Night Witch (Weatherstone College, #2)(3)

The book itself wasn’t particularly long, but it detailed a maternally-passed-on affinity that was so terrifying to the magical community that in the late 1800s they tested every witch and destroyed the ones who were reapers. Then they cast a spell to wipe them from the memories of every other magical being.

But a few survived.

A few like my gran, who smuggled these books with them so they could let their daughters know what to expect. Only select witches inherited the gene. Neither of my sisters had or my mom—but I did. Mom had come for me that night after reading the letters Gran left her, letters she’d ignored for decades, only to feel the pull to read them that night. She’d felt my explosion of magic as well, the way a mother had a sixth sense when their children were in danger.

Gran had stepped in.

I knew it with every part of the magical essence inside me.

Are you a reaper? I’d asked Mom the next morning, and she shook her head.

I’m not a reaper, she’d whispered, face wreathed in anguish. It was clear she’d slept as little as me. I know you’re wondering if one of these monsters destroyed Logan’s mom, and I wish I could tell you it wasn’t, but I truly don’t know what happened that day.

I couldn’t get more information out of her, and now we were silent strangers in a house filled with tension.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sara asked as she leaned back in the uncomfortable vinyl chairs, which creaked every time one of us shifted. “How are you going to learn about your magic if you can’t use it? Have you heard from Logan? He’s clearly kept your secret, since the council isn’t smashing your door down. He might be a good one to help us.”

Logan Kingston. The spellcaster who was one of the most powerful warlocks in the world. His deep rumbling voice was never far from my mind . . .

Paisley belongs to me. You know that, and I’ll kill anyone that takes her from me.

I’d asked Mom what he meant by that statement he’d made in the graveyard, and she’d waved me off. He’s acted as if he’s had a claim on you since you were born. You should stay away from him. The last thing you need is to get attached to Rafael’s son.

It was excellent advice, and there was no fucking way I was taking it. My fascination with Logan wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, it was stronger than ever. He owed me answers. I would not rest until I had them.

“Not a single word,” I said with a huff. “Bastard claimed me and then ghosted.”

It was Logan’s modus operandi, so why it pissed me off so much was anyone’s guess. To be fair, though, he had said he’d give Mom one month before he came for me. A timeline that ended tonight.

As Eighties Night started to wrap up, the lights grew brighter and it was time to start packing up. That part they wouldn’t let me skip. “Let me clean up and clock out so we can get out of here. Mom said it was fine for you to take the spare room. Fair warning, it’s no bigger than a closet.”

Sara waved me off. “I’d sleep on the floor if it meant hanging with you, girl. Do your job. I’ll wait here.”

The relief at having my friend back, and the fact she hadn’t run screaming from me when I confessed that I was responsible for the monsters who’d roamed Weatherstone last year, put extra pep in my step. I rushed through the last of the closing duties, zeroed out the cash register, and waved to James, my manager, as I walked out the door with Sara.

“Come on,” I said, heading for my Jeep Wrangler. Well, Mom’s Jeep that she let me borrow for work. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I pulled out of the rink’s lot and headed for home, but I ignored it and asked Sara about her time in Romania.

“I have forty-two cousins,” she said with a snort. “It was fucking chaos, even though I enjoyed catching up with them all. My Romanian is rusty though. They kept laughing at my accent.”

By the time we got home, it was after midnight, and I was wrecked. Sara got settled in the guest room downstairs, and it was only when I crawled into bed after a quick shower that I remembered the buzz of my phone earlier.

Hoping like Hel it was Belle, I swiped the screen and tiredly squinted at the message.

Unknown number: Nice skating tonight, Precious.





Every iota of sleepiness fled my body as I tightened my hold on my phone, staring at the screen. Had Logan been at the rink tonight?





Chapter 2




After two sleeping pills and two hours of tossing and turning to get to sleep, I still woke stupidly early the next morning. As I rolled over with a yawn, my gaze rested on the phone sitting on my bedside table, and I was reminded of that late-night text. Swiping to check it was still there, I found myself hesitating over the reply before my annoyance at the spellcaster kicked in and I wrote back:

Paisley: How the fuck did you get my number?

Stalkcaster: I’ve had your number since you first got a phone.





Wait, what?

Paisley: You’ve had my number since I was sixteen?





I’d actually been fifteen when I got my first phone, which there was no way he knew.

Stalkcaster: Fifteen, Precious. Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.





Fucking Hel.

I’d saved his contact as “Stalkcaster” as a joke, but apparently my assumption that stalking was his favorite pastime was spot-on. Scary, creepy bastard.