A Lying Witch Book Four

by Odette C. Bell

  My stomach shook as my lips jolted open. “Sorry? Turn on McCain?”

  “You must stab him through the heart with that knife.”

  Cold, sickly expectation slammed into my stomach and threatened to make me retch.

  Mary shook her head. “No, it won’t kill him. It will return the remnants of Max’s soul to McCain. It’s the only way to make McCain whole again, the only way to finally remove the curse and the only way to bring him back to normal.”

  I couldn’t say a word. I just stood there, open mouthed as I stared at her, her hands pressing tighter against my own.

  “You can do this, child. For the future has waited too long for you. I’ve waited too long for you.”

  Her words and the look in her eye finally jolted me out of my reverie. “What do you mean you’ve been waiting too long for me? You exist in the past. How do you even know I exist?”

  “Future sight.” She plucked one of her hands off mine and tapped a stiff finger against the side of her head. “As I said, I used some of the last of my true power to sight you. And now you’re here you must finally do what the rest of us McLanes could not. Use your special power to end this.”

  “Special power? What are you talking about?” Excitement and hope swelled in my heart as I realized I was about to find the answers I’d been desperately searching for.

  I didn’t get the chance.

  Before Mary could answer, she twisted her head to the side in a tight, obviously desperate move, her pale eyes growing wide. “You must go. You must go. McCain is hurting your friends. Close to killing them. Go.”

  With that, Mary McLane locked a hand on my shoulder and shoved me backward.

  I expected to tip over and knock my head against the edge of the table. I didn’t. Darkness opened up behind me, and the scene in the cottage simply drifted away. The last thing I saw was Mary’s grim but determined expression. Her lips parted open, and she whispered, “good luck.”

  That word echoed through my mind as I finally arrived back in the future.

  Chapter 8

  I landed face-first in a pile of gravel, my chest bouncing up and down as I struggled for air. It took several seconds until the residual effects of the spell waned, and I could control my body once more. Warily, shaking from head to foot, I pushed into a seated position.

  And I saw the destruction.

  It was a war zone. I’d never seen anything like it in my whole life. Nothing from TV, nothing from my worst nightmare. It was like the scene was being choreographed by the Devil himself.

  I pushed up to my knees, and I had to duck back down as a metal pole appeared from somewhere and whistled overhead. As it shot past my face, it flattened my fringe over my sweat-caked head.

  “Jesus,” I spat as I rolled forward, punching to my feet.

  The dagger slipped off my lap and tumbled to the gravel, dashing against my shoe.

  I had just a second to stare down at it before someone sailed out of the shadows of a mound of trash to my side. At first, my gut tensed as I thought it was McCain.

  It wasn’t. It was Jim.

  “Hey, Chi,” he said in that same chipper tone he always managed even in the direst of situations.

  Before I had the chance to return the greeting, he scooped forward, looped an arm through mine, and pulled me backward. “McCain’s attacking,” he managed through tense breaths that tore through his sternum like waves from a tsunami.

  Before he could pull me away, I resisted, fell down to my knee, and plucked up the sacred knife with my free hand.

  “What’s that?” Jim turned over his shoulder, his glasses jostling on his nose as he stared at the knife for half a second before returning his attention to the dump. This place was now a death trap. Okay, it had been a death trap before us witches had invaded and cast our defensive spells over all the junk.

  Now it was absolute chaos. A lot of the spells were malfunctioning, and massive sheets of warped, rusted scrap metal were soaring overhead, splitting under bolts of stray magic and sending red-hot shrapnel blasting everywhere.

  Jim ducked to the side, drawing up his arm and sweeping it in an arc. As magic spat and crackled over his arm, sleeve, and splayed fingers, it saved us from a chunk of spinning death.

  “Oh my friggin’ god,” I managed.

  Even the chaos around me wasn’t enough to pull my attention off the sacred knife. It felt so strange in my grip. Though my eyes told me it looked like the same sacred knife Sarah Anne had given me, my fingers disagreed. The exact strange sensations tickling across my palm and shifting through my fingers swore to me that I was, in fact, holding onto a scrap of a star.

