Midnight Falls (Sky Brooks Series Book 3)

by McKenzie Hunter

  MIDNIGHT FALLS

  by

  McKenzie Hunter

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  MESSAGE TO THE READER

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  McKenzie Hunter

  Midnight Falls

  © 2015, McKenzie Hunter

  mckenziehunter.author@gmail.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  ISBN: 978-0-9903441-4-8

  CHAPTER 1

  Josh stood in the middle of the diaphanous shell. I pressed against parts of it, trying to find a weakness in the barrier, but it held firm. The mocking grin remained as I whispered several words and pressed against the protective field that remained even after three failed attempts. It was the strongest he had ever made. I could feel the strong magic he used. Even if I couldn’t feel it, I could see it in the strain on his face. His cerulean eyes were not as dark, and deep smoky gray as he called forth stronger magic.

  It wavered; his eyes eclipsed even darker trying to hold it. The words fell freely from my lips and specks of orange and blue flailed and the wall dropped; the light crystals of its existence dissipated into the air.

  “Very good,” he said softly as he walked to the sofa and dropped onto it.

  Just as I was about to take a seat in the chair across from him, a glass tumbler flew in my direction. My hands quickly flicked in the air and it changed direction, crashing into the door across the room, sending shattered pieces everywhere.

  The exasperated breath made small waves over his lips. “You didn’t have to break it.”

  “You didn’t have to attack me with glassware,” I shot back with a grin.

  Even fatigued, the remarkable control Josh had over magic was impressive. Effortlessly, from his seat on the sofa, he gathered the broken glass and cleaned it away without as much as lifting his head from its resting position against the back of the chair.

  “You’ve improved so much in the last three months,” he said.

  With practice, my ability to control defensive magic now rivaled Josh’s.

  “I think we should try spells again,” I said.

  It was only when he lifted his head and those intense perceptive eyes held mine that I saw the guilt about our shared secret. We were living in this perpetual state of denial and never discussing the source of my magic—which was something we danced around. It was the dirty little secret that we would probably take to our graves. I never admitted that I held on to some of the dark magic that Ethos forced into me as an effort to kill me, and he didn’t mention that he knew that when he saved me from it. We had mastered the beautiful art of denial. We never discussed it even after the time I performed a spell and things went terribly wrong.

  Gifted with the ability to change natural magic to dark, we figured I could learn to do the reverse with dark magic. Most days I had convinced myself that I could master it completely, but sometimes I doubted it. It didn’t feel like Josh’s magic, not quite dark and draconian, but not natural. But it was stolen dark magic. The more I thought I was controlling it, the more the reins of my control seemed to loosen. I often wondered if we were being foolish and naïve to believe that diablerie wasn’t inherently evil and not at the mercy of the one who wielded it.

  “I think we should wait,” he finally responded after giving it a long consideration. His tone held a level of guilt rather than apprehension. Protective fields and defensive magic were easy; they just used a minor amount of magic, leaving the core of it untouched. Performing spells is where you delved into the essence of it, manipulating and forcing it to react to your command. Casting a spell wasn’t like the other things that seemed harmless in comparison. They changed the dynamics of the world, altering and manipulating things. If done correctly, it was majestic, obliterating any feelings of powerlessness while draining its source, which is why they were hard to do with borrowed magic. But my magic wasn’t borrowed. The source was dead and I had taken it from him.

  He sat up, concentrating on his hands for a long time before he looked around his new place, which he had moved into just a little over a month ago. He brought many of the things from his high-rise condo in the city to his new home; a three-bedroom Art Moderne ranch. I was curious to know what eclectic person decided something so unique, with its odd curves and peculiar design, would not look conspicuous in the Midwest. It did, which was why it was hidden away nearly half an hour from the city. The stainless steel appliances, expensive hardwood floors, vibrant modern colors, and empire blinds didn’t seem to improve his post-dorm/fraternity house decorum, which probably irritated his brother each time he visited. The scarred coffee table fit the oversized microsuede dark blue sofa that was slept on more than sat on. The odd accent chairs must have been a gift because they seemed out of place, and far too traditional for his style. The worn geometric area rug wasn’t worth keeping in his first place, let alone packing it and moving it somewhere else.

  It was different from his condo that I had loved, but it gave him what he desperately needed—privacy. After we had a few accidents with magic, staying in his condo wasn’t really an option, especially after the co-op asked via a nicely worded form letter from their attorney that he leave.

  “Do you think we were wrong for keeping some of Ethos’ magic?” he asked softly.

  Oh, I guess we are talking about it now.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But look how far I’ve come in just a few months. Imagine how much control I will have of it in a few more months.” My denegation seemed far more convincing than I felt about it.

