The tree.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence that it had come crashing down right as I’d been overcome with a raging hot flash. I’d been in a fugue state, but I was fairly certain I’d managed to bring down a tree using…magic.
So why couldn’t I bring down an improvised cell door and a single man?
If I managed to harness the power maybe I’d even make it past whoever was waiting outside. I went to the corner of my cell and made a show of putting my head in my hands and pretending to cry, sneaking a glance at the jailer, who was now picking at his nails every now and then. My heart soared as he reached into his belt, pulling out his pocketknife. I readied my mind, doing my best to imitate the state I’d been in when I brought the tree down. I thought about those men dragging me to the ground like I was a piece of garbage. About Patrick’s kisses and his lies. About those bastards in my mee-maw’s house, scaring her, and taking Maude.
And the anger built from a flickering flame to an inferno.
I felt a brief twang of guilt as my jailer brought the knife up to his mouth but pushed it down and readied myself for my one and only shot.
Then, I let loose. All the fury and heat and power that I’d let build up inside, sending it crashing through the cell door and right toward his face.
I was thrown backward into the wall of the cell as the sonic boom of power went off, blowing the door right off its hinges. My head spun as I pushed myself to my knees, waiting for the blurriness to subside as I tried to get a good look at the jailer.
He was propped against the wall, blood streaming down his face an, open wound on his cheek. Dimly, I heard footsteps running towards the door but he stood, roaring, “I have it under control, stay out there!”
In what seemed like a strange move, he dropped his bloodied knife to the floor and reached for his chest.
No, not his chest. His necklace.
A sudden pain took over my entire body that was so intense I could think of nothing else. It was like a shooting migraine that affected every nerve. Wracking, bone-grinding agony that had me writhing wordlessly.
I had no idea how long it lasted but by the time it stopped and I dropped to my knees, I was no longer considering escape. In fact, I wasn’t considering anything else at all. The only thing that mattered was avoiding that horrible pain for the short time I had left to live.
Turned out, I didn’t have long to wait. A moment later, a cloaked figure poked his head through the door.
“It’s time.”
Chapter 24
I was barely aware of my surroundings as they dragged me into another room. From the sounds of it, I was the main attraction of the night. There had to be at least a dozen different people moving and shuffling around quietly. I could hear flames crackling and the sound of water trickling. But the worst of it was the music; discordant bells, chimes, and some array of string instruments and flutes floated over me. The earie cadence made me feel deeply uneasy, like it was trying to untether my mind from my body. The music ebbed and flowed without any rhyme or reason, every new note driving another nail into my brain.
Despite the activity around me, no one stopped to bother me or poke at me with flaming sticks or torture me or anything, so that was a nice change of pace. I hesitantly pried my eyes open, lifting my head just slightly. I swallowed a groan of pain as I finally got a good look at my surroundings. No one needed to clue me in on our location—I realized with a start that I knew exactly where I was.
The old abandoned Glassman Factory had been a staple of life in Rocky Knoll for my entire life. There were always rumors that this place was haunted, but that never stopped new investors from swooping in every decade or so. They’d snatch up the prime real estate for a song and a dance, renovate it, and open it back up. The area would flood with new transplants and the economy would boom and for a few years, it all ran like clockwork. Then inevitably, something terrible happened to bring it all crashing down. Once, when I was just a kid, it had been a fire that gutted the place and left a handful of people dead. Another time, a violent infestation of rats drove the new owners out. Eventually, they’d given up the ghost and the next factory would close. People would leave, things would quiet down, and teenagers would flock to the ruins to utilize the space for parties and scary stories.
It didn’t matter that Glassman had gone through at least three different owners since my time, the place still looked exactly the same. I even knew the room we were in. Dead center of the factory, a huge space with just a single skylight above. Massive pipes swooped here and there among the sagging steel beams.
This was the part of the place we’d always hung out in when it was time to drink and party. Hell, there’d been many nights where Zoe and I wandered through here just to sit and talk and watch the stars through the skylight. For whatever reason, this was the place in the factory where everyone was always drawn.
Of course, now, there was a little addition to the room of my misspent youth. Something that chilled me to the core.
A wooden gallows. Perfect for hanging witches.
I tried to catch my breath, but couldn’t seem to as my chest constricted. Suddenly, everything stopped. The music had faded away, and I couldn’t hear even the faintest whisper from the people who had been around me. Even the flames and the water seemed to have fallen silent.
A quick glance around the massive room revealed that every single person present was standing perfectly still. Their faces were turned towards the skylight. I didn’t have the brain power to count them, but it looked like at least a dozen around me in a horseshoe shape, each dressed in an identical crimson robe with a deep hood.
