The memory slammed into me like a freight train. I’d seen this specific tattoo before. And as the guy twisted me around and my gaze sliced across his broken nose and bloodied eyes, I realized I knew just who he was.
I screamed, the noise gurgling from my bruised throat.
“Shut her up, Farley,” the man in the suit commented.
Farley jolted forward, and I had just enough time to see the sneer spreading his pale blue-white lips before he locked me in a headlock and shoved me forward. He crumpled me in half, grinding my cheek into the sticky, alcohol-covered floor.
I pulsed with fear, almost as if my blood had been replaced by pure adrenaline. But that pure adrenaline could do nothing.
I heard one of the men take several steps towards me and saw two polished expensive shoes several inches from my nose.
There was the creak of fabric as the man knelt down. “You sure it’s her? Doesn’t seem magical,” he commented.
Farley, the man who held me – the murderer I’d seen in the woods – grunted. The move was strong enough that it shook through my shoulders as he held me there, crumpled on the floor. One of his knees pinned my long hair, pulling my head painfully to the side.
“It’s her,” he didn’t even pause. “Saw the whole thing. Felt her invade my mind.”
“Are you sure she saw everything?”
Farley paused. “Don’t matter. I’m certain she saw enough to identify me.”
I had no idea what was going on. Their words washed over me as the fear continued to pulse and tear through me.
I was crying, and yet I wasn’t sobbing. The tears were simply draining from my eyes, a prelude to the blood that would undoubtedly follow.
“What do you want to do with her, Fagan?” The other man asked. “Could she be useful?” he asked in an offhand manner.
There was a long pause. “Yeah, she could probably be useful. But right now we need to ensure this operation is a success. And if we’ve got a functioning seer in the city, there’s no way that’s going to happen. So, Farley, you know what to do.” With that, Fagan turned on his heel and strode away, the neat clip clop of his expensive shoes the last thing I would ever hear.
The other guy commented under his breath that he thought this would be a waste then strode away too.
That meant I was alone with Farley.
All I could hear was his breath. It was choppy, not rhythmic, not calm like Max’s. It was the equivalent of being on a violent ocean in a tiny dingy as you waited for the swell to swallow you up.
He still had his arm locked around my throat, still had my head ground into the floor. I was way beyond being disgusted by the musty smell of alcohol, by the grime and grit being pressed into the blood that still caked my cheek.
I waited. Every part of my body waited – every muscle, every organ, every cell.
This would be it, I would die.
I had just enough time to beg those sparks to return. I turned my back on them before, but now I needed them more than ever. For without them – without a glimpse of the future – I would die. Horribly and violently.
I was suddenly possessed with the vision I’d seen of the woman being chased through the woods, of this Farley slicing her from ear-to-ear with his knife.
I shuddered, and this brought a light laugh to his white-blue lips. “You made a mistake entering my mind, future witch.”
I hadn’t said a word to him up until now, just cried softly at his feet. But obviously, he wanted an answer, because he shoved my face even harder into the ground. “What do you say?” He growled.
Sobbing, I managed to part my lips. “I… I didn’t enter your mind.”
He snarled right by my ear. “Yes, you did. Felt a spark of your magic take hold. Plus, Fagan’s contacts on the force confirmed you gave them my description. So you have to go, girly. There is no other way.” He chuckled right by my ear.
“I…” I swallowed hard, and it was a constricted, tight move as my neck was at such an uncomfortable angle. It sounded like I was a gaping fish. “I didn’t enter your mind. I… I saw her die. Through her eyes. Your victim,” I said, voice shuddering as a jolt of fear and yet anger sliced through me.
This guy was a murderer. A murderer. He chased that woman through the forest in cold blood. And now he was about to do the same to me.
I had a fire personality as my mother always put it. Which was quite a statement coming from her, as her personality was volcanic. Point was, Chi McLane never ran from a fight – she would stay and finish one, even start a few herself.
