Bad Magic Rising Box Set: Bad Magic Bounty Hunter

By Michelle Fox

Hey, all you cool cats and vampires, I'm witch and bounty hunter Sylvie Orion. Or at least I was. Who and what I am seems to up for debate these days. I mean, other than the fact I'm now the world's most wanted witch.

 

(The reward is buy-your-own-island money. I even want to turn myself in)

 

Currently, I'm missing my soul and all the magic that comes with it. For extra fork-in-the-eye fun, I'm being held prisoner by Shifter Nation. Whoa Goddess, do they have plans for me. Plans no sane witch would ever agree to be a part of.

 

I never wanted to start a war.

 

I just wanted to live a quiet, witchy life.

 

But my soul has its own destiny, and if I don't get it back, I'll have no say in what happens next.

 

Hold on to your wands, beyotches, because this witch never says die.

 

All the witchy fun in one box set! Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Fox
• Release date: Feb 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201753399

Book preview

Bad Magic Rising Box Set

Michelle Fox

Copyright 2021. All Rights Reserved.

Motherducking Magic

Bad Magic Bounty Hunter Series Book 1

Michelle Fox

Copyright 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Blurb

I'm the worst. Seriously. Ask anyone and they'll tell you, Sylvie Orion is the world's worst witch. But being a supernatural bounty hunter requires more smarts than magic. So put that on your wand and suck it, beyotches.

When my latest client—a kleptomaniac werewolf—disappears, I'm on the hunt to drag him to justice. It should be a simple track ‘em and cuff ‘em operation, something I've done a hundred times before.

Instead, I somehow acquire an unwanted vampire sidekick, wake up in a ditch, and piss off half of Shifter Nation. It's not fun, but it's all survivable, even with my crap magic. But then I'm accused of being in cahoots with my skip trace to steal Witchdom's most wanted magical relic.

Everyone thinks I have it. And the bad guys are on me like a camel toe hex. If they get this relic? Hell will look like paradise.

Forget the werewolf, I've got to find that relic and clear my name, or die trying.

Time to do my worst.

The Bad Magic Bounty Hunter series is Stephanie Plum meets Twilight and features a kick butt heroine, a mysterious vampire and a hunky shifter.

Chapter One

Note: This first chapter is Motherducking Monster Os just in case you haven't read it yet. If you have, skip to chapter two. :)

***

Summer in Cleveland had all the charm of Satan's butthole, but I liked to eat and my mom charged me rent, so I showed up for work. Even though the temp had hit ninety by eight a.m. Even though the heat was on schedule to top a hundred before noon. Even though I had to wear jeans and a jacket for my job.

Any other witch would've called off and gone swimming, or magicked a deep freeze on their nakey bits.

But not me. I was Sylvie Orion, witch worker bee.

(Also, the deep freeze magic thing didn't work for me.)

Of course, if I'd known there was blast-from-the-past mean girls on the menu, I might've reconsidered. Plug-in a/c worked fine, and I'd rather be chilling with some witch wine than dodging spells from the one person I'd hoped to never see again.

(Rent schment. Can I get a 'so mote it be?')

What were the odds of Lydia Pettie showing up on the wanted list, anyway? I frowned. Well, now that I thought back to our high school days, I had to admit the odds were probably higher than average. Today was proof of that.

Lydia, just come down. I held up my hands in a 'we're all adults here, let's be reasonable' gesture.

We were in her brand new warehouse full of illegal magic. I'd been pleased that finding her had been fairly simple. She'd posted her own bail, so I didn't have the usual tracking charm that made my job easy. But with a little Google-fu, I'd discovered she'd set up the company with her mother's name, proving once again that most criminals aren't that smart. It'd taken me five minutes to zero in on her location, but now she was making this hard.

Not happening, you worm of a witch. Lydia swung her stiletto clad feet and smiled down at me from her perch atop ten-foot metal shelving. The shelves ran along the far wall of the warehouse, and once she'd caught sight of me, she'd scrambled up the nearest one. I wasn't about to go up there and wrestle with her. I didn't mind a little tussle, but not at that height.

