Hollywood Witch Hunter

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Prologue

The Witch Hunting Book of Stories

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Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, a beautiful witch named Belinda

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arrived in Hollywood in search of fame and fortune. Although Belinda was considered royalty

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among her kind, this witch longed for more. She wanted to be an actress on the silver screen. But on one gloomy night at a glamorous after-party full of stars and starlets, Belinda lost her dream

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role to a younger woman. Humiliated and hurt, Belinda’s once tender heart turned to icy stone.

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Consumed by bitterness and rage, she cast a curse upon her species, requiring each and every witch to steal the youth and beauty of mortal women through ritual sacrifice, or

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rapidly age and die. She remained in Tinseltown to become the ruler of the Hollywood Coven,

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recruiting ever more witches from the far corners of the world to join her sinister plan. But these

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witches didn’t fly on broomsticks or wear pointed hats. No, these witches used their powerful

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spells to control minds, time, and even the weather. And although the mortals continued their day-to-day lives, Belinda’s incessant demand for sacrifice had placed the entire town in danger.

But one day, everything changed. An army of men who called themselves “hunters” came to The City of Angels determined to protect humans from the witches’ wrath. And with that, the rivalry between the witches and the hunters began—a secret war that would cost many innocents their lives and continue for decades.

Through the years, Belinda’s struggle for youth, power, and beauty has been repeatedly foiled by the ever-persistent Witch Hunters. But the evil witch remains as clever as she is beautiful.

While some things change, one truth will endure: never trust a witch . . . especially

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in Hollywood.

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There are two types of people in Hollywood: the hunted and the hunters.

Iris Maria Bently was born to be a Hunter.

She always knew her family was different. Not just because they lived in a lavish

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mansion in the Hollywood Hills, or because they were always rubbing elbows with the rich and

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famous. But because of the many secrets surrounding her family’s business.

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What kind of secrets exactly? Nothing she could pinpoint. Just lots of whispers behind

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locked doors, echoes of screams, and the occasional lifeless body marked with a silver star that

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would have left most children with nightmares. But not Iris.

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She was not only noticeably faster than every other child at her elementary

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school, she was stronger too. Iris was always told her dad came from an ancient line of knights

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and that the men in her mom’s family had been famed Colombian boxers. While that was indeed

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mostly the truth, even Iris’s stout genetics couldn’t explain why she saw heavy fog and rain, even

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when her schoolmates and teachers swore it was clear and sunny.

But on her sixteenth birthday Iris's eyes were opened. The fog no one else could

see? The random downpours that only hit her family? The dead bodies with the silver markings?

All the work of witches. And if she could see these things, that meant Iris carried the Hunter gene, just like her father and her older brother Knox.

She wanted to become a Hunter, and no one, witch or human, would be able to stop her.

But of course, becoming a Hunter would be no easy feat. She was told she was crazy, and was even forced to spend several days in UCLA’s psychiatric ward. Several months went by, and she continued to push for answers.

“Dad, why can’t I be on the Hunter team?” she asked, almost daily. “I mean, Knox gets to do it!”

“I told you, honey, there’s no team. Those things you think you can see are just in

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your head. There are no witches, or Hunters. No fog. And the only team your brother’s on is his

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competitive soccer team. That’s it.”

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Iris refused to believe him, especially since she’d never seen Knox so much as

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touch a soccer ball.

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So she kept an eye on Hollywood. She learned all the signs, including bruma, a

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magical fog that indicated a witch was near, which always seemed to crop up at popular

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shopping spots like The Grove, Rodeo Drive, and the Hollywood and Highland Center.

Iris was finally fed up with the lies, secrets, and false claims of insanity. She

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followed a trail of bruma to a senior prom at Melrose Academy—the richest and most exclusive

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private school in Beverly Hills.

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The closer she got to the auditorium at Melrose, the more she felt the music move through her body. This always happened to her. It was as if the sound pulsed through her ears and flowed all the way down to her toes. The bass resonated with her heartbeat, and the higher the melody climbed, the more it excited her. Like a battery recharging from a nuclear reactor.

When she stepped inside, the flashing lights blinded her. The room was filled with a sea of sequined dresses and teens sneaking liquor. There was a couple making out in the corner, and she couldn’t take her eyes off a group of girls dancing like they were in an R&B music video.

Their elation was contagious and Iris let out a laugh as she walked toward a table filled with C-grade finger foods and candy-red punch.

Then, she stopped.

In the center of the room stood a girl with platinum hair. She shot shards of ice from her fingertips that clung to the ceiling, forming a circle of needle-sharp icicles above the partying teens. No one seemed to notice except for Iris, who shivered from the sudden cold.

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“What are you doing here?” a girl said, appearing out of nowhere. “I didn’t expect to see

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you, so soon.”

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Iris didn’t know the girl but was immediately stunned by how pretty she was. Her

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lavender eyes burned through the darkness, outshining even the blinding strobe lights. She was

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wearing a short, fitted white dress, which complemented her golden locks and what appeared to

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be tanning-booth skin. Iris assumed she was one of the school’s seniors, or possibly the child of

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some big-name celebrity.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” Iris asked, as she examined the girl’s face.

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“Technically, no.” She smirked, flipping her long hair.

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“Okay,” Iris huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

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“Well, I’ve been watching you for freaking-ever. At least it feels that way. And I

have to say . . . I’m kind of bored with you, Iris. I guess I just thought you’d be a bit more interesting by now.”

Iris flinched. “How do you know my name?”

“Wow.” She giggled. “Let’s see, how do I put this?” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been watching you because you’ve always seemed . . . different.”

Iris rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Different, how?”

“Just. Different.” The girl slowly circled behind Iris. “You see,” she whispered in her ear, “I know you can see the icicles the ‘Elsa reject’ is making on the ceiling. I also know you can see the bruma in the auditorium and floating down the halls. And, I know that if you were honest with yourself, you’d want to kill her.”

Iris’s breath caught in her throat. Her body tensed and she felt a flurry of hives creeping up her neck. “You don’t know anything,” she snapped, turning around to face the girl.

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“Who are you?”

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“That’s not important. See Miss Bratty Prom Queen over there?” She pointed to a

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girl on the dance floor who was wearing a sparkling crown, sandwiched between two very eager

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guys who looked like Chihuahuas in heat. “The witch is going to make that prom queen her

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supper.”

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“Supper?”

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“Uh, yeah. She’s about to sacrifice her, duh? Maybe supper was a bad choice of words .”

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“So it’s true. She really is a . . .” Iris paused as her heart raced against her chest.

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five-letter word.”

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“Say it, Iris.” The girl’s eyes rolled in the back of her head. “Say my favorite little

“She’s a witch.”

“Freaking. Bingo.”

The room started to spin and Iris firmly planted her feet, stopping herself from

falling over. She watched the prom queen exit the dance floor. Seconds later, the witch followed suit.

“Better keep an eye on the prom queen, Hunter. That witch is up to no good.”

Hunter. Iris wasn’t a Hunter. But she followed the witch anyway, out the school’s doors and to a secluded corner of the parking lot. The bruma was overpowering and Iris could barely see through it.

She clutched the gold knife hidden in her jacket pocket, the one she’d stolen from her father’s desk. She steadied her step and cautiously approached the witch from behind.

