble each other, but Maggie? A bad witch? There’s no way.”

Puffing out a disgruntled sigh, I respond, “Ben, think about it, consider what Maggie might’ve looked like when she was younger. That woman definitely has the dark skin, black hair, and the beginnings of the skunk stripe. Salt-and-pepper hair? Totally our Maggie.”

Ever since we woke this morning, Ben and I have been arguing back and forth regarding my newfound theory. We’ve done our best to keep our voices to a minimum, since the house isn’t very large and Francine shares the space. But the longer we bicker, the more inflated our voices become. I’m afraid Francine might hear too much and tell Fiona. If that happens, if Fiona learns that we’re after the witches in town, then, without a doubt, all hell will break loose.

“I have an idea,” I say, sitting up for the first time today. Twisting to my right so I can face Ben, I add, “We need to find Lavenia’s cottage and do some serious surveillance work. Then we can narrow down the possibility of who Lavenia is, and we’ll know she’s the wolf.”

Ben rises up on his elbows. “And what if they’re all werewolves? We’ve hunted more than one at the same time.”

“Correction.” I hold one finger up in the air. “We’ve only seen two, and that was the first night. So Lavenia might be one, and then we’ll find out who the other is. My guess? It’s Maggie.”

Ben falls back on the bed and groans. “Not this shit again. Why are you so convinced it’s her?”

“Why are you so convinced it’s
not
her?” I lift one eyebrow defiantly as I cross my arms.

He shakes his head as he gazes up at the ceiling. “Fine. We’ll check out Lavenia’s place, but we have to be discreet about it. They can’t know we’re on to them. If they catch us, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”

“Torture us, probably.”

Ben and I hastily dress in our period clothing, say a farewell to Francine, who still won’t acknowledge our presence, and head out the front door for what might be our most daring mission yet. Remembering what Ulric told us about the herb witch’s cottage situated on the outskirts of town, near the edge of the dark forest, Ben and I begin our long trek to find the exact location. Briefly, I consider asking the local patrons if they can point us in the right direction, but that might come off as suspicious. Not to worry, though; we’ll find it, if it’s the last thing we do.

 Ben and I pass the spot where we crash-landed only a few days ago. Already, everything has changed. We’re no longer the object of gawkers, and we now have attire that allows us to blend in. All of our luck is attributed to Fiona. Without her, we might still be sleeping in that dusty, foul-smelling barn.

There are only a couple of roads in and out of Colchester. The one we came from leads toward Fiona’s, and out of town, and the one we’re traveling on now will take us toward Daciana’s residence. Several insignificant dirt paths branch off of the main highway, and my estimate is that one of them goes directly to the herb witch’s dwelling. Now, all we must do is find the correct one . . .

“We need to hone in on the scent,” says Ben. “Do you recall what they smelled like last night?”

I nod.

“Then think of that, keep it in mind; it’s what we’ll use to guide us.”

Grabbing his arm as he begins walking, I say, “That woman we saw in the woods, the berry picker, she told us her cottage wasn’t far from that exact location. What if she was Lavenia, or, at least, one of the women who works with Lavenia?”

“Okaaay,” Ben drawls, “we’ll start there.”

Not surprisingly, we find a cottage near the spot where we ran from the wolf. Smoke billows from a chimney, dried herbs hang from the windowsills, and two dogs playfully wrestle each other next to the house. Ben and I duck low and dart for the cover of trees.

“We’ll have to climb,” Ben says, glancing up at the hundreds of branches above our heads.

“You’re joking.”

Grim-faced, he says, “No, I’m not. We need to hide out, and right now, that’s the best place to do it. We’ll have a great view, and nobody will think to look up. So, let’s scale these trees before someone catches us.”

“Oh, my God. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this in a dress and heels. This won’t be easy.”

“I’m right behind you, Princess.” He hoists me toward the nearest branch and I begin ascending, not really sure how far I should climb. I guess I’ll continue until the limbs thin out and are unable to hold my weight.