  He took his time responding. “Maybe we should go back to the way we were. Just get rid of the dark magic and I go back to loaning you mine.”

  I shook my head. “Loaning it makes you weaker. Why do that when I can just improve my skills with magic I already have? I can do this, Josh. We can do this. Right now it’s hard, which I am sure it was for you when your strength increased.”

  “Hmm, where did this confidence come from?” he asked with his trademark half-grin, but fragments of his tension still remained as he studied me with cautious eyes.

  It was false bravado and although I wasn’t sure about the magic, I just wasn’t ready to give up so easily.

  “But we need to be careful. You already know how most witches feel about were-animals and magic. I just want you to be safe. The lower-level witches have a more difficult time detecting the variations of magic, but the stronger ones are more sensitive and skilled. With circumstances as the
y are, it is better not to raise concerns. And you’ve caused enough,” he said.

  “Variations?”

  “If magic has been performed and I have ever been around that witch, I can tell who performed it.” Josh had once described it as a fingerprint. Each witch has their special imprint that marked their magic. Problem was that if the witch were unknown, then the owner couldn’t be matched. “Were-animals are the same way. If one walks into a room, other were-animals know it’s there and the same is true with vampires.”

  “Well, I am sure the deadly fangs are a big sign as well,” I joked.

  He laughed. “That too.”

  Were the circumstances he spoke of in regards to his brother Ethan, the pack’s Beta? I suspected that there was more to him than just being a werewolf, although he continued to deny that there was. Did Josh know?

  “Tell me about Marcia,” I said. The Creed was the governing body of the witches. At one time, it was led by the five members, equal partners in dealing with the witches. But over the years, Marcia, the strongest of the witches, had emerged as the leader and the others reduced to just council. Technically, they were supposed to lead as one, but if they were to name someone as a leader, then it would be her.

  Last year I had found out I was a Moura Encantada, responsible for protecting the Aufero, a mystical object, and Marcia had it in her possession. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. It was my mother’s responsibility to protect it, but upon her death, I inherited the obligation and I’d already failed. Marcia somehow had it and I was sure she wasn’t going to give up such power anytime soon. I had no idea how I was going to get it. And I had to have it. It was a life or death matter. The last Moura Encantada that allowed her protective object to be taken had been found dead.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked casually, I am sure, wondering about my new interest in her. His smile was missing its usual wayward lilt; it was stiff and forced. The relationship between him and the witches had always been strained by his dual loyalties. He managed it, but it wasn’t without difficulty.

  “Before she acquired the Aufero, how did they punish the witches?”

  Josh came to his feet and started to slowly walk the area, my attention following his every movement. Josh wasn’t a hard person to keep your eyes on. The deep, alluring blue eyes and defined angles of his features were captivating. “The same as she does now, she takes the magic. I guess the worst thing one could do to an angel is clip their wings,” he said, and the smile vanished quickly as his eyes became heavy with concern.

  “But the Aufero can pull the magic from them by sheer will. How did they do it before?” I asked.

  “They used a spell.”

  “Just like that, ‘bam’ and you’re magicless?”

  “It’s not that simple. There is usually a hearing and then they decide what level you will be demoted to. Most penalties are short-term. But most witches don’t fare well when such limitations are forced upon them, especially if they lived the majority of their life with the ability,” he admitted. “There isn’t anything that can be done about it. Some are punished for just a year, usually for small infractions: practicing in forbidden magic, usually dark arts or necromancy. For some reason, there are many of us that feel the need to practice such a dangerous craft. The Creed punishes a witch if a human is hurt as a result or practicing what they consider forbidden magic. Recently, the punishments have been stricter for minor infractions that, in the past, only warranted general counseling. Things like spells that were poorly executed and put the witch at risk of being discovered. Just like you all, we want to maintain the same level of anonymity about our existence.”

  “And the harshest punishments?”

  He made an attempt at a scowl but seemed to lose interest. “Removal of magic completely or punishments to a level five are reserved for witches that perform a rever tempore. Most of the time, the punishment is even more severe.”

  He didn’t need to say it; we both knew what that punishment was—death.

  He considered my look of confusion and explained. “It’s a spell to reverse time,” he said. “You have to be very strong and very gifted to do it, and still most of the time it fails. But if they are successful, the witch can go back to a specific time within twenty-four hours. Someone that is desperate enough to do the spell is usually trying to correct something really bad; consequences usually do not mean much to them at the time, and the risk of losing their magic or death is inconsequential.”