“Don’t move!” Iris ordered the witch. She drew her knife and pointed it toward

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her. The gold blade glimmered in the moonlight. The witch was inches away from the

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intoxicated high schooler.

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“Oh my god!” the prom queen screamed. “Are you like a total psycho?! Why do

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you have a knife?” She shot Iris a confused look and slowly stepped forward. “Wait. Are you

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related to my maid Consuela? I get the impression her kids are into some really bad stuff.”

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“What? No. I’m not related to your maid!” Iris fumed. “I’m trying to save you

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from her.” She pointed to the witch. Her voice was shaky. “You need to get out of here, now!”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” The witch snatched the prom queen’s wrist with a firm

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grip and the young girl froze. Literally. Her stiff body turned a dark shade of blue and moments

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later she fell to the ground with a resounding clunk.

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“No!” Iris yelled, falling to her knees and scooping up the body. A silver star

appeared on the girl’s right shoulder. Iris stared in awe. “This can’t be happening,” she mumbled to herself.

“Oh. It is,” the witch said, a wicked smile spreading across her face. Her body now glowed and her skin seemed softer than before. Her platinum hair was brighter and her eyes were clear as crystal. “And I don’t know how you can see my freaking spells, but I’m sorry to say, you’re next.”

The witch pounced on top of Iris, knocking her to the pavement. Gusts of snowflakes exploded from the witch’s body as they rolled. She seized Iris’s neck with an icy grasp and squeezed.

Iris choked, shivering violently as an arctic chill seeped into her bones. Her neck burned and her arms and hands started turning blue.

But Iris fought against the pain and the fear. She was a Hunter. And Hunters

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killed witches.

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With a surge of adrenaline, Iris gritted her teeth and stabbed the gold knife into

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the witch’s side. The witch let out a cry as a river of black blood spilled from her wound. She

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released her grip and stumbled backward, swaying slightly before finally collapsing.

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Iris rose to her feet, her trembling body still numb from the cold.

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“I . . . I killed her,” she said with a gulp as she stared at the witch’s dead body.

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“Yes, you did. Bravo, by the way.” Iris jumped. It was the girl with lavender eyes.

“And you saved me the trouble of having to do it myself. That witch has been bothering me for

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weeks.”

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“How did she do that? Turn things to ice and make it snow in L.A.?”

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“She’s an Ethas witch. She has spells that allow her to freeze things. Or at least

she did anyway. I always thought it was a totally boring spell, to be honest.” The girl paused.

“Look, you better get out of here before people see you near the body.”

“You mean bodies?”

“No. You take the witch’s body back to your house.”

“Back to my house . . . why would I—”

“Because you killed her, all by yourself,” the girl interrupted. “Show the Hunters you know what they’ve been hiding from you. Do what you need to do.”

At that moment a fire glowed inside Iris, thawing her from the inside out and fueling a growing anger she’d been feeling since the first time her father lied to her.

“And, Iris. Tell your dad if he’s not going to play by the rules, neither am I.” “What does that even—”

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Before Iris could get out another word, the girl stepped back and vanished into the

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bruma.

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Carrying the witch’s body on her shoulder, Iris kicked open the front doors of her home

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and headed toward her father’s office. He sat in an oversize, leather chair smoking a cigar and

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reading The Art of War.

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Her dad leaped to his feet and gasped when Iris walked in the room. She dropped the dead witch to the ground and wiped her hands on her shirt. “I killed a witch,” Iris confessed.

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“I see the signs and I have the gene. That makes me a Hunter.”

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His jaw dropped as he stared at his daughter. “Iris. There’s no such thing as—”

are.”

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“You can’t lie to me anymore!” she shouted. “I know what I am. I know what we

Iris reached into her pocket and pulled out the gold knife. It was stained black.

She looked her father dead in the eyes, her hands still shaking from the thrill.

“I’m a Hunter, Dad. And I want in.”

Two

Five Months Later

The vision always started the same way: a dark Hollywood cemetery. Bitter cold.

Fog. Rain. Cracks of lightning and booming thunder. Quaking ground and torrential wind. She

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cried for help, but no one could hear her. Then, a shadow of a woman stood before her. She

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grabbed her by the throat, threw her against a tombstone, and crushed her skull in the process.

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The vision came again this morning and Iris wondered where it came from. Was it a

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witch casting a spell? Some horrible daydream she couldn’t shake? Or just a side effect of being

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a Hunter in the field?

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“And that’s why you shouldn’t be a Hunter,” her brother Knox said, jolting her back to

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reality. Whatever “reasons” he was listing, Iris didn’t catch a single one. Between today’s creepy

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vision, and the natural stress that came with being a Hunter, Iris had gotten very good at

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drowning Knox out. He made a habit of trying to convince her to get out of the field and get back into school. He meant well, he really did. But Iris had made her decision and her overprotective brother wasn’t going to change her mind.

The two of them were standing on a remote rooftop in Hollywood, drenched in black leather and blending into the darkness like a pair of ninjas.

It was a dry October evening and a creamy wedge of moon hung in the sky, bathing the city in a pale light whenever it managed to peek through the passing clouds. It could have even been considered a beautiful night, if there wasn’t an ancient evil lurking in the nearby

shadows. Five months ago, she brought her father the body of a dead witch. He couldn’t lie to her anymore, although he did try. But Iris wouldn’t have it. She gave him an ultimatum: kill me or let me on the team.

“You know,” her brother continued. “You could always just wait till you graduate from high school, and by then, who knows? You may not even want to be a Hunter anymore—” “Knox!” she interrupted with a firm tone. “It’s been five freaking months,” she

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said with a sigh. “Can’t we be done with the ‘brotherly love’ crap? I’m in the field. It’s not

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changing.”

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spend her days hunting witches, not on the cheer squad.

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Iris appreciated her brother’s concern, but it was too late. From now on she would

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“Fine,” he huffed, slumping his shoulders. “Let’s get to it, then.”

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Iris flashed a menacing grin and got into position. Like a hungry lioness stalking

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its prey, she was itching for a kill, and tonight, she wanted to make the Hunters proud.

She was lying prone, preparing to take her final test: the sniper rifle. The thought

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of this weapon always made her giddy. It was so powerful but also completely undetectable.

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The best part? The Hunter’s rifle couldn’t kill a human, but for a witch, it was the

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deadliest of poison. The strangest thing about her test tonight was that she had already completed the sniper training course. Twice actually. Yet her father insisted she train again before being allowed to hunt on her own.

She settled in behind her rifle with an ear-to-ear grin, steadied her breath and waited. Her brother Knox stood beside her and kept a watchful eye for any movement.

“Iris, we’ve gone over this, you need to relax your shoulders,” Knox ordered in a quiet but firm tone, lowering his binoculars. “And make sure you’re ready to fire on my command.”

“I think I’ve got it,” Iris snapped in a low whisper. It’s not as if she didn’t know what to do. “You do know this isn’t my first time behind a sniper, right?”

“Yes. But we just have to be sure.”

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“Sure of what? No one else had to do the training twice.”

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“I know. But Dad said you have to do it again because you’re a—”

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“Let me guess . . . a girl?” This was a common side effect of being the first female

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to carry the witch-hunting gene—always having to prove herself. And frankly, Iris was getting a

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little sick of it.