  Or a soul.

  I gulped as I ducked to the side and narrowly avoided a spinning chunk of earth. Clods of dirt and crushed grass spun out of it as it twirled overhead. That didn’t sound so bad, on the face of it – grass and dirt were a heck of a lot softer than a chunk of rusted metal to the head. The grass and dirt, however, were charged with magic. As soon as a single blade of grass filtered down and dashed against my upturned cheek, I screamed as a wave of pain ate into my face.

  I brought up my hand, and still clutching the sacred knife carefully, used the base of my thumb to rub at my cheek wildly.

  “Avoid everything,” Jim bellowed as he continued to lead me through the madness that was this magical tip.

  As we ran, I caught sight of other witches. They were huddled in groups behind whatever protection they could find. I even caught sight of Bridgette. My stomach sank right through the center of the Earth when I realized it was her body double.

  She was using her magic again so soon after almost killing herself.

  God. It was all because of me.

  All because McCain couldn’t stop.

  Though I’d been keeping up with Jim until now, I started to pull back from him. “What are you doing?” he spat.

  I yanked my arm free from his and took a darting step back. “I can’t run anymore, Jim. It’s time to face him before he kills everyone.”

  “Hey, Chi, no. There’s no way you can take that asshole on. He’s one of the most powerful sorcerer kings we’ve ever seen. And he’s using all his magic.”

  “Good,” I said in a rattling tone that was suitably strong.

  Before I could let Jim reach for me, I darted back.

  I skidded to the left and pushed down a gravelly incline to my side. As I slipped down the side of the junk-covered hill, Bane City opened out before me. I had a split second to appreciate how beautiful it was as it spread out, a glistening metal jewel against the horizon.

  Then? I clutched the sacred knife with every ounce of strength I had.

  Jim continued to scream from behind me, but I completely ignored him. Because it was time to end this.

  I won’t even bother trying to describe to you how nervous I felt as I ran toward McCain’s presence.

  My heart didn’t just thump. Hello, I was sure it was going to tear free of my rib cage and hurtle out of my chest like a cannon.

  But did that stop me from throwing myself after McCain? Hell no. As I kept repeating over and over in my head, it was time to end this.

  Don’t ask me where I found the energy to throw myself forward through the chaotic war that was the dump. I had no frigging clue how I found the sense to avoid the deathtrap of metal and spinning trash, either.

  But everything seemed to come together. The coordination, my balance, and, most importantly, my luck. Or was it my luck? Could it be my powers?

  The question of them slammed into my mind, front and center. If only I’d had more time with Mary. I would have been able to ask her how she used her powers without suffering the consequences. Because she had used them. I’d seen the unmistakable light gather in her eyes. She’d told me it wasn’t the full use of her magic, and therefore didn’t come with the same risks.

  I didn’t have to struggle to figure out where McCain was. All I had to do was follow the carnage.

  Though it didn’t loo
k as if anyone had died yet, witches were limping out from behind cover, being dragged off this awful battlefield by their friends. The more I saw, the more it hardened me against him. That bastard had to be stopped. He’d pay for his unchecked power.

  The dagger, which was still clasped so frigging tightly in my claw-like grip, responded to that thought. I swear it did. It pulsed brighter, more sparks flying out of it as if it were going to erupt like a volcano.

  I held onto the fact of its power, told myself I would make it count. All I had to do was get close enough to McCain, attack him with the dagger, and everything else would be history, right?

  Right?

  I skidded around a mound of magic-infused scrap iron.

  It was obvious the witches had spelled it with some kind of defensive enchantment. And yet, it was just as obvious that the spell had been partially destroyed by one of McCain’s roving attacks.

  Where the scraps of metal should have been forming a barricade, now they lurched and shook as if they were having convulsions, one or two of them standing up like a shield only to buckle backward and thrash on the ground.