So I grit my teeth as a wave of anger took hold, and yet my common sense told me there was still nothing I could do. This guy was stronger, and somehow he knew about magic.
I did have one chance, though, didn’t I? He clearly wanted to talk.
He laughed, sounding like a puttering engine. “Didn’t invade my mind, ha? Just the victim. Well, it was still a mistake. We’re connected, see? I ate half her heart, consumed the last scrap of her magic. It’s the only way to practice consequence-free magic, see. And me,” he leaned close and shifted his jaw to the side, drawing attention to the pattern of bruises that covered it, “my magic beats the shit out of me. So I never pass up an opportunity to eat someone else’s.” He licked his lips, his tongue like a snake darting its head out from a dark recess. “But you still entered my mind, girly. By consuming her heart, I gained access to some of her final memories. So when you entered her mind, you entered mine.”
So much information, I felt overwhelmed. But one fact struck me. God did it strike me. It was worse than a slap, worse than a blow to my head. He ate her heart to consume the last scraps of her magic.
Up until now, I’d known that I was in trouble, but suddenly I appreciated just how vile this murderer was. Just exactly what he would do to me.
I heard him clench his teeth, heard the unmistakable clink of tooth against tooth. “Fagan will probably want your heart for himself, but I reckon I can have a taste. You won’t mind that, will you? Plus, if I get the power of a seer—” He pursed his lips and whistled.
Seconds before, I’d found my fleeting courage. Now, it flit away once more as I shuddered so badly, I could have snapped my muscles.
This man was going to eat my heart, tear it out, taste it for himself.
Max had warned me that horrible, unspeakable things would happen if I turned away from my power. I was now getting my comeuppance, wasn’t I? I’d relied on lying my entire life, but now… now it would kill me.
I sobbed even louder, relinquishing to the total fear that was consuming me.
No hope.
There was no hope.
Fagan released me, pushing backward.
I remained exactly where I was, face crumpled on the sticky floor, one eye open as it pulsed wide with terror, as it waited for him to jerk forward, draw a knife from his pocket, and slice it down my middle.
I caught sight of half of his form, saw him shove a hand into his pocket and take a casual step backward. “I suppose it would be a waste to kill you right away. Boss is right – we can’t have you running around interrupting the operation, not when we’ve got a deal going down on the docks tonight. Still,” he leaned against one of the large banks of amplifiers behind him, his sinewy form like a folded up rope. “You could help us out with that, couldn’t you? Seer,” I watched him jerk his lips wider in a strange, peculiar move as he uttered that word. It was almost like it was a drug to him. “Not every day you come across a seer. Not every day you feel one digging around in your thoughts.” He drew one of his lean hands from his pocket and tapped an equally lean, strong finger against his head. The resounding beat, beat of it echoed through the quiet room. “What do you say? You get a couple more hours, and maybe your death won’t be so violent. In return?” he asked, voice going up in an unmistakable question.
I didn’t reply.
He pushed hard off the amplifiers, shoving into them with such force, they threatened to topple over. “Ask what you d
o in return,” he snapped, sneering around his words.
I jolted with fear. “What will I do in return?” I pushed the stuttering words out.
“In return, you’re going to do a little digging for me, seer. I want to know,” Farley suddenly tilted his head from left to right as he looked around the room, “what Fagan’s got in store for me. Can I trust the bastard?”
I shook my head. It was a surprise I could manage the move. “I… I can’t control my powers.”
He let out a rattling, gasping laugh that sounded like the last breath of a long-time smoker. “Sure you can. I felt you, remember,” he said as he brought that same finger up and tapped it to his head like a woodpecker trying to make a new home for itself in an old, hollowed tree trunk.
I shook my head again, grinding my bloodied face even harder into the alcohol covered floor. “I can’t tell the future like that. I can’t just turn the ability on,” I protested.
