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  “Okay!” Brooke unclenched her left hand and looked at the four crescents her nails had left in her palm. “You’re right, Mom. Let’s change the subject. How was Barbados?”

  Her mother sighed. “Are you still angry about that? Because Kendall and I have nothing to apologize for. We both work very hard. I don’t think you have any appreciation for how much we—”

  Oh, Jesus, not that talk again. “Mom, look, I gotta go. Talk to you later.”

  “Wait!”

  Brooke blinked back tears. “What is it, Mom? I have to go.”

  “Did you…um…want something? Need something?”

  Yeah, Mom. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted you to ask me what’s going on in my life and if I’m okay. I had a shitty day and I needed to hear your voice.

  That’s what she wanted. What she needed. She pressed a hand to her temple.

  “Yeah, I must be in trouble if I call you.” Her grip tightened on the cell phone. “Send in a crack legal team, right?”

  Gracie Saunders sighed again. “Be serious with me, Brooke. Do you need money? Is that it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Brooke said, her voice wooden now. “Can you drop another grand in my account?” Might as well extract what she could.

  “Okay. I’ll have to juggle some things. You can look for it by, say, Tuesday. Is that soon enough?”

  “That’d be great. Okay, gotta go.”

  “Brooke? Are you all right? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

  Finally, Brooke heard her mother in that last question. The mother she remembered. Concern for her, not for what Herr Kommandant or anyone else thought about her.

  “No, I’m fine. Bye, Mom.” She blinked back tears and closed the phone.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Are you planning on coming out of there any time this year?”

  Brooke recognized the speaker, a surprisingly tough customer for a freshman. “Screw off. I’ll be out when I’m ready.”

  The girl stomped off, muttering. Brooke cranked the bathroom window open, lit a cigarette, took one drag off it, then tossed it in the toilet and flushed it. There. Everyone would think she’d come in here to sneak a smoke. Better for her reputation all the way around.

  She shook out her towel, exited the bathroom, and went down the hall to her room. The smart-assed freshman came up the hall at the same time, but Brooke gave no ground. The other girl took one look into her eyes and shrank out of the way.

  Smart girl.

  God, what a shitty day. Her dead ex-boyfriend’s brother and all-around bastard Bryce Walker was bent on hunting Hellers, and Maryanne was bent on dating him. And Alex was right there, aiding and abetting Maryanne’s stupidity. Then Maryanne had announced that she didn’t want to cast out tonight. Maryanne! What the hell was up with that? Of course, Alex had sided with her again, saying they all needed to catch up on their sleep.

  Well, after that lovely call home, Brooke sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep.

  She stepped into their shared bedroom to find Maryanne already sleeping, or at least pretending to, and Alex was lying in bed reading.

  “I’m going out,” Brooke announced.

  “Out?” Alex sat up, her eyes anxious. “We agreed we wouldn’t tonight.”

  “Don’t worry.” Brooke cast Alex a grin. “I’m talking about the bar.” She crossed the room to grab her leather jacket from the wardrobe and her boots with the highest heels. She checked her wallet for her fake ID.

  “What about catching up on sleep?”

  “Hey, I didn’t vote for that, if you’ll remember.” Brooke shoved her wallet into the pocket of her jeans. “But don’t sweat it. And don’t let it keep you awake. I won’t stay out too late.”

  Alex was looking at her as though she didn’t believe her. The girl was altogether too perceptive. “What?” Brooke asked. “I just want a drink or two and a chance to blow off some steam.”

  “Be careful out there, okay?”

  “I will.”

  With that, Brooke crept downstairs, but instead of going out, she hung her coat on the coat tree and went to the kitchen to fix a hot chocolate. She killed a few minutes there while a couple of other girls came in and fixed snacks. When the coast was clear again, she dumped the hot chocolate, nabbed her coat, and crept back upstairs. This time, she continued up to the attic. It took less than a minute to get inside, arrange the pillows, and cast out.

  The night closed around her, and Brooke revelled in the familiar flood of exhilaration and freedom. Yet it wasn’t the same without her casting sisters to share it with.

