“Fuck. Is she okay?”
“Yeah. Luckily, I was there and got it countered. This witch is using some sort of cloaking spell that’s making her impossible to track.”
“I’m sorry,” he tells me. “Necromancy is some dark shit.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me.” I blink and get a flash of the deer that I sliced open. I shake my head.
“If I can help, I will,” he says.
“Thanks. I might have found a lead.” Well, Julian has. “Dealing with one problem at a time would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Easton laughs. “Yeah, it would be.”
“What about you and Melinda? How are you guys doing?”
“We’re…we’re hanging in there,” he says, and I feel bad for him. He and Melinda got kicked out of the group of hunters they used to run with because Easton refused to kill Lucas and me. Another hunter ratted him out, telling everyone he’s friends with a vampire and a witch.
I’ve always liked Melinda, though, and never held her brother trying to kill me against her. She was born into the hunter lifestyle, and though she won’t admit it, it’s not something she’d choose.
We make small talk the rest of the way to this club, which is located far off the road and hidden with a misleading sign saying that the gravel driveway takes you to a junkyard.
“Is this a bar?” I ask. The parking lot is full, and a few people—dressed in jeans and flannel, the typical hunter garb—hang out outside, smoking.
“Yeah. It’s called The Zodiac. There are a few of these all across the country.”
“What happens if someone who’s not a hunter tries to go inside?”
“They’d probably feel really uncomfortable and leave,” he says as he parks his big truck. “Though that’s if they can even find the place.”
“It’s cloaked with magic?”
He nods, turning off the truck and unbuckling.
“Really?” I arch my eyebrows. “You guys kill witches, saying we’re evil, but you use magic to hide your special hunter clubs?”
“It’s hypocritical, I know.”
“It’s fucking wrong!” Magic sizzles around my fingers.
“Easy, tiger. Don’t give yourself away. There are easily fifty hunters in there already, and that number is going to double soon.”
“I can handle fifty hunters,” I huff, though to be honest, that might be a little questionable. Easton just rolls his eyes and gets out, waiting for me to come around. “What’s my story?” I whisper, realizing we should have worked this out sooner.
“Story?”
“Yeah, I’m a hunter. What’s my story? I figure something tragic, right?”
“Sure.”
We pause outside the door, and I can feel the spells they used to cloak this place from the general public. It would only take a few carefully chosen words to undo it, and I’m so tempted right now.
Maybe on the way out. I need to get the name of the vampire who hired that hunter to go after me. Easton turns around and looks me up and down.
“You look good in plaid.” He winks and then turns back, opening the wooden door. The smell of beer and burgers hits me as soon as I walk in, making my stomach twist again. The place surprises me, though.
I expected some rundown, hillbilly bar, but this place is rather clean and modern.
“Follow me,” Easton says and grabs my hand.
“So my story is I’m your girlfriend?” I lean in, talking over the sound of music.
“Flavor of the week is more like it.”
“Hah. But fine, I’ll play. If you so much as try to cop a feel, I will curse you where you stand, and I won’t care who sees. And then you’d have my vampire master to deal with,” I say, pulling a face.
“Hilarious. And keep your voice down.”
We take seats at the bar, and Easton motions to a guy two seats down. “That’s him.”
“Really? He doesn’t look like a big, bad hunter.”
“I don’t think he is.” Easton flags down the bartender and orders us two beers. “Just pretend you like it,” he whispers, knowing I find beer to be disgusting. “Want anything to eat?”
I shake my head. “No, but water sounds good right now.”
“You’re still not feeling well?”
“I’ll be fine.”
I get a water along with the beer and suck on ice cubes while we wait for the right moment. Pretending to be drunk, Easton gets up and bumps into the hunter. The music is too loud to hear what they’re saying, but by Easton’s overexcited expressions, I can tell he’s acting impressed. He urges the hunter, who actually is drunk, up, and I know it’s time to make my move. I stick my hand in my purse, feel around for the potion vial, and turn my head down.
“Dicere verum,” I whisper and feel magic pulse through me. I pop the cork off the vial with one hand and grab my beer with another. Bracing myself, I take a big swig and do my best not to gag as it goes down. I needed to make room in the bottle for the potion, and I look around, making sure I’m not being watching, and quickly dump the potion in.