A Hex of Wolves Read online

  A Hex of Wolves

  The Belinda Drake Mysteries - Book 5

  Kate Krake

  Krakenfire Media

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Reviews

  About the Author

  Fiction By Kate Krake

  Join The Curios Society

  Copyright Information

  1

  What had I brought down upon myself?

  Ancient curse lore, arcane herbal magic, a bestiary of hell’s monsters, all making their way to me through my own special brand of tainted luck.

  I lifted another book out of the moldering box. The black embossed title shone against the blood red of the worn leather cover. Demonic Possession Through the Ages. I set the tome beside me on the floor with a thud. “Sounds like a good beach read,” I said.

  This was what happened when I bought used books sight unseen from deceased estates I knew nothing about.

  Blackthorn Book Nook, my little book boutique, was struggling big-time, and this was the only new stock I could afford. But so many books on the paranormal? The gods knew we lived enough supernatural weirdness in our little mountain hamlet, and yet here I was with a dozen boxes stuffed with occult books no one would want to buy.

  “More books on magic?” Conri said. He toed the demonic possession book with his boot. My boyfriend had learned to live with all kinds of magic—good and bad—since getting involved with me, but I knew it still made him nervous. Conri was a werewolf, or rather used to be a werewolf, before he’d strung the smoky quartz pendant around his neck that muted the wolf every moon. That anti-shift magic was the only magic he was interested in, and even that he didn’t trust completely.

  “I take what stock I can get these days,” I said, not looking up at him. “They should do alright online. Maybe keep me in rent for another week at least.”

  My website was the strongest part of my business, especially with the paranormal stock. Most of my walk-in customers weren’t interested in magic books at all, and those who came to Blackthorn Springs looking for the other thing we were famous for besides our mountain charm were more interested in the lighter side of the supernatural—tarot, crystals, and candles, not demonic possessions and curses. Perhaps I could offer a special: a half-price hell beast bestiary with every tea leaf divination book sold?

  “Like I keep saying, you don’t need to worry about money as much as you think you do,” Conri said.

  “And like I keep saying, I’m not living on your salary forever like some 1950s housewife.”

  He reached down and picked a book out of the box. Arcane Osteology Magicks. “Is this about bone magic? Are you sure that’s safe?”

  I snatched the book away from him and threw it back into the pile. “It’s really nothing for you to worry about.”

  “When you’ve got your nose into bone magic and demonic possession, I’m not sure I can’t worry about you.”

  The front doorbell chimed. The store was still officially closed, but I’d left it open for my assistant, Lila Silva, who’d made it her New Year’s resolution to arrive at work at least fifteen minutes before opening. Closing in on the end of January, she’d almost made it an entire month.

  I pulled another book out of the box and Conri growled, stepping in for a closer look.

  “Okay, so I can’t blame you for being worried about this one,” I said, smirking at the cover. It was a colorful medieval-style display, depicting dozens of naked people fornicating with imps, the title in a language I couldn’t begin to decipher.

  “Good morning, neighbors,” said a voice that made my blood run icier than carnal hell magic. It wasn’t Lila.

  Rowan Jackfort stood above me, grinning, his bony fingers wrapped around a roll of papers. I stood up too fast, the blood rushing from my head, leaving me swooning a little. I held Conri’s arm, and not just to steady myself while the dizziness passed.

  “What?” I said. There was no point even pretending to be civil with Jackfort, especially when he was in my shop. He’d been back in Blackthorn Springs for a while now. No trouble, no threats. Of course, all that nothing meant he had to be up to some evil, and evil I couldn’t see was worse than the usual chaos that followed him wherever he went. He looked tired, worn through, with dark circles under his eyes. He’d always been lanky, but he had lost weight since I’d last seen him and was now skeletal. Not that I actually cared.

  He unpeeled one poster from the roll and held it up. “Auntie Hattie asked me to take these around to Main Street businesses. Not everyone wants one in their window, but I thought you would be on board.”

  “Blackthorn Springs Day Imbolc Festival,” I read from the poster. “Seriously? Hattie Winthrop is celebrating Imbolc? Publicly?”

  Jackfort smiled weakly, holding out the page for me to take. “My aunt is a very progressive woman,” he said.

  I couldn’t help but snort as I took the poster, mostly because I wanted to read all the details, not because I would display anything delivered by Rowan Jackfort in my front window.

  Blackthorn Springs Day was celebrated annually at the beginning of spring. Officially, it was a symbolic day to mark the first Blackthorn blooming of the year. Most people around here knew—even if no one ever actually talked about it—that the day was an appropriation of the witches’ sacred day of Imbolc, the holy start of spring. It was just another part of the town’s supernatural history, which the Blackthorn patriarchy had attempted to smudge away over the centuries.

