by Kit Hallows
Table of Contents
Copyright
Free Offer
Dedication
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
How To Kill A Witch
Afterword
About the Author
Midnight Falls
The Order of Shadows Book Two
Kit Hallows
Midnight Falls
By Kit Hallows
Copyright © 2017 by Kit Hallows. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
Thank you so much for reading my book! Please consider leaving a review if you enjoy Midnight Falls, and also spreading the word by telling your friends all about it ;-)
HOW TO KILL A WITCH
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To FFFF the first of the Hallowed Few
1
I liked going to The Rocket Bar; it wasn't in the city's magical quarter and blinkereds drank there. It was where I met my normal friends. They invited me to join them every Friday, despite my dismal track record for showing up. Not that it was personal, it was just hard to be reliable when your life revolved around hunting rogue vampire gangs, tracking vicious demons, and dealing with murderous banshees.
None of these friends knew about my secret life, or the other worlds that lurked just outside their view, and I hoped that it would stay like that for as long as possible. Things were easier that way.
"Hey, Morgan, we're switching to tequila. You in?" Marty asked. Marty was the unofficial ringleader of this group of reprobates and the one that had invited me to join their boozy fellowship.
"Sure!" I called across the table. Why not? I hadn't touched a drop since Dauple and I buried Hellwyn. That had only been about a week ago, but somehow it seemed like another lifetime, despite the bruises I still wore from those battles.
I sat back in the chair as the din of the bar pulsed around me. Marty and the others had been here for at least an hour judging by the number of empty glasses, and it seemed they'd already built up a good buzz. Them and their new recruit, the attractive, somewhat embittered woman sitting next to me. The one whose hand kept brushing my thigh. We'd only been introduced ten minutes ago, and I was struggling to remember her name.
"Seriously," she said, slurring her s's, "I loathe him."
Him being her manager. This was at least the third time she'd told me what a piece of shit he was. Her breath was laced with vodka and whatever mixer had turned her drink that bizarre shade of blue. I'd made the mistake of asking what she did for a living, and had since deleted the painfully intricate details of her accountancy job from my mind.
Her hand brushed my leg again. I ignored it. She wasn't my type.
I was about to plot my escape when she leaned in close for another salvo of sour-breathed monologue, "Seriously, I'm telling you, there's nothing worse than being under appreciated."
That much I could relate to. I'd never felt appreciated by my employers at the Organization either. I knew I wasn't as valued as their other agents, I was rarely kept in the loop and my salary was a joke. Still, it was a moot point, because as of last week I wasn't even sure if I still had a job. Erland Underwood, my eccentric part-Fae boss, had given me time off until further notice. I still hadn't heard a word from him.
"He's such a dick," the woman said again. Her eyes glinted in the candlelight as her hand rose further up my leg. "You know?"
Her emphasis on the word dick wasn't quite as subtle as she thought it was. I had to get away. Draw the line or end up ensnared in a mess I definitely wasn't drunk enough to even consider getting caught up in.
I looked over as Marty approached from the bar with a tray of tequila shots in his hands and a mischievous grin on his face. "Glad to see you two are hitting it off," he said, glancing from me to the mystery blonde.
"I-" My phone rattled. I grabbed it.
- Haskins - I've got a situation.
I was about to text my halfhearted reply when the phone began to rumble and the screen lit up with Haskins in big bold letters. "Excuse me," I said. My unwanted companion muttered and gave an irritable flick of her wrist as I walked toward the door.
The air outside held a brisk October chill. I stood under the bar's awning and watched an autumn-addled fly buzz in listless circles as I answered the phone. "Morgan."
"You gotta come right now!" Panic barbed Haskins' usually nonchalant voice.
"What's the problem?"
"There's something weird going on. Your type of weird. I need help!"
"I'm on leave, I'm unarmed, and frankly I'm not that interested." And I wasn't. This was the first break I'd had in longer than I cared to remember.
"Well you should be worried. People have gone missing. They could be hurt or worse. Get over here, Morgan."
I sighed. The weight of the last few weeks still bore down on me and my limbs still ached in a hundred different places. I watched as the fly committed suicide in a flickering zapper and exploded with a crackle and pop. "Fine. But you owe-"
"Hickory Street. Come quick."
"I'm on my way."
I ducked back into the bar to get my raincoat. Luckily it doubled as magical armor and I had a feeling I was going to need it.
"You're not going?" Marty asked, holding out a tequila.
"Sorry. I've got to. I'll be back if I can, but don't wait up." I dropped enough money to pay for a drink I hadn't even sipped and nodded to the blonde. It seemed she'd already forgotten who I was. I couldn't blame her.