I wiped sweat off my face and attempted a pleasant smile.It's hotter than dragon balls in the desert. Come down and we'll grab a milkshake and catch up. We haven't seen each other since, what? High school graduation? I didn't say anything about the police station or court. Those words made people run or fight.

Pro tip: Use positive language and incentives when hauling people to jail. Also, I'd probably buy us milkshakes for real. This heat was insane.

Make me, worm.

I sighed and stared at her, pondering the best way to gain her cooperation.

She looked just as I remembered; oval, high-cheekboned face, pouty lips, and dark eyes that sparked with malice. Even the fancy business suit couldn't hide her mean, but it did show a trim, fit physique. She could probably still fit into her dress from the high school Witch's Ball.

I thought about pushing over the shelving to wipe the smirk off her face, but that might kill her and she wasn't classified as 'dead or alive.' Yet.

"I said, make me." Lydia picked up a cardboard box and lobbed it in my direction. The box landed with a dull thud on the floor in front of me.

I met her gaze and raised my eyebrows. Really?

Lydia gave a muffled shriek, furious that she'd missed. 

Assault of a bounty hunter carries a hefty penalty from the Triad, you know. Curious,  I lifted the cardboard flap of the box with the toe of my boot revealing neon blue charms inside.  By my estimate, there were hundreds of them. A matching blue logo on the side of the box labeled the contents as Monster-O.

Yes, that O. The O every woman fakes at least once. Lydia had set up a supply chain for the real deal.

And she was attacking me with what had to be a lethal dose.

Should I call the Witch's Council? The question came from the receptionist. She'd tried to stop me at the door and then had trotted after me as I barreled into the warehouse. Now she hovered, her brow furrowed with concern.

Go ahead, I said at the same time Lydia screeched, No!

The receptionist looked confused.

I pulled the paperwork out of my back pocket. "I have a warrant. If the Council comes, they're working for me. Not you."

No council. They'll shut me down. Lydia glared at her receptionist.

I nodded my agreement and considered calling them myself. They'd hustle her right down off her perch, drag her sorry ass to the police, and done and done, but then I'd lose money. The miserable summer heat made the idea really tempting, though.

Sweat pooled at the small of my back and my socks felt wet in my steel-toe boots. My working clothes were a sauna made of torture in the summer, but I bruised less when I covered up.

Okay. The receptionist looked at me wide-eyed, totally out of her league. Sweat gleamed on her face. She was the type that glowed, whereas I looked like I'd been slavered on by a horny bear shifter. (Which...actually happened. Once. I'd rather not discuss it. Thanks.)

You should leave. I swiped a hand across my forehead, keeping the sweat from trickling into my eyes, and gestured to the door. Before you get caught up in this.'

Don't you dare listen to her. I sign your paycheck, Rosa, and you stay right there. You're a witness to a crime.

What crime? I rolled my eyes.

Harassment. Assault. Battery.

Ah. We'd reached the projection part of the takedown. I ignored it like I always did, otherwise it devolved into circular arguing that just took up more of my time.

You know, you can't stay up there forever. I crossed my arms. When was the last time you peed? I checked the time on my phone. Ten a.m. You probably had a lot of coffee this morning, right? Or are you a tea person? Maybe a little witchy kombucha? They made that vinegar piss for everything now. Skin, weight, luck, love. You had to drink a lot for the magic to work, though.

Lydia squirmed, realized I'd noticed, then gave a feral screech that put banshees to shame. She ripped open another box of Monster O and hurled the contents at me by the handful. The individual charms were smaller, lighter, and came closer than the box she'd thrown before. I had to move and déjà vu brought up a lot of bad memories all at once.

