“This is just bullshit!” I uttered, slamming my journal closed.

I leaned back in my chair, taking several deep breaths. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the pieces in front of me, but my emotions were getting in my way. After slipping away from the mansion, I thought I’d be able to execute a spell that would bring me the visions I needed to track down the crazy harpy responsible for creating the deranged Converted.

I opened my eyes, my attention moving over the rows and shelves of historical pieces, books, and artifacts. Ancient artwork and paintings lined the walls. Sculptures were strewn across every surface. Centuries-old scrolls. Journals. Mummified remains. Native American tools and objects. Figurines and clay pottery. I cherished everything here. Some valuables had even been collected and inventoried by me. Others had been shelved here for decades.

The Heritage Museum of Fine Arts in Spring Forks was my sanctuary away from home. Initially, the owner and a Caedmon wolf, Thompson Wright wanted me to become the Director. It wasn’t supposed to happen until next year, but he and his wife got the opportunity of a lifetime and wanted to relocate to Europe. So not only did Thompson retire, he reverted the ownership of the museum to my brother Devin. I agreed to take on directing and operating the museum and Devin agreed to renovate the place within the next two years.

The museum held some sentimental value to us all. It was the place where I could house Caedmon relics that Devin authorized for public viewing and it was also the place where Devin met his mate, Tamara. I didn't know the whole story and all. Tamara's past had been quite traumatizing and she hardly ever talked about it. What I did know was that Tamara had been coerced into trying to rob the place by her criminal ex-boyfriend before Devin hauled her off. We laughed about it sometimes over dinner, but to an extent. Now my sister-in-law had gotten to a point where she could now enter the museum and replace her bad memories with better ones.

“Elisa?” Dinsel, one of Tristan’s most trusted Enforcers, entered the museum. “Are you finishing up?” He was holding a cell phone in his hand.

“Almost. You can tell Tristan I’m okay. I left some more herbs for his pain on the nightstand,” I said.

“He sent a text saying you weren’t answering your phone.”

“The battery is dead.”

“He wants you to return home immediately, or he says he’ll come get you,” Dinsel said.

Last night had been mortifying, but we both got through it. I didn’t realize that I had passed out in Tristan’s arm until I woke up in the dewy hours of the morning. The moon was still out even. Tristan was fast asleep. I hadn’t woken him up because I knew he needed his rest after what happened last night. So I left the herbs. But when Tristan was down, someone from his crew was always on alert. Per Brian Hexel’s orders, I wasn’t allowed to leave the property alone. After much fuss, Dinsel had jumped in the car with me and had been on alert in and around the museum since six a.m. It was now noon.

“Just give me another half hour,” I said.

Dinsel sighed and disappeared around the corner.

I lifted the last vial of blood from the massacred wolves. I’d managed to use telekinesis to direct what little droplets of Converted blood were left in the shower into the vial. There was only enough to execute the spell twice and the first attempt hadn’t worked. My Plan C was to travel to the site of the massacre and pull up the blood from the earth, but I knew Tristan would have a fit if I went there. But I knew deep down inside that no matter how much blood I had, if I didn’t have the correct spell, nothing would work.

I looked down at the pieces on the table. “The blood of the Converted. The blood of a Caedmon Alpha. Calamus root. Dried aconite. Zoisite pendulum.” I referred to my journal and notes. I knew my spells like the back of my hand. Something wasn’t right. I was missing something. But what?

The door chimed, and I figured that my half hour had expired.

“Dinsel, I’m wrapping up now.”

“No. Not Dinsel.” It was a woman’s voice.

My head jerk upward and my gaze shifted to the location of the voice. A feeling of déjà vu washed over me. I felt like the world around me was spinning on its axel.

It was her. The young woman from the nightclub. Long, black hair and eyes like silver.

I stood. “You’re a witch.”

“So are you. Caedmon witch, to be exact.”

I frowned. “Where’s Dinsel?”