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“Hey, I don’t like it, okay?” Knox assured her. “But it’s Dad’s orders.”

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“Well, last I checked, Dad left you in charge when he up and went to Wales—” “On business,” Knox interrupted. “And you know he calls constantly to check in.

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So for now, what he says still goes.”

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Iris was thrilled when her father left for Wales and put Knox in charge. Not that

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she didn’t miss her father, because she did. But Iris and her brother had always been in sync and she was hoping things in the witch-hunting world would change for the better with Knox as their fearless leader. But they hadn’t, at least not yet anyway.

Iris let out an exasperated sigh and flicked off the safety with an audible click.

She steadied her frustrations, taking in a deep whiff of California air filled with exhaust, honeysuckle, and sea salt.

Knox grinned and returned to his binoculars. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked with a playful tone, peering into the city’s darkness.

“Knox, I swear to God, if you don’t leave me alone—” “You’ll what?”

Iris growled but maintained her position, catching her brother crack a smile out of the corner of her eye. She was used to Knox being a dick and she had learned he didn’t mean a

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thing by it. Behind his tough-as-nails persona and intimidating brawn, there was a big soft teddy

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fluffy side in chains and let the devil on his shoulder reign free.

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bear waiting to come out and shower people with hugs and kisses. He just preferred to keep his

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Pretty much every woman at the Bently Fortress made a point to constantly

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remind Knox he looked like a Spanish god, or a Thor-meets-Bond remix. And because he spoke

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with actions and not words, he was mysterious too. Girls literally fell at his feet. It was

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disgusting. But despite the constant bumps to his ego, Knox was completely levelheaded and constantly knew what to do.

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Iris always thought she looked like Knox in a girl-suit. Her dark wavy hair fell

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past her shoulders and her coffee-colored eyes burned with fiery intensity. They both had a

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smattering of freckles atop their creamy pecan skin and their athletic physiques were perfect for intimidating people, something Iris liked to do whenever she had the chance.

She peered through the lens of her thermal scope. Anything with a high heat signature showed up white against the flickering green background. The hotter the object, the more intensely it glowed. But there was still no sign of their mark. Iris was starting to feel uneasy.

“It’s been over half an hour.” Knox checked his watch. “Maybe our intel was bad.”

Iris, still lying on her stomach with her rifle pressed firmly against her shoulder, looked up with a snarl. “Well, Dex said she’d be here and his intel is never wrong, so . . .” She paused.

“She’ll be here.”

Another minute passed and Iris wondered if she was on the right rooftop. She

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desperately hoped she was. Her stomach wrapped itself in knots and her heart thrummed like a

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well-tuned racecar engine.

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“I’m not so sure about that, kiddo,” Knox said, still scanning the streets below with his

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binoculars. “But for your sake, I hope she is. I don’t want to have to tell Dad we didn’t get her.”

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Iris agreed. The last thing she wanted to do was to be forced to go through the

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grueling training course again.

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“Hey, guys,” a voice crackled in their inner ear coms. It was their cousin Dex, who was also a Hunter, and a good one at that. Like Knox, Dex was tall, dark, and terrifying.

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Definitely someone you don’t want to mess with.

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“Dex. Hey,” Iris quickly replied. “Please tell me our intel wasn’t bad.”

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“Well,” Dex started, “it wasn’t bad per se. But it was planted there for us to find.

It looks like we may have ourselves a mole.”

“What?” Iris jumped to her feet. “Are you serious?”

“That’s not even the worst part,” Dex said, his voice slightly unsteady. His voice was never unsteady. Iris swallowed hard.

“Dex, just tell us what’s going on already,” Knox demanded.

“Well . . . a huge celebrity was murdered this afternoon. And I mean huge. We’re talking a twenty-two-year-old Oscar winner here. And it looks like it was the work of the witches.”

Iris’s body went numb. The ground beneath her was spinning. “No. That can’t be right,” Iris said, almost pleadingly. “We had protection details in place all day.”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to tell you,” Dex said. He paused. Iris could hear him

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breathing heavily through the com. The anticipation set her nerves on fire.

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“Iris.” He paused again and took a long breath. “She was killed on your watch.”

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“That’s impossible!” Iris shouted, clinching her fists.

"I wish that was the case. I really do,” Dex said over the com. His voice cracked.

“You know I always have your back, chica.”

Iris looked at Knox, hoping he had some answers. Knox stared blankly back at

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her, furrowing his brows and scratching his chin. His silence was driving her crazy.

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She took a moment to retrace her steps: Iris had spent the entire day slogging

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through the typical assignments—responding to a possible sighting at the Dolby Theatre, (AKA

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the Kodak), keeping watch at a rom-com movie premiere which was teeming with Hollywood A-

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listers, and then, the protection detail at the young actress’s home.

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She was a part of a team of four, led by one of the best Hunters in the business,

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Gerald Wexler. After the perimeter around the home was secure, Gerald left and did the

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unthinkable—he put Iris in charge. She was ecstatic, of course. Especially since she’d never been

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in charge of anything. And even though it was just for a few hours, Iris led her team with pride.

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She was certain a witch couldn’t have gotten past her. This had to be a mistake.

"Knox, you know this can't be right,” she said with a stark tone.

"Let's just go to the crime scene and check it,” he suggested. “I’m sure there’s some way to explain this.”

The knot in Iris’s stomach loosened slightly. She quickly disassembled her rifle and stuffed the pieces into her backpack before slinging it over her shoulder. Without looking, she leaped backward off the rooftop, grabbing hold of a section of pipe on the side of the

building and nimbly sliding her way to street level. A moment later Knox followed suit, jumping from the rooftop and plummeting nearly twenty feet. He landed with an audible thud.

“Show-off,” Iris said snidely.

Knox shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Her brother was never one to hide that he was a superior being. Hence, jumping off a four-story building like it was merely a sidewalk.

The siblings marched back to their car parked several blocks away on Hollywood

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Boulevard. Known to the Hunters as “The Armada,” their custom Hummer was black with

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accents of gold on the door handles, the front bumper, and even around the wheels. Both the

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driver’s and passengers’ doors were inked with the Witch Hunter symbol—a gold circle with

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WH fused together inside the loop as if they were one letter. Just on top of the W was a small star

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representing their sector’s city—Hollywood.

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Iris settled in the passenger seat as Knox turned the keys. The engine let out a

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quiet rumble before roaring to life. Glowing buttons cut through the darkness, filling the cabin with a soft, amber glow. Each light represented a deadly Hunter weapon or countermeasure. The

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human eye.

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Armada was completely decked out and protected with spells making it undetectable to the

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Knox stabbed the gas and the tires let out a high-pitched chirp. The beast of a

vehicle lurched forward and sped toward the house of the murdered Hollywood A-lister.

Iris nervously tapped her foot. She was anxious to get the star’s home. She wouldn’t believe she was dead until she saw the body for herself.

“So what do you think we’re in for?” Knox asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

“What kind of spell do you think they used to kill her?”

“I don’t know.” Iris let out a heavy sigh as tension danced in her stomach. “I’m hoping it wasn’t any spell and this was all just some big mistake."

“You and me both.”