  Since Hattie had discovered her veins ran with witch blood, dormant as it was, she was making more and more gestures to be inclusive of the supernatural community. Not everyone in Blackthorn was happy about it, particularly her husband, Mayor Harold Winthrop. But if the small-town gossip mill was anything to go by, the Winthrops’ marriage had been just for show for a long time now. Maybe that was why she was suddenly leaning into her witchy roots? It’s never too late for a woman to find her power, after all. But a sudden Imbolc town event? I tried to see it all as a respectful gesture but suspected that, just like her warlock nephew, Hattie Winthrop was up to something behind the scenes.

  “Blackthorn Springs Day is at the end of the week. A little late to be turning it into a pagan feast day, isn’t it?”

  “I’m just the messenger, doing what I’m told.” Jackfort shrugged.

  “One day I’m going to find out why you’re really hanging around here playing the good nephew.”

  Jackfort took a step closer to me. Conri shifted toward him, silent but no less imposing in his size and general I-want-to-beat-the-crap-out-of-you vibes. Jackfort shrank away. I’m not one to lean into the whole damsel in distress role, but having Conri around was handy in more than a few ways, and not only because he was Blackthorn Springs’ hottest nonpracticing werewolf.

  “I’ve told you before, Bella,” Jackfort said. “I’m just keeping an eye on you. I know what power you’re using, completely ignorant of what it’s capable of. Knowing you, you’ve probably got my disc tucked away in the back of your closet.”

  My instincts fired. Why was he bringing this up now? Was all this lying low he was doing just him stalking me and the Serpent’s Disc?

  “How many times do I have to say it before you’ll listen, Jackfort? One, it’s not yours—it was never yours. Two, I destroyed the disc. It’s too dangerous, even without the likes of you sniffing around after it.”

  The Serpent’s Disc was a magical artifact that unlocked all the world’s magic to the right recipient. I was apparently the right recipient. It had juiced me up with more power than I knew what to do with and, if I was honest, more power than I actually wanted. For a time, I’d avoided using magic because it made me too nervous, like wielding a sword that was far too heavy to lift. But I was slowly getting a better grip on it, and on some days I was even a little curious to know what I was truly capable of with this thing inside me.

  Jackfort was still mad with desperation to get his warlock hands on it, but he didn’t need to know I still had it. Not even Conri knew where it was, tucked away in the back of my closet—just as Jackfort had guessed. I’d wrapped it in as many protective ward spells as I could think of, and a few more I’d made up on the spot. No one had come looking for it in over a year, so I assumed the magic was working and hoped out of sight, out of mind was enough. Even though clearly it hadn’t gone far from Jackfort’s mind.

  Jackfort unrolled another poster and held it out to Conri. “You can put one up in your clinic too, Fido.”

  Conri snarled.

  “That’s a hard no from the vet, then.” He tucked the page back into the roll. “Guess I’ll be on my way. Leave you two to your”—he pointed down at the book I’d unboxed when he came in, leering—“Lilithian sex rituals. Sweet. I would’ve thought you two were more white bread missionary position than that, but whatever gets you going, Bella. I’ll keep that in mind in case it ever comes in handy in the future.”

  Jackfort left, but my fuming temper and disgust remained.

  “Have I mentioned how much I hate t
hat guy?” I said.

  “It’ll never be enough times,” Conri said. He picked up the book and traced his finger across the strange language of the title. “Lilithian sex rituals? Is that really what this says?”

  I grabbed it out of his hand and slammed it back into the dusty box. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Conri grunted a half chuckle and bent to kiss me. “I’m going to work. Be careful,” he said.

  “Careful about what?”

  “All of the above.”

  I sat back down on the floor amidst the dust and strange books, ignoring the Imbolc poster. I would think about that later.

  Hemlock curled around the box, emerging from whatever nook he’d taken himself to for his nap. Even though my old familiar cat spent most of the day asleep, he still insisted I bring him to work with me and not leave him at home with Conri’s reckless but loveable hound, Russet. He pawed at the Lilithian book’s cover.

  “No rude magic rites for you either,” I said, putting the book in the Not Sure What to Do With pile.

  At ten past nine, Lila charged through the door. “Sorry I’m late. I was…” She trailed off. “Oh, forget it. Here.” She shoved a box of Bryn’s chocolate fudge caramels at me, and I took them with just as little ceremony. Lila feeding my sugar addiction from her fiancé’s family’s chocolateria was as regular a part of our morning rituals as was Lila turning up late.

  “Are you alright? You seem troubled,” I said. Lila was the psychic fairy between us, but from the furrow on her brow and the nervous flick of her eyes out to the street, I was getting some serious ruffled feathers vibes from her.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said, distant and uncertain. “Or maybe not. I don’t know.”

  “What’s happened? Everything okay with Sean?”

  “It’s nothing like that. I just ran into someone, like literally. I was hurrying along, trying to text Sean and juggle everything, and I crashed into a guy on the sidewalk.”

  “Isn’t that a twice-weekly occurrence for you?”

  “This guy was a real weirdo.” She craned her neck, looking to see if he was outside. “I’m pretty sure he was taking photos of the shop.”