  If this is his power, a treacherous voice said in my head, you have no chance. No chance. You’ll never get close enough to use the knife.

  I clenched my teeth and steeled myself against that thought, pushing it back lest it rob me of the determination that had seen me get this far.

  Reality, however, could not be pushed back forever.

  As I skidded along a section of gravel and threw myself around it, I finally faced him.

  McCain.

  He was standing there in his polo shirt and chinos, his stolen gold watch glistening in the reflected power buffeting off him.

  In his hand, he held his magical sword. It absolutely pulsed with power as if it were the heart of a star.

  He was facing off against Sarah. She was down on her knees, blood dripping from a wound in her brow.

  Despite her injuries, the look of defiance in her gaze was unmistakable.

  McCain hadn’t seen me yet. Sarah had.

  As her gaze switched toward me, her eyes pulsed wide.

  “Get out of here,” she screamed.

  Hell no.

  “McCain, leave her alone. Save all your battle for me,” I quipped in a spitting hiss of a breath.

  McCain’s body had been loose, his movements easy, but now, one by one the muscles along his back stiffened almost as if his tension were climbing him like a ladder.

  Slowly, as if savoring the moment, he turned.

  His expression was at once one of the darkest and yet most confused I’d ever seen. His glee at having me walk right into his trap was obvious. And yet, a pulse of unmistakable fear shot through his gaze as his eyes darted down to the dagger. Maybe he realized what it was, because his cheeks paled as he pushed back. “How? How did you get that? Where is the McLane contract?” he spat.

  “It’s been destroyed, asshole,” I managed as I fought to slow my thundering heart. Casually, or at least as casually as I could manage considering half of the tip behind me was exploding in flame and destruction, I walked around and stood in front of Sarah. Rather than bring up my hands and clutch them into a defensive position, I locked them on my hips, negotiating around the bulk of the sacred knife so I didn’t inadvertently stab my thigh.

  I shot him the kind of look that I hope told him he had no chance. “You know where I’ve been, don’t you, McCain? You know who I’ve been talking to, right? You know who helped me destroy the contract, don’t you?” With every word I spoke, I took longer and longer to let the syllables drawl out of my mouth. I hoped it didn’t sound like I’d had a stroke, and rather that I was completely unperturbed by the sorcerer king in full swing before me.

  Sarah was no longer begging me to leave, and I hoped she’d realized I had a plan. That being said, she didn’t turn tail and run like I wanted her to. Instead, with a grating wheeze that sounded as if she’d popped a lung, she managed to stand. Then she took a step until she was right beside me. I locked my attention on her in my peripheral vision, not wanting to pull my gaze off Max for a second.

  He still stared at the dagger warily, his cheeks paling. His sword, however, didn’t stop crackling and spitting with power. Not for an instant. So it would take more. I hardened myself against my fear and kept pushing.

  “You wanted me for my ability to go to the past, McCain. You wanted me for my ability to open a gate to this time. My ability to expand your future. But you didn’t account for one fact, did you, my dear McCain?” I said, copying the exact tone Mary had always used when she’d talked of McCain.

  It had the desired effect. He twitched as if I’d slapped him. Me? I just laughed. Because hey, apparently I was pretty good at playing the evil bitch.

  “You lie.” McCain found the power to speak. As his voice punched from his throat, his sword reacted and crackled with a new blast of power.

  Even though it frigging terrified me to be this goddamn close to a pissed off sorcerer king with a sword that looked as if it had been crafted by the Devil himself, again I dug deep and found the power to control myself. My heart could thump all it wanted just as long as McCain couldn’t see my fear.

  I took a nonchalant chuckle as if we’d just shared a joke.

  “Mary did this for me.” I brought the dagger up and brandished it, forcing an easy smile over my lips. Heck, I even chuckled. “She’s in good health, McCain. You should really go back and see her. She misses you,” I added in a singsong tone. “For some damn reason, she still loves you.”

  On the admission Mary was back in the past, that I’d seen her, that she’d created this dagger for me, Max had barely reacted, but on the admission that Mary still loved him? Oh boy, I honestly thought he would pop.

