Almost Midnight

by C. C. Hunter

  Then he heard it again. Baxter. His barking was even more persistent. He looked left, then right. Called the dog’s name. “Go get Baxter,” he heard his sister say. She stood next to him. “Go, Chase. Go.”

  The dog continued to bark.

  He turned to look behind him, away from the light, and that’s all it took. The power, some unknown power, pulled him back.

  All the way. Back to the snow. Back to the voices. The two strange men.

  Chase didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t want to. He hurt. Hurt everywhere. His head throbbed. His leg throbbed. His back ached like a charley horse.

  Now he could feel below his chest, but it hurt so bad, he wished he couldn’t. You can’t turn your back on a challenge, Chase. He heard Tami’s voice in his head and remembered what she’d said about the dog collar. Slowly moving his arm, surprised he could, he found his pocket. With eyes still closed, his fingers curled around the gift Tami had given him. He traced his thumb over the words cut into the leather.

  “Told you he would make it,” someone said as if they’d seen him move. “I’ll stay with him, you go get us a body.”

  Chase’s head throbbed; surely he’d misunderstood.

  “Don’t you think they’ll just believe he got thrown from the crash? Animals got to him?”

  “You’re forgetting, I volunteered a time or two with the Search and Rescue team. They won’t stop looking until they have the remains of all the victims. Besides, I’ve already called around. They have a body that fits our needs in the next county over. We’ll put it under what’s left of the fuel tank and light it, and they’ll never know it wasn’t him.”

  Their words echoed in his head. Okay, he must be imagining things. Head injury, he thought. Then a pain hit, as if someone had a vise grip on his rib cage. It grew so intense that he screamed out. When it finally let go, he pulled Baxter’s collar up to his chest and held onto it. Then he let out a breath and tried to slip back into nothingness.

  * * *

  Chase smelled smoke. He felt cold. Colder than even the ice he rested on. Fever. He had a fever. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. Five minutes, or five hours. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He wasn’t sure anything mattered if what he believed about his parents, sister, and Tami was true.

  He didn’t know what hurt the most. His body or his heart. And then suddenly he did know. His heart. He’d lost his family. Lost his dog. Lost everyone.

  All of a sudden he heard footsteps coming his way. Another pain started at the top of his neck and crawled down his spine. He arched his back and moaned.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s get out of here.”

  Chase felt someone pick him up as if he weighed nothing. He opened his eyes. “Put me down,” he said, the words barely a whisper.

  “Sorry, son. We gotta go.”

  “What about the tracks?” the other man asked.

  “Run some brush over them. With this weather, the team won’t make it down here for another twelve to fifteen hours.”

  Chase was suddenly lifted from the ground. Up like he was floating. No, like he was flying. He turned his head away from the man’s chest who held him close. He was about sixty feet in the air, looking down at the plane crash. The last thing he saw before he passed out again was the smoke coming from part of the wreckage.

  NOVEMBER 7

  Chase heard voices. He lifted his eyelids, not sure where he was. Raising his head off a pillow, he stared at the bedside table and saw the dog collar Tami had given him.

  Memories started ping-ponging around his head. Tami. The plane. The crash. The light. The two men.

  Grief swelled in his chest and threatened to drown him. Nothing but pride stopped him from curling up in a little ball and sobbing.

  Then other vague flashes started filling his head. Time in this bed. In pain. Fever. He’d had a high fever. He recalled the man, the one who’d worn the white lab coat, the one who’d showed up at the plane crash, sitting by his side. He could almost feel him now, running cold towels over him. His words had been calming. Telling Chase that he would be okay. That the pain would end soon.

  It hadn’t felt like he would be okay. He’d hurt like hell.

  Chase spotted a glass beside the dog collar. He remembered the man bringing him something to drink. It had tasted like some kind of berry concoction, but better than anything he’d ever tasted. When he’d finished one glass, he’d asked for more. But the man said he couldn’t drink too much. Chase had growled at the man, sounding almost animallike, not knowing where the urge had come from.