  As soon as the thought formed, Brooke crushed it. She had work to do, and she’d better move quickly.

  After clearing the town limits in the usual way, she took the direct route, soaring over field and forest toward the Walker farm. The light was on in the shed. Perfect.

  Quickly, Brooke soared to the house to check out what Bryce’s parents were up to. With no backup, the last thing she needed was to be surprised. It soon became apparent that his parents weren’t going anywhere soon. She located Mr. Walker quickly, from the light burning in den, where he appeared to be drinking himself into a stupor. Mrs. Walker was harder to locate. When Brooke failed to see her in any of the lighted rooms downstairs, she rose up to peer into the window of the master bedroom. With her keen caster vision, she easily made out a person’s form beneath the blankets. Mrs. Walker appeared to be sleeping, probably with the aid of a sleeping pill.

  If something were to happen to Brooke, would Gracie Saunders mourn her daughter as keenly as these two mourned their son? Or would Kendall McLeod help her move on, help her see that her life would be better with just the two of them?

  Because she couldn’t resist doing so, she went by Seth’s room. It was shrouded in darkness, and she badly wanted to go inside to investigate. Except she’d learned her lesson about taking risks when she was alone. Learned it in this very room, actually. Besides, she could make out enough with her improved caster vision to know his room had been left unchanged. She could see his trophies on the bureau, his bat and glove on a chair.

  Oh, Seth.

  God, could she be more maudlin? Pissed with herself, Brooke zoomed back to Ira Walker’s shed, slowing as she approached it, then peering in cautiously.

  Bryce had his back to her, standing in front of a workbench. His very nice back, she had to admit. Maryanne couldn’t be faulted for taste. Too bad he was such a prick. Well, he’d been a prick to her anyway. Of course, she hadn’t been any friendlier. Might, in fact, have been a little nasty. But dammit, everyone always expected the worst from her. And when they did, she tended to oblige by meeting or surpassing those expectations.

  Bryce reached for something…a power tool of some kind. That impression was confirmed when he bent the thing to whatever he had clamped on his bench and it started to whine and throw sparks. A grinder, she realized. He was grinding metal. Working on something he’d fabricated himself, no doubt. She and Maryanne had seen him buy a welding torch last fall.

  The grinding and the flying sparks stopped. Bryce put the power tool aside and she could tell by the way his arm was rotating that he was loosening a clamp. She felt her heart pounding harder and harder back in the attic as she waited for him to move so she could see what he held. She didn’t have to wait long. He dutifully held it up to the light to inspect it.

  It was a collar. Oh, dear God, an iron collar—intended for a Heller.

  She watched him release the spring to open it, and snap it closed again. He repeated the action again, and this time, she managed to tear her gaze off that horrible collar to look at Bryce. If she thought the collar had been scary, it was nothing compared to what she saw in his face. God, she barely recognized him! The hunter’s lust had transformed him. His face showed hot anticipation tempered by cold, deadly determination.

  She wanted to race away, but she was held transfixed by that look. He was the one who broke the spell. He turned, opened a drawer, and tossed the collar in. It
clanked as it landed on other metal objects. Manacles, she knew. They’d seen them the other night. Manacles and God knew what else. Maybe more collars…

  Did he know Maryanne was a caster? Was that why he was doing his best to seduce her? Was he planning to trap her? Torture her?

  “You’d better not hurt her, you bastard.” No one could hear her, but it felt good to say the words. “If you harm one hair on her head, I’ll kill you. I swear it, Bryce Walker. You’ll be just as dead as your brother.”

  He turned again. Brooke held herself poised to zoom away. Was he ready to leave the shed now that he’d finished with the collar?

  Apparently not. She saw him reach for the chain around his neck and pull it free of his shirt. On the end of the chain was a key. A very distinctive looking, antique key. He strode to a low cabinet, knelt, and unlocked it. Dropping the key back inside his shirt, he pulled out an old, worn, grime-covered, and dog-eared book. It had to be one of Ira Walker’s journals! With both fascination and fear, she watched him carry it back to the workbench. This time, he pulled a tall stool up and took a seat. Then he opened the journal, reached for a pen, and started writing.

