Midnight Hour

by C. C. Hunter

  “I didn’t have the baby when she came here. I was butt naked in the shower.”

  “The spirit of Lucas’s grandmother came to me in the shower. Talk about an awkward way to visit with his family.” Kylie half grinned as if trying to throw some humor in the thick tension. The tension sucked it up and tossed it out into the storm.

  Holiday continued. “If Bell is simply attached to you, and she needed to communicate with someone, she’d choose you. But the likelihood of it happening again would be rare.”

  Miranda took a deep breath. That didn’t sound bad. For all she knew, Bell could be done communicating. Then she remembered. “What’s the other thing? You said it could be two things.”

  Holiday put her hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “I did some research on mystic witches.”

  “Don’t tell me they deal with ghosts. Please.”

  Holiday gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s not common, but not unheard of.”

  “Oh, mother cracker!” Miranda took a deep breath. She popped up and went to the window again. It was as if the trees performed for her. They dipped, swayed, and leaned side to side. Their limbs reached up, down, then toward her.

  Something about it was … oddly comforting. She inhaled deeply, her lungs now open, and she took the air. With oxygen, she found a little clarity—enough to realize she was being a self-centered little witch. Her fear over a ghost was the least important thing happening right now.

  The ghost had given her that address for a reason. And the doom…? Premonition or not, it had felt like a message. And not a good one.

  Could it be about Tabitha? She tied another knot in the robe’s sash. If this was about Tabitha … was the blood a sign?

  Fear for her sister had a chemical reaction erupting in her body and made the air taste bitter.

  “Have you heard back from Burnett yet?” she asked, looking away from the window.

  “They are on their way to the address now.”

  “I’m scared what they are going to find.” Miranda looked up at Holiday, and then Kylie and Della. She waited for them to assure her that it wasn’t going to be bad. That she was overreacting. How much harm could a little blood bring?

  They didn’t say a word.

  * * *

  Perry, Burnett, and Chase flew to the address penned in blood on Miranda’s bathroom mirror. Perry had wanted to call her so badly, but time hadn’t allowed it.

  The only Dairy Lane they found was one in Tomball, Texas, about forty miles from Fallen. The house, a run-down home built up on blocks, stood on about ten acres all to itself. If not for the lights on in the front of the house, and one old Chevy pickup truck with a couple of hay bales in the bed, he’d’ve assumed it was abandoned.

  They landed in the back of the house in a patch of trees near a broken down Ford Falcon. They faced the wind, so hopefully it would whisk their scents away.

  Perry morphed into human form. Burnett and Chase were crouched down behind the old car that vines had smothered. Perry moved in. Their eyes grew brighter by the second. He’d been around Burnett enough to recognize the different shades of color. This shade screamed blood.

  Someone in that house was bleeding.

  They both lifted their noses in the air.

  “Vampire, shape-shifter, and Wiccan,” Chase whispered so low Perry almost missed it. The younger vamp took in another noseful of air. “Shit.”

  Burnett nodded and his eyes lit up with anger. “Tabitha and Anthony.” He tilted his head to the side as if listening. “Three, maybe four.” He stared at the house as if pulling together a plan.

  “We might need—”

  “Let me shift and go in,” Perry whispered.

  Burnett looked at him. “They might have meters checking for shifters.”

  Perry inched closer. “I don’t think so. Not here. Jax wouldn’t live in a place like this. This might be where his men stay, but he wouldn’t supply security.”

  Burnett nodded. “In and out. Tell me what we’ve got. I’m coming in in five minutes.”

  Perry considered his shift and went with a rattlesnake. Not his favorite, but one that wouldn’t look out of place.

  He slithered through the overgrown brush and slipped under the house. A mouse squeaked and scurried off, not wanting to be dinner. Spiders scattered and some pulled their webs up into the dank corners of the house’s foundation. Others ignored him, too busy sucking the blood out of their latest kill.