“Don’t worry. Your bodyguard is fine. I put him and six other wolves in a trance. No harm done. When I release the spell, they’ll never know what hit them.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“We’ve seen each other before,” she said, walking further into the museum like she had no fear.

“You were at the club the other night, but that doesn’t tell me who you are.”

“I was there. Your lover does quite a good job of keeping you guarded at all times. Tristan Arnou, isn’t it? I don’t know what I’d do if someone were following me around all the time.”

“No one follows me around all the time,” I said.

The woman grinned. ”Oh yes, they do, even when you don't know it.”

I swallowed, my chest swelling with my disapproval.

“Oh? You didn’t know?”

“Maybe I wasn’t paying attention,” I countered. “And even if I had bodyguards following me around, I’d have no problems getting rid of them if I wanted to.”

“I know that. You and I are more alike than you know.”

“You know me? You’ve been following me too. So who are you?”

She glanced at me again, this time her eyes were a full-blown silver with glints of light that would've been blinding to the average human eye.

“You’re not a wolf…” I muttered.

“Go on.”

The only other witch I’d met with eyes that gave her nature away was Alessia van Der Hoeff, my younger brother’s true mate.

“Are you…are you an Osborne witch?” I backed up once I made the connection, almost knocking over a vase of fresh flowers. I didn’t know what got into me or how my magic consumed me, but I sent the broken pieces flying in her direction.

With the wave of her hand, the witch blocked the shards of glass and they fell to the floor near her feet. “Before you do something we both regret, I’m not here to harm you in any way. I’m an Osborne by blood, but they’re not my family. My mother was raped.”

I detected no lies and even if I did, I’d still have a million questions for her. The only other Osborne witch we trusted was Alessia, and she hadn’t grown up with those witches either.

“Aris,” she said.

“What?”

“My name is Aris Magenti.” She walked up to my desk, narrowed her gaze, and tilted her head to one side. “Wolfsbane,” she said, pointing to the dried aconite. “What would a shifter be doing with wolfsbane? If used the wrong way, won’t that particular plant kill your kind?”

My head reeled back in shock. “I’m immune to it.”

“Ah,” she said, her eyes roving over me. “Your magic protects you from that which may harm your wolf.”

This woman knew so much. “Why are you here, Aris? Why have you been following me?”

”I've been researching the Caedmon and Arnou for quite some time. And, of course, the Osbornes. Like many other witches of my line, I choose to practice my craft in solitude. I don’t have a coven.”

“Neither do I,” I told her.

She smiled. “I figured this much, but you’re not alone. You’re also part shifter, so you have somewhere to call home.”

“Practicing in solitude is your choice. Why did you choose it?”

“The blood of an Osborne witch can be used to do the vilest things. A circle of Osborne witches can bring about mass destruction,” she said.

“So you run from your true heritage?”

She laughed. “My heritage? I don’t know that I would call it that since my mother was a slave, beaten and raped by one of the most powerful witches alive.”

“Alive…?” I muttered

“He feeds off the magic of his children. As long as he keeps producing them, he has access to play out whatever evil plans he has. So yes, I run. I don’t want those burdens.”

I swallowed, feeling sorry for her. “Who raped your mother?”

She turned away and looked at some Caedmon relics sitting in a glass enclosure. “I would have found you regardless,” she said, ignoring my question.

“What do you mean?”

“You actively seek out these artifacts and you’re often the highest bidder in every auction,” she said.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a traveler and that’s what I do. Virginia and the United States aren’t my home. I visit a few auctions every month both domestic and international. I never have enough money to bid for anything though. Not even for an old dirty rag. Every time I’m there and hear that some private bidder going by the name of Roman Saint has won the auction, I got a strange vibe. Roman Saint isn’t actually a person, is he?”

I came out from behind my desk. “Not really.”

