Page 77 of Roaring Spell

“References to witch-shifter pairings. Historical records of claimings that strengthened the Warding Lines.” Her expression hardens. “The Preservers haven’t just been active in Mistvale for twenty years. They’ve had agents here for generations. Erasing history. Preventing unions. Making sure no one remembers what used to be normal.”

Generations of interference. Centuries of stolen knowledge.

“We need to confront her.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Tonight. Before she figures out how close we’ve gotten.”

“Agreed.” Anouk rises from her desk with the fluid grace of someone who’s already planning three steps ahead. “I’ll notify the Network. Caius can coordinate the arrest. We do this properly—no vigilante justice, no unnecessary risk.”

“And if she doesn’t come quietly?”

“Then we make her.” Anouk’s smile is cold. Professional. “I’ve been wanting to test some new containment spells. This seems like an excellent opportunity.”

Valesh’s house is dark when we arrive.

The respectable home in the quiet residential area of The Hollow looks exactly as it always has—well-maintained, unremarkable, the dwelling of a trusted community member with nothing to hide. Flower boxes on the windows. A welcome mat at the door. The aesthetic of approachable authority perfected over two decades.

But the windows are black. No lights. No movement. The mist curls around the building with unusual agitation, swirling in patterns that whisper of absence and betrayal.

“She’s not here.” Torin’s nostrils flare, his bear senses reaching for information I can’t perceive. “The scent is old. Hours, at least. Maybe since this morning.”

“She knew.” Dread coils through me. “She knew we were closing in.”

“Remember the watcher in the archives.” His voice is grim. “Whoever was outside last night—they reported back to her.”

We approach anyway. Caius and his wolves fan out around the perimeter, their movements precise and coordinated. Rhodes is documenting everything, his lion’s expression focused as he photographs the exterior. Aslan positions himself near the back entrance, ready to pursue if anyone tries to flee.

Anouk works the wards on the front door. They part easily—too easily. No resistance. No traps.

Because there’s nothing left to protect.

The interior is stripped clean. Furniture remains—she couldn’t remove everything without attracting attention—but drawers hang open, emptied of contents. Most hidden compartments in the walls hang open and empty—though not all. Hasty work. A fireplace shows evidence of recent burning; charred paper fragments flutter in the draft from the open door.

“She destroyed evidence.” Rhodes picks up a fragment, examines it. “Recent. Within the last few hours.”

“Thorough.” Anouk’s voice is tight with controlled anger. “Twenty years of positioning, and she walks away without leaving a trace.”

Except for one thing.

A note on the kitchen table, addressed in elegant script: For the weather witch.

I pick it up with trembling fingers.

You should have left when you had the chance. The third siphon activates at midnight. Find it if you can.

— Valesh

“Midnight.” I look at the clock on the wall. “That’s less than two hours.”

“She’s baiting you.” Torin’s hand closes on my shoulder, steady and grounding. “This is a trap.”

“Of course, it’s a trap. But if the siphon activates⁠—”

“Then we find another way to stop it. One that doesn’t involve walking into an ambush.”

“There is no other way.” I pull free of his grip, meeting his gaze with determination that surprises even me. “The siphon has to be in the Overgrowth. That’s where we lost her. Not my studio, like the map suggested—I understand that now. The studio was never a source. Just close enough to catch the backwash. The Overgrowth is where the actual wound is. If it reaches full power, an entire section of Warding Line collapses. The town is exposed. People could die.”

“People could die if you charge in unprepared.”

“Then I’ll be prepared.” I straighten my spine. “I’m going, Torin. With or without you.”