  In the far corner of the front of the house he saw some rotted wood that could allow entry into the home. He inched that way, his scaly underbelly rolled over gravel.

  He slowed down when voices echoed. Footsteps pounded the floor above him, flakes of old wood and dirt showered down. The scales over his eyes protected him from the specks of dirt.

  He listened, hoping to make out what was being said. Hoping to hear Tabitha’s voice. Needing to believe she was alive.

  Muffled voices continued—he counted three different ones—coming from the front room of the house.

  Fitting his triangular-shaped head in the hole, his underbelly muscles pulsed and contracted to pull himself up. Once inside the house, he slithered beneath an old cabinet. Curling up to make himself smaller, he eased his head out to see two men sitting on a sagging sofa. A third was in an old recliner eating chips. A gun rested on the side table.

  Perry checked their patterns. Mixed-breeds. Not that it meant they weren’t dangerous, but it definitely made them less concerning.

  “Someone needs to bury the first body,” one of them said. “He’s starting to smell.”

  Perry’s scales crawled.

  “I don’t want to dig two holes,” the bigger one on the sofa said. “Did Jax give us the go ahead to finish the other one?” the guy in the chair asked.

  “He said he’d send someone over tomorrow to try to get more information out of him.”

  “That French bastard doesn’t know shit,” the other guy on the sofa said. “I beat the crap out of him. If he knew where she was he’d have told me.”

  She? French? Anthony? Was Tabitha not here? But wasn’t Tabitha’s scent here?

  Perry slithered from under the cabinet and headed to the back room. He stayed as close as he could to the dirty corner molding, hoping not to be seen. Once out of sight, he let his tongue out, flickering it up and down to catch the scents.

  Immediately he wished he hadn’t. The stench of blood and death flavored his tongue.

  He eased down the hall. The door was shut, but it had a hole in it that looked as if someone had kicked it in.

  He eased through it, and a piece of wood splintered off and clattered to the wood floor.

  One of the goons must have sensitive hearing because the floor creaked with heavy weight.

  “Where you going?” a voice boomed.

  “I heard something.”

  Perry shot the rest of the way through the hole, ending up in a dark room.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall.

  His snake heart pounded. He searched in the darkness for something to hide under. He spotted bars, separating the room. No furniture offered cover.

  He slid through the cold metal poles that made up one jail cell. He saw it. The only thing that offered him any cover was a body.

  One as cold as, if not colder than, the reptile form he’d taken on. The door to the room swung open. Light flooded the room.

  With no choice, he eased into the ripped and bloody shirt worn by a corpse.

  But he hadn’t made it in time.

  The man screamed. Bullets started exploding.

  Chapter Thirty

  Holiday had left to take care of Hannah and the baby. Miranda, Kylie, and Della all piled into Della’s bed. They didn’t sleep, but they didn’t talk much, either. They waited.

  Waited to hear from Burnett.

  Della shot upright. Miranda knew what that meant. She bolted up and ran into the living room.

  She’d opened the door when Perry stepped onto the porch.


  One look at his face, at his eyes, and she knew … knew he had bad news.

  “Don’t tell me she’s dead!” Miranda started backing into the cabin. “Don’t you dare tell me she’s dead!”

  Perry moved in. To hold her. To comfort her. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted her sister to be alive.

  He started talking, but she refused to hear it. She jerked loose and put her hands over her ears.

  “No,” she screamed.

  “Miranda stop. Listen to me.” He pulled her against him. “We didn’t find Tabitha.”

  Miranda caught her breath. “Then what’s the terrible news that you have to tell me. And don’t say you don’t have any. I can see it.”

  He nodded. “I’m not going to lie to you.” He moved her back until she hit the sofa and she dropped down. He sat beside her. So close his thigh pressed against her leg.

  “The address … there were three of Jax’s men there and some of their victims.” He took her hand. “Anthony is hurt, pretty badly, but he’s in our care. One of Jax’s men confessed. Tabitha was handed over to an underground gang of Wiccans.”