  “My shop?”

  Lila nodded. “And then it was like he was trying to cover up what he was doing. It only went for a second, but I got such a bad feeling from him, I couldn’t help probe him right up there and then.”

  I knew she meant she did her psychic mind-reading thing on him, but I couldn’t help but smirk. “There’s not a better way to say that?”

  “You know what I mean. I looked into his thoughts. He was a mess of dark vibes, fear, suspicion, and a drive I don’t even know what to make of. He had magic on his mind, but I don’t think he’s supernatural. I didn’t stick too close to find out for sure, though.”

  I followed her to the front window.

  “He’s youngish, no older than thirty, scraggly red hair, an old tweed coat. Can you see him anywhere? He was carrying a black satchel.”

  I peered out into the morning of a late-winter downtown Blackthorn Springs. Main Street was its typical casual comings and goings of locals and a couple of early-bird tourists soaking up the atmosphere. Nothing looked out of the ordinary to me.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how many weirdos stop by this place, especially with the weather thawing.”

  The front door chimed as a woman entered the store.

  “Case in point,” I whispered.

  The woman’s dark red boots resounded on the floorboards, the sound as impossible to ignore as the rest of her. She wore tight black jeans with heavy silver zippers down their sides and a burgundy duffle coat. Midforties, I guessed. Her black hair was long and untied, shot through with strands of gray that gave her an ethereal sense on top of the already irresistible force that exuded from her like smoke. Some women hold their power close and secret; others wear it on the outside like armor and look hellishly good in it. This woman was definitely the second variety.

  “Good morning, ladies,” she said. Her voice had a perfect wildness to it.

  “Er, hi,” I said, unsure of why this woman struck me so shy. “Can I help you find something?”

  “I’ve already found exactly what I want just by being here. This little bookstore has quite the reputation, you know.”

  “It does?” I said. It wasn’t the first time someone had visited Blackthorn especially for my store, although considering my dwindling accounts, it didn’t happen nearly as often as I needed. So, why did her saying that surprise me so much? Maybe because she was anything but what my usual customers looked like.

  “I’ll just browse, if it’s alright with you,” she said, running her finger along the edge of a shelf, which instantly made me worry about the last time I’d dusted. She wandered off, disappearing among the tall shelves.

  Lila barely gave the woman a second glance, still peering out the window, looking for the stranger. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I trust your instincts. We’ll keep an eye out for him. If you see him again, tell me and we’ll check him out together.”

  She nodded, her shoulders softening, but she was still a long way from relaxed. Lila was a flighty girl and upset easily, but there was something about her reaction to this guy that was legit fear. When both of our instincts were on edge, history showed that we had better pay attention.

  “How’d you like to help me unpack more books about demons, strange bone magic, and sex rites?” I said, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “Pardon me?” Lila said, looking more shocked than amused.

  I pointed to the stacks of books I’d been working on. “Remember that library I bought from that auction in Loreton last month? This is it.”

  Lila surveyed the books, her cheeks reddening at the sight of the carnal imps. “All of them are dark magic books?”

  “I’ve got no idea. This is the first box I’ve opened. But if I was hoping to stumble on a first-edition Wind in the Willows, I think that hope is dashed.”

  “Surely something in here is worth something?” she said. “People buy all kinds of stuff, don’t they?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t given up hope for survival yet. If business doesn’t pick up, I can always turn to squatting. There’s that derelict haunted house out on Grey Brook Road, been empty for decades, right? No one’s using it, except the spirits, of course, but ghosts don’t take up much space. Sounds just the perfect place for a broke witch to settle down into a life of destitute poverty.”

  “I wouldn’t even joke about Black House if I were you.” Lila frowned. “Just yesterday I was chatting with Margie about it. The sheriff has been called to that place so many times in the last couple of weeks. She said a gang has moved in there—into real bad magics and drugs, goodness knows what else. Just stay far away from Black House, even in a joke.”

  “I’m guessing running out a horde of bad magic junkies is beyond Sheriff Dalton’s skills in law enforcement.” In my experience, most things were beyond Dalton’s skills in law enforcement.

  “I know the book trade is tough, but you’re hardly about to be homeless. You’ve got Conri. Vets make good money.”

  “Don’t you start on that too,” I said.

  “Excuse me,” the woman in burgundy said. “Is that a copy of Eldenborough’s Arcane Osteology Magicks?”

  “Er, maybe?” I said.

  “May I?” she said, bending to pick up the tome without waiting for permission. “Do you know what some people would give to possess this volume? How did you get it? And in this good condition too? Oh wow, is that Hepzentiger’s Lilithian Sex Rites?” She snatched up the sexy imp book. “You must have people coming from all over if these are the kind of books you’re stocking. I had heard of this place before, but I’m not ashamed to say that I did not expect to be this impressed.”

  “Really?” I said, trying not to sound as out of my depth as I was. Were these strange books actually valuable?