Deep, aching dread filled my soul. I didn’t know how, but I knew that it was exactly midnight.
A mournful chime from the bells sent shivers down my spine. As the bell died down, the robed bastards took up a discordant hum. The first one, all the way to my right, took three steps forward. They extended the first hand that held what looked like a wooden bowl, throwing the contents in my direction.
From the look of it, some kind of herb or salt mixture. The air went silent again. My skin started to itch as the silence stretched for an eternity.
Another long, low tone of music, and we started the show all over again with the next cult member. Hum, step, throw. This one threw some kind of viscous liquid that mostly just sort of oozed onto the ground. One by one, the cultists stepped forward, each repeating the same steps. By the end, I was drenched in sweat and who knew what else, and shaking like I had a raging fever. My limbs felt like they were weighted down in cement, and my head was a balloon on the verge of bobbing away into the clouds.
As silly and outlandish as what they were doing seemed, it was having a very real effect on me.
At the end, a final man stepped through the other bloodthirsty cult members. From the way they bowed, this was the leader. The head honcho. The king of the cult.
He stepped to the center, and the fire behind me flared to life. The water in the distance started dripping again. His hands rose into the air, fingers extended towards the moon reverentially. It seemed like he was just biding his time, waiting for some perfect moment. Yeah, this was all really damn ominous and serious but suddenly, I had to bite back a giggle. It started deep down in my stomach, and there was no containing this one. It was going to explode. There were going to be giggles. Maybe some tears, but definitely laughter. Crazed, hysterical, explosive laughter. The kind that might even end with me peeing a little.
Sure, I could have tried to choke it back in hopes that I might weep instead, and convince these jackwagons to let me go…but I knew that would be futile. So I laughed. A bubbling eruption of hilarity that echoed through the massive room. The sound grew and grew, bouncing back between the tubes and walls and pillars of stone.
The leader turned to me, his hands lowering slowly. A growl escaped his lips and he pushed the cowl back from his face. My laughter died and my breath caught in my chest. Really, it was all in the eyes. I
was looking into Patrick’s eyes. Oh, sure, the face was different. Older, more weathered, and definitely more fanatical and psychotic. But this was definitely someone related to Patrick—brother, father, uncle?
Was this the infamous Finneas?
His smile was cold and cruel, his eyes focused on me. His voice intoned through the room. “The ritual is prepared. Bring forth the item.”
A man to his right bowed, murmuring. “Yes, Finneas.”
The pain in my stomach intensified, a deep ache that echoed throughout my body. It was a pretty damn good thing they had me chained to the post, because there was no way I could’ve stayed on my feet at the moment.
From the depths of the room, a robed man stepped forward, carefully carrying the typewriter. My typewriter. The item that has swiftly become bonded to my soul. Maude was carefully set beneath the window, right in the light of the full moon.
Her keys gleamed in the moonlight. My fingers itched and throbbed, begging to create.
Finneas lifted his hand in my direction. Two of his lackeys grabbed my chains and lowered me from the post.
My knees started to buckle, and the two men dragged me forward. They were going to make sure I got to the party, one way or another.
As they pulled me beneath the slash of moonlight, Finneas’ face swam above me, his voice low and echoing.
“You will repeat this chant and then we will separate you.”
I blinked at him, staring blindly. He expected me to do what, now? Did he really expect me to just bow down to his will and submit to him and my own demise?
“Hard pass, buddy…” I muttered.
Finneas cleared his throat, shaking his head once. “If you don’t do as we ask, one call and your grandmother is as good as dead. Agonizingly. Painfully. The longer you refuse, the longer she will suffer before we grant her death.”
Holy hell. This guy was dead serious. He had no qualms about killing an innocent old woman, just because she had the bad luck to be related to me.
If I refused, Mee-maw would die. Hell, they might kill her anyway, but I had to give her a chance.
I tried not to think of how angry she would be at me, knowing that I caved to the will of these men. If I could hurt the proverbial Illuminati by fighting all the way to the end, she damn well expected me to do it. But I couldn’t. Not when her life hung in the balance.
Finneas obviously saw the resolve fade from my eyes. He smiled cruelly and began to chant. The words were in Latin or some other language I didn’t understand, so all I could do was repeat after him as carefully as possible. My fingers screamed and flared to life, each word like ripping fingernails out. The pain in my stomach intensified; I don’t know how I knew it, but my bond with the typewriter was beginning to fade.
Factum.
The word echoed through the factory, and I felt a sob rip from my chest.
