A Lying Witch Book One

by Odette C. Bell

  Chapter 11

  Farley led me through the darkened, narrow corridors behind the bar. I caught glimpses of rooms stacked with alcohol, spare chairs, tables lying on their sides. But I also caught glances of rooms stacked with plastic – the same plastic I’d seen in that god-awful factory.

  I longed to know what the hell was happening – who Fagan was, what deal was going down at the docks.

  Which was crazy. Now wasn’t the time to be inquisitive about anything, unless it was finding a way to escape.

  Farley was relentless. He didn’t bother to say another word, didn’t bother to taunt me as he tugged me down that hallway. I got used to the feel of his hand on my lips. It was locked there so tightly, it was like it was trying to meld with my lips and teeth.

  Though my eyes kept darting from left-to-right, almost as if they alone had the hope Max would find me, no one came to my aid.

  Finally, Farley managed to make it all the way to the door out back of the bar.

  He hesitated when we reached the back door. I could hear the sound of cars beyond, of people. A thrill of hope exploded through my heart. If someone saw me, they could call the police, do something.

  But no one saw me.

  Because Farley didn’t open the door to the street.

  He tore that musty hand from over my mouth and reached through the collar of his shirt. I felt him fumble around, knuckles dragging across my back as he searched for something on a chain around his neck. Though I tried to scream, again it felt as if my lips were sewn shut. As I concentrated, I swore I could feel the stitches locking them in place. They were not made out of string, but rather out of charges of prickling magic.

  As Farley searched, I felt a few specks of blood from his nose drip against my neck.

  I shivered and gagged.

  Farley let out a hiss of satisfaction as he obviously found what he was looking for.

  He yanked something off the chain around his neck, and I heard it tinkle by my ear.

  Suddenly, from back towards the bar, I heard angry shouts. Desperate footfall, too.

  Farley yanked his head hard to the left, and with his front pressed up against mine, I felt the unmistakable pound of his frantic heart.

  As the angry shouts drew closer, I caught several words.

  It was Fagan’s men, and they were looking for us.

  Farley swore under his breath, but he did not pause. He shoved a large, ornate key into the lock of the door before us. The key was larger than the lock, and yet, somehow, as Farley pushed it towards the lock, the key became smaller, shrinking in size until it fitted perfectly.

  Charges of invisible magic filled the air, covering the door and crackling with such force it was as if they were a waterfall pounding down all around me.

  Just before the pounding footfall behind could reach us, Farley bolted forward and opened the door.

  It did not open onto the street beyond with all the cars and people. Instead?

  Instead, it opened onto a forest.

  I felt the grass beneath me, the dew-covered blades soft and cold beneath my bare, chafed feet.

  Around me, I caught the scent of pine needles, of disturbed dirt.

  And yet, I could still hear the angry footfall from behind, still hear the desperate shouts.

  But a second later, Farley slammed the door shut. Then we were alone. In the forest.

  I felt Farley take an enormous, relieved breath that pushed his chest against my back. “Finally. Time to get this done, ha?” He leaned in close by my cheek and said the word ha, his breath brushing my messy hair across my cheek.

  My eyes pulsed wide.

  I felt him reach around to something in his pocket. Heard the unmistakable sound of metal being withdrawn from a sheath.

  I… was going to die.

  I. Was. Going. To. Die.

  Just as the true horror of the situation took hold and the last of my hope departed me, I felt something. An opportunity. A shadow of a chance.

  Those sparks. I did not see them explode through my vision as they had before. They did not rush to my rescue, ready to show me the future and save my life. Instead, it was as if I heard an echo of them. Just a hint that they were still there, somewhere, just beyond my reach.

  I screamed in my mind, begged them to return to me. Told them I would do anything, anything if only they would save my life.

  Anything. Anything.

  … I’d done this. I’d lied, and now the curse was going to get me, wasn’t it?

  Max’s warning was the only thing I could hear echoing in my mind as I felt Farley draw a knife around, as I saw its glinting tip in a slice of moonlight.