  Another noise sounded outside the bedroom door. Chase pushed the memories away and sat up a bit. Suddenly, the berry smell filled his senses again. The door opened and the man carried in another glass.

  Chase swallowed as his mouth watered. He sat up. He didn’t ask, but the man sat down on the edge of the mattress and put the glass in Chase’s hands.

  He brought it to his lips and drank greedily. When he’d finished, the man took the glass from him.

  “Do you remember anything?” he asked.

  The momentary relief from the grief disappeared. The drowning sensation returned. “The plane crashed.”

  He guy nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man.”

  Chase recalled seeing this man in the lab when they’d gone for the test. “Are you Jimmy?”

  “Yes.”

  Chase’s gut tightened. “My dad didn’t trust you to look out for me,” he said without thinking.

  Jimmy sighed. “We were just getting to know each other. But I’ve done all I can to help you. And I will continue to help you.”

  Chase looked around. “Why am I not in the hospital? I was in a plane crash for God’s sake.”

  Jimmy reached out and touched Chase’s arm. “Do you remember what bad shape you were in?” he asked. “Do you see any wounds on you now? Are any of your bones broken?”

  Chase looked down at his arms. He had a vague memory of not being able to move his right arm, and he hadn’t been able to feel his legs. Fear swirled around his chest. He yanked the covers back, exposing his legs. He bent his knees up and then lowered them back on the bed. No wounds. No broken bones. He looked up. How could … “What happened?”

  “There’s a virus. The VI virus. Your father, you, and your sister were all carriers. It’s—”

  “No!” Chase remembered what his sister had said about the strange virus. The virus that made people … made people crave blood. His gaze shot to the glass in the man’s hands. Was it blood?

  “No,” Chase repeated. “This is crazy. I don’t believe in…”

  “Vampires?” he asked.

  Chase nodded.

  “How much do you know? Did your father explain?”

  “No,” Chase said. “My sister, she read a file. But it can’t be—”

  “It is. I know it’s hard.” He looked at Chase with empathy. “I remember when someone explained it to me the first time. It … felt crazy.” He sighed. “It will take a while to get used to.” He patted Chase’s shoulder. “But you will be okay. And I’ll be here to help you.”

  Chase’s mind ran like a fan, over and over, trying to figure out if he could really trust this guy.

  There was a sound at the door. “Oh, someone’s wanting to see you.” He got up and opened it.

  Baxter stormed in, his tail thumping, his whole body wiggling with joy. He let out a low moan, then jumped up on the bed and immediately started licking Chase’s face. Chase’s eyes filled with tears and the dog licked them away, too.

  He finally looked at the man still standing there. He cleared his face of the weakness. “You found him?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is he okay?” Chase asked, running his hand over the dog’s black fur.

  “Yeah. I think he is. I was worried about him at first. All he did was bark. I had a friend look after him when I went to find the plane. I was told he barked the whole time. Never stopped. Not even for one mi
nute. As soon as I came in with you, he went silent.”

  Chase remembered hearing Baxter when he’d been in that strange tunnel of light. It had been because he’d wanted to find the dog that he’d turned away. He’d heard Baxter’s barks. Or he’d thought he’d heard him.

  The dog whined and dropped his head on Chase’s lap, licking his hand.

  “I’ll leave you two alone. You’ll be weak for a few more days and then … then I’ll show you a thing or two about what you can do now.”

  Chase didn’t understand, but he nodded. The man left. Chase reached over to the nightstand and picked up the dog collar. “This is for you, buddy,” he said, his chest filled with grief.

  He changed out the dog’s collar and then buried his face in Baxter’s thick fur and let a few more tears fall. “I thought I’d lost you, too. But no.” He pulled back and took the dog’s face in his hand and looked into his dark eyes. “It was really you, wasn’t it? You called me back. I heard you.”

