Five

Iris drove through the open gates of the mansion in Beverly Hills and parked by the water fountain, brushing past the security.

The outside of the home was large and gaudy with stucco peach walls with a white trim around the windows. There was a swing on the front porch with floral pillows, currently occupied by two fluffy brown Pomeranians. The driveway was filled with a couple of Aston Martins, a few Lamborghinis, and a Ferrari or two. Nothing that Iris hadn’t seen before.

“So, you ready for this?” Iris asked Arlo as he fidgeted in the passenger’s seat.

“Ready for what?” he said, pensively. “I’m still trying to figure out what we’re doing here.”

“See the fog hovering over the house?” Iris pointed her finger. “Bruma. It means there’s witch activity here, which is not good, especially since this mansion belongs to an eighteen-year-old heiress.”

He tilted his head. “Why here? Why would they want to be at an heiress’s house?”

“Because this heiress is total witch bait,” she said, matter-of-factly. “She’s snobby, shallow, and awful. The witches just can’t help themselves.”

“Witch bait?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Yes. A human who makes the perfect sacrifice for a witch.” She paused, trying to find the right words. No one ever said explaining the witch world was easy. “Look, I know that this is like a bazillion-years-old, and a total chick flick, but have you seen Mean Girls?”

“Hello? Hasn’t everyone?” he spewed. “I don’t care how big your balls are, that’s one of the best movies ever.”

“All right.” Iris grinned. The new recruit was pretty funny. “Well, Regina. You know, the totally awful queen bee? She’s perfect witch bait. Make sense?”

Arlo nodded. “I guess. But why do they have to sacrifice?”

“Okay, you know what, there’s just no time,” she snapped. “Why don’t you just stay here and get back to practicing your One Direction audition or whatever it is you do, and I’ll go handle business.”

Arlo looked like he just saw a ghost. “You’re actually going in there alone?”

Iris groaned and gave a quick pat to her side, making sure her knife was in place. “They’re not going to attack me in front of all these people. Plus, I’m a Hunter. I think I can handle it.”

She knew she was breaking protocol by engaging a witch without notifying Knox, but she knew he wouldn’t answer his phone.

She locked the car door and approached the home, leaving Arlo behind. He stared after her, his nose pressed against the window like a lonely kid. “Don’t touch anything,” she mouthed.

Arlo smiled.

The interior of the mansion was lavish. Polished marble floors, towering pillars, and a crystal chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Butlers dressed in black suits and bow ties carried silver trays filled with drinks and finger foods, offering them to passing guests. The décor was elegant, but the techno music blaring in the background was evidence of the spoiled youth that lived inside.

It was crowded, the mark of a successful party. The guests were laughing, talking, and enjoying the free food and drinks. None of them even seemed to care that their actress friend was murdered just a few short hours ago.

Iris scanned the crowd. One young girl in a shimmery white dress leaned over the lofty second-story banister, letting out a whoop as she toasted to nobody in particular. She spilled her drink on some of the guests below, none of whom seemed very pleased about it. She was obviously wasted and was also probably being watched by one of the witches.

Then she saw her, floating in the sea of faces.

Belinda.

The only witch daring enough to show her face at a Hollywood party right after being accused of killing an A-list Oscar winner. Sure, these people at the party didn’t know that Belinda was the walking monstrosity that murdered America’s sweetheart. Still, no other witch in Hollywood would be so bold. But Belinda wouldn’t miss a party if her life depended on it. Literally.

Belinda was dressed to the nines in a fitted little black dress that made her lavender eyes pop. Her shiny silver heels accented her tan skin, and her blond hair shimmered almost as much as her diamond bangles. She was sipping a martini as she prowled through the mansion, sniffing the posh Hollywood stars for a potential sacrifice.

Iris also noticed Levana, Belinda’s witchy sidekick who stuck to her side like spanx. Like Belinda, Levana looked only eighteen, but she originally came from Mali, Africa centuries ago. And like all witches, her beauty was nothing short of perfect. She had long honey locks, brown eyes, and seamlessly smooth brown skin.

The witches saw Iris and slithered through the crowd.

“Don’t you just hate a bad outfit?” Belinda said, smiling around her martini glass.

“Why are you here, Belinda?” Iris demanded in a blunt voice. “Haven’t you done enough killing today?”

“Do you see her dress?” Belinda pointed to one of the partygoers who was wearing a tight, bright yellow leather dress, with bronze zippers zigzagging across the waist. “You’d think with her millions she’d have better taste, right?”

“Look, I see what you’re doing here,” Iris snapped. “But a bad taste in fashion is no reason to get killed.”

Belinda cackled softly. “You want to know what kind of person that girl really is?”

“No. Not really,” Iris said firmly.

“Here’s the thing, Hunter—I’ve been trailing her for weeks. She’s only seventeen, filthy rich, she hooks up with all her friends’ boyfriends and her ‘hola’ speaking maids were left with bruises on their arms and faces last week after little miss had a fit over how they cleaned her pink Ferrari. Still think she doesn’t deserve it?”