I flagged a cab, sat in the backseat and watched the city pass by.
Hickory Street was a bland row of houses that straddled the line between gentility and poverty. I paid the driver, crossed the road and slipped past Detective Haskins' car. He looked pale and his usually spiky hair was limp, but his pebble-like eyes gleamed as he turned and saw me
.
"What's going on?"
"Fucked up stuff," Haskins said with his usual colorful directness as he got out of his vehicle. "We got a call at the precinct from an old woman who reckons she knows where some of our missing persons have gone."
"Missing persons?"
Haskins gestured to the surrounding street. "Two families, a newly wed couple, and a widower. And that's just in the last month. All from within a square mile of where we're standing."
"Any leads?" I asked, even though I was fairly sure I already knew the answer.
"Not a single one. Not that I'm officially on the case. The old lady's call got diverted to me. The desk sergeant knows to send the weirder inquiries my way."
"Which you then pass on to me, for a profit."
"So?" Haskins shrugged. "We all do well from it."
"Some more than others. Look, I'm not paying for this. I'm not earning right now, which means you're not either. The only reason I came was out of the goodness of my heart. Remember that."
"Sure."
"Tell me about the call." I glanced back toward the house. It wasn't what I'd consider a nice place, but whoever owned it had made an effort. The lights were off, but that didn't necessarily mean no one was home.
Haskins' breath frosted the air. "At first I thought the old broad was nuts. She kept saying the same thing over and over, the starving man did it."
"Starving man?"
"Yeah, you'll like this. According to the old goat there's a man who only comes out after dark. Apparently he eats anything he can get his hands on. Rats, pigeons, mice, the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker for all I know. I told you it was weird shit."
"Anyone here?"
"No. I don't know. I knocked and..." Haskins shivered as we walked up to the porch. "You don't need to be a wizard to see something's wrong with this place and I'm sure as hell not going in on my own."
And it's something you clearly don't want your colleagues to know about, so you called on me. I leaned toward the small glass window in the door and caught a strong scent of cooking.
Meat, rare and bloody.
Pork?
No, long pig.
Long pig and...bitumen?
2
I held a hand out to Haskins. "Give me your gun."
"I can't do that. You know what would happen to me if anyone-"
"Shhhh." I tried to peer through the window in the door but I couldn't see anything. Out of habit I reached toward my pocket. Usually a magically charged crystal or two would lend me further insight, but I'd only planned on a night out at a bar, I hadn't prepared for a situation like this.
I was totally empty handed.
Shit.
Tapping into the ever present undercurrent of dark magic that flowed like a hidden well within me crossed my mind. But I'd vowed never to do that again. The last time I'd unleashed it had been in that accursed asylum, the one that housed a portal to another world. And it hadn't turned out so well. Not for the countless monsters that were squatting in the place or for my reputation and standing. At least as far as the Organization was concerned. "I guess I'll just have to do this the old fashioned way." I glanced across the street to make sure no one was around before booting the door in.
Haskins winced and the frame splintered as it crashed open. "Subtle," He held up a credit card. "This would have..."
An overwhelming odor wafted out onto the porch. Meat. Spices. Blood...
Haskins stepped away. "You go in. I'll wait here and shoot anything that comes out."
"Apart from me." I stepped inside, found a light switch and flicked it on.
The decor was as plain as vanilla, portraits of the family hung on the pale off-white walls. The couple looked like they'd stepped out from the pages of a catalogue with their sickly saccharine smiles. The house was clean, tidy and modestly furnished. A worn wooden stairway vanished up into the shadows of the second floor and a narrow hall led to a kitchen where I could hear a viscous bubbling sound.
A fresh waft of flesh and bitumen filled the air.
Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
I began to worry for the couple as I made my way toward the threshold of their kitchen. I stopped.
Every surface was covered in meat. Scarlet chunks rested on red soaked chopping boards and rivulets of blood ran over counter tops. A cluster of pans sat on a stove filled with what looked like livers, kidneys, and hearts. None of which had come from the supermarket.
No, they were human.
Two large pots were in the oven. I glanced inside to find sides of meat stewing, the smell heavy and repugnant. Open packages of spices lay on the counters sullied with spatters of blood. I took a pinch of a ground bright yellow powder that was almost reminiscent of aniseed or fennel, but it wasn't any seasoning I recognized. No, it seemed to belong to another world altogether.