  Writing.

  In Ira Walker’s freaking journal!

  It was his journal now. Bryce’s.

  The girls so needed to hear about this!

  They also needed to know Bryce wasn’t the only one with a key to that chest. Seth used to have one just like it. She’d seen it once in his bedroom, on one of her solo casting trips. It had been lying on a glass-topped trinket valet on his dresser. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time. She’d been more interested in the condoms and the personal massage oil she’d spied in a shoebox wedged between his night table and his bed. Well, not so much interested as enraged. He’d never used that massage oil on her.

  She was pretty sure the condoms and the tingling massage oil would have gotten the heave-ho since Seth’s death, but she’d lay odds that the key was still there, preserved in the shrine to a lost son.

  With a last look at Bryce Walker’s back, Brooke set out for home.

  Chapter 12

  Bright Eyes

  Alex

  From under the bedcovers, Alex listened as the door latch clicked in the frame. She sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. Her left foot jiggled impatiently.

  The door opened slowly without a creak, then closed just as quietly. Shoes in hand, Brooke tiptoed into the room. Alex was reaching for the switch on her bedside lamp when Maryanne’s lamp snapped on. Brooke froze, looking like some kind of cartoon burglar, hunched down, tiptoeing across the room in her sock-covered feet, carrying her boots in her left hand and her purse in her right. As Maryanne sat up, Alex pulled back her hand.

  “So how was the bar?” Maryanne asked.

  Brooke’s tone was casual. “Oh, you know, same old crowd. No one you guys would know, though. Guys hitting on me all night, some old enough to be my father. And one—omigod, he actually had a skullet. You know, bald as a cue ball on top but that fringe—”

  “Try me,” Alex said.

  Brooke turned to her. “Huh?”

  “I know quite a few people in town. Party people. Let’s have some names.”

  “Ummm, I don’t think you’d know this crowd.”

  “Brooke, you’re lying,” Maryanne swung her legs off the bed. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face!”

  Alex snorted. “No, it’s as plain as the eyes in your head.” And it was. Brooke’s dark eyes weren’t the slightest bit glassy, which they always got after even a couple of drinks. More telling than that, her pupils were huge and round—and absolutely black and caster-wide.

  Caught, Brooke threw her hands up in the air. “Fine!” She plunked herself down on her bed. “I cast out.”

  Alex threw the covers back, swung her legs out of bed, and turned her light on after all. “What the hell, Brooke! We all agreed it’s too dangerous. None of us are supposed to cast out alone.”

  “Oh come on, Alex! You’re being overprotective! Again!”

  “This isn’t den mother crap! We all have the same rules, for our safety!”

  “Well, you cast out alone before! Remember?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice flat. “I remember that night very well.” She found her right hand clutching the blankets tightly. The last—the only time—she’d cast out alone, she’d found herself—her defenseless original—in the clutches of C.W. Stanley. He would have raped her again had she not cast back in just in the nick of time, surprising him with her sudden strength. No, he hadn’t raped her that time, but he’d damned near beaten her to death.

  Maryanne gasped. “Brooke! What the heck?”

  “Oh shit, Alex.” Brooke bit her lip. “I really didn’t mean to—”

  Alex shook her head, shook the horrific memories back into that dark corner where she kept them. “I know.” She smoothed her hands over the covers. “It does illustrate the point very nicely though, doesn’t it? None of us should be casting out alone.”

  “Yeah,” Maryanne said. “That’s the rule. Smarten up, Brooke.”

  Alex and Brooke both cast a look over at Maryanne.

  She looked from one to the other of them. “What?”

  Brooke snorted. “Don’t try to play Miss Innocent. You’ve cast out by yourself too.”

  “I certainly have not!”

  “Really?” Alex lifted an eyebrow.

  “Well…not in Mansbridge.” Maryanne’s cheeks grew redder by the second. “Okay, okay—I’m busted too.”

