A Lying Witch Book One

  Chapter 10

  I didn't wake up straight away. My awareness returned to me in flashes.

  I felt myself being carried, heard the patter of quick feet, felt sinewy arms wrapped around my back.

  My eyes were caked with blood, and I could barely move them, but I saw bursts of rooftops, of chimneys, of faint flickering lights, heard the pound of rain.

  I tried to hold onto my attention, but it flitted in and out like an indecisive insect on the wing.

  I heard cars, the putter of engines, the screech of tires negotiating wet asphalt.

  I couldn't smell, though. My nose felt as if it had been wrapped in pure pain. I could feel it was clogged with blood, and that same blood felt like a dried mess down my cheek and neck.

  … I started to black out again….

  The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor. It took me so long to be able to wink an eye open, even then, I had to fight against the dried up blood covering my face and making me feel like I had a plaster mask on.

  I heard something, right by my face. As I winked and I open, I saw an amplifier.

  It took my broken mind a long time to realize what it was, but as my eyes ticked over the speaker and saw the smudged brand name painted across the top, I frowned. Or at least I tried to frown. I had absolutely no muscle control whatsoever.

  The amplifier was on, and a low, thrumming hum filled the air, vibrating the floor beneath me.

  Finally, I heard voices.

  Sharp and quick with a warning. Footsteps, too.

  I fought against my fatigued body, trying to move it. But it would not be moved.

  I felt the footsteps shudder up something, and I realized they were climbing stairs.

  I had to be on some kind of stage.

  Though I squeezed my eyes shut at the footsteps’ approach, I caught just enough of a glimpse of the room around me to realize I was in some kind of bar. It wasn’t just the low, sultry lighting – I could feel sticky alcohol under my cheeks, smell the left-over musty scent of sweat and sweet cocktails.

  I felt someone draw to a standstill behind me. If I had to guess, there were two or three men. Suddenly, one reached out and pushed me in the back with his boot. “She up, yet?”

  I squeezed my eyes tightly closed and tried hard not to move a muscle.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” one of them commented.

  There was a pause. I felt somebody lean down beside me. My hair was a loose mess around my body, and as they shifted forward, the tread of their shoes snagged my long fringe. I couldn’t help but wince with pain.

  Someone grunted, locked an arm around my throat, and pulled me up.

  I fought. Pushed out, jerked my arms and legs in every direction, but there was no use.

  The guy was stronger, so strong, it was as if I were fighting a pro wrestler.

  As he jerked me around, I got a better glimpse of the room and realized I was right – this was definitely some kind of bar. I was right about another fact, too – there were three men up on the stage with me. One was dressed in an impeccable silver and gray suit with a neat black shirt and tie underneath. The other two were nowhere near as smart. One was in torn blue jeans, heavy boots, and a dark shirt.

  The other? The other one was the guy that held me, and as I twisted around, using all my strength to fight him off, I caught sight of his chest. Of his neck, too. And twisting along his throat was a tattoo. A strange diagram of geometrical shapes, almost like a close-up of a snowflake.

  The memory slammed into me like a freight train. I’d seen this specific tattoo before. And as the guy twisted me around and my gaze sliced across his broken nose and bloodied eyes, I realized I knew just who he was.

  I screamed, the noise gurgling from my bruised throat.

  “Shut her up, Farley,” the man in the suit commented.

  Farley jolted forward, and I had just enough time to see the sneer spreading his pale blue-white lips before he locked me in a headlock and shoved me forward. He crumpled me in half, grinding my cheek into the sticky, alcohol-covered floor.

  I pulsed with fear, almost as if my blood had been replaced by pure adrenaline. But that pure adrenaline could do nothing.

  I heard one of the men take several steps towards me and saw two polished expensive shoes several inches from my nose.

  There was the creak of fabric as the man knelt down. “You sure it’s her? Doesn’t seem magical,” he commented.

  Farley, the man who held me – the murderer I’d seen in the woods – grunted. The move was strong enough that it shook through my shoulders as he held me there, crumpled on the floor. One of his knees pinned my long hair, pulling my head painfully to the side.