I think that the heartbreak probably hurt more than the nice long slash in my stomach. As my blood splattered out onto the typewriter, the bond felt like it was stretched to its limit.
I could almost see it there, my now-tenuous connection to the shiny black typewriter. Thin, white gossamer strands were all that kept the two of us connected. Then, sickly green lightning filled the room as power crackled in the air.
The cultists broke out in a cheer, and they turned as one towards the gallows. Two of them grabbed me by the arms while another took the typewriter into their arms.
This was it. I was out of time.
They bore me upwards until Finneas stepped forward, slipping a pristine white rope around my neck. He gave me a faint smile as he slid the knot downwards, his voice quiet and for me alone.
“Your sacrifice fuels our cause.”
That smarmy look on his face gave me a final push. One last breath to try and get free. My final hurrah.
I could feel it, some tingle of power just starting to gather. It was there, so darn close, I could almost taste it.
Then the floor dropped out from beneath me.
My feet dangled in the air, arms jerking and trying to get free to get to the rope. Any magic I might have been able to snag was ripped away, leaving nothing more than regrets as the air left my lungs in a whoosh. Tears squeezed down my cheeks as I swung, desperately tried to catch a breath. As my heart stuttered and jigged, one thought pulsed.
I wish I could tell them all how much I love them.
My kids, Mee-maw, Zoe. All the people in my life who kept me going. I’d never get to tell them how much they meant to me.
And then, just as the vision started to take on an ugly gray haze, a violent explosion rocked my world.
Literally, rocked my world. Whatever the hell happened, I was not where I’d been just a few moments earlier.
Around me, I could hear yelling and howling and utter chaos.
I gasped around the now-loosened rope still around my neck, trying to wiggle and work it free. And then, the most beautiful sound in the world.
Mee-maw’s raspy voice in my ear. I sucked in a precious breath and my lungs burned gloriously.
Alive. I was alive. For now…
“Get up, kiddo! We’ve got to go!” She wasted no time ripping the rope off, hauling me to my feet.
For a small, old lady who’d recently nearly died thanks to a heart attack, Mee-maw was pretty damn spry when the situation called for it.
Zoe rushed up, grabbing my other side, and the two of them practically dragged me away from the burning and screaming of the robed men. My legs still refused to cooperate, but at least I could move my arms again. Barely.
“Oh my god, cuz! Can you help at all?” Zoe muttered beneath her breath, her head swiveling around frantically as she watched to make sure we could make a clean getaway.
“Shuddup and move!” Mee-maw shouted.
The two of them maneuvered me through the building, until the parking lot swam before us in all of its concrete glory.
My head was swimming, and all I wanted was to fall down and go to sleep. But the pain was starting to fade, so that had to be a good thing, right?
Mee-maw threw me in the backseat of her trusty old Buick, jumping deftly into the front seat as Zoe rushed around to the passenger door.
Not a moment later, the door across from mine opened again and my typewriter came flying in with a thunk. Maude! They’d saved her!
The euphoria faded when I realized who followed behind her.
Patrick. Yeah, the guy whose father just tried to murder me.
“No. No frigging way,” I croaked, protesting weakly.
Mee-maw threw the car into gear, launching forward as she let out a loud, wild laugh. “Lucky thing your boyfriend here came and got us! He knocked out the guard watching us and led us to you. He’s the one who rigged the explosives, too! Looks like you finally found a handy one!”
I glared over at Patrick through my wavering vision but I couldn’t form any more words.
“Cricket? Cricket, stay with me,” he murmured.
I held a hand to my aching belly and felt the cold, sticky wetness a second before Patrick’s eyes dropped to the very same spot.
“Jesus, she’s bleeding out.”
His panicked green eyes were the last thing I saw before I drifted away into nothingness.
Afterword
Looking for more books in this HOT FLASH of a new genre?
Check out these books available February 18/2020 here!
Denise Grover Swank "Let it all Burn"
KF Breene "Magical Midlife Madness"
Eve Langlais "Halfway There"
Robyn Peterman "It's a Wonderful Midlife Crisis"
Shannon Mayer "Grave Magic Bounty"
Jana DeLeon "Wrong Side of Forty"
Deanna Chase "Witching For Grace"
Kristen Painter "Sucks to be Me"
Elizabeth Hunter "Suddenly Psychic"
Michelle M Pillow "Second Chance Magic"
Mandy M Roth "Cloudy With a Chance of Witchcraft"
Darynda Jones "Betwi
xt"
Writing Wrongs: Crow’s Feet Coven, Book One Page 19