They pulled up to the mansion to find the area swarming with cops, paparazzi, and bystanders. The outside of the home was elegant and chic, with brick walls and large doors reminiscent of an old storybook. The front lawn was a deep green and lined with cherry blossom

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trees that seemed more pink than usual, even in the evening light. The crime scene was already

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cordoned off by yellow tape. Iris felt a jolt of nausea.

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“I can’t believe this,” she said, peering out the window. She was just here a few

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hours ago, and was absolutely certain the coast was clear. Apparently, it was not.

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“Here,” Knox said, handing her their usual faux IDs. These tend to come in handy

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when you’re a teenage Hunter trying to protect humanity. No big deal or anything.

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“Thanks.” Iris slipped the badge around her neck and put on her aviator sunglasses, even though it was night. “Hopefully we won’t get the ‘Aren’t you too young to be

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FBI agents?’ or ‘I’ve never heard of your branch before,’ crap again. Not being questioned for

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her glasses.

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once would be nice. But at least they’ll forget about us once we leave,” Iris said, motioning to

But the aviators were more than just fashionable, they were embedded with a

powerful Idas spell, courtesy of a rogue witch that was captured and interrogated some years ago.

Iris took a steadying breath and followed her brother as they paced toward the officer guarding the home. The cop had massive arms, a shiny, bald head, and stood tall even though he was just about the same height as Iris.

The brother and sister flashed their badges in unison and Knox cleared his throat.

“I’m John Richardson and this is my partner Kelly Graves. We’re with FBI Sector Eight.”

“FBI Sector Eight?” the cop said, his eyebrow shooting up. “Never heard of that branch before.” The officer scratched his face. “Hey, aren’t you a little young to be working for the bureau?”

“Unbelievable,” Iris muttered, pursing her lips into a hard line. She silenced a

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giggle before putting her game face back on.

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“Well, looks can certainly be deceiving,” Knox said with an air of condescension.

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“So. What’ve you guys got so far?”

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“What is this, some kinda joke?” the cop snapped at Knox. A large vein popped

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out on his forehead and his cheeks started to turn pink. “You kids better get the hell out of here

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before I charge you for interfering with a police investigation.”

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Iris looked at her brother. He nodded. It was time for her to step in.

“Excuse me, sir,” Iris said with an inviting smirk. “Would you mind looking at

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me for just a second?”

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The cop ignored Iris and instead waved over another officer, who took out his

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handcuffs and was approaching fast.

“All right. I warned you two,” the cop said, turning his gaze to Iris.

“Gotcha.” Iris tapped the side of her aviators and the cop went mute and couldn’t move a muscle.

Finally.

“Okay, so you remember us: John Richardson and Kelly Graves from Sector Eight. We go way back. And you’re going to let us go in the house and do whatever we need to do. Got it?”

The cop blinked twice and slowly nodded before returning to reality. He threw up his hand and dismissed the other officer, who let out an exasperated sigh as he put his handcuffs away and returned to his post.

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“Hey, John. Kelly. How are you guys?” the officer said, reaching out to shake

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their hands. His smug demeanor softened to warm and inviting.

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The Idas spells never fail.

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Iris smiled. “We’re great. Thanks for asking.” She wanted to laugh, but that

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wouldn’t have been professional.

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“Can you tell us what’s going on here?” Knox interjected, getting back to

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business.

“Well, I couldn’t believe my eyes, you know?” The cop scrunched his forehead as

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no

he recollected the events. “She was so young and talented and seemed to be healthy, but it looks

O

O

like she had a stroke. From what I can gather from the cleaning staff, the actress just dropped

either.”

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dead as she was walking down the stairs. No injuries we can see, and no suspects. Nothing stolen

“Well, where’s the cleaning staff?” Knox inquired.

“Inside. You’re welcome to go check it out.” The cop motioned toward the door.

“Thanks, man,” Knox said with a smirk. “I appreciate it.”

Iris exhaled slowly before walking through the front door. The luxurious home was filled with a wispy haze that crept along the hardwood floor and slithered beside the walls before making its way up to the high ceilings.

“Great,” Iris said as the bruma brushed over her face. She couldn’t deny it to anyone—there was magic here.

She slowly knelt down beside the actress’s lifeless body. The corpse lay

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motionless at the foot of the stairs, the cheeks stained crimson as if she’d cried blood. Adjacent

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to the steps was an ornate glass case displaying an Academy Award, two Golden Globes, a

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couple of SAG Awards, and a handful of MTV Movie Awards. The case also contained an

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autographed book from a bestselling author whose movie the actress starred in last year—a

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movie that launched her career.

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Iris felt the injustice deep within her bones. She was devastated. This young

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actress should be preparing for her next film, not lying dead on the ground because of a scum-ofthe-earth witch.

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no

“You gonna do it or should I?” Iris groaned. She always hated this part.

O

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“I’ll do it,” her brother said. “But try to shield me a little so these cops don’t see

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me and think I’m some perv.”

“You mean find out you’re a perv,” Iris said with snark, scooting in closer to

conceal the body.

Knox huffed and tugged at the actress’s collar, revealing the top portion of a bright red, lacy bra, and more importantly, the Cicatrix—a silver-gilded five-point star burned into the skin just above the actress’s right shoulder.

“Yep. Definitely a witch,” Knox said flatly. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shone it in the actress’s open mouth before prying open one of her eyelids and flicking the beam across her pupils. “Moderate capillary damage. No postmortem reaction to light. What do you think, a Matas witch using one of their diseased bugs?”

Iris shook her head. “Nope. Look at the burn pattern. See how it’s inconsistent?

And how the points of the star are slightly blunted?” She traced her index finger over the raised

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mark. “Judging by the texture, I’d say it was a telepathy spell, and a rushed one at that, like she

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was interrupted. And since it’s telepathic, it looks like we’re dealing with a Protas witch.”

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Every witch used a unique spell to sacrifice their victims, and while most Hunters

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struggled to interpret the subtle differences, Iris had a knack for identifying them. It came easy to

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her.

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“It just looks like a star to me.” Knox shrugged his shoulders. “How can you tell

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all that?”

Iris, lost in thought, ignored the question. “There hasn’t been a Protas sacrifice

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like this in years,” she mumbled. Sure, there’d been a few telepathic or telekinetic spells here and

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there; mainly witches ordering victims to kill themselves or giving them delusions to go mad.

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But other than that, nothing. Only a small number of Protas called Hollywood their home, though no one really knew why.

“That’s a super high-level spell. I haven’t seen one since I started. But Dad said he dealt with a couple of high-level Protas back in the seventies.” Knox paused. “Maybe there’s a new witch in town?”

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Iris caught a glimpse of a Hispanic man and woman talking to the cops. She could hear them speaking Spanish and the officers didn’t

seem to understand a word of what they were saying. But thanks to the many summers she spent traveling Colombia with her mom and grandma, Iris could. Knox missed these trips. He was usually on some secret excursion with their father. Iris was never allowed to go.

“Hey, Knox, I think I found the cleaning crew,” Iris said, pointing to the man and woman.

“Seriously, Iris?” Knox said, turning to look at them. “Why, just ’cause they’re

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Hispanic? That’s so racist.”

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“No, you idiot, I’ve been listening to their conversation.” She shook her head.

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“And besides, douche, we’re half-Colombian.”