  Somehow Chase knew it was true. Baxter had saved his life. He didn’t know how he could hear the dog from the mountainside. Didn’t know how he’d survived the crash. Or what the hell had happened to him, or … He looked at the glass with a red rim around it. Was that…? Oh, hell, he still didn’t know what was happening to him. He bent his legs again, remembering not being able to move them. And his arm. It had been broken. How had he healed so quickly?

  Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the collar. NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON A CHALLENGE.

  Live, son, his dad’s words echoed inside him. Live for us.

  “I’ll try, Dad. I’ll try.”

  Spellbinder

  Chapter One

  Miranda Kane lay on the floor of her personal waiting/dressing room. Instead of meditating on the spells that she was about to be forced to perform, she committed murder.

  Recently, she’d learned that killing helped calm her nerves. Not anything real, of course. It was just a game. She wouldn’t step on a bug. And a Texas-sized roach, the flying kind, had been hovering in the corner of the room as if unsure her “live and let live” policy included him. It did. Every living creature had a right to life.

  But watching those imaginary demonic shape-shifters clutch their chests and keel over did a girl’s heart good. Especially since Perry, the blond, hot shape-shifter had broken up with her and run off to Paris.

  Not only was he not calling her, he wasn’t taking her calls. She didn’t buy the “you deserve better” line he’d offered. Right now, he was probably French kissing some little Parisian twit.

  And the fact that he was so good at French kissing just made it worse.

  “Die,” she seethed as she took pleasure in running her sword through the belly of the blond demon with bright eyes who reminded her of Perry. “Yes!” She punched the air in victory.

  She’d been playing for two weeks, and so far, this Perry-like villain had escaped her wrath. But no longer. “Victory is mine!” she declared in a cold voice.

  The swish of the door opening brought her out of the game. Since it was too late to pretend to be doing anything other than killing, she continued to watch the touchscreen on her phone. She didn’t even bother straining her neck to see who was invading her privacy.

  She didn’t have to.

  If the sweet perfume wasn’t a dead giveaway, the sound of the high heels tapping on the wood floor announced her visitor. And since Miranda knew she was gonna get hell, she figured she should enjoy the win as long as she could. The dying shape-shifter slowly fell to his knees.

  His light blue eyes stared up from the screen. They looked sad. In pain. And damn if she didn’t feel guilty. No. No. No. This was supposed to feel good. Not bad.

  “What are you doing?” her mom asked in a clipped tone.

  “Nothing.” She groaned when the shape-shifter found a magical bag of healing herbs, preventing him from taking his last breath. Before she could hit a few buttons and claim victory as her own he healed himself, bolted to his feet, and attacked.

  “No!” Miranda yelled.

  “No, what?”

  Miranda’s finger pushed the kill button and her avatar grabbed her weapon, but it was too late. The shape-shifter ran his sword right through her heart, killing her. The screen went red. Red for blood. Red for death.

  Her breath caught. Her chest actually burned. Tears moistened her eyes. How appropriate. The real Perry had accomplished the very same thing.

  “Since when do you waste your time playing those silly cell phone games?” her mom asked.

  “I don’t do it all the time.” Feeling her mom’s stern gaze, she got up, slid her phone into her jeans, and blinked away the beginning of tears. Her gaze shifted to the window, where only recently the sun had beamed into the room.

  Now, everything felt dark. She reached for the light switch, but her mom magically turned it on.

  “You know, if you used your powers a little more, you might…” She paused as if she regretted saying it.

  Only then did Miranda meet her mom’s calculating stare. Her mother’s eyes, the same hazel-green color as Miranda’s, were tightened in frustration.

  “Are you getting nervous again?” her mom asked. “You can’t. You know you always screw up when you get anxious.”

  No, I screw up because I’m dyslexic. I get nervous because I know I’m going to disappoint you.

  After seventeen years, you’d think her mom would have pulled her head out of her butt and accepted the truth. She’d given birth to a screwup. Miranda Kane was a screwup.

  “I’ll do the best I can, that’s all I can do.” Not that Miranda’s best would be good enough. It never was. Last month, she’d taken third place in the North Texas Wicca competition. It was only because of that fluke that she was in the competition today. You’d think her mom would have been proud. But nope. Third place just means you were the second loser. Ahh, but Miranda wasn’t accustomed to being in the top twenty-five losers.

