Lena forced herself to hold his gaze. "Everything."
His cheeks darkened. "Everything, as in...?"
"As in everything." A sudden shiver trickled down her spine. Lena rubbed her arms. "I'm sorry, Jes. It was the only way to get Jimmy out of-"
"Jes." MacMillian looked at her strangely. "My brother used to call me that. He was the only person who ever did."
Lena finally looked down. "I know. I'm sorry, I—it just seemed to fit. I promise I won't—"
"No."
She looked back up, surprised. MacMillian stared past her. Emotions warred over his face, abruptly vanished behind his usual stoic mask. "It's okay. I've... missed it."
Her chest ached. "I know."
His eyes briefly connected with hers, then he looked away and backed down onto the first step. "I should get going," he muttered. "I'm supposed to be in Barvale by tomorrow afternoon."
"Sure." Lena swallowed. "Have a safe trip."
"Yeah. You too." He hesitated. "Thanks again for the amber." He glanced up at her again like he wanted to say something else. Then he nodded once, and headed down the stairs.
Lena shut the door and leaned against it. It was several minutes before she finally straightened again. Before she could overthink it, she forced her legs to carry her down the hallway to the closed door at the end. She only wavered a moment, then she turned the knob and pushed it open.
The sight inside made her stomach lurch all over again. Everything was exactly as she'd left it. Her bed was rumpled and unmade. Her purse was in the chair. The top drawer of her dresser was still open, and socks and underwear littered the floor.
Lena took a deep breath, then another. Just a dream. The whole thing had just been a long, terrible dream. She bent over and started picking up her things.
The more she cleaned, the better she felt. So she'd had a nightmare and freaked out a little. It hadn't been real. Of course it hadn't. Maybe her encounter with the "shadow" hadn't been real, either. She was hardly the first person to hallucinate strange things during times of stress. Comforted, she deposited an armful of clothes on her bed, dropped to her knees and plucked a fuzzy blue sock off the floor.
Instantly, she froze. Bile burned the back of her throat.
On the carpet, just underneath where the sock had lain, was a large black stain.
After
Of all the nights to be running late.
Georgia gave the dark interior of Cross Your Teas one last, sweeping glance, and hurried to the door. Lena was really going to owe her this time. She stepped outside, hissed as the freezing San Francisco night cut through her jeans and motorcycle jacket.
Georgia tucked her helmet under her arm and fished the shop keys from her jacket pocket. She set on the lock a little more viciously than was strictly necessary. "Occult superhero, my ass," she muttered. "'You're so awesome, Georgia. Please lock up my shop while I head to the coast for a weekend of cosmic sex.'" She blew out a breath. "Lucky bitch."
She finished locking the door and jammed the keys back into her pocket, in the same motion fished out her battered cell phone and checked the time.
Shit.
She was really running late now. Maybe she should just call it a night. The ceremony would be mostly over by the time she arrived.
By the time she finished the thought, she was already swinging a leg over her Honda Valkyrie. No way in hell was she going to miss tonight's Esbat. It wasn't often her coven held them under a new moon, and she had a few projects that could do with some blessing.
Georgia tucked her long hair down the back collar of her jacket and pulled the zipper to her chin. She tugged her helmet over her head, reached behind her and retrieved her gloves from the saddlebag. Finally, she started the engine. It surged to life between her legs, and the Valk's throaty growl rumbled the length of the park.
Georgia couldn't contain her grin. That never got old.
She kicked up the kickstand and eased the bike away from the curb. At the last minute, she reached up and touched the power button on the side of her helmet. Music streamed over the bluetooth from her phone. Heavy/Like a Witch, by All Them Witches. Her own personal power anthem.
Georgia grinned again. After a purely gratuitous rev of the engine, she was off.
Market Street would have been the straightest route, but she knew better than to think it would be the quickest. A couple turns, and the freeway on-ramp loomed in front of her. Georgia wove around the few cars already climbing it, and opened up the throttle.
The Valkyrie roared with delight. Georgia tightened her grip on the handlebars and savored the rush of wind around her, the grin now firmly fixed on her face. She sailed along the mostly-empty freeway, the orange and neon lights of the city a blur in her peripheral vision. God, she loved the city at night. Well, anytime, really, but there was something about it at night. Some special kind of magic.
Her exit came up quickly. Georgia leaned into it, and a last glimpse of the freeway flashed in her rearview mirror. A tight patchwork of lights blanketed the rolling hills in the distance. She bit back a sigh, silently promised herself a long, leisurely ride sometime soon. Buoyed by the thought, she left the open road behind.
This part of town always threw her. It was as close to suburbia as a major city could get. Georgia eased back on the engine and fell into the gentler pattern of the traffic. A new song filtered through the helmet's speakers: The Death of Coyote Woman. More All Them Witches. Apparently her phone's shuffle had settled on a theme for the night.
Georgia reached up and ticked the volume higher.