  “Why would they want her?”

  “We don’t know. But we’re almost certain that it’s not just her they want. They want you, too.”

  She heard him. It should scare her, but all she could think about was how scared Tabitha must be. The last time they were in trouble in Paris, they had each other. Now her sister was alone.

  “I don’t understand. What have we done to them? What do they want with us?”

  “Burnett and Shawn are looking into it.”

  Emotionally spent and exhausted, they sat there on the sofa. Kylie and Della went to bed. Miranda asked Perry to stay the rest of the night. Or maybe she begged. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be alone.

  She changed into a pair of light blue pajamas. He came in later and took off his shirt and crawled into her twin-size bed with her. They didn’t make out, didn’t kiss. It wasn’t that kind of night.

  They lay close, holding on to each other like two people needing something. Needing each other.

  She rested her head against his bare shoulder. His hand rested on the curve of her waist. In his arms she finally felt safe. In his arms she finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  “How’s Anthony?” Perry dropped into the chair across from Holiday’s desk. Burnett had his own office, but if Holiday wasn’t there, he’d use his wife’s. Her office was bigger, but Perry suspected it wasn’t the space that the vampire cared about. The essence of his wife was in this room. Color, crystals, family photos, and live plants. The room even smelled like Holiday. Like love. Everyone loved Holiday. But no one more than Burnett.

  Burnett frowned. “His heart stopped beating last night, but they were able to pull him back. Doctor said his blood pressure looks better this morning.”

  “Good.” Perry had told Burnett he’d meet him at the office before he took off. The sun hadn’t risen when he left Miranda’s. Perry would have given anything to stay there. To feel her sleeping on his chest. To be the one to make sure she was safe.

  But he knew the best way to help Miranda was to find her sister. Last night, Perry had remembered again the conversation he’d heard at Jax’s house. The warlock had said he’d only gotten 50 percent of what Jax was supposed to deliver. Miranda must be the other 50 percent.

  How Perry was going to keep from ripping out his brother’s heart and feeding it to him was a mystery.

  “Holiday spoke with Ms. Wales late last night,” Burnett said.

  “Ms. Wales?” Perry didn’t recognize the name.

  “Holiday’s old professor with the same tattoo as Miranda.”

  Perry leaned forward. “Yeah, Miranda mentioned her. Does she know something?”

  “Not exactly, but something she said might shed some light on things—if she’s correct. Holiday admits she’s an eccentric.”

  “What did she say?” Perry asked.

  “Holiday had never mentioned anything to the woman about Tabitha being missing. When Holiday told her, she remembered her mom warned her to never show her tattoo, because according to her grandmother there were a gang of evil Wiccans in the world who would try to take her. Ms. Wales thought her mom was just being overprotective. But she now wonders if perhaps she was never in danger because she was only half Wiccan.”

  “But Tabitha doesn’t have the tattoo,” Perry said, thinking aloud.

  “She did when the fortune-teller read her palm the first time. Tabitha told me that Miranda’s tattoo was bigger than hers. But she said her tattoo had been a lot bigger than that of her friends when they went.”

  “So the fortune reader was just a ruse to find girls with power?”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “So the tattoo could be the reason they want them, but to do what? Did Shawn come up with anything?”

  Burnett’s expression went grave. So grave Perry’s gut did another twist.

  “Nothing definite. But a couple of old cases in the eighties offered two possible motives. Both equally disgusting. You sure you want to hear them?”

  “No,” Perry said. “But I probably need to know.”

  “One rogue Wiccan gang was kidnapping young witches of child-bearing age. The plan had been for their leaders, the strongest of the warlocks, to impregnate them so he could produce powerful heirs to build an army.”

  Perry clenched his fists resting in his lap.

  “Another gang who practiced black magic were believed to want the witches to sacrifice, believing their powers would be transferred to the one who wielded the knife.”

