“He’s been watching you for a while and texting his findings to one number. All of the messages report no sign of the power in you. My guess is that today would have been his last report. So let’s send it for him.” Cherry tapped the numbered keys the appropriate amount of times to spell out her message.
His sixteenth birthday has passed. No powers manifested.
Cherry checked her watch to make sure midnight had already passed, then pressed send. “This is where I need your help, Son. Are you ready?”
Orano took a deep breath and nodded.
They found the man’s car in their driveway and pulled it into the empty spot in their garage. Cherry and Orano dragged the body through the house and placed it in the passenger seat of the car. She kept a careful eye on her son throughout the process. Although he looked ready to vomit, he held himself together.
“The hard part’s over, Orano. Now, I just need you to follow me in our car. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But I don’t have my driver’s license,” he said.
Cherry stifled the giggle his unexpected remark elicited. “I think we can overlook that under the circumstances, don’t you?”
Driving the short distance out of town, Cherry kept her eye on her son through the rearview mirror and pondered how she would help Orano deal with everything he’d experienced. Although he was lucid, she knew he’d been operating on autopilot since the Ọwọ ti Ọlọrun’s man died. Her son’s honorable spirit would be crushed if she didn’t do something.
When they reached the curve in the road not-so-affectionately nicknamed “Dead Man’s Turn,” she stopped the car. She just needed to put the man in the driver’s seat, then wedge his foot onto the gas pedal.
“Grab me a thick branch. About a foot and a half long or so,” Cherry instructed her son.
While Orano searched, she maneuvered the body behind the wheel before opening all of the windows. She couldn’t count on the crash breaking them and needed a plausible reason for a piece of tree to be found inside the vehicle.
Orano handed her a gnarled branch that would be perfect. She took it from his grasp and instructed him to wait in their car. He didn’t need to be exposed to any more violence than the night had already brought.
With the car running in neutral, she closed the driver’s side door and reached in through the window. She placed one end of the branch on the gas pedal, then shoved the other end into the edge of the seat. The car’s engine roared as raw power surged. With a quick prayer of thanks that his car had an automatic transmission, Cherry pulled herself as far out of the vehicle as she could while still being able to reach the shifter. When she jammed the car into drive, the tires spun on the dirt and gravel at the side of the road before finding purchase and shooting the vehicle ahead.
The car careened over the edge as so many others had done over the years, then crashed down the thirty-foot drop-off. Many drivers died that way. One more wouldn’t raise suspicion, especially since the stranger chose not to wear his seatbelt.
Cherry let out a sigh of relief when the job was done, although the feeling didn’t last long. When she returned to her car, she found Orano sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks.
“I promise that one day you will get past this, Orano. It might take some time, but it will happen.” Cherry kissed him on his forehead and began the drive home, hoping she hadn’t just told a lie.
Chapter 2
Yesterday
Tori Houlton watched as the one person who could destroy everything she’d worked for burst out the door and onto the busy street. Tori could have unleashed many things that would teach that girl a sorely needed lesson, but not out there. Not like this.
She let the door close and stalked back through the herbal shop. Although she leased the retail space for her highly successful business, only about half of its square footage held any inventory. The rest sat hidden behind a wall of shelves stocked with lotions, powders, and other concoctions. Virginia Beach had become trendy, and with that distinction came wealthy patrons with disposable income. Tori’s skills as an herbalist made her the go-to girl for every yuppie trophy wife within a fifty-mile radius, but her purpose in life was fulfilled by the activities that took place in the rear of the shop.
The bookshelf that served as the door to her back room hung ajar on its hinges after her hurried chase through the store. Tori paused before crossing the threshold, running her fingers through her short, blond hair and taking a deep breath. Once she’d collected herself, she joined her guests who looked eager to hear the outcome.
“I didn’t get to her in time. We’ll have to deal with her another way,” Tori said to the three women standing around the table that sat in the middle of the space, its centerpiece their altar honoring Morrighan. The women made up her inner circle, as the rest of the coven had taken to calling them.
As High Priestess of Sherwood coven, Tori led dozens of powerful witches. Since beginning her reign seven years earlier, she’d more than tripled their ranks, giving her the power base needed to accomplish their goal. The unexpected visitor she’d caught snooping around that morning could put an end to her plan. She couldn’t let that happen, not when they were so close to completion.
“Um, was that Gracey?” Joy Remson looked ready to throw up. Her bright and cheerful blue eyes no longer held their usual sparkle, and her skin had turned sallow.
“Yes, but that doesn’t change anything. We’ll deal with her just as we would any other coven member. Am I clear?” Tori stared down each woman until they nodded in agreement. “We don’t have much time. As far as we know, Gracey could be calling the authorities right now.”
“We could use the cerritus spell.” Liza Sims stood strong as she waited for a response. As the most loyal and unabashed of the three, she’d become Tori’s right hand and closest confidant.