Several more turns and a roundabout later, she motored up the main road to Forest Hill. Warm lights glowed from the windows of stately Tudor-esque lodges, from Provençal cottages and Italianate villas. Dark, bizarre shadows betrayed the presence of countless exotic flora.
Georgia humphed into her helmet. "Too rich for my blood."
Gradually the wide boulevard narrowed. Cypress and rangy bay trees crowded the pavement. The houses between them grew steadily smaller, as though cowed into submission. Georgia kept a light hand on the throttle, but the Valkyrie's engine still sounded too loud in the sleepy neighborhood. The occasional lit window glared at her accusingly. She winced.
Finally, the bike's headlight lit up the wooden breastwork at the dead end of the lane. Cars already filled the open space in front of the last house. Georgia muttered a curse and eased into the only empty spot she could find. She killed the engine and turned off her helmet, made sure the bike was steady on its kickstand before swinging off.
She didn't bother removing her gloves, instead shook her hair loose, tucked her helmet under her arm, and double-timed it to the house. It couldn't have been farther than a block, but the walk felt longer. The night was too quiet, and it wasn't just the eerie absence of city sounds. The end of the street sat on the edge of an open space preserve. There should have been rustling leaves, birds, other animal noises.
There was nothing.
Georgia resisted the urge to pull her jacket closer around her and instinctively looked up at the sky. A thick blanket of fog had already rolled in from the nearby coast, but even without it, the new moon wouldn't have been visible. Its absence pricked at her, yet another thing to set her off-balance.
She squared her shoulders. Magic. That was what she was experiencing. The Esbat had already started, after all. Of course the energy was more palpable, more concentrated than usual.
And she was missing it. Georgia trotted to the cast iron gate on the side of the house. It swung open without a sound. The stone pavers on the other side formed a straight line down to the back patio. Past it, out below the hill, a few lights from the Outer Sunset managed to twinkle through the fog.
Georgia began her descent, one hand on the solid wooden side of the house. She took the pavers two at a time. Three away from the bottom, she paused. Electricity fizzed over her skin. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Silence.
She should
have heard something by now. Anything. Even if the moon rite itself was over, her coven mates should still be on the cake and wine ceremony, or at least socializing. But the patio was quiet. Everything was quiet.
Maybe she'd misunderstood. Maybe there wasn't an Esbat tonight, after all, or maybe it had been cancelled. Georgia clenched her jaw. Wouldn't it be just like Mary Granch to call the night off without telling her.
She started to retreat back up the steps, paused again. Energy hung thick around her. It almost felt like it was beckoning to her, like there was something she was supposed to see.
Georgia pressed her lips together, whirled and jogged down the last three pavers. She rounded the corner of the house and kept going. At least, she would have kept going. Before she could enter the patio, she tripped over something. She looked down.
An arm.
The sight didn't register right away. Georgia blinked stupidly. It was a man's arm, judging from the hand and the still-present shirt sleeve. It had been disarticulated at the shoulder-not neatly. Stringy bits of tendon and ligament clung to the point of separation.
A bloody trail led away from it. Georgia took a hesitant step forward, then another. The air seized in her chest. Her head grew light.
One, two, three, four... she stopped counting the bodies at four. There were more, though, draped over the expensive teak patio furniture, half-submerged in the ornate Basque-style fountain. Blood filled the water, drenched the hand-cut pavestones, soaked the weatherproof paisley seat cushions. Three of the four patio lights had been knocked out. Broken glass glinted from the ground.
Georgia tried to breathe. Couldn't. Her helmet dropped to the ground. A strange sound filled the still air. Dimly, she realized it was coming from her. She tried to back up, but it was too late for that. Her legs buckled. She crumpled to her knees, straight into something wet. She looked down without thinking.
More blood.
She would have screamed if she'd had the air to do it. As it was, all she could manage was a long, high-pitched wheeze. Tears streamed down her cheeks, instantly turned icy against her skin. How many people were in her coven? Ten? Twelve? Roughly the same number of corpses now surrounded her.
They're all dead.
The police. She should call the police. Georgia clawed numbly at her jacket pocket, but the zipper was stuck. Or maybe her fingers just didn't work anymore. She tried to breathe again. Mistake. What should have been a calming rush of oxygen instead flooded her lungs with the same thick, metal-sweet flavor that choked the air.
"Okay. Okay." It was the only word she could remember, and she repeated it like a mantra. She needed to calm down. Get a grip. Georgia Clare didn't have melt-downs. She didn't freak out or hyperventilate. She certainly didn't do all three simultaneously. "Okay."
A crash sounded from inside the house. Georgia's head jerked towards it. Holy shit. Her head started to pound.
Whoever had slaughtered her coven was still there.
She rose to her feet as silently as she could. Normally she would leap at the chance to inflict some pain of her own, but then, this wasn't a normal scenario. The house's interior was pitch black. Georgia's pulse pounded in her throat. What if it wasn't one mass murderer, but two? Three? Slowly, carefully, she started to back towards the stairs.