This wasn't the first time Lydia Pettie had thrown things at me. Senior year, her sleaze of a boyfriend had kissed me and she'd blamed me, much like she was doing now. Back then—mind-your-business years ago—she'd nailed me with an acne hex and a drooling narcolepsy curse followed by a black eye, courtesy of her fist.

Attacking me with orgasms was a new one, though.

The big-O was usually an intangible thing. Magic had not changed human physiology. At least not yet. No one laid golden eggs while getting plowed. (I wished because that would then be my new job.) However, magic could pack orgasms into black market sexual pleasure charms.

That was Lydia's specialty, but selling magic to humans, even if it was full of pleasure, was a no-no on both sides. Supes didn't want humans to have any magic, and human law expressly forbade trafficking our powers among that population.

Why was that my problem? Why was I sweating myself into heat stroke?

Oh, right. She'd been caught and then failed to show up for court. 

My job was to take her back in for another attempt to get the court thing right.

Bounty hunting for the Triad—the inter-supernatural council that oversaw all things magic—hadn't been my first, or last, choice of careers. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I'd fallen into it the way a sinkhole swallows cars. The pay was shifter shit, but at least it was never boring.

Case in point...I had this high school mean girl reunion with a side of sexual assault going for me today.

When I said the job was never boring, I actually meant it was way too interesting. Supernaturals were an inventive bunch. It was exhausting. Although, maybe I'd get some satisfaction from cuffing the woman who'd single-handedly made my last year of high school a living hell.

I brightened, suddenly feeling optimistic even as summer sweat trickled down my jeans and pooled in the back of my knees.

Oooo. Now that was an idea  I could get on board with. 

Grimoire Daily, the online hub of witchery, did say how you felt about life all depended on your perspective.

They also said you should grow up and let things go.

Huh. Decisions. Decisions. Guess which one I went with?

***

"I am not going to jail." Lydia picked up another box of Monster O charms and threw them at me by the handful.

I jumped back and narrowly missed being beaned in the forehead. The round charms clattered to the floor like hail and I tap danced around them, not wanting to step on one and activate it. These were made for the human market, which meant they discharged on contact, no magic required.

I couldn't afford the distraction of mind-numbing pleasure.

Her receptionist wasn't so lucky, though. Several charms nailed her in the face and hands, audibly popping as they went off.

"Oh. Oh. Ooooooh." She dropped to her knees, eyes wide with horror as her body spun out of control.

I tried to feel sorry for her and failed. She worked for a criminal mean girl. She'd chosen her fate. Also, that had to feel pretty good. Multiple Os like that could really rock someone's world, and I'd heard Lydia made quality stuff. Too bad it was illegal.

Lydia, I kept my voice calm and measured, hoping to bring down her manic energy. Call your lawyer. Come with me and we can wrap this up in a couple of hours. This doesn't have to be a big deal. 

Another pro tip: The more they freaked out, the calmer you needed to be. It's a neurological thing I never quite understood, but it worked. Sometimes.

But it is a big deal, worm. This is a feminist issue, you know. Lydia was elbow deep in another box, this one unmarked. She produced what looked to be a long, but floppy stick of something. I did nothing other than provide a much needed service to all of humanity. She brandished her stick in my general direction and it wobbled to and fro like a dowsing rod.

I should have stayed on topic, but I had to ask, What is that?

This is a dildo charmed to provide toe-curling orgasms. She smiled and whipped it at me. I jumped back again as it hit the cement floor with a loud thwap.

By the First Witch's tit, Lydia, you're selling charmed sex toys too? I shouldn't have been surprised. If she'd cared about rules, she wouldn't have hexed me before she even had her magic license.

The other kids had called me 'Wet Pizza Face' and drew on me with markers every time I nodded off.  My mom eventually neutralized the charms when she realized I couldn't hack it, but the name had stuck...until I'd failed my magic licensing exam when they'd switched to a different, just as awful, nickname.

It's a new line. Hasn't even launched yet. She winged more dildos my way and suddenly it was raining big floppy dicks.

