Page 27 of Wedded Witch
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, frustration boiling over. Who runs off to America? Without so much as a goodbye? Not to mention, it’s not like I have a handy spell to help me track international flights. This is what I get for marrying into a witch family with a habit of keeping secrets.
And speaking of secrets…
Elias.
Swyn’s dearly departed ancestor has been unusually chatty in my dreams lately. I didn’t ask for his prophetic ramblings, but since the wedding, it’s been like having a backseat driver that only shows up when I’m asleep – or losing my mind.
The car suddenly fills with the smell of musty old books and something that reminds me of burning sage. It’s so unexpected that I swerve into the lane of oncoming traffic and get blasted. Great.
The passenger seat flickers with that familiar, glowing light, and before I even have a chance to groan, Elias is there, lounging casually like he’s the King of England.
“Oh shit. Have I fallen asleep behind the wheel?” I ask, panicking.
“Nah.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“It’s a lovely evening for a drive, wouldn’t you say, Oland?” he says, completely unfazed by the fact that I almost swerved off the road when he appeared. “I don’t just visit people in their dreams, don't you know.”
I sigh. “You again. Did you come to tell me what a terrible job I’m doing, or are you here to actually help for once?”
Elias grins – because of course he does. “Bit of both, actually.”
I shoot him a look, keeping one eye on the road. “Fantastic. What cryptic nonsense do you have for me today?”
“Well,” he begins, all too cheerfully, “you’ve lost your bride.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I grumble. “Any chance you can tell me where she is?”
“America,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ll need to get on a plane.”
I clench my jaw. “I know she’s in America. That doesn’t exactly help me. America’s a big place.”
Elias leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, the glowing light from his spirit pulsing faintly. “It’s not just any place, Oland. She’s being drawn somewhere... specific.”
“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me where?”
Elias’s grin widens, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re learning.”
“Of course,” I mutter. “Because why make anything easy?”
“Oh, but I can give you a hint,” he says, leaning forward, his voice lowering as if what he’s about to say is some grand secret. “Spells Hollow.”
I frown, the name sounding vaguely ominous. “What’s Spells Hollow? Never heard of it.”
Elias tilts his head, his expression growing a bit more serious. “It’s an old place. Very old. Hidden, forgotten, but not by all. It’s the kind of town that keeps certain people out, and draws certain people in...and keeps them. Swyn doesn’t know it yet, but she’s being pulled toward something there. The magic there is powerful, ancient. It’s not somewhere she can just waltz in and out of.”
“That sounds comforting,” I reply, my sarcasm barely concealed. “And why, exactly, would she go there?”
Elias smirks. “I’d say it’s part of her heritage, wouldn’t you?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Right. So this is all some big ancestral drama?”
“Ancestral drama,” Elias muses, stroking his chin. “I like that. But no, it’s more than that. There are...things in Spells Hollow that don’t take kindly to newcomers. Especially not newcomers with Swyn’s particular lineage.”
I stare straight ahead, processing that information. “So, you’re telling me my wife is running straight into a trap.”
“Trap’s a strong word,” Elias says, raising an eyebrow. “I preferchallenge.”