As promised, Ben is directly underneath me. I firmly clutch each new branch as I find my footing. Minutes later, we’re halfway up, and in a perfect position to observe the Lavenia’s cottage. Thank the universe I don’t have a fear of heights; I’d be screwed right now.

“Is this good?” I ask, glancing down at Ben.

He peers up at me. “Yeah, this should be fine. Find a place to sit comfortably, because we’ll be here all day.”

“God, I hope I don’t have to pee.”

“Hold it.”

I groan. “This is going to be
so
much fun.”

Ben locates a sturdy branch where he can rest and situates himself in a secure position. “We’re not here for fun, Candra. We’re here so we can prevent Ulric and Daciana’s banishment to the Otherworld.”

Cynically, I say, “No need to be oh-so-serious. I’m well aware of why we’re in the sixteenth century.”

He cuts me a razor-sharp glare. “Just reminding you, in case you’ve forgotten. I wouldn’t want you to get the idea this is all dress-up and tea parties.”

“What the hell, Ben?” I shout.

“Sssh! Keep it down,” he hisses. “Do you want all of Colchester to know we’re up here, spying on Lavenia and her minions?”

He has a point: I’m being childish. Emitting a frustrated sigh, I carefully turn my body around on the branch, so I’m facing Lavenia’s cottage, and rest my head on the tree’s trunk.

By chance, we don’t have to wait very long before one of the witches emerges; it’s the blonde-haired woman, who bared her teeth and snarled at me last night, ready to scratch my eyeballs out. Now she looks as pleasant and as humble as any respectable lady in this era. She blends in perfectly with the rest of society, which, if I’m correct, is exactly what they want. Don’t they know people talk about them and question whether or not they have dark powers? Is part of their plan inflicting mayhem on the citizens who have trashed their reputations?

The fair-haired female traipses through the shrubbery and trees directly beneath us, dead leaves crunching underneath her feet. Eventually, she fades out of sight, and Ben and I are left watching both directions—Lavenia’s cottage, and the route where the mysterious girl disappeared.

Is she going to pick berries?
I inquire.

Ben shrugs, his eyes never leaving the pathway she took.
Who knows? Maybe she’s adding to their infinite collection of herbs.

An idea strikes me.
Do you remember what Maggie’s home in Hartford looked like on the inside?

Ben wrenches his head around to stare at me.
Of course. Why?

Don’t you think it’s odd she had all of those dried herbs hanging around her kitchen?
I gesture toward the cottage, where the dried herbs sway in the icy-cold breeze.
Do you believe me now?

His shoulders drop as his head rolls back, like he’s drained from listening to my interpretation on all of this weirdness.
I never said I didn’t believe you; it just seemed a little . . . out there. But yes, I obviously see the herbs hanging in the windows and remember the stench in Maggie’s house caused by her collection. I still have no idea what she used them for.

Black magic?

Shaking his head, he says,
We hardly ever used herbs in black magic.

Maybe that’s what they used in this age, though. Maybe their powers stem from Mother Nature herself.

That’s a little too . . . traditional.

It’s ancient, yeah. What did you expect? They had to start somewhere.

Ben revisits his previous position, staring off toward the route the blonde girl departed. The front door of the cottage creaks open, and none other than the dark-skinned woman with black-and-white hair steps out, her right arm carrying a basket. She follows the same path that the blonde girl took.

We need to get closer,
I tell Ben.
Peek through a window, or something. We can’t just sit here all night. That’s not going to do us any good.

If they catch us, we’re screwed. You do realize that, right?

Yeah, but we need to see what’s in that cottage—cauldrons, green mists whirling out of glass bottles, black cats. You get the idea.

Ben gives me a dubious look over his shoulder.
It doesn’t work that way, Princess.

Then let’s find out how, exactly, it does work.

Moments later, I’ve talked Ben into descending the tree and sprinting across the yard to the cottage. Thank the stars those furry mutts aren’t anywhere in sight. Had they seen us and barked, we would’ve been trapped.