Excerpt

The wind blew harshly against her person, sending Leanna Stolbright's perfectly arranged hair into disarray as she walked into Goddess of the Hunt Books & More off Monterey and Jacobs Avenue.

She nodded at Mrs. Foley, the proprietor of the shop, and walked to the back of the shop. To anyone else, it was an odd sort of bookstore. Perhaps out of place among the other shops in Cape Mystic, but the small seaside town was used to that.

There were many unexplained phenomena in the region. But the residents had been there so long, they simply ignored it. Still, the bookstore managed to survive by having a strong online presence. Or so Mrs. Foley said. But only when asked.

Leanna Stolbright didn't have time to worry about how mortals viewed the establishment. The very real task of keeping the magic world a secret among humans was not under her purview.

Ms. Stolbright was a magic scout. One of the few witches imbued with the talent of tracking down magical bloodlines and gauging capabilities of descendants. She supposed it made sense, what with the nature of magic being finite and all, not to mention the fact witches only mated with mortals, thereby diluting familial power passed down through generations, that it was getting harder and harder to find witches of the caliber expected at Westwood Academy.

Lucky for her, Ms. Stolbright had a keen sense of these things. If a young woman or man had enough magical blood in his or her lineage, the chances of being a witch or wizard increased phenomenally.

There was no guarantee, of course. Sometimes it happened where a witch or wizard came from an entirely human line.

But that was rare.

Very, very rare.

Either way, all she had to do to determine if a person was in fact such a witch or wizard, was get within fifty yards of the prospect. Ms. Stolbright was a sort of magical bloodhound. At least, that was what the headmistress called her.

She didn't mind. After all, it was practically her job to hand pick the candidates for enrollment. That made her one of the most important members of the staff. Far more integral than that snarky Melissa Weaver who taught potions, and the hoity toity Gregor Clarksville who thought metaphysical mysticism was the bees' knees.

She shook her head. Better stop thinking about all that, she had big news. Along with identifying prospective students, Ms. Stolbright was also tasked with ensuring the witch or wizard received his or her invitation to Westwood Academy. Today, she had made one such delivery.

An extremely important one.

After straightening her cape, she ran her hands over her hair in an attempt to repair the disarray the wind had caused. It simply would not do to meet the headmistress looking like a vagabond. She sucked in a deep breath and approached the very last shelf in a long row that housed dozens of banned and out of print books.

Nerves danced along her skin as she lightly gripped the top of Reginald Scot's infamous tome, The Discoverie of Witchcraft, and tilted it slightly toward her. Stepping back, Ms. Stolbright allowed for the portal to open completely before striding through it, back straight and shoulders squared.

Her high-heeled boots clicked on the large stone tiles in the main hallway of Westwood Academy, which was where the portal had deposited her.

Tricky things, portals.

One had to focus exclusively on where they wanted to go, or they could potentially wind up anywhere.

There was that same typical buzz the students and professors made in the hallways on a normal school day, but today, Stolbright was not spying or taking notes for the headmistress. New students would arrive within a week, and she'd just landed them their best one yet.

She ignored the group of sentinels patrolling the halls. Normally, she did not miss an opportunity to look down her nose at the inferior shifter males and females who worked like watchdogs for the witches.

Served them right.

"Come in, Stolbright. Don't dawdle."

Headmistress Armstrong's voice sounded beside her ear, and Stolbright jumped as she neared the door to the main offices. She was the most powerful witch Stolbright had ever sensed. Formidable and loyal to the Council of Covens, which, as their leader, was not exactly a surprise.

She walked past the secretary and opened the door to the headmistress' interior office. There she sat, Helga Armstrong, with a coil of tightly braided black hair on top of her head like a halo, as always. She wore the robes befitting her position and green medallion on a heavy gold chain around her neck.

"Well? Have you found her?" the headmistress asked.

"Yes," Stolbright said, excitedly. "She has more power than her mother ever did," she continued, getting straight to the point.

"Unfortunate that we lost Isabel before we ever had her," Armstrong replied with a glare that had Stolbright's face flaming red.

It was not often she lost a prospect, but Isabel Milagros had chosen love over magic. But she paid the price. Her end was not a happy one.

"No mistakes were made this time, headmistress. The girl is already packing. Her grandfather is driving her this afternoon."

"Wonderful. Make sure the sentinels are in place."

"Why do we even need those beasts, headmistress? Isn't our magic enough to protect this place?" Stolbright asked.

"My instructions were not an invitation to debate, nor to hear your petty complaints," the headmistress replied, seemingly calm, but the flash of power in her eyes said otherwise.

"Yes, headmistress," Stolbright said, properly chastised.

She'd forgotten herself in her excitement. It wouldn't do to question Armstrong like that. She knew better than that. Loyalty to the Council and to Westwood were all she had.

"Now, have you found the others?"

"I have found three. The other is proving elusive," she confessed.

Being dubbed the bloodhound meant a lot to Leanna. She had earned the nickname through sheer hard work and determination. She was not about to risk her reputation on some flighty little twenty-something witch who did not want to be found.

"I will find her, Headmistress."

"Yes," Armstrong replied, nodding her head in agreement.

"We need all five enrolled by the start of the term, Stolbright. Much depends on it."