“When my mother escaped the Osbornes, the first thing she did was devise a plan to get me out of the States. She put me on a ship bound for Europe and the captain found me inside of a wicker metal baby carriage with a blanket and a note. The name Aris Magenti along with my date of birth, which was three weeks prior. There was an address written which was the location of an orphanage. I lived at the orphanage until I was thirteen. While I was there, it took me some time to dig deep into my memories, but I did. The strongest ties are through blood and as a witch, I knew my birth mother was still alive and breathing, but I couldn’t get to her. It was like she’d disappeared or had been cloaked. The strongest of memories only came to me when I realized that my mother had died. The moment her spirit left her body, whatever cloaking spell was put on her instantly lifted. And here I was thirteen years old and could barely understand what was wrong with me, getting all of these visions about the Osbornes and their slaves and how Jack Osborne held her there against her will.”

My heart grew heavy as she spilled her story. I’d had so many strangers come up to me and tell me how easy it was for them to talk to me, but never had anyone told me anything of this caliber.

I shook my head. “Um…I don’t know what to say. I…”

“If I told anyone else this, they’d probably have me committed and shipped off to the crazy house,” she said. “That’s why so many of us witches keep to ourselves. It must be nice to be a part of your pack where you can practice your magic freely.”

“You mentioned Jack Osborne? Is he…?”

“Jack Osborne Sr., yes. He has a bunch of daughters and keeps producing them. From his title, he may have had a son who he lost. All of his living daughters are just like him. Vicious. Hungry for power. If you break their circle or cut off their power source, they only regroup again…and again.”

Heart-wrenching images of when Shanhah Osborne attacked me in the cave came back to me. I expelled the images, not ready to be stuck in that horror again, be it a memory or reality.

Aris continued walking through the rows and each exhibit. ”I kept seeing the name Roman Saint along with the same strange vibe. There was a common pattern to the items you bid on. Most everything had origins which tied back to this one Native American settlement in Virginia. By that time, I had already uncovered enough to know that my birth home was in Virginia close to this settlement which is now called Caedmon Village. But I didn’t want to come back here if I didn’t have some solid concrete evidence that made sense to me. And most importantly why the heck did I want to meet this Roman Saint in person?”

“There is no Roman Saint. The company is named partly after my great uncle,” I told her.

She shrugged. “I know that now. I thought I was looking for a man. Turns out Roman Saint is the name of a company which hasn’t even been in business all that long.”

“How did you find the museum? It’s not owned by Roman Saint. Yet.”

“I gave up the only thing that meant something to me.”

Aris paused in front of an exhibit with vintage baby furniture. Among the exhibit was a carriage, much like the one she described. She reached out and touched it.

“I entered the carriage into an auction knowing that it would end up here. Knowing that Roman Saint would bid on it because of its origins. My blood was on the carriage when it mounted the ship and when it sailed all the way across the Atlantic, boarded a truck, and ended up in this museum. I've been here for several months. I realized within a week that Roman Saint was no person, but you, on the other hand, caught my eye. You had magic, but you're a shifter. I couldn't even process that, but I was willing to risk everything to talk with you, but I couldn’t get you alone for one moment. The Alpha who is your lover…he is a very dangerous man. He kills without question. The man who is your half-brother—his lands are guarded like some maximum-security prison. I couldn’t even step foot on it without some shifter sniffing me out.”

I glanced out through the window at the parking lot where Dinsel was slumped over on a bench.

“Your powers are…”

“Don’t worry. I can control them. I’ve had years to refine them.”

“How many wolves did you really put in a trance out there?”

“You don’t trust me. Like I said. Seven. Just the ones roaming the property and your bodyguard,” she said.

“Aris, I have to be suspicious of you. Of your intentions. Do you know that the Osbornes are our mortal enemies?”

She laughed nervously. “The Osbornes are everyone’s mortal enemies. I just want to be free. I don’t want to run anymore.”

“But you have Osborne blood. You can’t free yourself of that.”