  Perry closed his eyes. “Shit.”

  “I know.” Burnett twisted in Holiday’s chair. It squeaked. Perry’s desire to run back to Miranda to stay with her grew stronger. His gut still said it wasn’t right. “You have to make sure Miranda is safe.”

  “I’m putting a shadow on her, even in the camp.” Burnett picked up a pencil and twirled it in his hand. “Do you think Jax will really trust you with information about the Wiccan gang that has Tabitha?”

  Perry looked up. “I sure as hell hope so. I’m the only chance we’ve got.”

  Burnett frowned. “Do you have a meeting set up with him today?”

  “He said he’d call my mom and tell us where and when to meet him.”

  “Why doesn’t he call you directly?”

  “He said he doesn’t trust me enough yet.”

  Burnett slammed back in the chair. It sounded like a couple of screws popped off.

  “If he discovers you are working with the FRU…” His gaze met Perry’s. “You’d better make it out of this unscathed.”

  * * *

  “You awake?” Miranda stormed into Della’s room.

  Miranda had woken up when Perry had left. Without his arms around her, her concern for her sister threatened to consume her and pull her into a dark mental place where everything felt hopeless.

  Instead of letting depression swallow her, Miranda chose to get mad. Mad at whoever had taken her sister. She paced around her bedroom thinking about how she’d like to kick their ass.

  Thoughts of kicking someone’s ass had driven her to wake up Della.

  Della lay there, eyes open, a cranky lump under her covers. “I am since you started stomping around your bedroom.”

  “Good, can we go practice fighting?”

  Kylie had also been training her, but Della’s methods stuck better.

  Della lifted her head an inch and glanced at the window. “It’s not even six.”

  “Please.”

  Della rose up on her elbow. “Fine. You head that way. I’ll pee and brush the crud off my teeth and be there waiting for you.”

  Miranda started out.

  “Wait,” Della said.

  “What?” Miranda looked back. Della held her phone in her hand.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll walk you.”

  “Why?”

  Della frowned. “Bu
rnett wants you shadowed.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened. “Here? He’s overreacting.”

  Della popped up. “Yeah, that means he cares about you. Don’t you hate it when people do that?” She snagged clothes from her closet and shot over to the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later they stood by the lake, the eastern sky a rainbow of colors. Della was showing her how to flip someone over her shoulder. Miranda listened, soaking in every word, and tried really hard not to think about the sound of rushing water. Nope, she didn’t want to think about that.

  Instead she thought about using each and every attack move Della showed her on her sister’s kidnappers.

  “I’m going to pull you over my shoulder this time,” Della said. “I won’t do it hard, but I think you’ll understand more what I mean. Come at me from behind like I showed you.” Miranda did and air whooshed out of her when Della effortlessly grabbed her upper arm, tossed her over her shoulder, then set her—gently—on the ground.

  Miranda popped up. “Do you think I could do that? Even without your strength?” She inhaled again thinking about Tabitha, wishing her sister knew how to protect herself. Wishing Miranda was there to protect her.

  “Yeah. Humans do it.”

  “Can I try?” Miranda asked.

  Della took a small step back, motioning with her hand up and down. “You’re getting your tattoo groove on.”

  Miranda looked at the pattern spidering down her legs. “I think Ms. Wales was right. They come when I get emotional.”

  “You’re emotional?” Della asked.

  “Mad as hell,” Miranda admitted, and saying it out loud felt good. “Someone took my sister, killed Anthony’s brother, and almost killed Anthony.”

  “Yeah, pisses me off, too,” Della admitted. Then she smiled. “Does it work when you feel pleasssurre?”

  It did. Miranda had woken up last night in Perry’s arms, aware of his naked chest, and saw herself all painted up. Not that she cared to share that with Della.

  “Forget the tattoos. Let me try to throw you,” Miranda said.