Joy all but collapsed into her chair at the suggestion. “We can’t do that. Gracey’s a direct descendant of the founder.” Although loyal to a fault, her soft heart often got in the way.
The third and final member of the inner circle, Nicole Burns, took a tentative step backward, as though putting physical space between her and Joy would somehow show her allegiance to her coven leader.
Tori placed a sympathetic smile on her face and sauntered over to the table. “I understand your reticence but, regardless of her bloodline, she needs to be stopped.” She pulled her hand from her pocket and gently rubbed the back of Joy’s neck, soothing her.
Until Joy’s eyes shot open and she bolted from her chair. “Wha—?” she choked out. Her hands clasped round her throat in a futile effort to open her airways. Eyes that once shone bright bulged from their sockets, blood already ringing their edges as she sank to her knees.
“I am your high priestess, Joy. Do not question me.” Tori had neither the time nor the inclination to talk through any reservations that might be lingering among her inner circle. The time for dissension had passed. Now, with things already underway, her people needed to fall in line.
Tori allowed Joy to suffer long enough for the skin on her cheeks to turn purple. Once she felt her point made, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small mojo bag. Placing it on the table, Tori untied the ribbon until its four corners flopped open. Fine powder plumed and hung in the air, causing both Liza and Nicole to recoil.
Tori used her manicured nail to push aside the rosemary and bone meal, then picked up the agate crystal slice and crushed it between her fingers. With the crystal destroyed, the mojo bag became no more than a collection of herbs and bone dust.
Joy gasped, dragging air into her aching lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks where a healthy rouge began to return. “I’m …” she swallowed to clear her raspy voice. “I’m sorry.”
Nicole handed her a tissue and helped her into the chair.
“Liza, grab what we need for the cerritus spell. Quickly.” Tori took her place at the head of the table. Neither Joy nor
Nicole would hold her eye contact for more than a moment. Good, she thought.
When Liza returned, they made quick work of the spell. The ingredients included some of the most dangerous herbs of all—the baneful ones—and they were careful to keep those a safe distance from the altar. Foxglove, jimsonweed, and belladonna were pulverized with a charmed mortar and pestle, while inscribed candles burned. As soon as they finished, they poured the powder into a small jar.
“I’ll do it,” Joy said, obviously trying to win back Tori’s favor.
“Thank you for offering, but I’ll take care of this myself.” A moment later, a frumpy older lady stood where Tori had been. Glamour spells were one of her specialties. “I’ll be back shortly.”
********
Gracey pressed the end button on her phone and let out a deep sigh of relief. If there was one person in this world that would believe her and have the power to do something, it was Robert Finley. As director of the CIA, he’d been her one and only call. Now she could do nothing but wait.
She sat with her back leaning against the base of the statue of Poseidon that stood sentinel at the beach. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore, mixed with the smell of salt and seaweed, helped calm her nerves. Although she hadn’t grown up near the ocean, as soon as she’d moved there, Gracey knew she belonged. Something about the infinite grandeur of the sea allowed her to keep her own troubles in perspective.
Until today.
What Tori had already done, and what she planned on doing soon, couldn’t be diminished by perspective. The fact that Tori had kept her true intentions hidden from the rest of the coven for so long said a lot about her cunning. They’d all unknowingly helped create this mess, but they’d need help fixing it. Even if Gracey told the other coven members the truth, she couldn’t be sure they’d turn against their leader. And if they did, they’d still need help stopping her.
Gracey peeked around the statue and down Laskin Road toward the herb shop. She didn’t know what she expected to see—perhaps lightning bolts shooting from the roof—but the utter banality of the scene seemed somehow wrong. Nothing that powerful should be allowed to look so normal.
The hair on the back of Gracey’s neck stood on end as an overwhelming feeling of dread took hold. She knew who stood behind her even before turning her head. But instead of Tori, a stranger stared down at her.
“Can I help you?” Gracey asked, confused.
The woman opened a small jar and dumped its contents over Gracey’s head. The smell made her eyes water as she scrambled to escape the mystery powder, brushing at her hair and clothes while leaping to her feet.
“Donkey Kong is going to crush you with a barrel full of marmalade!” Gracey yelled at a young couple passing by.
What the hell was that? I didn’t mean to say that. When she followed up the crazy outburst by slapping herself in the face, Gracey knew she was in trouble. She took a deep breath and focused on the words she needed to say.
“Keebler elves filled the ice machines with poison!” Horrified, Gracey’s eyes darted between the beachgoers who were now gathering around her, many warily inspecting their chilled drinks.
“Demons live among us, hiding in meat sacks with curly hair!” Gracey blurted out.
A child no more than four years old burst out in tears at that comment, with her blond ringlets bouncing against her shoulders as she sobbed.
I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it.