I watched him lick his teeth, saw his long, saliva-coated tongue run across his chipped, yellowed stumps. “Just discovered your powers, have you? Interesting. Unlucky for you that you chose to lock them on me first. If I were you, I would have stayed away from that sap Detective Coulson. He handed you your death on a plate. Now, repeat after me,” he walked all the way up to me, got down on one knee, and faced me, “show me Fagan’s plans. Show me Fagan’s plans. Show me Fagan’s plans.” There was a mesmerizing quality behind his words. As he spoke, he slowed himself down until he sounded like the hum of the amplifiers behind me.
I shook my head. “I can’t—”
“You can.” He reached forward, jammed a thumb into the point where my jaw connected, and spread his other fingers onto my left eye.
I tried to pull back, with all my might, with every scrap of strength I had. It wasn’t enough. For, as he ground his fingers harder into my face, I started to see something. Sparks, but they were different to the ones that usually filled my vision when I saw the future. These were quicker, brighter, hotter.
I tried to shake my head and break his grip, but there was nothing I could do.
“What does Fagan have planned for me?” Farley asked, a considerable pause between each word. Though his voice was usually a raspy monotone, now it sounded as smooth as someone teaching meditation or inducting you into a hypnotic trance.
I tried to fight… I tried to fight… until I just couldn’t fight anymore.
I started to see things. Unbidden, rising from the depths of my unconsciousness like stars appearing on a dark night.
I caught a glimpse of Fagan’s black shirt, his silver suit, his shiny shoes. I saw him walking through a hall, the building looking remarkably like this one.
I watched him plunge a hand into his pocket, draw out a phone, and push it against his ear.
“The deal is still going down next week,” he said, smiling around his words.
I couldn’t quite make out the person on the other end of the line, but I heard one of their words and it shook me to the core. “Heart.”
Fagan laughed, the move jolting his shoulders as they rested perfectly in his suit. “Don’t you worry – I’ll get you more hearts. Though I think I’ll have to switch assassins.”
Fagan paused as he appeared to listen to the man on the other end of the line. “Don’t get me wrong, Farley’s been good – but he’s also been compromised. Allowed some stupid future witch access to his thoughts. Got greedy, ate that other witch’s heart, and in doing so, opened up a door right into his mind. Well, it’s time to slam it shut.”
As I watched the vision, I lost all track of where I was, and yet, I knew that my lips were moving, knew I was speaking out loud as I recounted everything I saw.
“That bastard,” Farley roared, and he jerked his fingers off my face. As soon as he did, I could no longer see Fagan. I was only aware of Farley as he loomed above me.
Though the lights were still at the same dim illumination, it felt as if they could not penetrate the room any longer. For suddenly it felt as if Farley became the darkest thing I’d ever seen – a violent storm blocking out the sun for good.
He loomed above me for another second, and then he acted. He plunged down to one knee, scooped an arm forward, and locked it around my back. He yanked me to my feet. I tried to scream, but I didn’t get the chance. He wrapped a foul-smelling hand over my mouth and hissed in my ear, “Come with me.”
It wasn’t an offer – just an order. I had absolutely no hope as he pulled me down the short steps to the stage and through the darkened bar.
I caught sight of the neatly arranged bottles of liquor behind the bar, of several glasses drying on a cloth just beyond my reach. Everything was beyond my reach. From the chairs to the tables – there were no weapons. No chance to fight.
“That bastard,” Farley kept repeating to himself, voice like blasts from a cannon, “that lying, backstabbing bastard. I’ll show Fagan. Time to get me the powers of a seer,” he added. His voice achieved such an ominous note that my entire back felt as if it shattered with fear.
I didn’t have a chance to scream, and I could barely breathe as he kept his hand so tightly clamped over my broken nose and bloodied lips.
We walked past the bar, reaching a door towards the back. He stiffened, and I realized he was inclining his head to the left, trying to listen for footsteps beyond. When he was satisfied, he bolted forward, loosened a hand from my mouth, and yanked the door open.
