Blake's Pursuit

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Lock up? I’d say, burn the place down.”

“Not yet,” Wes replied. “We might still need some of this later. Besides, if Ronny told us the truth, then we’d better keep things the way they are until we’ve got Hannah. I’ll put a locking spell on the house when I leave.”

“Sounds good,” Samson agreed, then he said to the others, “Let’s move it.”

Blake nodded at Wes, then followed Samson and the others outside. He could only hope that what Ronny had said was the truth, and that Hannah was still alive, and would remain alive as long as her captors believed that Ronny was complying with their orders. But so far he didn’t believe Ronny. He needed proof.

33

Wesley waited until his colleagues had left and silence had descended on the house. A quick glance told him that it would be a little while before he left this place. There was a lot to investigate. But just in case Ronny’s associates were to show up unannounced, he decided to set up protective wards that would alert him to any intruder. Once the magic crystals were in place—one outside the door, and one outside each window—he went to work. Only another witch would sense the wards, a human or vampire wouldn’t even notice the crystals until it was too late.

Wes turned to the table, where Ronny had been mixing up the various herbs. There were several bags filled with strange dried leaves, measuring spoons, and various metal containers and other utensils. He looked around in the kitchen, sniffing. On the stove sat a large earthen pot with a lid.

He walked to it and lifted the lid, but instantly staggered back. The smell emanating from the disgusting-looking black sludge was vile. And he was no stranger to vile smells. He’d brewed enough awful-smelling potions in his life, but this concoction took the cake.

There was no way to test the brew here. He would have to take samples back to his lab. He opened his backpack and took a vial from it, snatched a clean spoon from one of the kitchen drawers, and scooped some of the black sludge into the vial, then sealed it tightly and put it in a plastic container so it wouldn’t get damaged in his bag.

“Well, then,” he murmured to himself and started examining each herb on the table individually. The Höllenkraut he recognized immediately. In the last twenty-four hours he’d read everything he could find about the plant. And the more he found, the more he was concerned. Some of the other herbs he could identify visually, others by their smell. He catalogued each of them on his notepad, and bagged samples. But there were several he didn’t recognize. Fortunately, thinking ahead, he’d packed his Herbal Companion book into his backpack, and now retrieved it.

He leafed through it and was able to identify all of the herbs Ronny had been using. Some seemed rather innocent: chamomile, for example. He shook his head. What effect would an innocuous herb like chamomile have in this dangerous concoction? Clearly it did something, but he couldn’t figure it out, just by looking at it. He’d have to find Ronny’s recipe book. Somewhere, he must have written down the exact proportions of each herb he used in the manufacture of the drug.

But no matter how many drawers he opened, how many things he turned over, and how many books he flipped through, nowhere could he find anything even remotely resembling a recipe. The closest he’d come to a recipe were the online notes Matt had discovered on Ronny’s computer. But it had been evident pretty quickly that the recipe on the computer was an early trial of the drug and was incomplete. Useless, other than that it had alerted him to the Höllenkraut.

He was packing his backpack with the various samples he’d taken, when there was a sudden flash outside the kitchen window. It was the ward he’d set up, alerting him to a visitor. Wesley jumped into action immediately, pulling his gun from the bag and barreling outside. But by the time he ran around the house, whoever had triggered the ward was gone.

He froze for a moment and peered into the darkness. He didn’t have a vampire’s sensitive hearing or eyesight, but as a preternatural creature, he could sense auras. It was how he recognized vampires. And how vampires recognized him as a witch.

And as a witch he could sense the faint impression of the person’s aura that still lingered. A preternatural creature, no doubt, though he couldn’t tell if it was a vampire. Nevertheless, he started running, hoping the trail would last long enough to let him catch up.

Wes charged through the forest, not caring that he sounded like an entire herd of elephants trampling through the woods. It didn’t matter. The aura trail became stronger every minute he was in pursuit of the stranger, which meant his endurance training at Scanguards was finally paying off. Whoever it was, Wes was gaining on him.

However, even though moonlight now shone through the less dense vegetation, he still couldn’t see anybody. He could hear him now, though. Dry twigs were breaking under the person’s feet. Wes used those sounds and the aura trail to keep close behind his target, sucking more air into his lungs as he continued the chase.

The stranger was running uphill now, and from what he could see and hear, he had just reached the peak. The moonlight shining onto that spot should silhouette him against the background, but Wesley saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Impossible,” he murmured to himself, and raced uphill.

When he reached the spot where the person had been only seconds earlier he looked down the other side of the hill. He saw twigs and leaves flying, as if somebody were hurtling down the hill in a hurry, but there was nobody. Nobody visible anyway.

Wes barreled down the hill, careful not to fall. If he broke his neck, it wouldn’t help anybody.

At the bottom, he finally saw what the person was heading for. A wooden shack. Its door flapped. The stranger must have just entered it. Wes charged toward it, kicking the door in with one foot, while aiming his gun into the middle of the wooden hut.

But this wasn’t an ordinary shack, he realized immediately.

At the far end of it was a stone wall with an opening larger than an ordinary door. Past it, he finally saw the person he’d chased. The stranger whirled around, their gazes meeting for a moment.

“Destroy it,” the stranger said.

Stunned, yet still pointing the weapon at the man dressed in dark clothes and a long black coat, Wes asked automatically, “Destroy what?”

“The drug. It’ll only play into the demons’ hands.”

Wes hesitated. “Who are you? Identify yourself!” Because this man was no vampire.