Page 9 of Property of Scythe
“Always.” He winks at me, some of his playful nature shining through now that he knows he’ll be taking care of business. “Nobody fucks with the Kings.”
“You got that motherfuckin’ right.”
After he rides off, I carry Mila into the house. She finishes her nap on the couch as I grab a cup of coffee. It’s early enough that I wonder if Emma will come back over. There’s a stirring in my blood I can’t explain, but I need to ride into town. Once I’m there, I’ll figure out the reason.
While Mila is having a snack in the kitchen, I dial Emma’s number.
She answers on the third ring. “You need me to watch Mila for a few hours?”
This woman is a fucking saint. “Yeah. I need to ride into town. I’ll be back early. I want to be here to tuck her into bed.”
“No problem. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
Emma loves her niece, but she also comes because I pay her double whenever she has to drive back over and babysit. As a college student and single, she needs the money. At one time, we almost hooked up, but there’s no sexual attraction between us now. We’re family. It’s different. She’s like a sibling to me.
Once Mila is settled in the living room with Emma, I kiss her forehead and promise to return home by story time. It’s our nightly routine, and I never miss it. There’s only been a handful of times that club business pulled me away, and I fucking hated it.
A strange feeling settles over my bones as I ride toward downtown. That same sense of foreboding I had outside of the Mayfield Inn returns. It’s getting stronger, which means the club needs to stay alert. I don’t want to be caught by surprise.
I pull back on the throttle and surge forward, picking up speed as I enter Main Street. It takes a few minutes before I feel the urge to pull over. I park my bike outside one of the shops, but I don’t bother to notice which one.
I can’t. My focus is stolen by the beauty in front of me. She’s walking on the other side of the street, her long hair swinging behind her in a ponytail. It’s not the hypnotic swish of her ass that’s got me rooted to the spot, although I sure am enjoying the view. No, the reason I’m nearly salivating while also stunned is because she’s not a stranger.
It’s the girl from my visions.
Chapter 4 Scythe
I’m fucking stalking her.
I know it’s creepy, but I follow her anyway, trailing behind her as she ducks in and out of shops along Main Street. Her stride is unhurried like she’s got all the time in the world. I wonder what brings her to Raven’s Crest. Is she a tourist? I doubt it.
Maybe she’s got family in town. That would explain the pull I feel toward her. My link to the bloodlines of this town is rooted in the curse forced upon my ancestors. I’m attuned to a frequency that only others like me can feel. To be specific, my brothers in the club.
Fuck. She almost spots me as I duck behind a food vendor, peeking around a tree so I won’t lose her. I nearly laugh when I notice she’s entering Mystic Emporium.
This should be fun.
Mystic was founded about fifty years ago, but its roots date back to the late 1600s during the Salem Witch Trials. It’s rumored to house the bones of several women put to death during the trials. Many believe the spirits of those wronglyaccused still linger in Raven’s Crest.
Why here? Because Raven’s Crest became a sanctuary to the condemned, abandoned, tortured, and banished relatives of the original Salem witch families. Of course, that’s what you find online and shared on social media. It draws the tourists in because the idea of ghosts is far too appealing. When you combine those stories with the Mayfield Inn, you create a place brimming with supernatural energy and mischief.
But I know there’s more to it than that. There are secrets about this town and the original bloodlines of the Salem witches who traveled to Raven’s Crest before it became an established settlement, and how murder always finds a way to taint its reputation and haunt everyone who lives here.
Maybe the blood that soaked into the soil over the years has brought its own curse. There are nights when a blood moon hangs low in the sky, and it doesn’t matter what time of year it appears. On some evenings, the wind howls and the folks in this town swear the sound is actual wails and mourning from those who’ve been killed.
I know what I know, and I guard the secrets entrusted to me.
Right now, with the sun shining and midday casting shadows on the sidewalks and expanding the shade of nearby trees, it appears calm and peaceful. A lie. But no one walking the streets will acknowledge it.
I enter Mystic Emporium and slowly stalk my newest obsession. I stay one row behind her as she weaves through the displays of crystals, potion ingredients, wands, and divination tools. The young woman I follow is curious, but nothing seems to hold her attention for long. She must realize most of these items don’t hold real value or use.
The real witchcraft items are held behind a black door that’s spelled against intruders. Even I can’t walk inside.
I watch her pause beside spell books and tarot cards, picking up a stack of the latter as her fingers brush over the hand-painted designs. It’s one of the few things in this shop that is actually worth admiring and purchasing since the artwork isstunning. The woman who owns this shop creates them, selling the ones she thinks will find the right home.
I’m not surprised when the girl picks up a deck and carries it with her, approaching the racks with robes, cloaks, and hats. There are dozens of costumes and witchy ensembles in a variety of colors and designs. On the wall behind, brooms hang, each one as unique as the wands on display.
