The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (47 page)

“Because the only time I trust that Brujii is when she’s with you. She listens to you, and does what you say, and whether I like it or not, I think she’s developed feelings for you.”

“Karl—”

“No. This is a dangerous mission. I want us all out of there alive. Katarra and Pueblo can’t be left alone together to fight off demons – they’re too likely to turn on each other. And I know she’ll watch your back. She’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe.”

Everything Karl was saying made sense, because Karl always made sense. Even with his dislike of Katarra, he still put everyone else before himself. She sighed. “You’re kinda like my hero, you know that?”

He grinned. “Make it up to me later when we’re all safely tucked up in bed.”

She reached up and pecked him on the lips. “Count on it.”

“One … two…”

She laughed and swatted him with the dishcloth. “Idiot.”

“Harlot.”

A cough sounded from behind them. Amy stood at the entrance to the kitchen, looking red-eyed, but better. “Hey. Everyone’s ready. The witching hour approaches. And before you ask, yes, I’ll be okay. I have books, and some wicked-awesome magic at my disposal, and if I’m really bored, I’ll see if I can do some more research on those prophecies for you.”

Karl smiled. “You’re a gem.”

“I know.”

Elena pulled off her marigold rubber gloves. “I put a protection spell around the house about fifteen minutes ago. No one’s getting in here without some pretty powerful mojo of their own.”

“Thanks. I’ve set up the salt circle in your bedroom; it just needs your enchantment. Pueblo and Katarra are already up there.”

“Alone?”

“I froze them both with their permission. Well, Pueblo conceded; Katarra, not so much.”

Elena let out a grunt. “Good move.” She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, picturing her mum in her favourite way: laughing as they played in the park on the swings when Elena was six. Nerves bundled inside her.

Karl squeezed her hand.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, taking strength from his winning smile.

He nodded once. “Here we go then.”

~*~

Amy didn’t let her unease show – not until the final body went down, falling into a deep sleep within the salt circle that took up most of the bedroom. They’d had to lift the bed and put it on its side to make room, but conducting the spell up here was safer than downstairs – it meant more time to think about escape should anyone break through Elena’s magical shield and enter the house.

None of them were stupid, and Gwain had apparently warned Karl and Elena, after Mary was arrested, that with the prophesied apocalypse imminent, all kinds of demons and beings would be crawling out of the woodwork. And their first port of call? The Witching Pen. And that damn Pen would lead everyone straight to Elena, so … here. To this house. Where she was alone. Fan-fucking-tastic.

But she wasn’t about to hold anyone back from rescuing Katherine Green. The thought of the poor woman trapped in another world sent her stomach trembling again … and Katherine had saved her life. If she hadn’t appeared at Elena’s portal when she had, it would have been Amy trapped in the Shanka world. Instead, she’d ended up—

Abruptly, the beautiful garden in Scotland filled her mind, the apple tree in bloom, the sharp scent of heather; buttercups and daisies scattered across the lawn … they even had deer foal grazing on their grass in the spring, they were that near the woods. A sharp ache hit her in the chest.

What the hell is wrong with me? Come on, Amy! You’re stronger than this. Let. It. Go.

Although right now, she didn’t feel strong. She felt worn out and twitchy. It hadn’t helped that Pueblo had still been distracted right before he took that pill and slumped to the floor. Of course, they hadn’t had time to talk about whatever was eating at him.
Story of our lives: no time to talk about anything. Ha. Maybe there’ll be more time
after
the apocalypse…
 

The sound of the front door quietly clicking shut, floated up the stairs and had her whirling around, instant terror careening through her body. She doubted anyone else would’ve heard it, but her shapeshifting tendencies were stronger recently, and that included better hearing.

Oh, God, someone’s here. How did they get through the shield?

And why now? Why not five minutes ago before everyone had taken an enchanted dose of Zimovane?

Because they know you’re alone now,
came the warning voice in her head.