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Knox laughed. “I’m just messing with you . . . jeez. Touchy much?”

g

Iris clenched her fists. She usually enjoyed her brother’s humor, but today was not

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the day. Not when an actress was apparently killed on her watch. “Um, yeah. Thanks.”

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“All right, all right. I’m sorry. Okay?” he said, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Why don’t you just go talk to them and figure out what they saw.”

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no

“Fine.”

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Iris could sense the fear of the man and the woman as she walked toward them.

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The man’s eyes were wide and the woman’s lower lip was quivering. She shot them a warm smile, explaining in Spanish they were not in trouble but that she needed to know what they saw.

Both of them seemed to think the actress was murdered and when asked if they noticed any strange activity before the starlet died, they said they saw one of the most beautiful women they’d ever seen. They described her as tall and thin, yet possessing a curvaceous frame that was perfectly proportioned. This mysterious woman had long, golden locks that cascaded ever so gently down her face and back, perfectly illuminating her distinctly lavender eyes. The

man commented on her alluring lips—plump and perky and the shade of the most delicate red rose—and the woman jabbed him in the side.

Iris’s stomach dropped to her knees. There was only one witch she knew who matched that description: Belinda, the queen of the Hollywood Witch Coven.

“Gracias,” Iris said abruptly. She returned to her brother, relaying the information. “It was Belinda. No question.”

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“And you’re sure?”

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“Did you hear what I just said? Who else do you know with lavender eyes, huge

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jugs, and a twenty-two inch waist?”

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“Unfortunately, no one,” Knox said, wryly. “Come on. Let’s head back.”

g

Iris stole one last glance at the actress, lowering her head as she and Knox stepped

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outside. The sorrow hit her hard and her chest heaved as she walked down the driveway under a

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trail of cherry blossom petals.

The once gruff cop guarding the door waved amicably as they walked back to The

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Armada.

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O

Knox threw the car in gear and peeled out into the street. A moment later his

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phone buzzed and he swiped at the screen. He smiled as he tapped out a message before slipping the phone back into his pocket and abruptly pulling a U-turn. Iris wondered what he was up to.

“Lost much?” she said. Whoever was on the other end of that text seemed to be sending them in a different direction.

“Hunters don’t get lost, they get temporarily disoriented,” her brother said with a grin.

“Okay, well then, care to tell me where we’re going?”

“I’m going—” Knox’s phone vibrated again and this time he put it to his ear. “I said I’m on my way, dude. Chillax.”

His face suddenly turned somber. He sat up straight and cleared his throat.

“Yes, sir.” His eyes darkened. “No, sir. I’m sorry. I thought you were—” Knox stopped talking. Iris knew there was only one person in the world, witch or otherwise, who could instill such fear in her brother: their dad.

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“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure it gets done.” Knox grimaced as he ended the call. A split

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second later he was back to his typical composed self.

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“What was that all about?” she asked. There was a part of her that didn’t want to

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know. However, Iris felt it was important to stay in the loop. The actress’s death was a game

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“Dad,” Knox spit out quickly.

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changer.

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“Oh really?” Iris said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, what did he say?”

“He said the Hunters in San Francisco found a new recruit. He should be arriving

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at LAX within the hour.”

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right?”

O

O

“Wow,” she said pensively. “You guys haven’t had one of those in, like, forever,

“Something like that. Yeah.”

“Well, let’s go to the airport.”

Knox sucked his teeth. “Actually, you’ll be going alone on this one.”

“What? I thought I’m ‘not allowed to take on assignments alone,’” Iris said with

air quotes.

“It’s just a pickup at the airport. Besides, Dex and I have some very important business to attend to.” Knox pulled into an empty, dimly lit parking lot near Coldwater Canyon Park and craned his neck upward, searching the sky.

“What could be more important than picking up a new recruit?” Iris asked. “And what are you looking for?” She stared above her.

Knox smiled, and that’s when Iris detected the faint but familiar sound of an

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approaching helicopter. Seconds later, a blacked-out chopper bearing the Hunter symbol was

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hovering above The Armada.

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Dex leaned out from the cockpit, keeping the chopper steady with one hand and

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waving excitedly with the other. “Iris! Hey!” Dex yelled from above. “Thanks for taking care of

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the pickup! We’ve been wanting to do a nighttime base jump downtown for like, weeks now.

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You rock!”

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Iris glared at Knox. “Really? You have to be freaking kidding me.”

Knox casually shrugged his shoulders. “Thanks, sis,” he said, tossing Iris the

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keys and giving her a hearty slap on the back. Dex dropped a length of rope and Knox grabbed

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hold, giving a thumbs-up. The helicopter rose and flew off, disappearing into the darkness.

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“Unbelievable,” Iris grumbled, catching a whiff of exhaust as the helicopter flew

away. She jammed the keys into the ignition and set off toward the airport.

“This new recruit better be freaking worth it.”

Four

The ever-present California smog coated the city in a thick, gray haze that seemed to congregate around each of the passing freeway lights. The 405 was still congested, but at least it wasn’t bumper to bumper like it was during rush hour.

Iris was filled with mixed emotions as she weaved her way through traffic toward

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the Los Angeles International Airport. She would much rather have gone base jumping with

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Knox and Dex, but on the other hand, she was pleased that her brother trusted her enough to pick

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up the recruit alone. Plus, being behind the wheel felt nice. She was hardly ever allowed to drive.

or

Her phone rang and she was delighted to see it was her mother, Mia Bently. Iris

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always had gotten along with her mom, and she desperately wished she carried the Hunter gene

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too. But she didn’t. No other woman had ever carried the gene before Iris.

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“Hey, Mom,” Iris said, putting her phone on speaker.

no

“Hey, sweetie. What are you up to?”

O

F

“Oh you know, another lame assignment.” Iris was never allowed to discuss

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O

Hunter business with her mother. For the most part, her mom’s knowledge of the witch-hunting world was limited. Like all Hunters’ wives, she knew witches were a threat that needed to be eliminated, but not much else. If she ever learned more than was deemed necessary, she would be subjected to an Idas spell, wiping her memory clean and planting a new one.

Iris hated how often her mother’s mind was altered, but Hunters’ wives knew exactly what they’d gotten themselves into. Apparently, they considered it an honor just to be married to a Hunter—another thing Iris didn’t really understand. She wanted to fight with them, not marry one.

“Well,” Mia started, “I wanted to let you know that I’m leaving on a late flight tonight for Europe, so I probably won’t see you when you get back.”

“Tonight? Why?” Iris inquired. It wasn’t like her mom to just randomly leave, let alone catch a flight overseas.

“Well, your father wants me to deliver some gear to the Hunters in Spain and he needs me to explain some things to them in Spanish about how their new stuff works.”

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“Oh right.” Iris was assigned the same task by her father a few weeks ago but

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begged him to send someone else so she could complete her third sniper test. She was surprised

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the “someone else” ended up being her mom, especially since there were a couple of other male

or

Hunters in their branch who could speak Spanish.

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Iris didn’t really like the idea of her mom traveling to Spain alone. Not that her

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mother couldn’t handle it, because she could. But Iris was concerned for her mother’s safety,

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though she wasn’t sure why.

The thing was, when Max Bently gave orders, it was difficult for him to change

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his mind. The fact that he did for Iris was somewhat of an anomaly.

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she liked it or not.

