Free Heartache (The Twenty-Sided Sorceress Book 5) by Annie Bellet

relatives they bought games for. How many times I’d run into people at the grocery store or Brie’s or one of the pubs.
    “You didn’t think that was odd?” Hattie asked. “A man paying you to spy on a woman?”
    “Oh, we did, a bit. He said he was her father, and up until last year none of us had ever met him. But we all thought Jade was a witch, a solo practitioner like yourself, Hattie. He was just asking for updates on what she did, who she talked to. We figured we were going to keep tabs on her anyway, why not take the money? Peggy promised we would warn Jade if anything happened. Until, well, until we realized what you were.”
    “Then Peggy tried to run me out of town,” I said. “They know, I gave them the basic details.”
    “She knew you’d bring trouble down on us. We can’t be involved with sorcerers. Nothing good ever comes of that. And now she’s dead. He killed her, didn’t he? Took her heart. Oh my poor Peggy.” Joyce started crying again, sniffling and snorting into her kerchief. A tuxedo cat unwound itself from its perch in a cat tree by the front window and went over to her, pressing himself against her legs.
    “We stopped reporting to him,” she said after choking back a few more sobs. She scritched the cat’s ears. “Is that why he did this? I told her it was a bad idea. I told her.”
    “You have to get the coven out of town,” I said to Joyce, glancing at Hattie and Salazar. The agent and the detective were being very quiet for people interviewing a witness. “He’s not going to stop. Samir wants your powers, but I think he really wants your memories, your knowledge.”
    “Stop saying his name,” she whispered, looking around as though he might pop out of the shadows.
    “He’s not Voldemort,” I said more sharply than I meant. “He’s a man, an evil, awful person, but still just a man. His name isn’t going to summon him. Hell, who fucking knows if it is even his real name?”
    “You should never have come here,” Joyce said.
    “It’s about five years too late for that, lady. Have you contacted the rest of the coven? I’m serious. Wylde isn’t going to be a safe place for witches for a while.” I glanced at Hattie again as I said it. Peggy had known about her; that much was obvious, since Joyce knew who she was. And what Peggy had known, Samir now knew. My brain balked at the possibilities.
    “I already activated the phone tree, right after I called nine-one-one and asked for Hattie here.” Joyce pulled the cat into her lap.
    “How much does Samir know?” I asked her. “What did you tell him about me and my friends?”
    “Everything,” she said in a whisper, not meeting my gaze. “He knows about the Macnulty girl, her family. Those handsome twins. Your store. We told him whatever details he asked. It was all very mundane, harmless knowledge, really.”
    I stood up and yanked my phone out of my pocket. This was worse than I’d thought. He had Peggy’s memories, but he also had years of reports on me and my new life. Years to get to know where I went, what I did, whom I saw.
    Where I went.
    Harper. The Henhouse. Shit .
    As if by fucking magic, my phone rang, playing Harper’s song.
    I flicked it to answer and put it to my ear as dread turned my stomach into self-animating ropes.
    “Jade? They’re being attacked. Mom said there were men. At the house. Levi’s driving us there. Please, Jade. Come.” Harper’s voice cracked into a shriek.
    “On my way,” I said. I jammed my phone into my pocket and crossed the living room. “I need a ride,” I said to Salazar and Hattie as they followed me.
    “What is it?” Salazar asked as I threw open the front door.
    “Samir is attacking my friends. I have to get to the Henhouse B&B, do you know it?” I directed the last part at Hattie as I strode toward the SUV parked outside the crime scene next door.
    “I do,” she said, huffing as she tromped over the un-shoveled snow, her shorter legs sinking her