  I was a liar, and yet I didn’t think I was a bad person. Maybe Max did, maybe my grandmother had thought so. Maybe that didn’t matter.

  I was not a bad person. A little white lie here and there wouldn’t kill you.

  But a big one apparently would slit you from ear-to-ear.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as I realized just how unfair this was.

  I felt Farley bring the knife around, felt the tip slice into the soft skin just below the left ear, at the junction of my jaw.

  And time, time slowed down. The fraction of a second – the same fraction of a second it would have taken him to drag the knife across my throat – spread out. It spread out before me like a maze, like a chess board of choices. So many options, so many directions. But only one could save me.

  I was not a bad person. But I wasn’t a particularly good person, was I?

  I wasn’t a particularly selfless person; I wasn’t a particularly kind person. I didn’t go out of my way to help others.

  These self-defeating thoughts would be my last.

  Or so I thought, because the moment dragged on. Just as I could feel the blade shift across my skin, moving a millimeter to the right, I felt it. Another opportunity to change.

  When I died, when Farley ate my heart, he would gain my powers for however long. I knew what he would do with them – knew what devious horrors he would achieve.

  Murder, assault, violence.

  Other people would die. Because of me. Because I couldn’t save myself.

  And that, that was unimaginable.

  That was unforgivable.

  This was unforgivable!

  Even if my power would not return to me – even if I could not see the future – it didn’t matter. I would go out fighting. For I, Chi McLane, would make my own future.

  Suddenly, time sped up. It was not accompanied by a crackle of sparks that told me what to do.

  Instead, I decided what to do myself.

  I saw an opportunity, felt his grip slacken as he jerked his knife over the thick chain that held my tiger-and-fish pendant.

  As he did, I bucked forward. Not back, mind you – forward. I let the knife slice across my cheek, felt a splatter of blood escape onto the soft, dew-covered grass below me.

  In doing so, I broke Farley’s grip.

  I swung around, elbowed him in the ribs, and pushed forward.

  The move was sudden enough that I broke his grip, broke his balance too as he stumbled backward.

  I pushed into a run. I wasn’t wearing any shoes, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care about the rough stones and pine needles and rocks beneath me. Nothing freaking mattered except escaping.

  But I did not tear towards the dense forest to my left.

  Because, I Chi McLane, despite what Max thought, was not an idiot.

  I pivoted on my foot, pushed down to my side, and picked up a discarded branch to my left.

  I had no illusions that I could fight Farley – not only was he twice my size, but he had his own magic and that of the dead witch.

  But I wasn’t going to fight him.

  Just as he got up, I swung the branch down. I didn’t strike the hand that held the knife. I aimed for his right hand – the one still holding that key.

  Behind me, though it was disappearing by every second, was the faint remains of that lock.
I just knew if I grabbed that key and shoved it into the disappearing image of the lock, I too would be able to open the door. A door that would lead anywhere but here.

  I pushed forward with all my strength, with all my goddamn strength, pivoting hard on my hip, drawing the branch up high. I swung it down.

  Farley was obviously expecting me to aim for the hand that held the knife. So he didn’t protect himself in time. I struck his right arm and delivered such a devastating blow that he had no option but to drop the key.

  Then I swung the branch into his face as I plunged down and scooped the key up.

  My mother had this theory about the world. The world was always waiting for you to take something from it. It never gave you things. Or, at least, the things it gave you were just free samples. If you wanted the stuff that mattered – a meaningful life, love, goddamn survival – you had to reach out and snatch it yourself. So you never gave up your anger, your fire, your determination.

  And right now, I let mine pulse through me. It gave me just the courage I needed to clutch the key and shove it to the side.

  Though I could hear Farley jumping to his feet behind me, though I could hear the knife slicing through the air several inches behind my back, I shoved forward, plunging that key into the now de-materializing lock.

  For half a pulsing second I thought it wouldn’t work. For half a pulsing second I thought I’d sacrificed my last chance.

  Then? Then something unlocked. A door formed in front of me in a blast of sparks. I did not pause, just shifted forward, locked a hand around the handle, and shoved the door inwards.