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O

Iris knew there was nothing she could do. Her mom was leaving tonight, whether

“All right, well, when will you be back?’ Iris asked in a concerned tone.

“Probably in a couple—” “Oh crap!” Iris said, cutting her off. “I missed my exit. I gotta go, but I’ll call you

later. Be safe, okay? Love you, Mom.” “I love you too, sweetie. And drive safe!”

Iris got off at the next exit and snaked her way through several side streets until she was back on track for LAX. She pulled up to a stoplight and froze when she spotted a billboard featuring the actress that was slain earlier that day.

Iris’s vision blurred; her skin tingled. She was flooded with images of the dead starlet: her body lying lifeless on the stairs. The blood. The Cicatrix. The protection detail that wasn’t good enough. And to top if off, the flashes from the Hollywood cemetery that followed.

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All of it piled up in her brain, and it felt like the air was being sucked from her lungs.

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The car behind her honked and Iris noticed the light had turned green. She raced

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through the intersection and pulled over against the curb, desperately trying to catch her breath.

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In through your nose, out through your mouth, she chanted to herself. You got

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this. In through your nose, out through your—

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Her phone buzzed with an e-mail from the San Francisco team.

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Recruit Arlo Green is an eighteen-year-old male from Sonoma, California. He will be holding a sign with the question: “What is the real name of Black Widow in Marvel’s

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no

Avengers?” Your answer: “Natasha Romanova.”

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O

“Really?” Iris said aloud after reading the message. “These guys couldn’t have

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come up with a better security question? Come on!”

This was just one example of how Los Angeles had the best Hunters in the nation.

Knox would never think up a security question that ludicrous.

Iris took one more deep breath and put the car in drive. Several streetlights and a few near-fender-benders later she arrived at LAX and parked in their family’s secure airport parking lot.

The airport was crowded as usual. Aside from the normal hustle and bustle, there was a sea of photographers out front snapping pictures, hoping to catch a jet-setting celebrity.

“Hey you, in the leather,” one of the paparazzi yelled, pointing at Iris. “You want to come over here and pose for my camera?” The man licked his mouth and winked.

Gross, Iris thought as her lip unveiled a snarl. She kept walking and he shouted a few more vulgar slurs. She stopped in her tracks, desperately wanting to show him he was

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catcalling at the wrong girl. Maybe even stick her gold knife to his throat. But she was here on a

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mission. This perv wasn’t worth it.

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She walked through the doors, threading her way through the crowd and stood,

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arms crossed, in front of baggage claim. There was no sign of the new recruit. Iris searched the

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crowds again, and then she saw him.

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The young man stood beside his many suitcases, holding the security question

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with one hand and the other in his pocket. He looked lost and a little scared, like a puppy who had wandered off from his mom—a puppy with chocolate-brown hair, big beautiful green eyes, a

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soft baby face, and a lithe but toned body. He was taller than Iris, and he wore a beautiful shade

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O

of olive skin. Iris felt like she was in an oven, and her mouth became suddenly dry.

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She stole another glance at the boy, but her eyes quickly flicked away as soon as

he met her gaze.

Oh my god, pull it together. You’re a Hunter, not some wide-eyed schoolgirl, Iris ordered herself.

She puffed up her chest and walked toward him with strong, confident strides. “Natasha Romanova,” she said, jutting out her chin. This security question was seriously awful.

“Excuse me?” he answered, raising his brow.

“You know . . . Natasha Romanova. I’m answering the security question. I’m here to pick you up.”

“Oh right.” He grinned. “But you’re like the third person who’s said this to me.

Apparently the airport is full of nerds.” He took a step back, his eyes examining her clothes.

“But,” he continued, “considering your ‘badass spy outfit,’ and the invisible ‘don’t screw with me’ you have stamped on your forehead, I’m thinking you’re the Witch Hunter, and not the guy

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in the Hulk shirt.”

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Arlo gave a halfhearted wave to a young boy who was standing a few feet away,

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smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.

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“That dude won’t stop staring,” Arlo whispered.

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“Well, it’s not his fault, you’re speaking his language.” Iris grabbed the security

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question, crumbled it up, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “There we go. Geek-crisis

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averted,” she teased. “You ready to go?” Iris asked, motioning with her hand toward the door.

“Well,” he hesitated, “here’s the thing. I just went along with this whole ‘we’re

O

O

going to kick my ass—”

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no

sending you to L.A. to be a Hunter thing’ because I thought those guys in San Francisco were

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“Wait.” Her face soured. “I don’t understand—” “Look. I’ve been trying to get to L.A. for like, ever, because I’m a musician, so I

figured why not? Free trip, right?”

Iris just stared and a moment later realized her mouth was open. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh at Arlo or scream at him.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” she said, raising her hand. “You just went along with all of this to get a free trip to Hollywood?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a total dick,” he said with a weak grin. “But, yeah. This just doesn’t seem like a good fit, but I appreciate the opportunity.”

Her mouth had officially dropped. “A good fit? Opportunity?” She furrowed her brows. “This isn’t a freaking job interview—” “You know,” he said, interrupting her. “I think it’s just best that I pass and take a cab to The Roxy or something.”

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“Pass? You’re going to pass on being a Hunter?”

rib

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blog. Don’t let my looks fool you, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

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“I’m thinking, yeah. I’d rather just write music, try and make it big. Maybe start a

or

“I’m sorry,” she huffed loudly. “I thought I was picking up a new Hunter recruit,

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not the next member of One Direction.”

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“What?” Arlo’s eyes brightened. “Why? Are they looking for someone?”

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Iris blinked hard. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why would anyone not want to be a Hunter? And what was the deal with this guy? The truth of the matter was, Arlo

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witches, end of story.

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no

didn’t have a choice. Iris knew the cold, hard truth: if you carry the Hunter gene, you kill

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She inched closer to the new recruit, sternly meeting his gaze. “Brainwashing

spells won’t work on you because you have hunting blood. So if you don’t join us, I’m pretty sure my dad is going to have to kill you.”

“Kill me?” He cringed. “What you mean exactly?”

“Um, kill. You know, ‘take your life.’ Or ‘end you.’ I really don’t know how else to put it,” she huffed out a laugh.

“That sounds a tad bit harsh.” Arlo paused and scratched his chin. “So, just to clarify, if I don’t become a Hunter, you people are going to kill me?”

Iris noticed small beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Unfortunately, yes.

My orders are to bring you back dead, or alive. Sorry,” she said with sincerity.

“Not as sorry as I am.” Arlo picked up his suitcases and smiled. “Well, you had

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me at ‘kill.’ Looks like I’m coming with you.”

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“Okay, then,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Iris, by the way.”

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He hesitated briefly before giving in. “Arlo Green. Singer. Guitarist. Coffee

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drinker. Occasional runner. And now, apparently, Witch Hunter.”

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She forced herself to look him dead in the eyes again as their hands met for the

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first time. His grip was firm. Much stronger than she’d expected.

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“Thanks for that detailed description there, buddy,” Iris said sarcastically.

“I’m thinking it’d make a good Twitter bio, right?”

O O

for ditching her.

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no

Iris shook her head but cracked a smile. Suddenly, she wasn’t so angry at Knox

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They walked out the airport doors and luckily the photographers had already

called it a night. The cool evening air felt nice against her face and the flashing lights in the parking lot soothed her for some reason.

