Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1) - P. C. Cast Page 0,113

cruiser. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she backed away from the car, from him.

Polyphemus shined the cone of light across Hunter. “Where exactly is the weirdness you’ve been going on about?”

Hunter blinked the spots of light from her eyes and pointed at the stake the sheriff’s department had left behind. He cast the light onto the field and stopped when the beam flashed on the stake and the strip of yellow caution tape fluttering in the breeze.

“You wanted to show me that they left behind some trash?”

Hunter charged into the tall grass. Polyphemus was right behind her. The flashlight’s glow spilled across her left side and a half shadow stretched along the grass. Hunter looked at the sky and the sliver of moon that peeked out from behind the clouds. Mother Moon would always be with her. She couldn’t say the same about Tyr. Her fingers found the pendant hanging from her neck.

She reached the stake and froze. The scorched earth was gone, vanished. “It was here.” She crouched next to the grass, unstained but still crushed in the shape of Earl Thompson’s body.

With a snort, Polyphemus shined the light onto the ground.

“It was right here,” Hunter repeated. “I had my tarot.” She mimed shuffling her deck. “I took out the cards.” She drew three invisible cards and set them in the grass. “I asked each card a question and they each gave an answer. One of them burned the earth. Here.” She passed her hand over Earl Thompson’s imprint. “And—” Her voice caught as she turned to where the footsteps had been burned into the earth. Now, Polyphemus filled that space in the grass, the sheriff’s large boots the same size as the vanished scorch marks. Hunter brushed her hands on her shorts and stood. This didn’t derail her plan, it just changed it a bit.

Polyphemus stepped closer. The toe of his boot touched hers. His coppery breath warmed her face. “I’d almost lost hope, but then I found you, Bright Eyes.” His palm melted against her cheek. “I’ve searched for you for centuries.” His thumb grazed her bottom lashes, slid down the slope of her nose and pressed against her lips.

Hunter parted her lips. “I’m here now,” she whispered and let her mouth graze his thumb. She watched her reflection in Sheriff Dearborn’s sunglasses as she bit into his flesh.

Her teeth sunk into skin. Blood hit her tongue as Polyphemus howled. He yanked his hand free. Pain fireworked against Hunter’s cheek. She hadn’t heard the slap or seen it coming, but the shape of his hand now burned against her face.

Hunter scrambled backward and tripped over the flashlight he’d dropped. She caught herself as the light settled across the forest of grass. She moved backward, closer to the tree as Polyphemus stalked toward her. But this wasn’t a retreat. This was a preparation.

“I am a Goode witch!” she shouted. Mangled roots jutted from the ground as Hunter neared the ancient olive. “My blood carries magic. So does yours, Polyphemus. I can feel it prick my throat like shards of glass.” She spit Polyphemus’s blood into her hand. “Your blood!” She pulled the athame from her pocket and sliced her blood-splattered palm. “My blood!” Scarlet gushed from the wound and swirled across Polyphemus’s blood like a whirlpool against her skin. “I draw down the power of the moon and the heat of the stars!” She thrust her red palm to the sky and, for a moment, the heavens flickered.

Polyphemus roared. Hunter’s pulse surged through her ears as she widened her stance and let him shorten the distance between them. With the demi-god only steps away, Hunter rushed forward. A scream scraped against the back of her throat as their bodies collided. Polyphemus grabbed her ponytail and snapped her head back.

Her hands found his shoulders, his neck, his ears. She yanked off his sunglasses and clapped her bloody palm against his good eye. “Release!” she commanded the cosmic energy she’d stored in the crimson pool that swirled against her palm. Heat shot from Hunter’s palm.

With a screech, Polyphemus wrenched away. He slapped his hands over his eye and folded as he tripped backward.

Hunter ran to the base of the tree. Her hand trembled as she grabbed Tyr’s pendant and yanked. The rope cord resisted. It burned the back of her neck as she pulled harder—then it snapped. Her eyes filled with tears, turning Polyphemus into a writhing blur of dark colors. She held the symbol of Tyr to her