  I spilled inside.

  I pivoted on my foot, ready to slam the door in Farley’s face, but I wasn’t quick enough. He got an arm through it, the same arm that held the knife. He slashed at me and managed to catch the tip of my shoulder as I pushed into the door with all my might.

  I screamed, bellowed as my blood splashed across the door. I pounded on the door, trying to shove it closed. He kept slashing at me, twisting the knife wildly through the air as he shrieked and bellowed at me.

  I didn’t ask the sparks to return to me. I was done begging them to come to my aid. I embraced the fire within, instead, embraced the kind of destiny you carved out with your own hands, not the one you waited for to fall into your lap.

  That didn’t matter, for the sparks returned. In a blaze. They didn’t swarm across my vision in a confusing mass of color. Instead, they were ordered, patterned, almost as if I could control them.

  I saw Farley shoving a shoulder against the door with all his might, managing to open it.

  So I acted. I followed that vision of the future, let it control my every action. Just before Farley could shove into the door, I let go of the handle and jerked back.

  The result was he hit the door with too much force and slipped as he clattered into the room.

  I still had absolutely no idea where this door had opened to, but as I turned on my foot, I realized I was in a warehouse. The blood-covered, moldered plastic covering the floor was unmistakable.

  Before I could turn my head and desperately search for Max, Farley got to his feet, swinging his knife.

  I jolted backward, showing reflexes I didn’t know I had.

  I was still bleeding. From my neck, from my shoulder, from my cheek. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the adrenaline and fire that charged through my blood.

  Farley swung towards me once more, and I saw his clenched, stubby teeth glinting in the feeble light making it in through the broken roof above.

  I bolted backward but shifted to the side just in time as I caught a vision of myself dodging a crumpled up darkling on the floor.

  “Max? Max! Where are you?” I bellowed into the semi darkness.

  My heart resounded in my throat as I waited for him to reply.

  I barely knew the guy, and so far he’d proved himself to be little more than an arrogant prick. But right now I needed that arrogant prick. I needed his strong arms, his reassuring grip, his grasp and his sunshine magic.

  But if he was out there, he didn’t respond.

  My heart sank, and Farley saw an opportunity.

  Rather than slash towards me once more, he jerked down to his knee, clutched the large sheet of plastic I was standing on, and pulled.

  I didn’t react in time.

  I fell sharply, slamming onto my hip and shuddering from the painful impact.

  Farley was upon me.

  This time, he didn’t wait, didn’t lock an arm around my throat, tip my head back, and try to slash me from ear-to-ear.

  I felt him drive the blade into the back of my right shoulder.

  I screamed.

  ….

  Finally, in my darkest moment, I saw a flash of light. And that flash of light? It belonged to my Scottish fairy.

  Out of the darkness, sprang Max. He was absolutely covered in blue light, and his face erupted with anger as he blasted a bellow of rage.

  I felt Max slam into Farley, wrapping an arm around the murderer’s chest and pulling him off me.

  For a shuddering second, I could do nothing as the pain from my shoulder ate through my back. But then my fire returned.

  Despite the pain, I clutched my hands around the moldy plastic, pushed, and jerked my feet.

  Max was grappling with Farley. Though Max was completely covered in light, with a few hissed snaps, so was Farley. But his light was far more erratic. It blinked in and out, surging and pulsing only to ebb. And the light was a musty brown, a dead gray, almost like decaying flesh.

  It also saw bruises and blooded marks scatter over his cheeks and neck and arms, almost as if he’d just been whipped.

  His magic was taking its toll.

  Yet, if I had the hope that Farley would burn through his power and succumb to Max’s attack, I was sorely mistaken.

  Farley still held the knife, and suddenly he chanted something.

  Droplets of my blood were still peppered along the blade, and as Farley spat out his words, they blazed like supernovas.

  Max tried to jerk back, but he wasn’t quick enough.

  Farley screamed, spittle flying over his cheeks and chin as he thrust the knife into Max’s arm.

  Max could do nothing to defend himself from the blow. The knife sailed easily through his magic defenses and lodged high into Max’s bicep.