Furthermore, she kept talking. "I didn't let you bail me out and I am not going to let you, the worst witch to ever witch, be the one who takes me in." Her face twisted into a sneer of disgust, revealing what she really thought of me. Big surprise there. Someone alert the media. Maybe they could find someone who would be shocked.

More dildos flew, but her words hurt more. In the yearbook, under my picture, it read Sylvie Orion, World's Worst Witch. Guess who'd been yearbook editor? I thought I'd let all that go, but Lydia was stirring it back up like bitter coffee grounds.

"They say what I'm doing is a misuse of magic. She made a gagging sound of disgust. But they let you walk around like you belong here. You're still a huge pile of steaming nothing, aren't you?"

I retreated, swallowing my emotions. At the end of the day, this was business. Old feelings needed to stay locked up like good little gremlins, or only come up when I drank too much witch wine.

Scanning the warehouse, I considered my options. With all the boxes on the top shelf, Lydia had a nuclear arsenal of sex. It would be a while before she ran out of ammunition.

She had to come down sooner or later, but how did I finagle sooner without having a lot of—no doubt great—orgasms? I fingered my charm bracelet, looking at what I had left. Unlike other witches, I had to buy my magic, which limited my options.

Lydia hadn't been wrong with that worst witch line. If she'd asked her no-good boyfriend about it in high school, she would've found out he'd only sweet-talked me on a dare. A dud witch was never a hot commodity in my world, no matter how curvalicious her curves, but for teen boys obsessed with boobies, she sure was fun to hassle.

I bit my lip. Focus, Sylvie. The past is past.

My bracelet held a couple power boosters, a sneeze affliction, and a time freeze. The last one I only used when I was desperate. Boosters were cheap—pranks like sneezes even cheaper—but time freezes were strictly regulated which drove up the price. The only reason I could even enter the monthly lottery for them was because of my bounty hunting license.

Now the test for my bounty hunting license, that one I'd passed.

Look at you. You can't even arrest me. You're so lame.

I looked up to see Lydia holding a phone. "Are you...are you filming this?" I resisted the urge to pat my hair. It was too sweat soaked to fix anyway.

She smiled and nodded. Live streaming, beyotch.

Put the phone down. You are not filming this. I don't consent.

She ignored me and talked to the phone, Hey everyone, remember Sylvie Orion? She sucks just as much as ever. Let's teach her not to cross her betters. She pulled a wand out of her cleavage, and still holding the phone in one hand, she began an incantation.

She was going to curse me. Again.

Ah hell, no. I wasn't the pushover, low self-esteem lost cause I'd been in high school. Back then, having bad magic had been new and terrible, but I'd since adjusted. My magic might be made of nothing, but I was a decent bounty hunter. I'd brought in dragons, warlocks, vampires...you named it, I'd cuffed it.

The wheel had spun. The law of karma was coming in hot.

Lydia Pettie was going down, and I would be the one yelling timber.

***

I activated the time freeze, saying the incantation faster than an auctioneer. It hit and cut off whatever Lydia had been about to do to me. In less than a second, she was a statue. So was the receptionist. Everything just stopped except for me. Perfect. I'd hit the easy button on my day and it was working just as I'd planned.

But...

Now I had a new problem. She'd frozen like rigor mortis ten plus feet higher than me, and I only had twenty minutes to get her down and slap on cuffs before she hit the timeline again.

I knew I should've bought a levitation charm. That would've worked. There was no way I could carry her; I was a witch, not a fireman. I set the timer on my phone to give me a two-minute warning and scouted the warehouse for something I could use.

Out on the shipping dock, I found a tow motor with a couple of pallets already loaded. I had no idea how to drive one, but hoped I could learn in sixty seconds or less.

Praise the First Witch and any Goddesses up there listening, the engine started okay and it drove similar to a car. The hard part was keeping track of the fork prongs in front of the thing—or whatever they called them. I was not a professional tow motor operator.