  “It’s her,” he didn’t even pause. “Saw the whole thing. Felt her invade my mind.”

  “Are you sure she saw everything?”

  Farley paused. “Don’t matter. I’m certain she saw enough to identify me.”

  I had no idea what was going on. Their words washed over me as the fear continued to pulse and tear through me.

  I was crying, and yet I wasn’t sobbing. The tears were simply draining from my eyes, a prelude to the blood that would undoubtedly follow.

  “What do you want to do with her, Fagan?” The other man asked. “Could she be useful?” he asked in an offhand manner.

  There was a long pause. “Yeah, she could probably be useful. But right now we need to ensure this operation is a success. And if we’ve got a functioning seer in the city, there’s no way that’s going to happen. So, Farley, you know what to do.” With that, Fagan turned on his heel and strode away, the neat clip clop of his expensive shoes the last thing I would ever hear.

  The other guy commented under his breath that he thought this would be a waste then strode away too.

  That meant I was alone with Farley.

  All I could hear was his breath. It was choppy, not rhythmic, not calm like Max’s. It was the equivalent of being on a violent ocean in a tiny dingy as you waited for the swell to swallow you up.

  He still had his arm locked around my throat, still had my head ground into the floor. I was way beyond being disgusted by the musty smell of alcohol, by the grime and grit being pressed into the blood that still caked my cheek.

  I waited. Every part of my body waited – every muscle, every organ, every cell.

  This would be it, I would die.

  I had just enough time to beg those sparks to return. I turned my back on them before, but now I needed them more than ever. For without them – without a glimpse of the future – I would die. Horribly and violently.

  I was suddenly possessed with the vision I’d seen of the woman being chased through the woods, of this Farley slicing her from ear-to-ear with his knife.

  I shuddered, and this brought a light laugh to his white-blue lips. “You made a mistake entering my mind, future witch.”

  I hadn’t said a word to him up until now, just cried softly at his feet. But obviously, he wanted an answer, because he shoved my face even harder into the ground. “What do you say?” He growled.

  Sobbing, I managed to part my lips. “I… I didn’t enter your mind.”

  He snarled right by my ear. “Yes, you did. Felt a spark of your magic take hold. Plus, Fagan’s contacts on the force confirmed you gave them my description. So you have to go, girly. There is no other way.” He chuckled right by my ear.

  “I…” I swallowed hard, and it was a constricted, tight move as my neck was at such an uncomfortable angle. It sounded like I was a gaping fish. “I didn’t enter your mind. I… I saw her die. Through her eyes. Your victim,” I said, voice shuddering as a jolt of fear and yet anger sliced through me.

  This guy was a murderer. A murderer. He chased that woman through the forest in cold blood. And now he was about to do the same to me.

  I had a fire personality as my mother always put it. Which was quite a statement coming from her, as her personality was volcanic. Point was, Chi McLane never ran from a fight – she w
ould stay and finish one, even start a few herself.

  So I grit my teeth as a wave of anger took hold, and yet my common sense told me there was still nothing I could do. This guy was stronger, and somehow he knew about magic.

  I did have one chance, though, didn’t I? He clearly wanted to talk.

  He laughed, sounding like a puttering engine. “Didn’t invade my mind, ha? Just the victim. Well, it was still a mistake. We’re connected, see? I ate half her heart, consumed the last scrap of her magic. It’s the only way to practice consequence-free magic, see. And me,” he leaned close and shifted his jaw to the side, drawing attention to the pattern of bruises that covered it, “my magic beats the shit out of me. So I never pass up an opportunity to eat someone else’s.” He licked his lips, his tongue like a snake darting its head out from a dark recess. “But you still entered my mind, girly. By consuming her heart, I gained access to some of her final memories. So when you entered her mind, you entered mine.”

  So much information, I felt overwhelmed. But one fact struck me. God did it strike me. It was worse than a slap, worse than a blow to my head. He ate her heart to consume the last scraps of her magic.

  Up until now, I’d known that I was in trouble, but suddenly I appreciated just how vile this murderer was. Just exactly what he would do to me.