“Demon! Demon! Demon!” Gracey screamed and pointed at the girl over and over again. The mother grabbed the child and ran to the street, waving at two police officers sitting in their patrol car.
No, this can’t be happening. She searched the crowd for the real culprit but, of course, the strange woman had slipped away. As the police approached her with their hands hovering over the butts of their weapons, it occurred to Gracey just how easily she’d been beaten.
Now, nobody would believe her, and she’d never be able to stop Tori from plunging the country into chaos.
Chapter 3
Present Day
CNN Special Report
Residents of Avila Beach, California, and the surrounding areas are breathing a collective sigh of relief today, as the last affected systems in the Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant came back online. Twelve nerve-wracking hours after unprecedented solar flare activity shut down the area’s power grid, and with it the power plant’s primary and back-up systems, the facility is now reporting complete system functionality.
As the only nuclear plant operational in the state, Diablo Canyon’s two reactors supply upwards of seven percent of all power used in California. The brownouts caused by the shutdown, however, were the least of the area residents’ concerns.
Located less than a mile from the Shoreline Fault Line, people in the area have long been concerned with the possibility of a seismic event causing a catastrophic nuclear meltdown. No one, however, predicted the sun to be the more imminent threat.
Stay with us here at CNN for details on this and other stories. I’m Danica Dumore, and we’ll be right back.
********
Orano Tulay muted the television set and focused on his boss. His brown eyes, a shade lighter than his skin, held her gaze as he waited for her to speak.
Myrine Colson, leader of the Omega Group, answered his unasked question. “Director Finley wants us to check this out. Although we don’t yet have proof it’s anything other than a natural occurrence, he has a source that claims witchcraft is involved.”
“And the director is taking this person seriously?” Orano wore his usual blank expression, giving away no information as to what he was thinking or feeling. His taciturn personality had become well known to the other agents, and he felt no need to change their perception of him.
“I know it’s a stretch,” Myrine said. “But he assures me this woman wouldn’t have called him if she didn’t have good reason.”
Orano couldn’t decide if he believed that or not, but he’d learned early on that the Director of the CIA didn’t give orders lightly. Nor did Myrine. “Where do you want me to start?”
Myrine opened a small file on her desk. “The director’s contact is Grace McMillan. You’re to meet her in Virginia Beach tomorrow morning.” She passed him a slip of paper with the address and other pertinent information on it.
Orano stood to leave. “Who do you want on my team?”
“Take Phoenix. He’s been getting bored training the new recruits and could use the distraction.”
The moment’s hesitation before Orano nodded his agreement gave Myrine the opportunity she’d no doubt been waiting for.
“I know you’re accustomed to working with Beck,” she said. “But her vacation doesn’t end until next week. If there’s even a slight possibility that Director Finley’s source is telling the truth, we can’t wait that long. You’ll need to learn to play well with others, Orano. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to smile once in a while, either.”
Orano’s expression didn’t change. He’d grown accustomed to advice like that over the years and simply chose to ignore it. For as long as he could remember, people equated Orano’s neutral facial expression with anger, and his lack of conversation with hostility. They weren’t always wrong.
Beck, his usual partner, seemed to actually enjoy the silence that came from being paired with him on missions. She didn’t spew unnecessary words like most people and allowed him to be who he was without trying to get him to open up. He watched her back, and she watched his. They worked well together. Nothing more and nothing less.
He hoped Phoenix would have the same attitude but didn’t really expect that to be the case. On the few occasions they’d been on the same team, there were always other agents around, too. He’d never been forced to spend one-on-one time with anyone other than Beck.
As usual, Orano kept his thoughts to himself. “Yes, ma’am,” was the only response he gave before leaving Myrine’s office.
Chapter 4
Phoenix attempted to make small talk, choosing the seat directly across the aisle from him. Each statement and question received the same grunt of a response, until Orano finally closed his eyes, feigning sleep, and put an end to any possibility of conversation. After they’d landed, however, he no longer had that protection.
Orano drove their rented Jeep down Highway 264 toward Virginia Beach. He focused solely on the road ahead and the other drivers in his vicinity.
“You drive like my grandmother,” Phoenix said now that Orano could no longer pretend to be unconscious.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” he responded without taking his eyes off the road.
“So, who is this woman to the Director? There’s got to be some connection there for her to call him directly.” Phoenix flipped through the small file they’d been given on Grace McMillan for the umpteenth time.
“No idea,” Orano said.
Phoenix placed the file on his lap and turned in his seat. “Okay, what did I do?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t strung together more than a few words since we left Jacksonville. And those were to answer direct questions. Did I piss in your cornflakes at some point?”
Orano’s jaw clenched. “I don’t talk much. I find unnecessary conversation … irritating.” He’d known Phoenix for several years but only as a fellow member of the Omega Group. They weren’t friends, but he held no ill will toward the man.
Chaos (Book 4) (The Omega Group) Page 3