3 Minutes to Midnight: Urban Fantasy Midnight Trilogy Book 1

by L. M Hatchell

  She’d surprised him tonight. Any sane person would have turned him away. Would have ran a mile screaming, for that matter.

  It hadn’t even been a conscious decision to go to her, not really. He just remembered cradling Annabelle close to him on the bike, not wanting her to get cold from the bitter wind that slapped at him insistently. Everything had been a blur, until suddenly he was at the pub where Phoenix worked. It had been the closest place to him, but it was more than that. He needed her to understand the cost.

  And now, she was at his side as they walked in to find the others waiting in his apartment.

  Nate was fussing over Lily, who seemed to have returned to her previous trance, and Shade leaned against the window, staring out into the night while he played with his penknife. The mood was solemn, and Annabelle’s absence was painfully obvious.

  “What’s she doing here?” Shade drove the tip of his penknife into the windowsill as he turned to scowl in their direction.

  “I want to help.” Phoenix met his gaze steadily until he looked away, directing his anger into the darkness beyond the window.

  “You’ve helped enough,” he muttered.

  The weariness of the night washed over Ethan, swiftly eroding his patience and all good intentions of diplomacy. “That’s enough, Shade. Phoenix is here to help, and you will treat her with respect.”

  Shade pushed away from the window, glaring at him defiantly. “I don’t have to do any –”

  “Enough!” Lily’s voice surprised them all into silence. She was staring intently at Phoenix, green eyes more alert than they’d been all night. “We need all the help we can get. If she wants to help, let her help.”

  And just like that, it was settled. Phoenix took a seat beside Lily and listened quietly as they filled her in on everything they knew so far. Before long, the night sky began to lighten with the first signs of dawn, and everyone around Ethan looked to be feeling the same bone-deep fatigue he was.

  They’d covered a lot of old ground, but really, they were no closer to reaching an answer. A mind-numbing headache was beginning to form behind his eyes and the list of questions were only growing. What were the witches up to? How did Phoenix fit into it all? Could Lily’s source have been wrong? He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  “Let’s call it a night.” He stood to stretch his legs and gave his neck a resounding crack.

  Nate, Shade, and Lily muttered their goodnights, leaving him alone in the kitchen with Phoenix as they made their way to their respective apartments. A sharp tinge of anxiety clenched his gut as he watched the others walk out the door, and he nearly had to stop himself from calling them back. They were only down the hall.

  They’re safe.

  He busied himself making a pot of coffee and repeated the mantra again in his head. When the coffee was steaming, he poured it into a cup and handed it to Phoenix who stood fidgeting uncomfortably behind him.

  “Don’t want you crashing on the way home. It’s been a long night.”

  She took the cup from him, her small nose wrinkling in the cutest way as she looked at the black, tarry liquid. “So, you decided to kill me with this instead?”

  Her vibrant green eyes sparkled as she smiled, something he hadn’t seen her do very often, and he couldn’t help his own responding grin.

  “You’ll come back tonight?” They’d discussed the idea of her going on patrol with them, but still he held his breath, waiting for her to make an excuse and walk away.

  Phoenix nodded and her face turned serious as she clutched the warm cup in both hands. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll be here.”

  “You’ve already been more help than you realise.” His words elicited a surprisingly girly blush from her as she looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

  Clearing her throat, she placed the cup down on the counter. “Right … I think it’s probably time I make a move. Abi will be getting worried.”

  Moving aside to give her access to the door, he watched her leave, more curious than ever about the hybrid.

  “I can assure you, Il Maestro, that Belinda’s mistakes won’t be mine.”

  Deep blue eyes met his gaze with an unwavering surety that did, indeed, encourage confidence. The witch’s blood red robe made her seem strangely at home in the dark chamber where they stood. Flickering torch flames cast shadows over the stone walls, and her power filled the space, falling like a sweet temptation on his tongue.