Her fear heightened a notch, but she fought it back down and concentrated on her witch-power, which always manifested itself as an uncoiling in the seat of her belly. Magical energy coursed through her, and she wrapped a protection shield around herself.

She stole a quick glance at her friends. They were protected by the salt circle.

Amy tiptoed out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could, and made her way silently to the top of the stairs while straining to hear for any further noise. There was nothing. Frowning, she called to the cat within her. Her shifting abilities were still shaky at best, having been dormant all her life. But she wasn’t aiming to shift, just to listen.

Connecting with the feline inside her, her ears tingled, and almost felt like they were stretching, until …
there.
 

Whispers came from the hallway downstairs, near the front door … then a shuffle … more than one person … possibly large people, possibly men…

She went further into her cat … her nostrils flared … she swore she could smell the sun … they smelt like …
oh, shit!
They smelt like the desert!

She hadn’t even realised that she’d closed her eyes, but now they snapped open, and they snapped open too late. Three Dessec demons stood at the bottom of the stairs staring up at her, pure menace radiating from their dark eyes. Two more came into view behind them. All of them were male and built for war, not quite as muscle-bound as Pueblo, but not far off. And they all stood about a head taller than Pueblo, which was really damn tall. Whereas the Dessec she’d grown to love had softer features and kinder eyes, these guys looked like they wanted to beat her to death.

“Shifter!”
one of them bellowed in rage.

Oh, fuck – they meant her. In panic, her hand flared with light and she hurled an energy ball at them. It was a big one, and her aim was good. It should have knocked at least the first three demons off their feet, but her ball of energy was consumed by some weird black gooey stuff that came from the right of where the Dessec stood. She spun that way to see a blond, human man, who looked about forty, smiling up at her, cruelly, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. He may have been human – at least, as far as she could tell – but he practically crackled with magical force. She’d only ever seen that kind of power on Etienne and Elena. But this man’s magic was dark. No, not just dark. It was what true black magic was, when it was devoid of all else – it was evil.

Her hand lit up again, more from her instinct not to die than anything else.

“Now, now, little shifter-witch,” said the human, in an accent she couldn’t quite place. Scandinavian? He looked kind of Nordic. “We don’t have to do this the hard way.” His voice was steady; his gaze as sure as that of someone who knew he could not be defeated.

“You’re messing with the wrong witch.” But she knew her threat was empty, and so did he.

“Ah … if you were that thirteenth generation succubus-witch, I would have to agree with you, although I can’t say I’d run. That was one impressive shield around the house – I’d love to test that girl.”

“What coven are you from?”

“I’m not. I’m a shaman.”

A shaman?
“The Dessec hate shamans, yet you’re working for them?”

“
With
them, Amy,
with
them.”

Oh, great, he knew her name. That didn’t bode well.

“We’re working towards a common goal. You have something very important that now belongs to them … or at least,” his eyes flickered to the shut bedroom door behind her, “it will do once the time traveller’s dead.”

She didn’t hesitate a second before launching her next energy ball, and this one was fuelled with her own anger which liked to manifest into fire whenever she couldn’t control it – like now. The fireball
almost
hit the shaman, but he drenched it in the same gross black stuff as the last one, putting out the flames.

Eeeew … what the hell
is
that?
It looked like his hand was made from some kind of black, oily mush.

But she had more important things to worry about, because she was done for. At the moment, she still guarded the door to the bedroom, and they wanted Pueblo dead. If she ran, she was signing his death warrant. If she stayed, they’d still kill him as soon as they were finished with her, but it may just buy him an extra few seconds, and right now, she’d take anything she could get. So she ordered her shaky legs to stay put.

The shaman walked forward, making his way up the stairs, and the Dessec parted for him.

Her flight instinct screamed throughout her body. It wasn’t like her to be so fearful, but her fatigue seemed to be the centre of her entire life recently, and it had taken its toll on her mind as well as her body. She fought her fear with everything she had, and her legs shook even more. She wondered how she was still standing.

He stopped when he reached the first step from the top, just an inch away from her. “Brave girl,” he whispered. Then he propelled her backwards with a wave of his hand – obliterating her protection shield in the process – until she thumped against the bedroom door.