“I can free myself of the magic they’re after. It’s how that coven survives. They steal each other's powers. That’s why they’re able to get away with the things they do. Creating a new breed of wolves to destroy existing enemies is one of them.”

“How do you know about this?”

“We have many things in common. I was teased in my orphanage for being interested in the dark arts, archaeology, and ancient artifacts. Not only that, my Osborne blood allows me to see the Converted when they are in their human form because someone from my bloodline created them. Just like any witch would be able to tell a human from a Caedmon.”

“When did you first start seeing the Converted?”

“Maybe three years ago. Give or take a few months.”

“That long?” I croaked.

“Isn’t that what you thought?” She looked confused.

“No.” I shook my head. “We thought they were just created within the last year.”

“There are more now than three years ago. They’re stronger. They’re getting more organized and exhibiting the same pack-like behavior of your kind,” Aris explained.

“Except they’re different. The wounds they inflict on others…they take a while to heal,” I said.

”I steer clear of them. And you're right. If Osborne Sr. created these wolves, he created them to inflict maximum damage. Have they been attacking your packs?”

I nodded. “There was an incident last night…”

“It is said that a Caedmon witch has the power to expel a spirit…” she said, softly.

“You want me to free you from your magic by expelling your energy…?”

She nodded.

“It can’t be done.”

“Please!”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking? Wolves can be stripped of their spirit, yes. I’ve only done it on a person’s last dying breath. If you think I can separate you from your powers, you’re mistaken.”

Aris frowned. “You can, but you just don’t want to.”

“Look, even if I had that ability, it would take me some time to perfect the spell. It's been done on wolves, not witches. To ask me to strip you could mean certain death. I'm not an Osborne. I don't have access to dark magic like one.”

“Then you know someone who does…?” she asked.

I lowered my gaze, hoping she didn’t pick up on my hesitation.

“Look, I—”

A car motor rumbled outside and tires scraped across the gravel.

“I’ve gotta go!” She darted to the back of the museum.

“Wait! I want to help you,” I called out.

She stopped and turned an ear to the front door. I allowed my wolf spirit to take over, increasing my ability to hear from far away. Sure enough, I heard voices outside. Not just any voice. The voice of my mate. True to his word, he’d come for me.

“Can you trust me?” she asked, taking my hand.

I paused.

“You don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Aris pressed her eyes closed. “I’m going to trust you, Elisa Caedmon.”

She grabbed a clay bowl from one of the exhibits and slit her palm with a sharp metal object. Lifting her fisted hand above the bowl, she let her blood drain down into it.

“What are you doing?” I shook my head.

“Blood from Osborne’s daughter. That’s the missing piece. You were doing a location spell. That particular kind of spell has a twist to it. If the wolves were created by an Osborne, there would’ve been a twist to the Caedmon version of the spell.”

She shoved the bowl into my hand and started to run off.

I grabbed her arm. “How do I contact you?”

She gave me a knowing look and then glanced at the bowl of blood she’d given me. And then she was gone.

At that moment, both Tristan and Dinsel burst into the museum. Aris must have snapped Dinsel out of his trance before fleeing, which only confirmed the extent of her powers. I’d only met one other person whose magic was nearly equal to mine. Knowing someone else like me existed gave me hope.

“Elisa,” Tristan chided. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

I placed the blood-filled bowl on a shelf beside me. “Probably because I knew you’d ask what I was doing.”

He looked around. “You’ve been trying to track the Converted again, haven’t you?”

I nodded.

“No. I don’t want you doing that.”

I nodded, knowing full well I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t stop until the Osbornes were dead.

“Tell me you won’t. There’s more to it…”

“What do you mean? There’s more to what?” I asked.

He lifted his shirt to reveal a bloody sore on his abdomen. The bite from the Converted had re-opened, appearing as if it had just happened, as if I’d never healed him or reversed the wounds.

“You have to stop. I can’t let you risk your life,” he said. “This thing has been festering on my side since you left me this morning. Their bites don’t heal, Elisa.”