Iris could feel her heart thrumming inside her chest. Nothing angered her more than “the help” being treated badly by the rich, especially immigrants who were working so hard just to get by. But would she let the witches kill her so they could steal her youth? Absolutely not.

Iris met Belinda’s gaze and stood taller. “Look, I don’t care that she’s a bitch, she still doesn’t deserve to be killed by a scum-of-the-earth creature like you.”

“Hm,” Belinda scoffed. Her eyes trailed down to Iris’s boots and slowly skimmed their way up to her pants, her jacket, and then to her face.

“What are you even doing here?” She slid closer. “You’re never going to be anything special. You know that, right? The Hunters don’t take you seriously because you’re a girl, the witches don’t take you seriously because the Hunters don’t, and to top it off this is L.A. Unless you’re full of Botox and halfway anorexic, nobody cares. My advice? Quit while you’re ahead, sweetie.”

Iris locked eyes with Belinda, who was glaring at her with the look of death. Levana giggled and clapped her hands, like she was hoping a fight would break out.

“The craziest part,” Belinda continued, “is that these people, these awful people that you protect, wouldn’t bat an eye at treating you like you an insignificant loser.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Just don’t get in my way, little girl. I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”

A chill trickled down Iris’s arm and she couldn’t find her words.

“Belinda, our ride’s here,” Levana said, sounding slightly disappointed.

Iris glanced out the window to find a stretch limousine full of young boys who looked like they were either heavily intoxicated or spelled.

“Well, we’re off to another party, little Hunter,” Belinda cooed. “Tell your brother we said ‘hi.’” Belinda and Levana strolled toward the limousine.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Iris shouted as the witches walked away. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.

The queen of the Hollywood Coven just glanced over her shoulder and grinned before walking out the door.

Iris ran to the window and watched as the boys in the limousine screamed with delight when Belinda and Levana neared. Belinda snapped her fingers and the door swung open. That’s when Iris noticed the boys’ eyes. They looked milky and glazed over. Definitely spelled. The bruma trailed behind the limousine as it left, and Iris released her grasp on the golden knife.

The party was safe, at least for now. Iris was about to leave but stopped suddenly. The hairs on her neck bristled and she quickly spun around. Another witch?

Not quite. It wasn’t a witch; it was a boy. Well, he was more like a man. He looked at least eighteen and weaved through the dancing crowd like a shark in open waters. He was tall with piercing blue eyes and dirty blond hair. His skin was lightly bronzed and his face shadowed with scruff. Iris couldn’t help but stare at his bulging biceps that were inked with tribal tattoos. Something about him seemed familiar, but she was certain she’d never seen him before. He locked his gaze on her and she froze uncomfortably.

Iris’s stomach jumped and her body tightened as she peered at the stranger and backed closer to the exit, bumping into a table in the process.

He smiled, moving toward her in slow, confident strides. She wanted to walk away but her legs turned to cement pillars.

“Hi,” he said, the Scottish accent in his voice barely audible against the cacophonous backdrop. “I’m Silos.” He flashed her a wide grin and extended his hand.

She swallowed hard. “Um, I’m Iris.” She shook his hand. “Our names kind of rhyme. You know, Iris, Silos.”

The words just burst out. Luckily, he laughed.

“I’m sounding like a complete idiot,” she said, embarrassed and flushing pink.

“Quite the contrary, actually.”

His voice was silky yet gruff, and her legs turned to quicksand. Iris was always a sucker for accents.

“Look, love, I’m just going to be blunt with you.” His eyes turned to stone. “I know about your visions in the Hollywood Cemetery.”

She gasped. This had to be some sort of misunderstanding.

“What? How do you—”

“I’m having them too.” His face went solemn.

“You’re having these?” she asked with a pensive look.

“Aye. So we need to meet and talk. Another time, perhaps? Judging by your outfit you’re either a spy or into some sort of freakish role playing—”

“Okay.” Iris crossed her arms. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said sternly. “If those are my only options, I’ll go with spy.”

“Fair enough.”

He moved forward and leaned into her. Iris’s chest felt heavy and the room turned fuzzy. She blinked her eyes, focusing back on his face.

“Well,” he said softly. “I will be at The Coffee Bean on Wilshire in Beverly Hills all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and we can talk.” He paused. “But Iris, you can’t tell anyone,” he said in a hushed tone. “You have to promise me that.”

Silos hovered before her, and her brain started to spin. More than anything, she was surprised by how tall he was. He was at least six feet, maybe more. But then again, Arlo was pretty tall too.

Arlo, she suddenly remembered. I need to get back to Arlo.

“Oh,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Iris hustled out the door and quickly made her way back to the car, stealing one last glance at Silos who gave her a playful smirk.

Today was totally strange: A starlet died. A new (and really cute) Hunter was recruited. An impromptu party crash led to an encounter with the most dangerous witch in L.A. And, she had a really odd conversation with a hot stranger.

Welcome to Hollywood.