She couldn’t help praying that the others would hear the noise, even though she knew that was out of the question – they weren’t in their bodies. Those pills were designed to keep them astral until Elena called the mission off and returned to her own sleeping form, or until Amy magically awoke them in an emergency, which she couldn’t very well do now she was outside the bedroom.

The shaman came right up to her, his eyes studying her … appraising her. “Pretty thing, aren’t you? Powerful, too. Such a shame you’ll have to die.” He touched her cheek with his normal hand.

Her skin crawled.

“Maybe I could persuade them to give you to me after they’re done with you.”

She turned her head violently away from him, only to have him grasp her face hard, and turn it back.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, and then he brought his deformed goo-hand up to her line of vision.

It didn’t touch her skin, but she gagged anyway. “Wh-what is that?”

“This?” he gestured to his hand. “My grandfather was cursed by a fairy queen for tunnelling through her sacred land. He poured hot tar over it whilst building roads, killing almost all of her people. She gave him two tarred hands in return, ensuring he would never be able to use them for anything ever again – not to build, nor destroy. But fairies like to hold their grudges, and the sins of the father became the sins of the son. Every child borne of his bloodline since then has carried the curse, although, we only have one deformed hand – lucky for us, yes?

“However, that self-absorbed fairy didn’t know my grandfather was a shaman – unusual for a fay not to spot one of us. He learned how to use it to his advantage, how to turn it into a magical tool, and he taught us, too.

“Now, hold still,” he said, moving the disgusting thing closer. “I just need to get this inside you. Once it touches your skin, it’ll sink right in—”

Oh, no fucking WAY!

Her insides quivered, and a sort of quickening raced through her. Her body was trying to shift so it could get the hell away. Only the shaman uttered a word in a language she didn’t know, and it seized all her muscles so she couldn’t move, arresting the change.

A whimper of defeat left her. Then all the lights began to flicker.

The shaman’s hold on her weakened. He looked surprised, then confused, and then five Dessec demons went flying through the air so hard they hit the ceiling, cracking it, before dropping all the way back down, and landing in a heap on the floor.

Amy couldn’t see anything from the top of the stairs with the shaman in front of her, but the voice she heard sent her heart racing, her hope flaring and gave her back the fight she thought she’d lost.

“That was your cue to get your hands
off
her, moron.”

She didn’t wait for him to do that, but kneed him in the groin, careful to keep his liquified hand well away from her; then she punched him in the face when he was doubled over.

OUCH! CRAP! Way to break your hand…

She gave him a final, hard shove, ensuring he went down onto the floor, then leapt out of his reach and raced down the stairs towards the voice she knew too well.

She didn’t think twice about taking Paul’s outstretched hand, and as soon as hers was in his, they began reciting the
Situalis Dissolutionis.
It was the standard spell used on an opponent when he was down, to eradicate the immediate danger to all.

Their combined power ionised their surroundings, a warm, light glow igniting where their hands joined. They turned their free hands palm outwards, towards the shaman now sitting up, baffled and angry, on the floor.

The last line of the incantation left their lips.

The shaman, who looked like he was going to rupture a gut, snarled at Paul. “Who the fuck are you?”

Paul said nothing, but tightened his hold on Amy’s hand, and together, they sent the spell coursing out of their bodies, through their open palms, straight into the man who’d gotten to his feet and was now lunging at them. He disappeared, mid-air, in front of their eyes, followed by the five Dessec demons that decorated the floor.

They drew their power back into their bodies.

A heavy silence clung to the air.

Amy turned, and for the first time, with all her gazillion memories intact, took in the man whose hand she held. Paul looked young; as young as he had in 1956, and also as genuine and kind. But behind his eyes, the softness was gone, replaced by age, experience and the harshness of life. It wasn’t just Paul who stood in front of her, but Etienne too. This wasn’t just the man from 1956, but Paul and Etienne – the past and the present – combined.