  “Tell me, Esme, how is it you reached only second in command before Belinda’s untimely demise?” Il Maestro tilted his head and watched her with a mild curiosity.

  “It was how I preferred it to be … Until I was sure the coven’s ambitions aligned with my own.” There was no arrogance in her tone, merely fact. Had she wished it, they both knew she would have been head of the coven.

  “And now?” he asked, raising a neatly manicured eyebrow.

  “Now, it’s time for the Dublin coven to reach the greatness it was intended for.” Esme’s blue eyes flashed fervently even as her face remained expressionless. “Tell me what you need from us and it will be done.”

  He assessed the woman standing before him. She had an imposing presence and spoke such pretty words. But words were useless to him. Perhaps it was time to test the loyalty she was offering.

  “I want you to find a way to speed up the prophecy.”

  For the briefest moment, surprise registered on her face.

  “The clock began to count down when the prophecy was triggered, Il Maestro. Its course will not be easily deterred. Nor will it be easily rerouted –”

  “Can it be done?” He wasn’t interested in listening to excuses. He was tired of the interruptions.

  After a moment, she nodded. “It would require a particular talisman. And a blood connection to the prophecy – the hybrid being preferable,” she added thoughtfully, “but yes, I believe so.”

  “The blood will not be a problem,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Can we obtain the talisman?”

  “It is … close. Though I may require assistance to acquire it.”

  Satisfied, Il Maestro nodded. “You’ll have all the assistance you require.”

  In a blink, she was gone.

  “And what time did you get home last night?” Abi leaned her elbows on the bar and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  Phoenix kept her eyes fixed on the tap she was hooking up, resolutely avoiding her friend’s probing gaze. The third degree had been going on all afternoon, and there was no sign of it letting up.

  “Aw come on, at least tell me who the guy is,” Abi pressed, just to prove the point.

  Phoenix sighed and looked up from her crouched position under the bar. “He’s just a friend, Abi. You know it is possible to have those.”

  Abi threw her a look that clearly said, “Yeah right!” before walking off to chat with the band setting up on stage.

  Phoenix leaned her forehead on the edge of the bar top in front of her as an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She hated lying to Abi. Not that Ethan was more than a friend, if he was even that, but what could she tell her that wouldn’t just lead to more lies?

  She gave herself a mental kick up the arse and hauled herself up from the floor to set about stacking the glasses. There was enough to worry about without feeling sorry for herself on top of it all. She’d go to Ethan’s once she got off work, help him find a way to stop whatever was happening, and go back to her normal life. Simple.

  Except it wasn’t, because she had no idea how to help. Having avoided that world her whole life, she knew sweet F.A. about the Lore. And having avoided that side of herself her whole life, she had little or no understanding of her own powers either. How she was supposed to be involved in the prophecy was a mystery to her. Ethan was crazy to want her on board.

  Idly reorganising the bottles of alcohol, she stifled a yawn. Sleep hadn’t come easily once she got back from Ethan’s that morning. Every time she’d
closed her eyes, Annabelle’s lifeless form was there, burned into her retinas. And when it wasn’t Annabelle, it was her best friend. Reaching for her. Begging for help, as all around her, the world burned. The whole thing was like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

  The shrill ring of her phone made Phoenix yelp in surprise and she fumbled awkwardly to catch the bottle of Jameson that slipped from her grasp. Already on edge, her heart leapt in her throat as she pulled the phone out of her pocket.

  Shit, please not more bad news.

  Darius’s name flashed on the screen, filling her with relief and apprehension all at once. Did he know something? Surely he couldn’t have found out about last night, could he?

  The sound of laughter drifted down the bar to her, and her attention was pulled from the vibrating phone back to her current surroundings. Abi was flirting outrageously with the lead singer of the band, her head thrown back as she laughed with pure, genuine delight.