I knocked over a stack of pallets sitting on the shipping dock trying to master it. More orgasms spilled out. At this rate, no one would be able to set foot in the warehouse without a happy ending.

In fits and starts, I got the tow motor in position next to the shelving unit holding Lydia. I hit the button that moved the prong thingies up to their maximum height. That put the top of the pallets about a foot under her dangling feet.

I could work with that.

I wiped the sweat off my palms and climbed up to where she sat. With a gentle shove, I  toppled her over, dropping her onto the pallets below. I held my breath, not knowing if the tow motor could bear the extra weight, and realizing, too late, that I'd failed to account for any accidental rolling.

Oops.

I didn't want to kill her, because then she wouldn't wake up and feel the humiliation of my handcuffs.

Hand delivering karma was the true payday for this gig. I'd hate to miss it.

Fortunately, she didn't roll off the pallet, but rather landed with the heavy inertia of the unconscious. The tow motor shuddered at the added load, but it held. I climbed back down, lowered the pallet, pulled her off the top, propped her up against the shelving and slapped my cuffs on her.

I checked my phone. Ten minutes to spare. I did a little jig of victory for about two seconds before the heat got to me. Not only was it summer, the warehouse wasn't air conditioned. I had my own soggy weather system going down my pants, and soon my jeans were going to drip sweat like rain.

I went back to the break room I'd passed on my way in and snagged some cold water from the fridge. There was a massive display of different sex charms against the wall. I perused the options and pocketed a few 'Monster O' charms that were safely contained inside commercial packaging.

Maybe they'd come in handy later. Maybe they'd just collect dust on a shelf. Maybe, and this last one was more likely, Blart, my fur-for-brains familiar, would eat them and have all the fun. Time would tell.

Although even the First Witch would've put her money on Blart.

***

Lydia woke up at the twenty-minute mark right on the dot, and I hoisted her to her feet. If you give me your lawyer's number, I'll call and have them meet you at the police station.

She glared at me and started up on the curse again. I call on the Dark Dominion...

Lydia, stop. I can have you muted. It would take a mountain of paperwork, but the Triad backed up my official capacity with some hefty punishments. Case in point, I could strip a witch of magic for a month if they didn't obey the law.

She kept going. Dark demons hear my plea. By bone and blood, bring death and destruction...

Power pulsated against my skin, throbbing like a deep bass. I shook it off. Seriously? You're trying to kill me now? Fine. I'll shut you up another way. The charm on my cuffs wouldn't hold her long if she could raise that much bad ju-ju with just a few words. Time for plan B. I liked Plan B. It was fun.

I pinched the sneeze charm on my bracelet, rendering it to dust and blew it in her face. Being a prank, it didn't take an incantation, just some air to move it in the right direction.

She started sneezing too much to keep up with the curse and whatever power she'd raised went poof.

I, sneeze, sneeze, sneeze, won't sneeze, sneeze, sneeze, forget this. She evil-eye glared at me as snot streamed from her nose along with tears. I grabbed her phone, which had landed on the pallets too, and checked to see if it was still live streaming. It was. I held it up. Say hello to all your friends, Lydia.

She shrieked and sneezed at the same time, then tried to head butt me. I dodged her snot covered face and dropped her phone in the process. I stepped on it, too. Mostly by accident. Mostly. The screen crunched.

Whoops. Sorry about that. Didn't anyone tell you? A life of crime is hell on phones. Okay, that was a little bitchy, even for me. I'd make amends to the goddess later. For now, I grabbed her by the elbow. Let's find out if they have tissues in jail, shall we?

***

Things went smoothly after that. The fight seemed to go out of Lydia. Or perhaps she was just too busy sneezing. I loved those sneeze charms. They kept my skip traces off balance and made my job easy.

I shoved her into my old-school hearse—don't judge, coffin wheels were cheap and I was on a budget. Lydia gave my hearse a scorching look of disapproval between sneezes. I'd had covered the fading upholstery with poop emoji seat covers (be nice, it was on sale). The organizer on the hump between seats overflowed with all my bounty hunting tricks of the trade; zip ties, duct tape, first aid, you named it, I probably had it...somewhere.

