LUCAS RUBBED HIS EYES.

It had been a long day and all of his staff had already gone home. He typed a few more patient notes on his laptop, closed it, then stood and stretched. He grabbed his keys, and exiting the clinic, headed for his car.

The sun appeared low in the horizon, grey-black clouds filtering the fiery light. A low rumble of distant thunder roiled the air. Lucas’ Jeep, the lone vehicle left in the parking lot, stood sentinel. He reached the Jeep, unlocked the door, and opened it. A blast of hot, stuffy air struck his face, and he left the door open to let the car’s interior cool off.

Suddenly, he felt cold metal press into his back. “Don’t move, don’t look around, Doc, or you’re going to lose a kidney,” a rough, male voice whispered in his ear.

His assailant jammed a black bag over his head, then jerked his arms back and zip-tied them. Blind, he was frog-marched to the passenger side of the Jeep. Hands patted him down, removed his keys and cell phone, then shoved him into the car seat. The door slammed and the SUV growled to life.

“Look, you don’t need to do this. If you need money, I can—”

“Shut up, Doc. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t say another word.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar and Lucas racked his brain to place it.

The SUV pulled out and rolled out onto the highway.

Tressalayne closed The Book of First Magic and took a sip of ice tea. Today she practiced on temperature—to heat and cool. She placed the glass of iced tea on the kitchen counter, stepped back, and raised the wooden sauce spoon she used for a wand.

In a pleasant, sing-song voice, she chanted and pointed at the tea. Condensation beaded the cold glass, but moments later, steam began to rise from the top, the ice cubes melting. Pleased, Tressalayne paused, pointed the spoon again, and chanted anew. The steam disappeared, and the sides of the glass frosted over.

“Yes!” she cried, arms raised in triumph.

The trill of the cell phone Lucas gave her interrupted the celebration. He often called her when he worked late, and she snatched up the phone, eager to share with him her latest success.

“Lucas, I—”

“This isn’t Doctor Beckett,” an unfamiliar voice interjected. “If you want to see him alive again and unharmed, you’ll listen and do exactly what I say.”

Stunned, Tressalayne looked at the phone. Is this a joke?

“Hello? Did you hear what I said?” the voice demanded.

Her heart rose to her throat. “Ye-yes. Please don’t hurt Lucas. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good, girl. Now listen carefully. Someone will pick you up. Come only with the clothes on your back. No cell phone or any other personal possessions. And lady?”

“Y-Yes?”

“If you contact the police or anyone else, we’ll mail your boyfriend back to you…one piece at a time.” The connection went dead.

Tressalayne stared at the cell. Moments later, it dropped from her numb fingers to tumble onto the floor. Tears spilled from her eyes. Please, please don’t hurt, Lucas, she thought over and over again.

She walked out to the porch and collapsed into one of the rocking chairs. Still and humid, the air lay heavy with the scent of rain. Chilled despite the muggy heat, Tressalayne hugged herself. While she waited, thoughts raced through her mind. Who took Lucas…and what did they want with her?

She swiped at the angry tears on her face. If they hurt Lucas or harmed one hair on his head, the mysterious caller and all his associates would pay and pay dearly!

She would make certain of it.

Lockstone studied the hospital through the window. The second story room at the inn gave him an excellent view of the front of the facility. He picked up his binoculars and watched an iron wagon with bright flashing lights approach and screech to a stop. “Emergency” in big, red script denoted the entrance. The back doors of the iron wagon banged open, and disgorged an elderly man lying on a small, wheeled bed. Two attendants rushed the man into the hospital, and they disappeared from sight.

Lockstone threw the binoculars on the bed. He observed the same scene many times the past day and night—with Crick and Sam Lunker nowhere to be seen. At some point he would have to press the issue—actually go inside the hospital to search for them—which meant he might have to ask questions about their whereabouts. Either way, it would be taking a risk. They thought him dead and he wanted to keep it that way. With their guard down it would be easier to follow them, and the last thing he wanted was to make them aware inquiries were made.

Even if Crick or Lunker showed up, the witch hunter still didn’t have a plan on how to tail them other than with the Harley. The best he could come up with was to shadow them so far behind, they might not notice him.

Might.

Lockstone’s gut clenched. He knew from what he’d been told by Mendoza and Gilbert that Crick was no fool. It was unlikely either he or Lunker would miss a large man on a noisy bike, no matter how far away.

With a frustrated sigh, the big witch hunter reached to retrieve the binoculars when his cell rang. Startled, he pawed in his pocket and fumbled for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, big guy! Mendoza here. How ya’ doing?” In the background, Lockstone heard Gilbert shout a cheery greeting.

“Anyway, you remember you asked us to tell you anything we found out about the woman Crick and Sam snagged? Well, we think we know where she is.”

The witch hunter almost jumped out of his boots. “Yes! Where is she?”

“At an old warehouse south of town. We grabbed and bagged some doctor and took him there. When we delivered the dude, we saw the creepy bitch. Sam’s on his way to get the doc’s girlfriend. He said Crick’s woman wants her for some reason.”

Puzzled, Lockstone wondered what possible reason Morganna could have with a healer’s mistress. Then it hit him.

“Wait! What is this woman’s name, the doctor’s girlfriend?”

There was a moment of silence before Mendoza answered. “Don’t really know, dude. We heard Sam mention it, but its some weird-ass name—”

“Tressalayne!” Lockstone roared.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s it.”

The witch hunter’s triumph quickly became tempered by a sobering reality. The coven is being rebuilt.

His thoughts raced. A coven on this world would be an unthinkable nightmare. Morganna’s death now became even more urgent. Without her, even if Tressalayne survived, the novice witch wouldn’t be able to constitute a new coven.

The compulsion spell still held, but he knew it had its limits. Time to test those limits.

“Can you take me to this warehouse and get me in unseen?”

A long pregnant pause followed and Lockstone feared he finally breached the boundaries of the spell.

Mendoza’s voice crackled in his ear. “Me and Gilbert think we need to wait until dark to sneak you in. That okay?”

A wolfish grin spread on the witch hunter’s face.

At long last the end of the Hunt was in sight.