Mystic Wood. The thicket wove its way around Moonshadow Bay in a U-shape, surrounding the entire town with a cloak of magic and shadow.
The one-story house itself was old and weathered, but not in that falling-down way that abandoned houses had. Ivy and barren rose bushes climbed the trellised arch that arced over the sidewalk leading up to the house. Mullioned windows lined the cottage walls, shuttered against the windstorms that raged through the Pacific Northwest.
The yard was full of trees—cedar and fir, and a massive weeping sequoia that bent and twisted into something akin to a faerie-tale creature.
“This is beautiful,” I said, transfixed by the chaotic yard. The snow covered most of the grass, but ferns poked through the blanket of white. Hydrangea bushes lined the walkway, along with giant patches of mums, silent under the mounds of snow.
“Her yard is as wild as the Mystic Wood,” Caitlin said. “We’re being watched.”
I nodded. I had the same feeling. I glanced around and then my gaze lit on an owl perched in one of the fir trees. It sat perfectly still, watching us.
“Her familiar, ten to one.” I nudged Caitlin’s arm and nodded toward the bird.
“Hmm, I think you’re right.”
We climbed the three steps that led to the porch. A porch swing hung from the ceiling next to the door. I looked for a bell, but there was only a knocker shaped like a gargoyle. I raised the heavy brass knocker and rapped it twice. As I did so, I caught a whiff of perfume from behind my right shoulder.
You didn’t think we’d let you walk into this house without one of us here?
I recognized Esmara’s voice and laughed.
“What’s funny?” Caitlin asked.
I started to answer when the door began to open. “Tell you later,” I said, though I was pretty sure that Rowan would be able to sense Esmara’s presence.
Sure enough, Rowan glanced over my shoulder. “Come in, you three.” She nodded toward the living room.
“Three?” Caitlin asked as Rowan hustled her in.
“Tell you later,” I said again, following.
Rowan was lean and weathered, with her long silver hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a denim jumper over a peasant blouse, with what looked like a pair of pinking shears in her pocket. Her eyes glinted, her gaze darting over us. I could tell she missed nothing.
“Sit down, both of you.” Rowan motioned to the sofa. She sat in a rocking chair opposite. “Tell me why you’re here. I have a busy schedule, so you’ll understand if I do away with chitchat and the usual niceties.”
The look in her eyes was stern, and her tone made it clear she didn’t suffer fools, small talk, or anything else that might waste time.
“All right, we’ll come straight to the point,” Caitlin said.
Together, we laid out what had happened with our clients, then Tad and Hank, and with the property. Now and then, Rowan interjected a question but for the most part, she kept silent until Caitlin and I finished.
“So, we’re wondering if you can clear the curse on that land.”
“If I can’t, what will you do?” she asked.
“Tell the real estate developer to look elsewhere. Ask the chief of police to erect a fence around the perimeter to keep people out. Put up warning signs,” I said.
Rowan frowned, leaning back in her chair. “Tell me, January—what do you think about this? What do your instincts tell you?”
I glanced up at her. Of course Rowan would be able to sense my magical signature.
“You know I’m a witch, then?” I asked.
“Yes, and I know you’re Fam-Trad. Your guardian is standing right behind you.” Rowan laughed. “I helped your great-grandfather found this town. Of course I know who you are. And you,” she said, turning to Caitlin. “You’re a young bobcat shifter—still finding her way in the world.”
We stared at her, at a loss for words. Rowan had a way of taking over the room.
“Well, I asked you a question,” Rowan said, turning back to me. “And don’t ask your guardian—I don’t want to know what she has to say about this. I want to know what your instincts are.”
I closed my eyes and lowered myself into a trance, trying to sink past the fear. As I pictured the land and the institution, it seemed covered with a gray miasma, a shadow of smoke and grime and age. I drifted even lower—past the building, down into the earth below the brick and mortar.
And there it was, sleeping in a dark corner of a very