I shoved Lydia into the passenger seat and she cringed when her fancy designer stilettos made contact with the overflowing garbage can I kept on the passenger side floor.

Hey, we can't all be criminals making millions. If you want a limo, try getting arrested in California or Vegas. Old limos were cheaper than hearses out west. Although most bounty hunters preferred SUVs. However, per our industry newsletter, three percent of bounty hunters had limos. Ten percent had hearses because it made it easier to transport vamps. The rest had the money for nicer wheels and just rented trucks to transport vamps. Maybe in a few years, I'd make enough for nice wheels and truck rentals, too.

Lydia rolled her eyes and managed a snort between sneezes.

I fastened the seat belt over Lydia, careful to avoid the spray from her sinuses.  Then I settled into the driver's seat. Before I put the hearse in drive, I covered Lydia's mouth with duct tape just in case the sneeze charm wore off.

Mission accomplished.

But my day wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Bounty hunting was always either really busy or deader than the people who'd previously traveled in my hearse. There was no in-between. If my day started out busy, it stayed busy and today was no different.

***

On my way out of the police station after dropping off Lydia, I ran into Detective St. John, the liaison assigned to me by the mayor of Cleveland.

Hey, Orion. You got a minute? He waved at me with a large hand. St. John ran tall and wide, but not fat. No, he was all muscle. He was also fairly nice to me, and sometimes even helpful. Humans could be prickly around supernaturals. Cops, in particular, seemed to not like supes much, but St. John struck me as too pragmatic for hate.

Yeah, sure. What's up? We stepped to the side, away from the stream of traffic coming and in and out of the station.

I've got a tip for you.

Yeah?

Sheridon Thorne didn't show for court today.

I groaned and rolled my eyes. I knew that werewolf would be trouble. He'd fought me hard. I'd had to use my taser on him and finally elephant tranq'ed  him when he wouldn't calm down. That was just to complete the bond that released him from jail. I didn't want to think about what he would do when I tried to take him back. Are you serious?

St. John nodded. I went to the hearing to monitor the case, and he never showed. I figured you'd want to know right away. His bond was pretty big.

Yeah. It was. Fifty Gs. I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. Thorne had robbed several antique stores and assaulted quite a few cops during his subsequent arrest. The courts didn't like supes who hit back. Shifters in particular were strong enough to kill with just one punch. The cops had tacked on every charge they could find. That's what happened when you put Cleveland's finest in the hospital.

Luckily no one had died, although I doubted Thorne saw it that way.

St. John cleared his throat. Let me know if you need anything.

I gave a friendly smile. I wanted St. John to like me. Thanks. I appreciate it.

Someone called St. John's name, and he turned away. I've gotta go. Got a meeting with the chief.

My third eye sent out a tingle that crawled up my spine and flicked the back of my skull. I wasn't one to have premonitions, but every now and again I got an inkling. Everything okay?

It's just those fuc—

My hand shot out before I'd even registered that I'd moved, and I pressed my fingers against his lips. Don't say that word.

His eyes went wide.  You mean fuc—

I pressed harder. Yes, that one.

He raised his hands in surrender, and I removed my fingers from his lips. Okay. I won't say it, but why?

It originates with the Goddess Freya. You're invoking bounty and fertility.

His eyebrows went up. Fertility?

It multiplies things, and the way you were using it, you were multiplying your troubles.

He pursed his lips and gave a slow nod.Freya, huh? Never heard of her. I thought it was all First Witch with you guys.

Freya, frig, freaking and...you know, the F word. I reduced centuries of magical language development to a few words. And First Witch is...history. Freya's more of a spiritual thing.  I tried to keep it simple. Yes, the First Witch was a big deal for all of Witchdom. She'd brought magic to the world and made the First Vampire and First Shifter. The goddess stuff was about feeling and focusing magic and tapping into whatever mysterious magic made the universe twinkle.

