Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,30

weren’t of any use to them, and we weren’t any harm.

Our easy release isn’t all that’s upsetting me. The berry-picking lady was in there, and we already know she’s capable of magic. But the real question: is she Lavenia? Any one of those women could’ve been her. We have nothing to go by, except that they’re all in this together.

“Are you even listening to me?” Ben shouts.

“What?” I shake my head. “Oh, sorry. I was too busy thinking about how strange this place is.”

“Tell me about it,” Ben grumbles, as he pushes a tree branch out of the way. “You know what else is weird? How they have to be bitten to turn into werewolves. That’s definitely not how it happens five hundred years later. Did evolution take over down the line, or was another curse cast so that we, and all future generations, transform on our eighteenth birthday?”

Now that I recall the conversation we had with the witches, he has a point. “Look at you, being all Captain Obvious. Nice work.” I lightly punch his arm.

He straightens his posture, arms swinging merrily back and forth. “Why, thank you, madam.”

I can’t help but playfully grin at him. He’s too egotistical for his own good. Catching the twinkle in his eye, I mock his spry attitude, adding a little pep to my step—and totally trip over a tree root, flat on my face. Ben’s boisterous laughter ricochets through the forest. I peek up at him, and he’s doubled over at the waist. Pushing myself off the ground with both hands, I clean the front of my tattered potato sack as best I can and pluck a dead leaf out of my hair.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I say dryly.

“It’s just—” He cackles louder, until his amusement finally wears down. “It’s just that I shouldn’t be surprised, because it’s you, but I wasn’t expecting that. It reminds me of the first time we met. Do you remember?”

I cross my arms and trudge away.

“Ah, Candra, c’mon . . . Wait up!” He catches my arm and spins me around to face him. “I was just kidding. But you have to admit, it was kind of hilarious.” He fights to contain his impish smile.

Sighing, I say, “Let’s forget it happened. We have enough to worry about at the moment.”

“Yeah, but having some comical relief on the side is like an added bonus.”

I glare at him.

He throws his hands up. “Okay, okay. We’ll stick to our non-existent, ever-changing plan.”

Bobbing my head from side to side, I add, “And yes, it was kind of funny.”

He pinches his lips, refraining from a strong case of the chuckles. “I promise if I fall down, you can laugh at me all you want.” He holds up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

I jab his stomach. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, let’s get back before Fiona and Francine wake up. Today’s the day we really need to figure out a plan.”

I’m not a betting person, but if I had to place money on it, I’d say it’s about three-thirty or four o’clock in the morning. I don’t actually know how accurate my guess is, but judging by the fact that it’s still dark outside, and the sun is beginning to cast a faint glow over the hillside, I’ll say I’m pretty darn close.

We arrive at Fiona’s just in time—Fiona and Francine are still asleep. Less than thirty minutes later, Fiona is up and preparing herself for the day ahead. Ben and I, however, slowly drift to sleep. Before I fully succumb to my dreamland, there’s still one gnawing, irksome thought stuck in my head, and I can’t place my finger on it. It’s like I’m so close to solving a riddle but don’t have all the words. And just as my last bit of consciousness is swept away by exhaustion, I solve a missing piece of the puzzle: one of the witches looks an awful lot like Maggie.

Chapter Eight

“Are you sure?” Ben asks for the fifth time.

Annoyed that he’s questioning whether my mind is fully intact, or if I’m just imagining things, I once again reply, “Yes! I’m sure.”

“I mean, yeah, they resemble each other, but Maggie? A bad witch? There’s no way.”

Puffing out a disgruntled sigh, I respond, “Ben, think about it, consider what Maggie might’ve looked like when she was younger. That woman definitely has the dark skin, black hair, and the beginnings of the skunk stripe. Salt-and-pepper hair? Totally our Maggie.”

Ever since we woke this morning, Ben and I have