Untamed Fate (Magic Side: Wolf Bound Book 2)

Savannah

Jaxson was waiting when I emerged from the bathroom.

“Ready?” he asked. Clearly, he’d been waiting for a while.

“Absolutely. Let’s go on a witch hunt,” I said, mustering as much confidence as I could.

I didn’t tell him about the glowing black words. Sam had agreed to take care of the stall door, even if she had to take it off its hinges, as we didn’t want any werewolves spooked away from the gym because of random glowing magical death threats in the women’s bathroom.

But that was only one of my problems. Getting to Magic’s Bend required another portal journey, and my stomach suggested returning to the bathroom and voiding its contents at the thought.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jaxson grumbled as I continued to complain.

It was, as I’d feared, horrendous—spinning and tumbling and a mass of gray, and then suddenly, we were standing in the middle of a museum. After a valiant show of restraint, and with only a slight sprint for the doors, I threw up in the bushes outside.

Thankfully, the rest of our journey was by taxi. Never had I so appreciated having four wheels beneath me.

We passed through a charming little town that made me long for home and my godmother, and then headed down a winding road through the forest. At last, our taxi pulled up opposite an isolated two-story cottage that looked like it had been pulled from another era. The blue paint was chipping, and several wooden shingles on the roof were missing.

“Are you sure this is the address?” I asked the driver.

He gestured to his phone on the dash, which had Wayz opened. “You tell me.”

“Only one way to find out.” Jaxson climbed out of the car, and I followed.

I had steeled myself for a twisted hovel in the midst of an ominous, rotting wood inhabited by a sinister crone who made books out of the flayed flesh of her victims. I had a very real image of it in my head.

“You know,” I mused aloud, “somehow, this wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Jaxson opened the rickety gate in the white picket fence that surrounded the property. “Don’t let the façade fool you. Keep your eyes open.”

His body was tense and alert, like a predator stalking an enemy’s territory. There was something utterly captivating about the way he moved. Power and grace. I’d never fully appreciated it before.

I tried to ignore my magnetic draw to him as we followed the concrete path that cut through the overgrown yard. The front steps creaked as I took them two at a time, glancing at the white rocking chair on the porch and the pots of herbs hanging from the railings.

My heartbeat accelerated.

The place was so unassuming that it was almost ominous. An incredibly powerful being lived here. She was capable of entering dreams and summoning nightmares, but there was no sign of her power. Something wasn’t quite right.

A deep sense of unease rooted in my gut as I thought of Hansel and Gretel and the gingerbread house. Heart pounding, I picked up the brass knocker bolted to the door frame and rapped twice. “Here goes nothing.”

The echoes died away. And then, just as I was about to knock again, my sharp ears detected the faint sound of footsteps gliding over the creaking floorboards. I sensed Jaxson tense, but before I could speak, the door flew open.

A middle-aged woman in a bathrobe stood in the frame. Her face was done up, but her wispy, red-dyed curls shot wildly around her head. “I told you, Molly, I’m not—oh!” she said in surprise as she locked eyes with me, then Jaxson. “You’re not Molly.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and slowly stepped behind the door. “If you’re selling something, I’m not interested.”

I’d conjured all sorts of terrifying images of S.L. Delamont, and the woman standing before me was not one of them. Perhaps we’d gotten the address wrong, or maybe the person we were looking for had moved.

I plastered on my best waitress’s smile. “Hi, we’re looking for S.L. Delamont. And we’re not selling anything.”

The woman peered at me curiously, then took in Jaxson’s full form. “Well, that’s me. Who are you, and what do you want?”

I opened my mouth, but Jaxson went straight to the point. “Jaxson Laurent, Dockside alpha, and this is Savannah Caine. We want to ask you a few questions about The Grimoire of Nightmares. We know you’re the author.”

She scrutinized us and pursed her lips. “The grimoire. How odd. I haven’t thought about that thing for years. Do you have it?”

“Unfortunately, no. That’s why we’re here. We’re hoping you can help.”

After a long pause, she gestured for us to enter. My skin prickled, but my instincts told me her intentions were sincere, so I stepped inside.

Flowery wallpaper covered the space, and the furniture was so quaint and homey, I nearly burst out laughing. This was definitely not what I’d imagined.

The woman crossed the living room and glanced over her shoulder. “Can I get you two some lemonade?”