  Phoenix hesitated, her finger hovering over the answer button. More sounds of laughter filtered into her consciousness from around the pub: customers chatting animatedly, friends laughing and joking as they put their worries aside for the evening. The life she’d built for herself suddenly seemed unbearably precious. And oh so very fragile.

  A fierce need boiled up in her to protect it.

  Biting her lip, she put the phone on silent and slipped it back into her pocket, ignoring the persistent vibration. She needed time to think before she spoke to Darius. He’d want to help. She understood that, but she needed to figure this out for herself.

  ***

  It would’ve been nice to ease in gently, Phoenix thought wryly as she followed Ethan through Temple Bar in search of witches. Sure, she’d signed up for it, but shouldn’t there be an induction or something?

  The late hour, coupled with it being a Monday, meant the streets were thankfully quiet. A few straggling tourists loitered about, reluctant to give up even though the pubs were now closed. The occasional homeless person huddled in a doorway as they sought what shelter they could in their sleeping bag. Some unsavoury characters argued amongst themselves over their poison of choice for the night. All were human, and all were of little consequence to their current goal.

  Traversing the cobblestones, she was aware of every person and every sound. First night jitters were only compounded by the covert meeting awaiting them. Phoenix gripped the medallion around her neck as she matched Ethan stride for stride.

  Lily had been surprisingly active in acquiring an update on the witches in the few hours since her sister’s death. She had pretty strong motivation, Phoenix supposed, but it was still impressive considering the grief she must be feeling. With her help, they managed to confirm that the Dublin coven had gone to ground; their second in command had taken the reins since Ethan had killed the previous leader during the attempted sacrifice.

  Annabelle’s young friend, Izzie, hadn’t been seen or heard from since, but Lily did find another witch who was willing to speak to them – under duress. Unsurprisingly, the witch had conditions for the meeting to ensure her safety.

  Creepy location in the dead of night: check.

  Ridiculous codeword no one would ever guess: check.

  Complete lack of backup in case of ambush: check.

  Phoenix personally thought they were taking a stupid risk, given the events of the previous day. Yet here she was following Ethan like a lapdog to the agreed meeting point. Some would say she was an idiot. Some would be right.

  She blew her unruly hair out of her face and noted a strange shift in the atmosphere as they passed the small square in the centre of Temple Bar. It was like all signs of life suddenly disappeared. The pubs were free of stragglers, and the doorways were empty.

  Beside her, Ethan came to an abrupt halt. He looked around and sniffed the air, his body tense. It was only then that she noticed it. Blood.

  She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts, and the coppery tang had been so subtle, that her vampire senses had written it off as just another part of their surroundings. But this was fresh.

  She looked at Ethan and nodded when he inclined his head towards a side-street just past The Temple Bar pub. Her breath caught in her throat, but she followed him silently as he edged towards the corner.

  Empty kegs stood stacked at the side of the pub and the metal shutters were pulled halfway down the windows, making the place appear almost as if it had been abandoned in a hurry. Glasses littered the footpath outside; dregs of beer and spirits were the only remaining sign of their owners. The night around them was quiet.

  Ethan pressed Phoenix behind him with a gentle hand before he crouched low and risked a glance around the corner.

  “Dammit,” he cursed, hurrying towards something not yet visible from her position.

  She cast a wary glance around and followed him, only to stop short at the sight that met her.

  A woman, largely hidden by the stacked kegs, lay slumped on the ground, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. She was in her forties, Phoenix guessed. Pretty, but in a forgettable way. A look of fear formed her death mask and a single trickle of fresh blood ran from a cut on her forehead.

  Her hand was clenched tightly in a fist, and when Ethan pried it open, a small amulet clattered to the ground. He stood and punched the wall in anger before turning away to pace.

  “It’s the witch, isn’t it?” Realisation hit Phoenix with a dull thud.

  Ethan nodded but didn’t speak. He just continued to pace and fought to take slow, deep breaths.