  “Have you even practiced your spells at all this morning?”

  “Yes.” Just one and just once. She didn’t know what spells came second and third—but her mom didn’t need to know that.

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” The bright green A-line dress with a flared skirt still hung on the hook on the back wall.

  She’d planned on getting dressed. Even a screwup could have good fashion sense. “I’ve still got thirty minutes.”

  “Do you know who is in the competition with you, young lady?”

  Yikes. The “young lady” tag always came right before trouble. Miranda didn’t want trouble. All she wanted was to go back to killing shape-shifters.

  “No, I don’t know,” Miranda said. Nor did she give a shit. She’d been beaten by the best. Even by the not-so-best. Screwups didn’t do so well in competitions. Another thing you’d have thought her mom would have learned.

  “You’re up against Tabitha Evans—the one you caught spying on you at Shadow Falls? You locked her in a cage?”

  Miranda’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know about that?” She hadn’t told her mom. If there was one thing Miranda prided herself on, it was that she wasn’t a tattler.

  “I know about a lot of things, young lady. Are you going to let that … redheaded twit show you up?”

  Twit? Her mom’s choice of word seemed harsh. Not for Miranda, she’d called Tabitha a twit and even worse. But for her mom, “twit” felt severe.

  Not that Miranda could deny it was going to sting being beaten by Tabitha, her archenemy, but … there wasn’t anything Miranda could do. The fact that she even had an archenemy blew her mind. She wasn’t archenemy material. She honestly tried to create positive energy, put good out into the world, and hope it came back.

  For that matter, Miranda didn’t even have a clue why Tabitha hated her. Or why her mom hated Tabitha so much. Or Tabitha’s mom. What was so dad-blasted important about cookies? Because if her memory served her right, that had been what the fallout had been about.

&nb
sp; Miranda and Tabitha had been buddies in kindergarten. Then their moms got into some huge argument about whose turn it was to bring cookies, and the next day, Tabitha, her mom, and her cookies hadn’t come to school. Gone. The girl had disappeared from her life.

  It wasn’t until three years ago when Miranda’s mom enrolled her in the competitions that their paths had crossed again. And the girl had been a bitch from the word go.

  “Are you going to let her beat you?” her mom snapped.

  Did Mom have to rub it in? “I said I was going to do my best.” Miranda paused. “You know what I don’t understand?”

  “No, let me tell you what I don’t understand. You turned five goons into kangaroos with a mind-to-pinky curse, but you can’t find it within yourself to complete a spell to transform a few apples into oranges.”

  The tightness in Miranda’s throat doubled. “Maybe I was able to do the kangaroo trick because my life, as well as Della’s and Kylie’s, was on the line.”

  “And this isn’t important?”

  “Oh, gosh. How could I forget?” Miranda put on her worst acting abilities. “Winning is everything, right? More important than my life and the life of my friends.”

  “I didn’t mean…” Her mom actually sounded remorseful.

  Wow, that might be a first. Okay, not really, but sometimes she drove Miranda loony. Wanting to change the subject, Miranda asked, “Did you see Kylie and Della out front?”

  “No, I haven’t been out front.” Her mom paused. “I didn’t mean…”

  “Forget it,” Miranda said, afraid this conversation would lead to her mom going into the same ol’ spiel. They came from royalty. Her father, who Miranda loved dearly when he found a few minutes to spend with her, was of English heritage and was a descendent of Merlin. Her mom, as well as her grandmother, had reigned as high priestess for several years. Miranda was expected to follow in their footsteps.

  So. Not. Happening.

  “It’s just … I thought … I thought you’d try harder with the prize being what it is.”

  Miranda might have, if she knew what the prize was. Then again … not really. All she wanted was to be left alone to kill more shape-shifters. Was that asking too much? She moved to the window and looked out. A storm brewed. The morning sky was almost black. Flashes of lightning spidered across the sky.