Iris helped Arlo chuck his suitcase in the back of The Armada. She slammed the door and settled into the driver’s seat, Arlo beside her.

“So,” she started, “how’d they find you? We haven’t had a new recruit in years.

Most everyone is just born into it. But obviously we can’t control if one of the Hunters has some drunken night and gets a random girl pregnant and then runs off the next day.”

Arlo flinched, giving Iris a surprised look before running his fingers through his shaggy hair. She flushed. The last thing she wanted was to get on bad terms with the new recruit, especially since he was so cute.

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She put her hands over her mouth, wearing a look of surprise. “Oh God, I’m so

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sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean anything by—”

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“That’s okay,” Arlo interjected. “I’ve never known who my dad is, so at least now

or

I have some answers.” He paused, scratching his chin. “About how they found me,” he started,

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“all I know is I was walking down the street in S.F., on my way to my cousin’s, and then this hot

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girl shows up. Then, out of nowhere, she gets blown to hell, and all this black crap is sprayed all

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over me.” Arlo stared out the window and loudly exhaled.

Witch blood. Black as night and thick as tar. But more than anything, Iris was

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no

mad the S.F. Hunters took a shot without checking to see if the coast was clear. Amateurs.

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this one spot.”

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O

“And then,” he continued, “all this fog showed up and it started raining just on

“Sounds like a freaking Ethas witch,” Iris mumbled.

“A freaking Ethas what now?” Arlo asked, a confused expression splashed across

his face.

“Witch. You know, what you will be hunting here in Los Angeles.”

“Oh, right,” he glanced at the ground. “I’m just still banking that this is all just some joke or—”

“Well, it’s not. It’s real. Very, very real.” Iris bit her lip and looked at Arlo. She never thought skinny jeans and a zip-up gray sweater could be so attractive. “Look, I know it’s a lot to take in. Very few know our secret, and I’m really sorry you had to find out in the way that you did. But here’s the thing, witch hunting freaking rocks! And I’ll make it up to you,” Iris said with a dubious grin.

“How? By introducing me to your vampire and werewolf friends? Do you know

n

the Cullens too? Are Jacob and Renesmee your next-door neighbors?” Arlo said half seriously.

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“Okay, I’m just gonna not focus on the fact that you know Twilight way too well

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and move on.” Iris laughed and shook her head as she locked onto Arlo’s dark green eyes. He

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was nothing like any boy she’d ever met in her life. He seemed funny, just the right amount of

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cocky, but also, kind of sensitive. It was an interesting combo.

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“I’ll train you,” Iris offered. “You have the gene, so everything will come

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naturally. And if for some reason after you train you don’t want to be a Hunter, I’ll find a way to get you out of here without getting killed.”

F

no

“Really?” Arlo perked up. “You’d do that?”

O

O

Iris wasn’t really sure why she made that promise. It would be nearly impossible

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to sneak Arlo past her father. But for some reason she had a soft spot for this new recruit, and if he wanted out, she would help him.

“Yeah,” she said. “I promise.”

“All right, well, deal,” he said with an enthusiastic high five.

Iris smiled. “Good.”

“So, you drive a Hummer? You lucky little Hunter.” Arlo grinned flirtatiously.

“Yes, but it’s not just any Hummer. It’s ‘The Armada.’”

“Is it like a special superhero car or something?”

Iris could hear the sarcasm in his voice. “Sort of. You’ll learn all about it. And you’ll learn about these too.” Iris chucked a new pair of Hunter aviators at Arlo, which he deftly caught midair. “Nice reflexes. You just may make a good Hunter after all. And by the way, vampires and werewolves do exist. They just don’t live in Hollywood."

Arlo put his hand on his head as his eyes widened with astonishment. “I’m still

n

convinced I’m probably dreaming or hallucinating or something.”

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“Would you like me to pinch you just to be safe?” Iris offered curtly.

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“Nah. I think I’m good.” Arlo smiled and slipped on the shades. “So . . . where

or

are we going?”

g

“To the Bently Fortress. Your new home.”

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Iris pulled out of the LAX parking lot and beamed as she spotted bruma in the

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distance. It was rolling in toward Beverly Hills.

“Well, Arlo, looks like you’re going to get your Hunting cherry popped faster

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O

O

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no

than we thought. We’re going to Bev Hills.”

Five

Iris drove through the open gates of the mansion in Beverly Hills and parked by the water fountain, brushing past the security.

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The outside of the home was large and gaudy with stucco peach walls with a

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white trim around the windows. There was a swing on the front porch with floral pillows,

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currently occupied by two fluffy brown Pomeranians. The driveway was filled with a couple of

or

Aston Martins, a few Lamborghinis, and a Ferrari or two. Nothing that Iris hadn’t seen before.

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“So, you ready for this?” Iris asked Arlo as he fidgeted in the passenger’s seat.

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“Ready for what?” he said, pensively. “I’m still trying to figure out what we’re

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doing here.”

no

“See the fog hovering over the house?” Iris pointed her finger. “Bruma. It means

O

F

there’s witch activity here, which is not good, especially since this mansion belongs to an

PR

O

eighteen-year-old heiress.”

He tilted his head. “Why here? Why would they want to be at an heiress’s

house?”

“Because this heiress is total witch bait,” she said, matter-of-factly. “She’s snobby, shallow, and awful. The witches just can’t help themselves.”

“Witch bait?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Yes. A human who makes the perfect sacrifice for a witch.”

She paused, trying to find the right words. No one ever said explaining the witch world was easy.

“Look, I know that this is like a bazillion-years-old, and a total chick flick, but have you seen Mean Girls?”

“Hello? Hasn’t everyone?” he spewed. “I don’t care how big your balls are, that’s one of the best movies ever.”

“All right.” Iris grinned. The new recruit was pretty funny. “Well, Regina. You know, the totally awful queen bee? She’s perfect witch bait. Make sense?”

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Arlo nodded. “I guess. But why do they have to sacrifice?”

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“Okay, you know what, there’s just no time,” she snapped. “Why don’t you just

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stay here and get back to practicing your One Direction audition or whatever it is you do, and I’ll

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go handle business.”

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Arlo looked like he just saw a ghost. “You’re actually going in there alone?”

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Iris groaned and gave a quick pat to her side, making sure her knife was in place.

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“They’re not going to attack me in front of all these people. Plus, I’m a Hunter. I think I can handle it.”

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She knew she was breaking protocol by engaging a witch without notifying Knox,

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but she knew he wouldn’t answer his phone.

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She locked the car door and approached the home, leaving Arlo behind. He stared

after her, his nose pressed against the window like a lonely kid. “Don’t touch anything,” she mouthed.

Arlo smiled.

The interior of the mansion was lavish. Polished marble floors, towering pillars, and a crystal chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Butlers dressed in black suits and bow ties carried silver trays filled with drinks and finger foods, offering them to passing guests.

The décor was elegant, but the techno music blaring in the background was evidence of the spoiled youth that lived inside.

It was crowded, the mark of a successful party. The guests were laughing, talking, and enjoying the free food and drinks. None of them even seemed to care that their actress friend was murdered just a few short hours ago.

