“I will. Seamus gave me a reference book yesterday at his house.”

“That was nice of him,” she says, her tone accusatory.

I hesitate to share what happened, but I need to tell someone. Sharing the revelation about the Irish professor with Archie is out of the question for now. He’ll say I should limit my interactions with him. If I’m going to have any chance in hell of discovering what the being is, I must have access to all the resources.

“Something happened while I was there. I tripped over his cane, and he caught me. He stared into my eyes like his entire life depends on my existence. I think he’s in love with me.”

“Oh, I was joking,” Ronnie says with a wave of her hand. “We know he is devoted to protecting you. He promised your aunt. You’re reading into his reaction.”

“No, I’m not. He said, and I quote, ‘I am so incredibly grateful to you for reigniting my soul.’ Those were his exact words.”

Ronnie’s jaw drops. “Wow. How beautiful.”

“That’s your response? What am I gonna do?”

“How should I know, Gwyn? Don’t spend more time alone with him than needed, I guess.”

“Well, a lot of help you are.”

She cackles. “I’m here to please.”

We’ve arrived at the road that connects the trails and walk to catch the path back. I hate hiking in this section because the bog overflows and creates muddy patches when it rains. I haven’t been through here for months. The gnats are so thick in the summer evenings, they cover the area like a veil, and I end up inhaling the pests. Not my idea of a leisurely stroll. When we approach the tiny pond, the gnats are, in fact, in residence. However, they are sparse, and we bat at them as we pass the pond full of lily pads. Ronnie gestures at the floating plants.

“I love when the water lilies bloom in the summer. They’re so pretty—like white stars on a bed of green.”

“Seen through a veil of black gnats. Hard to enjoy the blooms when you’re waving your hands all around to keep them out of your eyes, nose, and mouth.”

“True. Use bug spray in the future. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

The snapping of wood echoes in the thicket, and I stop. I examine the area on the other side of the bog, but the trees are still, as if frozen in time. Ronnie turns around, grimacing and rubbing her abdomen.

“What are you staring at?”

“I thought I heard something across the pond. Nothing, I guess.”

We take a few more steps, and a warm aura overwhelms me, grasping at a spot in my core. I clutch my stomach. The rustling of fallen leaves resounds nearby, and I scan the bog. The water between the lily pads reflects like a sheet of glass.

“Did you hear that?” I ask, touching my flushed cheeks.

“Nope. Nothing. Hot flash?”

“No. I haven’t had one for a few weeks.”

“Well, your face looks like you ran a marathon.”

My gut pinches again, and I rub my stomach.

“You should really go to a GI specialist. These gas attacks can’t be good.”

“I think it’s the collagen I’ve been putting in my morning tea. Bloating.” In my peripheral vision, I’m sure I catch someone running through the trees across the bog. “Did you see that?”

“What?” Ronnie scans the area. “There’s nothing in there, Gwyn. Probably deer.”

I take a few steps toward the woods.

“Don’t you dare go in there,” my friend says, squinting. “I’m not in the mood to find another dead body.”

I chuckle. “You’re right. The deer have multiplied like bunny rabbits. Hunting season will be here soon enough. Let’s get back before the rain starts.”

We head toward the trailhead, walking at a break-neck pace. Or in Ronnie’s case, waddling. When we reach the entrance to the trail, it begins to drizzle. We pull up our hoodies and continue on to Main Street, hoping to get to our cars before the stormy skies dump on us. As we turn the corner at the Raven Pub, we discover Bearsden Police vehicles, their red and blue lights flashing. They’re parked on the road in front of the local shipping and packing store next to Mitchell Hall. Ronnie uses her baby bump to push through the throng of nosy townies, and I follow closely behind.

In the center of the crowd is Detective Jack Schmidt, comforting a woman with shoulder-length, blond hair. Officers, including O’Connor and Wilson, question people off to the side. I lean over to a man next to me.

“What happened? She doesn’t appear injured,” I say, a wrinkle forming in my brow.

“She isn’t hurt,” he replies. “Someone swiped her toddler in broad daylight on the street when she stopped to check out the costumes hanging outside the thrift store. The mom said she let go of her hand for a few seconds. The sidewalks were really packed this morning—Halloween sidewalk sales.”

Ronnie gasps. “Oh, my gods. Someone must have seen who took the child.”

He shakes his head. “Happened too fast. One witness said it was a woman with platinum blond hair. She didn’t catch her face.”

A twinge snaps inside, and I sense a trail of magic. But there’s something different about it. Are the Baby Nabbers using a witch to snatch these poor babies?

Chapter eightA Devoted Student

By noon on Sunday, the weather clears, and the high is expected to hit 77 degrees. If it wasn’t the end of October, I would pull out a pair of shorts and enjoy the late Second Summer. But I can’t find it in me to be excited amidst the tragic kidnappings in our town. As I’m getting ready for work, Archie calls. I swipe the green icon on my phone.

“Good morning, my love. Well, almost afternoon now,” he says. “Were you able to sleep?”

“Yeah, but the kidnapping and what I felt last night left me unsettled. I’m sure I sensed magic in the area—different from witchcraft.”

“The online news article I read stated no witnesses saw the face of the woman, only her blond hair from behind. Did Ronnie notice any residue?”

“No. But she said her pregnancy is affecting her skills. Her hormones are out of whack. Her baby isn’t even born yet, and she’s so stressed over these kidnappings.”

“Hard not to be. Are you sure you weren’t feeling Seamus’s presence?”

“No. It wasn’t the residue of a cat sith witch.” I haven’t told him about the Irish professor’s most recent comments. He’ll advise me to stop meeting with him.

“Your initial assessment is most likely correct, then. A rogue witch.”

“My witch’s intuition isn’t strong enough to identify the source, and I can’t take a chance with the crystal grid in the short term. I want to set up a time with Agnes for some training. For all I know, I’m sensing my own magic trail.”

“I wish you well, Gwyn. But her tutoring is unconventional.”

“I’m not a neophyte now. I can handle what she throws at me.”

He laughs into the phone so loudly I pull my cell away from my ear.