I didn’t get a chance to scream. My lips felt heavy, almost as if someone had sewn them together.
There was now no doubt in my mind that Farley had magic. I could feel it on him, smell it on him. Plus, out of nowhere, his nose started to bleed, almost as if some invisible hand had smashed into it.
The consequence of his magic, ha?
I was suddenly struck by what I’d learned – that he’d eaten the heart of a witch to absorb her magic consequence-free. No broken noses, no bloodied eyes. Just the last scraps of someone else’s magic before it ebbed away. And he was going to do the same to me, wasn’t he? He was going to drag me off somewhere quiet, draw that powerful glinting blade from his pocket, and slice me through.
All I could think about was Max. Though a part of me feared for his safety, the rest was confident enough in his strength that it knew he would have fought off those darklings. He would be out there, somewhere. My only hope was that he was trying to track me down.
… Or would he bother? Because I’d brought this on myself, hadn’t I? I had turned from my abilities, and now I was here being dragged into the darkness by a murderer. A murderer who, if I’d acted sooner, I could have stopped. For, for all I knew, if I’d followed the sparks when they’d appeared in my bed, they would have led me to some new all-important clue about Farley.
I could have prevented this. But I’d chosen to run. Now I would die.
That conclusion shook through we with such unmistakable certainty, I gave into it.
Chapter 11
Farley led me through the darkened, narrow corridors behind the bar. I caught glimpses of rooms stacked with alcohol, spare chairs, tables lying on their sides. But I also caught glances of rooms stacked with plastic – the same plastic I’d seen in that god-awful factory.
I longed to know what the hell was happening – who Fagan was, what deal was going down at the docks.
Which was crazy. Now wasn’t the time to be inquisitive about anything, unless it was finding a way to escape.
Farley was relentless. He didn’t bother to say another word, didn’t bother to taunt me as he tugged me down that hallway. I got used to the feel of his hand on my lips. It was locked there so tightly, it was like it was trying to meld with my lips and teeth.
Though my eyes kept darting from left-to-right, almost as if they alone had the hope Max would find me, no one came to my aid.
Finally, Farley managed to make it all the way to the door out back of the bar.
He hesitated when we reached the back door. I could hear the sound of cars
beyond, of people. A thrill of hope exploded through my heart. If someone saw me, they could call the police, do something.
But no one saw me.
Because Farley didn’t open the door to the street.
He tore that musty hand from over my mouth and reached through the collar of his shirt. I felt him fumble around, knuckles dragging across my back as he searched for something on a chain around his neck. Though I tried to scream, again it felt as if my lips were sewn shut. As I concentrated, I swore I could feel the stitches locking them in place. They were not made out of string, but rather out of charges of prickling magic.
As Farley searched, I felt a few specks of blood from his nose drip against my neck.
I shivered and gagged.
Farley let out a hiss of satisfaction as he obviously found what he was looking for.
He yanked something off the chain around his neck, and I heard it tinkle by my ear.
Suddenly, from back towards the bar, I heard angry shouts. Desperate footfall, too.
Farley yanked his head hard to the left, and with his front pressed up against mine, I felt the unmistakable pound of his frantic heart.
As the angry shouts drew closer, I caught several words.
It was Fagan’s men, and they were looking for us.
Farley swore under his breath, but he did not pause. He shoved a large, ornate key into the lock of the door before us. The key was larger than the lock, and yet, somehow, as Farley pushed it towards the lock, the key became smaller, shrinking in size until it fitted perfectly.
Charges of invisible magic filled the air, covering the door and crackling with such force it was as if they were a waterfall pounding down all around me.
Just before the pounding footfall behind could reach us, Farley bolted forward and opened the door.
It did not open onto the street beyond with all the cars and people. Instead?
Instead, it opened onto a forest.
I felt the grass beneath me, the dew-covered blades soft and cold beneath my bare, chafed feet.
A Lying Witch Page 14