Something moved in the dark behind the bay window. Georgia froze. She bit her lip, forced her hands to stay still at her sides. Her legs quivered with the urge to run. She ignored it.
The darkness stilled again. Georgia shut her eyes and released a silent thank-you up to the sky. She opened her eyes again and took another step back.
The bay window exploded outward in a hail of shattered glass. Georgia shrieked, turned and fled towards the stairs. Her eyes burned with the overwhelming smell of sulphur. Something closed around her ankle. Before she could take more than a step, she crashed face-first onto the pavestones.
Pain catapulted her into fight mode. She kicked hard. The grip around her ankle loosened briefly, then tightened again.
She felt around in front of her. Tiny slivers of broken glass coated her gloves. Georgia ignored them, kept searching until she found a large, jagged fragment from the window. Good. This was good. Her fingers closed around it. She twisted around and lashed blindly into the darkness.
A jarring, unearthly screech rewarded her. The sound condensed into a bolt and raced down her spine. The hold on her ankle released. Georgia tried to stand. Her heavy boots skidded in a morass of blood and glass.
She gave up and scrambled forward on all fours. Whoever—or whatever—was behind her screeched again. What sounded like claws scraped against the pavestones.
Georgia didn't stop, didn't look back, didn't let go of her weapon. The first of the pavers was just ahead. If she could get to the narrow steps, there was a slim chance she might make it back to her Valkyrie.
A massive hand—paw? —came down hard on her shoulder. It dragged her up by the nape of the neck until she was suspended in midair. Georgia flailed wildly. Something cracked the side of her head, once, twice. Dazed, she felt the glass slip from her grasp.
Before she had a chance to register horror, she was airborne. The low concrete banister surrounding the patio abruptly ended her flight. Georgia staggered to her feet with a gasp. Pain shot through her side, and something that felt suspiciously like blood leaked from her nose.
A shadow moved towards her, stark against the pale, cream-colored stones. Georgia could only stare, eyes wide, as it stepped into the faint light cast by the last remaining patio lamp. It was definitely not human. It almost looked like a dog, except that dogs didn't walk on two legs. Dogs couldn't grab you, couldn't throw you like this had done.
No, not a dog. Something else.
Georgia crouched against the banister, searched in vain for an alternate escape. No good. There was nowhere for her to go. The creature knew it too. It ambled forward without urgency or imperative.
The patio lamp illuminated something dark and wet on its fur. Georgia's eyes flicked to the pools of gore coagulating around her former coven mates. She gulped. Then she glanced behind her. The ground disappeared just after the banister. In the darkness, she couldn't calculate the drop.
She looked back at the creature, and made up her mind.
It seemed to realize what she was planning, and surged forward with a roar. By then, Georgia was already falling. She hit the ground and kept going, sliding down the steep hillside through a painful mix of coastal scrub, iceplant, and what she suspected was poison oak. Sandy dirt filled her boots. Her jeans ripped, and her battered side screamed with fresh vengeance.
She landed at the bottom in a heap. Georgia sat up with a wheeze and looked around. She was in the middle of what looked like a trail, though in the moonless dark she couldn't be sure.
She dragged herself to her feet and swore. Her helmet was back up on the patio and her bike was still parked outside the house. No way in hell was she going back for either. At least she still had her cell phone. She could call someone to come and get her, provided she made it to the bottom of the hill alive.
As if on cue, the creature let out another roar. Georgia's eyes jerked back up to the patio.
For a brief, horrifying moment, she thought it would follow. It didn't, merely paced back and forth alongside the banister. Snarl after fearsome snarl pierced the night air. Bottomless black eyes glittered down at her. Realization thudded dully in the pit of her stomach.
It was memorizing her.
Georgia swallowed hard and tucked her arm close to her injured side. She started down the trail at as close to a jog as she could manage.
The creature's eyes were heavy on her back all the way to the bottom.
###
Lena and MacMillian will be back in Book 2: The Devil's Disease.
Meanwhile, find out what happens to Georgia in Book 1.5: Season Of The Witch!
Find Season Of The Witch on Amazon
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A Note From The Author
Thank you for reading A World Apart!
If you've made it to this note, I'm going to venture a guess and say you probably enjoyed the book. I'm so glad! You've already given me a good chunk of your time; now I'm going to ask for just a little bit more. If you enjoyed this book as much as I hope you did (or even if you didn't), please consider leaving a review!
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Playlist
Listen for free on Spotify!
1. Run Devil Run- Jimbo Mathus and the Tri State Coalition
2. White Rabbit- Jefferson Airplane
3. Romany Dagger- All Them Witches
4. Superstition- Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble
5. Welcome To My World- Depeche Mode
6. This Town- Firewater
7. Jesus Gonna Be Here- Tom Waits
8. All The Lost Souls Welcome You To San Francisco- American Music Club
9. Worse Things- Johnny Hollow
A World Apart (Shades Below, #1) Page 21