A whiff of bitumen underscored everything, but it was less pronounced here than in the hallway. Beyond a wide arched doorway, a knife jutted from a hunk of partially browned flesh that had been left on the dining table. The handle was carved from dark wood and the blade had been inscribed with tiny symbols that glowed emerald green.
I pulled the knife from the meat and examined it. It was clearly ceremonial but unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Some of the markings represented stars and phases of the moon, but there were also abstract shapes I couldn't define. Something about them reminded me of Native American art.
"What are you?" I whispered as I ran the blade across the oak cutting board. It scored the hard wood with the lightest pressure and then the knife grew cold and weighty. Too heavy to hold. I laid it down and checked the back door. Locked.
A strange drawn out groan echoed down from the ceiling.
Whatever had committed this atrocity was still in the house.
I scoured the horrific scene in the kitchen in search of a weapon, grabbed a carving knife from the sink and strode back to the hall.
Haskins peered around the front door, his face creased with fear. Useless bastard. I ignored him as I climbed the stairs, my heart thumping hard.
More photos hung on the walls along the stairway. Images of the couple on a cruise, another on a beach, and a picture of them standing together holding up champagne glasses beside a Christmas tree. Snapshots of a happy, ordinary life.
All gone, reduced to lumps of meat stewing in their own kitchen.
I gripped the knife tighter, eager to find the murderous son of a bitch who'd done this. The scent of bitumen grew strong and sharp, like the tang of fresh tarmac on a hot summer's day.
What was it? I knew, and yet the answer eluded me. I could sense the ominous being lurking within the house, its fear, hunger, and weakness.
It was vulnerable.
Why had it slaughtered them? Was it consuming them for power? Yes, and I'd disturbed its meal.
There was a tang of evil in the air, along with something else....famine and rot. Whatever this creature was, it was dying.
I stopped on the landing.
Something crashed behind me.
I wheeled round, knife poised, but there was nothing there.
Another crash came from the room at the far end of the hall, followed by a tinkle of glass. I ran to the door and kicked it open.
A pair of pin-stripe trousered legs and hobnailed boots wriggled through a narrow broken window. I flew across the room, hoping to grab a hold of the creature before it slipped away and vanished in the darkness. My fist shot toward the opening but the sole of its shoe tumbled from the sill, eluding my grasp as the sleeve of my coat caught on sharp jagged glass.
Whatever the creature was, the drop to the ground should have wounded it, but I wasn't counting on it.
Below, in the narrow alley, an almost impossibly tall old man glanced back at me. He wore a blood spattered shirt under dark suspenders and his pinstriped trousers were fluttering around his stick-thin legs.
Then it clicked and I knew exactly what the smell of long pork and
bitumen had been. "Wendigo..."
He stared up, his sunken eyes glinting in his partially human mask of a face. His thin blood stained lips drew back, wrinkling his desiccated papery skin as he raised a long, accusing finger and pointed at me.
"Freeze you fucking freak!" Haskins' voice echoed along the buildings and fences. The Wendigo shot a nonchalant glance toward Haskins as he appeared at the far end of the alley, his gun shaking in his hand. Then the creature uncloaked and for a moment I caught sight of a sickly twisted beast with knotty charcoal-colored limbs and green glowing eyes.
The sight of it was enough to overwhelm Haskins. "What the..." He lowered the gun and his mouth fell open.
I was about to yell shoot, when the creature threw back its head and wailed. Its cry was broken and hoarse. Haskins covered his ears as cracks shot through the window panes like fissures in ice.
Then the Wendigo fell silent, reached into its pocket, pulled out an eyeball and popped it into its mouth. Haskins watched paralyzed as it turned and walked away, re-cloaking itself into the guise of the tall lanky old man.
"Shoot!" I shouted.
Haskins kept staring, his jaw slack as the Wendigo merged with the shadows.
The window was too small to climb through. I bolted, flew down the stairs, through the back door and out into the alley.
Haskins glanced at me with a wild, terrified look. "What the hell was that thing?"
"Something you should have shot." I grabbed his gun and took off down the alley.
3
I ran, leaping over the fallen trash cans and other detritus the Wendigo had flung across the alley before it fled into the street. I rounded the corner but there was no sign of the creature.
It was gone.
"Damn it!" I couldn't let it go. Not after what I'd seen in that kitchen. But I was fresh out of crystals and there wasn't a single lick of magic in the air to tap into.
Which only left me one option.
I closed my eyes and felt a trickle of the baleful force that cut through me like a shadowy sequestered river. The trickle became a torrent, dark, focused and sentient; like it had been waiting, like it had its own purpose. "Show me where the Wendigo went," I whispered.