  The tension eased and Alex almost chuckled. It was kind of funny. They’d all pledged not to do it, but they’d all done it.

  Brooke turned to Alex. “I really didn’t mean—”

  “I know.”

  “I would just like to point out that things are more dangerous in Mansbridge than they were in Burlington when I cast out over Christmas,” Maryanne said. “We don’t have the legend back home. No one was searching the sky for me there.”

  “True,” Alex said. “But still, it’s dangerous to do it alone anywhere. For all of us. I vote we renew our pact. Seriously this time, guys. Let’s make a vow. No one casts out alone. Ever.”

  There was an exchange of glances.

  “Agreed,” Maryanne said, looking pointedly at Brooke.

  Brooke held up her hands. “Fine. I agree.” She leaned back on her bed. Her eyes were starting to normalize.

  “That makes three of us, then.” Alex said.

  Brooke raked a hand through her perfect glossy brunette hair. “Well, gals, it’s been a slice. I’m going to hit the hay.” She yawned, but it was a fake yawn. A baiting yawn. “You know…long, hard night, poking around the Walker Farm, seeing what Bryce was up to.” She picked up the t-shirt that served her as a nightie and her toiletries and headed toward the door to the hall and the bathroom.

  “Wait!” Maryanne called.

  Brooke turned back with a satisfied grin on her face. The girl was such a tease.

  “So, what was he…you know, what was he up to?” Maryanne wet her lips, betraying her anxiety.

  “He was welding out in the shed.”

  “More manacles?” Alex grated.

  Brooke shook her head. “No. He was putting the finishing touches on a collar.”

  The pit of Alex’s stomach dropped as she imagined the iron encircling her neck. It was all she could do to keep her hand from rising to her throat. Bryce wanted to collar a Heller. Trap it like a dog. A helpless dog so he could do heaven only knew what with it in his obsession to destroy. Kill. Maybe even torture! God, how much hatred that guy must have inside! How deep it must run!

  And how much they should fear him.

  “Oh no,” Maryanne breathed. She covered her mouth with a hand.

  “We knew he was dangerous,” Alex said. “We knew he was a hunter, but holy shit! A freakin’ collar!”

  “Yeah, it was pretty terrifying. Omigod, you guys, the look on his face… That man isn’t going to rest until
he bags himself a Heller…or three.”

  Alex glanced at Maryanne, whose eyes seemed to have gone as caster-wide as Brooke’s had been five minutes ago.

  “There’s more,” Brooke said.

  Alex wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more, but she asked anyway. “What?”

  “I saw him take one of the journals out of the cabinet and write in it.”

  Maryanne moaned.

  “That’s right,” Brooke said. “He’s carrying on where his grandfather left off.”

  Brooke was standing two feet away, but Alex’s eyes lost their focus as her mind whirled. “We have to see what he’s written.”

  “Well, the good news is there’s a second key to that oak cabinet that holds Ira’s journals. And I know where it is.”

  Alex blinked Brooke back into focus. “Where?”

  “Seth’s room. In a glass-topped trinket box thingie on his dresser. Or at least that’s where it was the last time I saw it. I didn’t go in to investigate by myself, since that didn’t work out so well last time I tried it, but I did peer in. It was too dark to see much, but the room does seem to be just the way it was when he died, so I’m thinking it’s still there.”

  “Yeah, some people do that,” Maryanne said. “I think it’s sick. How are you supposed to move on when their room looks like they might come back at any moment?”

  Whoa! What was with Maryanne?

  Brooke, however, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “I just thought it was kinda sad, but hey, it could turn out to be a stroke of good luck for us.” She turned her full attention on Maryanne. “You know it’s up to you to get it, right?”

  Alex held her breath as she waited for Maryanne to answer. They needed that key. They needed to know what Ira Walker had known about them, and what Bryce Walker knew now. They could all be in terrible danger if he knew who they were.

  “I’ll do it,” Maryanne said. “I’ll get the key.”

  Alex’s heart thudded hard in her chest. The girl who had just spoken could be in the most danger of them all.

  Chapter 13