Well, I don't believe in your spiritual thing. He made air quotes with his fingers. And I'm not a supe so fuc—

I pinched his lips shut and glared at him in warning. You're in the presence of a witch. Be careful what you invoke. I let a touch of magic buzz from my fingers to his mouth. I couldn't bring the big guns, but I could zip and zap here and there.

He held up his arms again and I backed off. Sorry. I didn't realize how serious it was.

No problem. Now I held up my hands. No harm, no foul.

He nodded and gave me a 'we're good' smile. So if you can't say that, what do you say then?

Duck. Duck this, duck that. Motherducking, I waved a hand, whatever.

Like autocorrect? He chuckled.

I just shrugged. Yeah, that's why autocorrect does that.

His eyes widened as understanding dawned. Oh. For real?

For real. So what were you about to say? I held up a finger. But without the F word this time.

There's a weird string of murders. They want me to look at it, help decide if it needs to go to the Triad.

Are supes involved?

He shook his head. We don't have any evidence pointing to supes. Just weird shadows with red spots on surveillance footage. Like they're wearing hats.

Another tingle skittered up my spine. I rolled my shoulders to counteract it. I'd give it to the Triad. That seemed to make the tingle happy because it faded.

His gaze searched my face, suddenly calculating. Why do you say that? Do you know something?

St. John! A harsh voice barked the detective's name. Get your ass in here!

Hold that thought. I'll catch up with you later. He pointed a finger at me. I do want an answer to that question.

Yeah, sure. Call me. I waved as he hurried off. I had hurrying of my own to do.

There was no telling how much of a head start Thorne had on me. Sometimes people planned meticulous escapes, other times it was a last-minute attempt to dodge reality. I'd have to activate his tracking charm and see how far he'd gone.

To date, no one had gone farther south than Georgia or farther west than Illinois, but I kept hoping someday I'd get a skip trace who made it to Paris. Then I could expense the whole trip.

Maybe I'd take some of those motherducking monster Os along for fun. Paris was the city of love, right? Some sex magick atop the Eiffel Tower sounded like a plan to me.

Oh, I could send Lydia a post card. I'd heard mail was a morale boost for prisoners.

For now, it was time to hunt. No way would I let Sheridon Thorne get away.

Chapter Two

Damn werewolves. They always think they can run.

I'd gone home, grabbed the enchanted compass that connected to my tracking charms and the GPS on my phone. I spent the rest of the day driving all over Cleveland, meticulously visiting every place Thorne had been over the last twenty-four hours. He hadn't gone far, but he'd gone on a grand tour of Cleveland. Or at least it seemed that way.

I showed people his picture and walked every site hoping for a lead, but he'd left no trace. Except for my tracking charm, he was a ghost.

As night fell, the tracker led me to an empty warehouse on the bank of the Cuyahoga river where my GPS died without warning. I tapped the side of my phone and nothing. The compass had gone dark, too. The gadget was top-of-the-line bounty hunter gear that had cost me a small fortune. It wasn't supposed to stop like that, but no matter how I shook or tapped the thing, the screen remained dark.

I tossed the compass back into the organizer I kept on the hump between the driver and passenger side of the hearse. Might as well check out the warehouse. Maybe Thorne was still there. Maybe that's why the GPS had glitched.

I grabbed a flashlight, and double checked my weapons. Sometimes I took them off and forgot to put them back on again. The Glock was in a shoulder holster under my jean jacket, which was like wearing hell in the summer heat, but flashing a gun everywhere I went wasn't helpful. My knife was in a sheath tucked into my pants and the taser dangled from its carrying loop off my belt. The handcuffs went into my back pocket.

Sweating like a rising creek in the night's humidity, I edged into the warehouse. The chain locking the door was broken and the door itself hung at an odd angle off its hinges.  Someone had broken in and I'd bet money it was Thorne, my