Free Witch in the Wind (Bandit Creek Books) by Brenda M. Collins

gave his hand a shake to loosen his grip. “But we don’t know that he got the first one. The one at the Old Gwynn Place. That’s the key question now. Did the thief get it from Devlin and Eavan before he killed them? Or after?” He’d like to think their bravery paid off, and they were able to protect the hiding place. On the other hand, they were dead and the thief wasn’t. He needed to check out the house to be sure but—
    After reviewing his notes, one thing was clear to Marcus. It was time to report to the Witches Council. He didn’t want to think too hard about why he’d delayed this long. Guilt nicked his conscience. Was it my fault the thief had time to hit the bank? What about Avy? What do I tell Council about her? Is she even part of this case? She was in Seattle when her parents were killed—doesn’t even know what the amulets are.
    Marcus flipped his notebook closed with one hand and used the other to rub the ache that throbbed just under his rib. The Witches Council had guided his race peacefully for millennia. Until 1911 when Devlin Gwynn and Eavan Kemena dared to change the rules.
    “Time to go, Bus—” Marcus shook his head. The air around him was still. The yard and street were empty. To disappear unnoticed around a mortal was one thing but to pull it off with a warlock—
    He almost wished he could take the familiar with him to talk to the Witches Council. No way to anticipate how they’d take the news of a Gwynn offspring. Avy. It was the first time he’d ever felt the need for backup on home ground.
    He stood and shrugged off the stiffness from hunching over his notes.
    It was time —p ast time —t o present the facts.
    He walked into the shadow of the mature walnut tree looming near his side fence.
    He pictured Lost Lake, focused his energy and stepped into a current of air.
     
     

Chapter Eight
    Avy pulled up to the front of her house and put her car in park. Busby immediately leapt off the porch and ran towards her. After gett ing out of the car, she let herself enjoy his enthusiastic welcome. “I was only gone for a few hours, sweetie.”
    She rubbed his ears and buried her face in his neck. He smelled of the woods surrounding the house. He must have spent the day chasing rabbits. She pulled a twig from his coat.
    After a quick supper for herself and Busby, she wandered back into the living room. The late afternoon light cast shadows in the corners that seemed to twitch and sway with life. The room was a dim memory of the warm family gathering place of her childhood. Would she ever again see her world through sunlight, rather than the smoky gloom she was slogging through now?
    With her parents gone, she had to fight hard to believe that time would ever come. She shook off the melancholy that continued to hang over her like morning fog on a mountain top. She looked at the stack of loose papers she’d piled on her father’s desk.
    “It’s time to do more than tidy in here.”
    She strode over to the desk and sat down. Busby followed and sat beside her chair, facing the foyer as if on guard duty.
    It didn’t take her long to find the piece of paper she’d seen the night before. She’d been right. There was only the one mention of jewelry. Nothing else that would fit, or need to be in, a security box. The records showed her parents had kept the security box at the bank for decades. She’d have to look at the signature files there to know how often, if at all, her parents had accessed the box.
    She folded the list and tucked it in her front jeans pocket, then picked up the next handful of papers. Scanning through, she stopped at two papers that were clipped together. One was a security box receipt for the Ellis Bank in town. The second paper was also for the Ellis Bank but looked quite different from the first. Upon closer inspection, she confirmed it was also for a security box at the Ellis Bank. But the date on this one was 1911 and the box was for a branch in Seattle.
    “They