Iris scanned the crowd. One young girl in a shimmery white dress leaned over the

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lofty second-story banister, letting out a whoop as she toasted to nobody in particular. She spilled

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her drink on some of the guests below, none of whom seemed very pleased about it. She was

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obviously wasted and was also probably being watched by one of the witches.

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Then she saw her, floating in the sea of faces.

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Belinda.

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The only witch daring enough to show her face at a Hollywood party right after

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being accused of killing an A-list Oscar winner. Sure, these people at the party didn’t know that Belinda was the walking monstrosity that murdered America’s sweetheart. Still, no other witch

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Literally.

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in Hollywood would be so bold. But Belinda wouldn’t miss a party if her life depended on it.

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Belinda was dressed to the nines in a fitted little black dress that made her

lavender eyes pop. Her shiny silver heels accented her tan skin, and her blond hair shimmered almost as much as her diamond bangles. She was sipping a martini as she prowled through the mansion, sniffing the posh Hollywood stars for a potential sacrifice.

Iris also noticed Levana, Belinda’s witchy sidekick who stuck to her side like spanx. Like Belinda, Levana looked only eighteen, but she originally came from Mali, Africa

centuries ago. And like all witches, her beauty was nothing short of perfect. She had long honey locks, brown eyes, and seamlessly smooth brown skin.

The witches saw Iris and slithered through the crowd.

“Don’t you just hate a bad outfit?” Belinda said, smiling around her martini glass.

“Why are you here, Belinda?” Iris demanded in a blunt voice. “Haven’t you done enough killing today?”

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“Do you see her dress?” Belinda pointed to one of the partygoers who was wearing a

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tight, bright yellow leather dress, with bronze zippers zigzagging across the waist. “You’d think

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with her millions she’d have better taste, right?”

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“Look, I see what you’re doing here,” Iris snapped. “But a bad taste in fashion is no

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reason to get killed.”

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Belinda cackled softly. “You want to know what kind of person that girl really is?”

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“No. Not really,” Iris said firmly.

“Here’s the thing, Hunter—I’ve been trailing her for weeks. She’s only seventeen, filthy

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rich, she hooks up with all her friends’ boyfriends and her ‘hola’ speaking maids were left with

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bruises on their arms and faces last week after little miss had a fit over how they cleaned her pink

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Ferrari. Still think she doesn’t deserve it?”

Iris could feel her heart thrumming inside her chest. Nothing angered her more than “the help” being treated badly by the rich, especially immigrants who were working so hard just to get by. But would she let the witches kill her so they could steal her youth? Absolutely not.

Iris met Belinda’s gaze and stood taller. “Look, I don’t care that she’s a bitch, she still doesn’t deserve to be killed by a scum-of-the-earth creature like you.”

“Hm,” Belinda scoffed. Her eyes trailed down to Iris’s boots and slowly skimmed their way up to her pants, her jacket, and then to her face.

“What are you even doing here?” She slid closer. “You’re never going to be anything special. You know that, right? The Hunters don’t take you seriously because you’re a girl, the witches don’t take you seriously because the Hunters don’t, and to top it off this is L.A. Unless you’re full of Botox and halfway anorexic, nobody cares. My advice? Quit while you’re ahead,

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sweetie.”

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Iris locked eyes with Belinda, who was glaring at her with the look of death. Levana

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giggled and clapped her hands, like she was hoping a fight would break out.

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“The craziest part,” Belinda continued, “is that these people, these awful people that you

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protect, wouldn’t bat an eye at treating you like you an insignificant loser.” She lowered her

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voice to a whisper. “Just don’t get in my way, little girl. I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”

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A chill trickled down Iris’s arm and she couldn’t find her words.

“Belinda, our ride’s here,” Levana said, sounding slightly disappointed.

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Iris glanced out the window to find a stretch limousine full of young boys who looked

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like they were either heavily intoxicated or spelled.

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“Well, we’re off to another party, little Hunter,” Belinda cooed. “Tell your brother we said ‘hi.’” Belinda and Levana strolled toward the limousine.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Iris shouted as the witches walked away. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.

The queen of the Hollywood Coven just glanced over her shoulder and grinned before walking out the door.

Iris ran to the window and watched as the boys in the limousine screamed with delight when Belinda and Levana neared. Belinda snapped her fingers and the door swung open. That’s when Iris noticed the boys’ eyes. They looked milky and glazed over. Definitely spelled. The bruma trailed behind the limousine as it left, and Iris released her grasp on the golden knife.

The party was safe, at least for now. Iris was about to leave but stopped suddenly.

The hairs on her neck bristled and she quickly spun around. Another witch?

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Not quite. It wasn’t a witch; it was a boy. Well, he was more like a man. He

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looked at least eighteen and weaved through the dancing crowd like a shark in open waters. He

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was tall with piercing blue eyes and dirty blond hair. His skin was lightly bronzed and his face

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shadowed with scruff. Iris couldn’t help but stare at his bulging biceps that were inked with tribal

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tattoos. Something about him seemed familiar, but she was certain she’d never seen him before.

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He locked his gaze on her and she froze uncomfortably.

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Iris’s stomach jumped and her body tightened as she peered at the stranger and backed closer to the exit, bumping into a table in the process.

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He smiled, moving toward her in slow, confident strides. She wanted to walk

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away but her legs turned to cement pillars.

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“Hi,” he said, the Scottish accent in his voice barely audible against the

cacophonous backdrop. “I’m Silos.” He flashed her a wide grin and extended his hand.

She swallowed hard. “Um, I’m Iris.” She shook his hand. “Our names kind of rhyme. You know, Iris, Silos.”

The words just burst out. Luckily, he laughed.

“I’m sounding like a complete idiot,” she said, embarrassed and flushing pink.

“Quite the contrary, actually.”

His voice was silky yet gruff, and her legs turned to quicksand. Iris was always a sucker for accents.

“Look, love, I’m just going to be blunt with you.” His eyes turned to stone. “I know about your visions in the Hollywood Cemetery.”

She gasped. This had to be some sort of misunderstanding.

“What? How do you—”

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“I’m having them too.” His face went solemn.

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“You’re have these visions?” she asked with a pensive look.

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“Aye. So we need to meet and talk. Another time, perhaps? Judging by your outfit

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you’re either a spy or into some sort of freakish role playing—”

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“If those are my only options, I’ll go with spy.”

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“Okay.” Iris crossed her arms. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said sternly.

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“Fair enough.”

He moved forward and leaned into her. Iris’s chest felt heavy and the room turned

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fuzzy. She blinked her eyes, focusing back on his face.

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“Well,” he said softly. “I will be at The Coffee Bean on Wilshire in Beverly Hills

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all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and we can talk.” He paused. “But Iris, you can’t tell anyone,” he said in a hushed tone. “You have to promise me that.”

Silos hovered before her, and her brain started to spin. More than anything, she was surprised by how tall he was. He was at least six feet, maybe more. But then again, Arlo was pretty tall too.

Arlo, she suddenly remembered. I need to get back to Arlo.

“Oh,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Iris hustled out the door and quickly made her way back to the car, stealing one last glance at Silos who gave her a playful smirk.

Today was totally strange: A starlet died. A new (and really cute) Hunter was recruited. An impromptu party crash led to an encounter with the most dangerous witch in L.A. And, she had a really odd conversation with a hot stranger.

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Welcome to Hollywood.