  Sarah drew closer alongside me. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she whispered. Though her voice was weak and shook, she was still standing, and that was a real bonus. Because this was a frigging gamble.

  Max took a shaking step toward me as he rounded his hands into fists. He drew his fingers in until I saw little flecks of blood collect between them and dribble down his palm.

  The number one rule of a good fake fortune is to never give up once you’ve found a weakness. A great fortune teller will have a general conversation with you to begin with, maybe about the weather, maybe about politics, maybe about some new topical news item. But during the entire conversation, they’re doing one thing – they’re figuring out where you stand on things, and, more importantly, who you are. They’re testing your sensibilities, trying to gauge where your emotional buttons are. Then, they’ll press them.

  And this, this is what I was doing to McCain.

  As McCain took a step forward, though my heart told me to step back, turn tail and run in the other frigging direction, I shrugged and took an easy step toward him. From the beginning, McCain had tried to control me through fear. And right here, right now, I needed to show him that would no longer work. I was the one in control.

  “You know there’s no hope, don’t you, Max?” I kept using that same truly irritating musical voice, almost as if I were talking to a baby. “From the beginning, you were never a very good sorcerer king, were you? You had a lot of power,” I let my gaze deliberately stray toward the sword, yet I didn’t let it linger, despite how terribly angry the magical flames looked, “because you were always so terribly easy to control.” I took another voluntary step toward McCain.

  I felt Sarah hesitate before she walked alongside me. I wanted her to get the hell out of here. This was hard enough on my own, knowing I was walking toward a ticking time bomb. With the pressure of knowing that if this backfired, I’d get Sarah killed too, it was doing my head in.

  “I know exactly how to destroy you now, McCain. And you know what I’m gonna do when you’re finally defeated?” It was my turn to tilt my head to the side. It was a move that mimicked McCain’s preferred method of intimidation. And I was damn sure to tilt my head in just the right
way.

  McCain didn’t answer. Heck, it was obvious he couldn’t. He was now shaking with so much rage, it was a surprise he didn’t drill his way through the gravel and fall through the center of the earth.

  I kept telling myself that all I had to do was get close enough to disarm McCain. Then? Oh, I’d just stab him in the heart.

  On paper, it didn’t sound too bad, but as I took another step toward the enraged, almost convulsing sorcerer king, my heart promised me this wouldn’t work. Sure enough, the spell of rage suddenly broke, and McCain threw himself at me.

  Fortunately, Sarah got there first, looped a hand around my middle, and pulled me to the side.

  I watched McCain’s sword slice right past my face. If Sarah hadn’t gotten to me in time, it would have cut one of my frigging arms off. And while I doubted he’d forgotten he needed me alive, there was a lot he could put my body through without technically killing me.

  He bellowed in rage, almost roaring like an aggrieved lion as he twisted around on the spot and took a swipe at Sarah with the sword. Though we were several steps out of reach, that didn’t matter, as a blast of magic erupted from the tip of the blade, sailing toward Sarah. Rather than get out of the way, she twisted to the side and protected me with the bulk of her back. I felt her slam against me as McCain’s blow barreled into her.

  “Sarah,” I screamed.

  She slumped against me.

  She wasn’t dead. I watched her eyes pulse wide open. I also saw her reach a hand down the front of her dress. In a shaking but still quick move, she plucked out Dimitri’s keys.

  When McCain had swung toward us, he’d overbalanced and fallen to his knees. He punched to his feet, another absolutely crazed bellow splitting from his lips and echoing around the dump.

  “Hold on. This is gonna take everything out of me,” Sarah managed as she clutched Dimitri’s keys.

  As they jangled an inch before my face, I suddenly saw two keys I swear I’d never seen before. They were much longer than the rest, larger, and as for decoration? They looked as if they’d been crafted by the Russian goldsmith Faberge himself. They were at once some of the prettiest and yet curious items I’d ever seen.