  I heard him clench his teeth, heard the unmistakable clink of tooth against tooth. “Fagan will probably want your heart for himself, but I reckon I can have a taste. You won’t mind that, will you? Plus, if I get the power of a seer—” He pursed his lips and whistled.

  Seconds before, I’d found my fleeting courage. Now, it flit away once more as I shuddered so badly, I could have snapped my muscles.

  This man was going to eat my heart, tear it out, taste it for himself.

  Max had warned me that horrible, unspeakable things would happen if I turned away from my power. I was now getting my comeuppance, wasn’t I? I’d relied on lying my entire life, but now… now it would kill me.

  I sobbed even louder, relinquishing to the total fear that was consuming me.

  No hope.

  There was no hope.

  Fagan released me, pushing backward.

  I remained exactly where I was, face crumpled on the sticky floor, one eye open as it pulsed wide with terror, as it waited for him to jerk forward, draw a knife from his pocket, and slice it down my middle.

  I caught sight of half of his form, saw him shove a hand into his pocket and take a casual step backward. “I suppose it would be a waste to kill you right away. Boss is right – we can’t have you running around interrupting the operation, not when we’ve got a deal going down on the docks tonight. Still,” he leaned against one of the large banks of amplifiers behind him, his sinewy form like a folded up rope. “You could help us out with that, couldn’t you? Seer,” I watched him jerk his lips wider in a strange, peculiar move as he uttered that word. It was almost like it was a drug to him. “Not every day you come across a seer. Not every day you feel one digging around in your thoughts.” He drew one of his lean hands from his pocket and tapped an equally lean, strong finger against his head. The resounding beat, beat of it echoed through the quiet room. “What do you say? You get a couple more hours, and maybe your death won’t be so violent. In return?” he asked, voice going up in an unmistakable question.

  I didn’t reply.

  He pushed hard off the amplifiers, shoving into them with such force, they threatened to topple over. “Ask what you do in return,” he snapped, sneering around his words.

  I jolted with fear. “What will I do in return?” I pushed the stuttering words out.

  “In return, you’re going to do a little digging for me, seer. I want to know,” Farley suddenly tilted his head from left to right as he looked around the room, “what Fagan’s got in store for me. Can I trust the bastard?”

  I shook my head. It was a surprise I could manage the move. “I… I can’t control my powers.”

  He let out a rattling, gasping laugh that sounded like the last breath of a long-time smoker. “Sure you can. I felt you, remember,” he said as he brought that same finger up and tapped it to his head like a woodpecker trying to make a new home for itself in an old, hollowed tree trunk.

  I shook my head again, grinding my bloodied face even harder into the alcohol covered floor. “I can’t tell the future like that. I can’t just turn the ability on,” I protested.

  I watched him lick his teeth, saw his long, saliva-coated tongue run across his chipped, yellowed stumps. “Just discovered your powers, have you? Interesting. Unlucky for you that you chose to lock them on me first. If I were you, I would have stayed away from that sap Detective Coulson. He handed you your death on a plate. Now, repeat after me,” he walked all the way up to me, got down on one knee, and faced me, “show me Fagan’s plans. Show me Fagan’s plans. Show me Fagan’s plans.” There was a mesmerizing quality behind his words. As he spoke, he slowed himself down until he sounded like the hum of the amplifiers behind me.

  I shook my head. “I can’t—”

  “You can.” He reached forward, jammed a thumb into the point where my jaw connected, and spread his other fingers onto my left eye.

  I tried to pull back, with all my might, with every scrap of strength I had. It wasn’t enough. For, as he ground his fingers harder into my face, I started to see something. Sparks, but they were different to the ones that usually filled my vision when I saw the future. These were quicker, brighter, hotter.

  I tried to shake my head and break his grip, but there was nothing I could do.

  “What does Fagan have planned for me?” Farley asked, a considerable pause between each word. Though his voice was usually a raspy monotone, now it sounded as smooth as someone teaching meditation or inducting you into a hypnotic trance.

  I tried to fight… I tried to fight… until I just couldn’t fight anymore.