  Staring at him with a newfound fascination, my head was a whirlwind of thoughts as I imagined the ability to go back in time. Of all the magic we’d done and all the things I had seen and heard, this had to be the most intriguing.

  Josh’s gaze stayed on me for a long time, sensing my interest, “You don’t just change your twenty-four hours, Sky—you change everyone’s. That is why it is forbidden. Losing your magic may be your best punishment.” His watched me with concern for a long time. “It is a spell that under no circumstance should be performed. It’s dangerous.”

  I got his message loud and clear: Don’t try to learn how to do it and don’t even think about asking me to teach it.

  “These are strong witches. I can’t believe they stand idly by while their magic is stripped from them and not try to stop them.”

  “Some do, but you have one witch going against the five powerful witches that make up the Creed. I am strong, but not stronger than the five of them,” he said.

  He took up a spot in front of me. “If you don’t give in willingly, it is stripped from you by force, and it is quite painful, I hear. Of course, there is a penalty for your resistance,” he said. “But it’s not like this is done casually. For such a severe punishment, it must be a unanimous decision.”

  I was sure the trial was just a formality and that the witch’s guilt and level of punishment had been established before the so-called trial occurred. His voice hinted at it, although his words didn’t. I’m sure those found guilty rivaled their strength. Was there truly a hearing, or was it just a show, a display of false democracy that truly did not exist? Where were the bylaws, a written account of what was deemed punishable by the demotion of your magical skill? But I climbed off my high horse quickly, because the were-animals weren’t any better. Of course, there were laws that we lived by, but some were vague, giving the Alpha far too much power of interpretation.

  The uncomfortable silence between us was odd. We dwelled in a place of unrestrained comfort—we understood each other. Josh had always been very intuitive and I suspected he knew I had more inquiries but for some reason resisted pressing the issue.

  “I need to get the Aufero,” I admitted.

  He simply nodded. “I know. I’ll help you.”

  “No. I may have to take it, and you assisting will only make things worse.” It was such a delicate line that he walked by having to split his loyalties between the pack and the witches. I wanted to find the Aufero and take it. The further he was from this situation, the more plausible his deniability.

  The people in the otherworld didn’t have a problem with segregation. They dealt with each other as little as possible and when they were forced to interact, it was usually in a state of contention, which made Josh’s relationship with the Midwest Pack an atypical and very fragile situation. The pack needed Josh and would never do anything to damage the frail tapestry of the situation. If things went badly with Marcia and me, they would want Josh as far from the situation as possible, and my act would be viewed as that of a rogue were-animal, unsanctioned and unauthorized.

  Josh’s situation wasn’t any better. As a blood ally to the Midwest Pack and younger brother of their Beta, it would be difficult for him to keep my secret if he deemed it pertinent information for them to know. Our friendship teetered a fine line, complicated by our personal obligations to the pack. He was more fettered due to the intrinsic bond he had with his brother.

  Josh was strong, although not as skilled as someone of his level should be. His
alliance with the were-animals made him a target. I was sure they were just waiting for him to mess up so badly that he would be the next witch in front of them being divested of their power as a penalty for some minor infraction.

  I didn’t want anyone involved. “But I do need a favor from you,” I admitted, my eyes dropping to the floor, avoiding his heightened interest.

  When I finally glanced up, he flashed a smile and leaned against the sofa, crossing his arms and exposing a new addition to the multitude of art that covered his body. It was a textured tribal tattoo that wrapped around his forearm covering the scar left when he had been slashed by a claw a few months ago. Even when he was doing the most innocuous of acts, there was always a hint of mischief to him that made you feel like he had an intimate relationship with trouble. “Okay? What do you need?”

  “I need us to go back to the dark realm. Do you remember that spell?” I mumbled, briefly lifting my eyes to meet his.

  The smile vanished, retreating into a worrisome grimace. He found his composure but not before he started to bite at his nail bed. It was his nervous tic—his tell. But he had every right to be apprehensive. It was a caustic reminder of the time he was nearly killed when a witch connected to dark magic tried to kill him in order to steal his magic.

  “Yes, I remember the spell and that time quite well,” he said.

  “Can we do that again?”

  “Why?”

  “I think I know where the Aufero is. When we went there the first time, for the Gem of Levage, I saw an orb that fit its description.” I grabbed my purse, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to him.

  “I didn’t know it was important until Chris told you about the Aufero.”

  He looked at the horrible scribbling on the paper. “And what is this?”

  “I don’t have an eidetic memory, but it is pretty good. I tried to draw everything around it so that I can find where it is being kept,” I said. “But it was over two years ago, everything is fuzzy. I just need another look. ”