Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,33

cottage. Nothing is particularly out of the ordinary, except for the baby crying in its crib. The witch with the raven-colored hair enters the room, and Ben and I duck so she won’t see us. We pause for about ten seconds before rising up ever so slowly to glimpse at the woman and the child. She rocks it lovingly in her arms, whispering words we can’t hear, smiling down at the baby’s tiny face. I press my ear to the side of the house to decide whether or not I can actually hear what she’s saying. Her words reach me in a muffled tone, and nothing is clear. Ben does the same.

Crack. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Someone approaches from the forest, if the sounds of twigs and dead leaves are any indication. Ben and I retreat to the far side of the cottage, away from the forest, and away from the front door. We can’t, under any circumstances, let them know we’re here.

Once the two witches are indoors, Ben and I return to our spot, where we can view and listen in on any conversations they have. The first thing I notice—other than the fact that they have a baby—is how many dried herbs hang from the ceiling beams, and how many potions line wooden shelves throughout the small area. The floor plan is similar to Fiona’s home, in that there are three rooms, from what I can see, and a small area for the kitchen and dining.

Placing their baskets on the table, the girls fervently work on removing all the berries and herbs they gathered from the forest. The woman with the baby cradles it gently, while the other two rub its belly. Forming a short assembly line, they begin wrapping the herbs with loose ribbon, tie them off, and then find a place to hang them. The berries are placed in a wooden bowl at the center of the table.

Nothing is visibly abnormal with these people. So, what’s their deal? They create these tonics and healing agents to help those in Colchester who need medicine, yet they also practice the dark arts, disappear with the snap of their fingers, transform into werewolves, and have a secret hideout in the middle of the woods. None of this makes any sense.

We continually keep an eye on the women until our legs are tired of semi-squatting. Just as we’re about to call it a day, all three witches raise their noses toward the ceiling, as if they’re sniffing the herbs. They share a perceptive look, one that easily conveys they aren’t inhaling the scent of wild herbs—they’ve caught a whiff of something else.

Blood drains from my head, and every hair on my body stands erect.

Oh, this isn’t good. I think they’ve found us, I say.

Now might be a good time to run, Ben suggests.

We scram for the forest, which will supply an easy covering—provided we make it before they see us. As soon as we vanish behind the army of trees, I hear the front door open with a bang. I don’t dare glance behind me, for fear my eyes might lock with theirs. Yet again, my ability to run is hindered by period clothing and heels. Ben’s much faster than me, has longer legs than me, and is fortunate enough to be wearing pants. Me? I have to lift my skirts and pray I don’t trip.

Are they following us? Do they know? Ben asks.

I’m not sure. I’m too afraid to look over my shoulder. If they caught our scent, they’ll know we were spying on them.

We’re so screwed.

No shit.

I feel as if we’ve been dashing through the woods for a long time. Longer than usual. We have no way of knowing where, exactly, we’re at. All we can do is use our heightened senses and sniff our way out, if necessary.

The thought no more traverses my mind when my feet are lifted out from under me and over my head. I squeal, but hastily regain control of my surroundings—even if the world is upside down. Ben and I sway back and forth from our ankles, tightly bound by the rope which was lying in wait under a carpet of dead leaves and twigs. A trap, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised.

I manage to tuck my dress between my legs, so it won’t tumble down and swathe my face. From the direction of Lavenia’s cottage, dogs bark, and their noisy yapping continually grows louder. Crackling foliage causes my entire body to stiffen. They’re