  I started to see things. Unbidden, rising from the depths of my unconsciousness like stars appearing on a dark night.

  I caught a glimpse of Fagan’s black shirt, his silver suit, his shiny shoes. I saw him walking through a hall, the building looking remarkably like this one.

  I watched him plunge a hand into his pocket, draw out a phone, and push it against his ear.

  “The deal is still going down next week,” he said, smiling around his words.

  I couldn’t quite make out the person on the other end of the line, but I heard one of their words and it shook me to the core. “Heart.”

  Fagan laughed, the move jolting his shoulders as they rested perfectly in his suit. “Don’t you worry – I’ll get you more hearts. Though I think I’ll have to switch assassins.”

  Fagan paused as he appeared to listen to the man on the other end of the line. “Don’t get me wrong, Farley’s been good – but he’s also been compromised. Allowed some stupid future witch access to his thoughts. Got greedy, ate that other witch’s heart, and in doing so, opened up a door right into his mind. Well, it’s time to slam it shut.”

  As I watched the vision, I lost all track of where I was, and yet, I knew that my lips were moving, knew I was speaking out loud as I recounted everything I saw.

  “That bastard,” Farley roared, and he jerked his fingers off my face. As soon as he did, I could no longer see Fagan. I was only aware of Farley as he loomed above me.

  Though the lights were still at the same dim illumination, it felt as if they could not penetrate the room any longer. For suddenly it felt as if Farley became the darkest thing I’d ever seen – a violent storm blocking out the sun for good.

  He loomed above me for another second, and then he acted. He plunged down to one knee, scooped an arm forward, and locked it around my back. He yanked me to my feet. I tried to scream, but I didn’t get the chance. He wrapped a foul-smelling hand over my mouth and hissed in my ear, “Come with me.”

  It wasn’t an offer – just an order. I had absolutely no hope as he pulled me down the short steps to the stag
e and through the darkened bar.

  I caught sight of the neatly arranged bottles of liquor behind the bar, of several glasses drying on a cloth just beyond my reach. Everything was beyond my reach. From the chairs to the tables – there were no weapons. No chance to fight.

  “That bastard,” Farley kept repeating to himself, voice like blasts from a cannon, “that lying, backstabbing bastard. I’ll show Fagan. Time to get me the powers of a seer,” he added. His voice achieved such an ominous note that my entire back felt as if it shattered with fear.

  I didn’t have a chance to scream, and I could barely breathe as he kept his hand so tightly clamped over my broken nose and bloodied lips.

  We walked past the bar, reaching a door towards the back. He stiffened, and I realized he was inclining his head to the left, trying to listen for footsteps beyond. When he was satisfied, he bolted forward, loosened a hand from my mouth, and yanked the door open.

  I didn’t get a chance to scream. My lips felt heavy, almost as if someone had sewn them together.

  There was now no doubt in my mind that Farley had magic. I could feel it on him, smell it on him. Plus, out of nowhere, his nose started to bleed, almost as if some invisible hand had smashed into it.

  The consequence of his magic, ha?

  I was suddenly struck by what I’d learned – that he’d eaten the heart of a witch to absorb her magic consequence-free. No broken noses, no bloodied eyes. Just the last scraps of someone else’s magic before it ebbed away. And he was going to do the same to me, wasn’t he? He was going to drag me off somewhere quiet, draw that powerful glinting blade from his pocket, and slice me through.

  All I could think about was Max. Though a part of me feared for his safety, the rest was confident enough in his strength that it knew he would have fought off those darklings. He would be out there, somewhere. My only hope was that he was trying to track me down.

  … Or would he bother? Because I’d brought this on myself, hadn’t I? I had turned from my abilities, and now I was here being dragged into the darkness by a murderer. A murderer who, if I’d acted sooner, I could have stopped. For, for all I knew, if I’d followed the sparks when they’d appeared in my bed, they would have led me to some new all-important clue about Farley.

  I could have prevented this. But I’d chosen to run. Now I would die.

  That conclusion shook through we with such unmistakable certainty, I gave into it.