  “She didn’t even make it to the meeting pl –”

  A woman’s scream tore through the night and ripped away the veil of silence surrounding them.

  With a quick glance at each other, they turned and sprinted in the direction of the sound. As they reached the small square once more, they found another woman in a heap on the cobblestones. She sobbed as her partner tried to console her and angry shouts came from the arched stone walkway that led to the quays.

  Whatever had happened to this woman, she was in no immediate danger. So, Ethan and Phoenix ran through the archway and followed the shouts down the stone steps and across the road to the Ha’penny Bridge.

  At the top of the bridge, Ethan skidded to a stop so suddenly that Phoenix ran straight into his back. She opened her mouth to ask what gives, but the scene in front of them stopped the words before they could leave her throat.

  A middle-aged woman, fully equipped in tailored jacket and pencil skirt, stood over an old man. With her stilettos in hand, she rained merciless blows down on his frail form. A maniacal grin covered her face as the man cowered beneath his arms and tried in vain to protect his head. Each strike from the five-inch heels caused him to cry out in pain and only seemed to spur the woman on.

  The image was wrong in so many ways that Phoenix couldn’t even begin to list them, but more than that, the woman felt wrong. There was an energy to her, almost like that of a Supe, but thicker, more tangible and viscous. And her eyes … her eyes were glowing like the flames of Hell.

  “Demon,” Ethan whispered, his skin visibly pale even in the darkness of the night.

  The woman paused mid-strike and her head twisted in their direction. The red of her eyes pulsed and the smile on her face turned to something even more chilling than before. Abandoning her prey, she stalked slowly towards them, her tongue running seductively over bright red lips.

  Phoenix shuddered and fought the sudden urge to scrub her skin raw. It didn’t make sense. Demons weren’t able to cross over. Were they?

  “Eh … any bright ideas?” she muttered nervously, not taking her eyes off the woman.

  Ethan shook his head. His fists opened and closed convulsively at his sides. “She’s just a vessel. We can’t hurt her.” Which left them shit out of luck since the woman – or demon – looked more than ready to hurt them.

  “Hybrid,” the demon hissed. Her voice was deep and unnatural coming from the woman’s mouth.

  Not
waiting for her, or it, to get any closer, Ethan lunged shoulder first into the demon. The vessel didn’t budge. Instead, it grabbed Ethan around the torso and lifted his sizable frame before flinging him halfway across the bridge, laughing.

  The demon turned its attention back to Phoenix and tilted its head to assess her. Phoenix fought the urge to run as she shifted into a fighting stance. The demon was blocking her view of Ethan, but she heard the thud quite clearly when he landed, and the lack of follow-up attack didn’t bode well for him at all. She was on her own.

  Her knowledge of demons was limited, but she knew the woman it possessed was innocent, which severely limited her options; she wasn’t willing to hurt an innocent human and had zero idea how to separate a demon from its host.

  Done with its assessment, the demon abandoned its slow stalking and launched itself towards her. Human hands appeared almost as claws as they grabbed for her face, nails raking across her cheek in burning slashes.

  Phoenix blocked the strikes as best she could without resorting to force, but it was useless. The human now possessed the demon’s impressive speed, and its strength was overwhelming.

  Unable to even restrain the demon, she finally relented and put her morals aside.

  Her first punch connected, and Phoenix felt the sickening crunch of a cheekbone beneath her hand. The demon stumbled, and in a moment of utter cruelty, pulled back just enough from the woman it possessed to allow conscious terror and pain to flash behind her eyes. Nausea overwhelmed Phoenix and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to stop from throwing up.

  The woman. Oh fuck, she’s still aware.

  With a cruel grin that looked out of place on the woman’s face, the demon regained full control and began to stalk towards her once more. This time it was in no rush, knowing all too well it had effectively crippled her ability to fight back. It pressed Phoenix against the railings of the bridge and ran a chipped red fingernail down her cheek as it sniffed along her neck.