Jaxson pressed his lips together, but I nodded and smiled. “Sure, that’d be great.”

She disappeared into the other room, and I whispered to Jaxson, “Be nice.”

He glared at me and continued scanning the space vigilantly, clearly not trusting the witch. That was fair. She didn’t seem any more threatening than my aunt…who, in fairness, was an arms manufacturer, could summon demons, and kept the Sphere of Devouring in her closet.

The witch appeared a few minutes later carrying a tray and three glasses with painted lemons on them, and she set them on a coffee table in the living room. She took a glass and perched on the arm of a sofa, then eyed Jaxson curiously. “Tell me, what is it that you need, exactly?”

“Someone has stolen the grimoire from the Order’s Archives and is using it to trap people in their dreams. We’re hoping that since you’re the author, you might know how we can help these people and put a stop to this.” His voice was calm, but I could sense he was on edge.

I passed him a lemonade. He looked down and begrudgingly took it with a subtle shake of his head. The witch didn’t seem to notice.

“Ah! So that’s where the damn thing ended up. It always had a mind of its own.” She frowned and took a sip of her lemonade, then drummed on her glass, seemingly lost in thought. “Yes, yes, your situation sounds unfortunate, but I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what to do. I’m not the author, you see.”

“What?” My spine stiffened, and I slid my glass onto the table. “I thought you said you were S.L. Delamont.”

“I am, and please call me Sorsha. I wrote the thing, but I’m not its creator.”

I could sense Jaxson’s irritation as he set his untasted glass of lemonade on the table beside mine. “Can you explain? We’re short on time.”

Sorsha raised her eyebrows. “It seems you’re short on patience as well, but I’ll bite.” She stood and sauntered over to the bookshelf along the back wall, dragging her fingers over the spines. “The year was 1992. I was young and experimenting with all sorts of drugs. You know how that goes.” She glanced over her shoulder at me and winked.

Um, no, lady, I don’t. I smiled and nodded.

Her fingers stopped on a black leather tome, and she pulled it out. “Anyway, on one of my vision quests, I met an entity in a place of dreams. She was alluring and powerful, very persuasive, so I agreed to help her.”

“What does this have to do with the grimoire?” Jaxson asked, his patience all but extinguished.

Keeping my eyes and smile locked on Sorsha, I slid my hand over the couch and squeezed his thigh to shut him up. Jaxson tensed, and I felt his gaze burning on my neck while I pondered how muscular his quad felt under my grip. Shit.

Luckily, Sorsha was lost in her story and didn’t notice the exchange. “An entity named Cavra is the author of the grimoire. She said she had beautiful mysteries that she wanted to share with the world, but she needed a vessel. She dictated the work, and I transcribed it.”

“And you just obliged?” Jaxson growled.

“I told you, she was persuasive, and I was young and enraptured with the magical world.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “I might be able to help you for the right price.”

She leaned forward and handed me the black book.

The rich leather was smooth and smelled of patchouli, and a silver bookmark peeked out from the middle. Instinctively, I opened it to the marked page, and shivers raised the hairs on my arms. A forested scene rose from the pages, veiled in shadows of blue and green and silver. It looked like a painting from a children’s fantasy story.

“If you agree, I can get you to the Dreamlands, where you’ll find Cavra. I can’t promise that she’ll agree to help, but you can try.”

“Absolutely not,” Jaxson said.

I jerked my gaze from the page and gave Jaxson the look, even though it generally didn’t work on him. “Hold on a sec. If this is our one shot at stopping Kahanov from putting anyone else to sleep, we’ve got to take it.”

He stood and gently gripped my elbow, towing me up. “We know nothing about the Dreamlands or this entity. It’s too risky, and we’re not going.”

I yanked my arm free and turned to Sorsha. “Tell us about the Dreamlands.”

Jaxson growled but stayed put.

Her eyes glistened and lost focus. “The Dreamlands is a magical realm, like the lands of the fey. It’s where our dreams go once we’ve woven them—a strange mirror of earth, constantly changing and growing. It’s unpredictable and deadly and wonderful.”

Her words raised the tiny hairs on my neck, and I felt as if at some point, we’d already crossed a dangerous line. “How do we get there?”

She smiled and met my eyes. “Oh, I can guide you to Cavra. All you must do is dream.”