Email this sample to a friend

And supernaturals comprised the majority of bidders. The smattering of normal humans, aka “Norms,” was most likely Family, scoping the estate for their supernatural relatives.

After another half hour, the auction of Grandma’s possessions ended as quietly as it had begun. No other members of the Petrov clan had bothered to show. Probably a good thing since Bebe had the urge to turn every one of them into newts.

Grief mingled with anger and regret in her heart as she dodged the confused milling of the crowd after the auction. A quick glance assured her no one watched her while she sidled next to the wardrobe. She could cast a blurring spell to cover her, but the receiver had boasted that the auction house carried the best spell-detection charms available. Jail time and losing her medical license on a possible fraud charge wasn’t worth testing the power of said charms.

She eased the door open, and the silky grain of the wood triggered old memories. Years ago, it had been her favorite place to hide, especially after her parents’ deaths. The pain had been too much for a child to bear. Now, Grandma was gone, and old wounds she thought long buried ached with fresh agony.

Anger flared again at both Grandma’s stubbornness and her two cousins’ greed and lust for power. She had been close to both of her cousins once. Damn their idiocy that had forced her to return to San Francisco. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t care about the family fortune or about power within the coven. She wanted to be back in Africa. At least Doctors Without Borders didn’t consider her a pawn in some stupid game.

She ran a hand along the one of the doors smoothed from generations of use and tugged it open. Someone had to retrieve the ancient tome secreted inside the wardrobe. If Grandma’s Book fell into the wrong hands, the results would be disastrous—for everyone, not just her family. She stooped to unlatch the secret compartment at the bottom of the antique.

“What are you doing to my furniture?”

Bebe lost her balance at the unexpected tenor behind her and fell on her butt. Following the gray pinstripe-encased legs upwards, she met the eyes of her bidding foe. Pressure caressed her shields and receded. The weasel had been trying to read her mind the entire auction.

Previous Page Next Page Page 3 of 286