Vanessa nodded. “It could have been any one of us that pinged on his radar.”

With a sigh, Danica shook her head. “But I’m the one who’s spiking like crazy. My output is off the charts lately.”

“At least you admit there’s a problem.” Clem tried to sound neutral, but she was angry and scared in equal measure.

How the hell do I put this cat back in the bag?

If anything happened to her coven sisters, she wouldn’t be able to live. Clem loved all of them so much, even if she wasn’t the most demonstrative, and the idea of anyone hurting them exacerbated her headache. Visceral fright lodged in her brain like a rusty railroad spike. To make matters worse, her cousin didn’t even acknowledge her words.

Danica turned to Ethel. “You said there was a hunter here in the thirties. Did your mother tell you how they got rid of him?”

“First, we protect this place so he can’t sense our workings,” the old woman said. “And then we do a joint casting to confirm if he’s the real deal.”

“Divination is your forte,” Vanessa said.

Ethel nodded. “That’s why I’ll be taking the lead. Priya, can you lock the apartment? You’ve lived here for years, and your imprint is stronger than Kerry’s.”

“Understood. I’m on it.” Priya bolstered her wards in each room, creating a secure site that shouldn’t leak any sign of their workings.

Leanne confirmed the seal was solid, then Kerry and Priya procured the implements Ethel requested, white candles and purified water in a copper bowl, along with various ceremonial herbs. The old witch took the lead, intoning softly as she scattered the carnation and mugwort, finishing with sea salt for purity. Without prompting, they joined hands around the table, allowing Ethel to pull from their energies as she peered into the glimmering water.

At first, it was cloudy as she whispered, “Tell us, spirits, true or false, false or true. Him we seek and him we find. Let none hinder this quest of mind. Hunter, the water reveals the truth of you.”

The liquid roiled inside the bowl, gentle bubbles that slowly clarified into the image of a large man reclining in a vinyl chair. A leather jacket was slung over the back, and he was drinking a beer in a cheap motel room. He was big, but more, he radiated intensity and determination. At his feet lay a battered leather satchel. He wore battered boots and torn jeans. From head to toe, he promised danger, and if that wasn’t enough, he was ruggedly appealing too. Strong jaw, dusted with dark stubble, a shock of hair so black, it gleamed, and his eyes were an eerie silver gray. And though it was impossible, he stirred as they gazed on him, glancing around as if he felt the invisible weight of their attention.