  Blood dribbled and gushed from the wound, and Max jerked his head back, an aching scream filling the warehouse.

  I didn’t pause. I bolted forward. I had no weapon. I was injured, could barely move, but that didn’t matter.

  That didn’t freaking matter.

  Farley was going down.

  Once upon a time, I’d been a fake fortune-teller. But I hadn’t really been a fake. I’d helped people. Even if I hadn’t been able to tell them their future, I’d given them hope that the future could change.

  And right now, I gave myself that hope as I skidded down to my knees and elbowed Farley in the arm.

  The move wasn’t strong, but it was sudden enough to change the direction of his blow. Rather than plunge his glowing knife through Max’s stomach, the knife sliced harmlessly through the air.

  I could have waited for Max to thrust himself forward, I didn’t. Instead, I finally went for Farley’s knife.

  I didn’t wait for the sparks to tell me what to do – I saw an opportunity without them. The plastic by Farley’s feet was all crumpled, but it was still thick.

  I dropped to my knee, kicked at his ankle, grabbed the plastic, and shoved forward.

  It was just as Farley slashed towards me with the knife.

  Time didn’t have to slow down this time. Nor did I need the sparks.

  I thrust forward with the plastic, putting my shoulder into it just as Farley stabbed his knife into my arm.

  Though pain punched through me, it didn’t matter. I pushed forward with the plastic, switched my grip, jerked back, and twisted. His knife was still in the plastic, and as I twisted the plasti
c to the side, it wrenched the knife out of his grip.

  Somehow removing the knife from Farley’s grip obliterated the dark, sickly gray magical light that covered his form.

  He went out like a guttering candle which had consumed the last of the wick.

  And Max jumped to his feet and thrust forward. He balled his hand into a fist, one that shone with that unmistakable magic, and swung it right into Farley’s head. There was a sickening click, Farley’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell backward.

  And then there was silence. Silence save for the drip of blood from my wounds. Silence save for my shuddering breath and Max’s far more measured inhalations.

  He was the first to act, because I was the first to fall.

  Suddenly the fact I was very injured struck me. I only had a chance to teeter backward, and Max moved in smoothly and plucked me up.

  I didn’t protest. Boy did I not protest. I let myself half shut down as I felt his reassuring grip wrap around me. I might have even let out a satisfied sigh.

  “Just hold on,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re very injured. Just stay still.”

  I didn’t ask what I was staying still for. I knew.

  Because I could feel it already. The soft grass, the sunshine. And this time, I concentrated, concentrated with all my might as I tried to listen for those hoofbeats, that screaming voice.

  I felt my eyes softly close, and as they did, I heard Max’s unmistakable chanting, felt his magic twist through my form. He didn’t have access to the same herbs from my grandmother’s garden, so this time, the healing process seemed to drift on and on. And, as it did, I became more and more aware of that soft grass, those stampeding hoofs.

  I almost caught what the screaming voice was saying. It was calling to someone. McCane or McClaran or someone like that. Screaming at them, voice so desperate….

  I could still hear Max’s soft chanting, and suddenly it stopped.

  As it did, the vision around me gave way. Not before I finally caught hold of that name. McCane.

  Reluctantly, I opened my eyes.

  There was Max, staring down at me, his lips pressed into half a smile. “You’re awake, then?”

  I managed a muffled laugh. “Shouldn’t you be asking me if I’m alive?”

  We made eye contact. The kind of eye contact that sucked you in. Being hugged by this man was one thing, but staring into his eyes? Oh, that was something else entirely. I felt something igniting in my heart. Something that told me Max was way, way more than an irritating good for nothing fairy.

  He leaned back and crossed his arms. The move wasn’t defensive. Anything but. “That was amazing, Chi,” he said. There wasn’t a hint of dismissiveness in his tone. He wasn’t joking. He meant it. “Did you use your powers?” he added.

  I shook my head, a grin spreading across my face. “A little. But in the end, I just… kind of did it on my own,” I said, and I couldn’t be prouder of myself. A grin split me from ear-to-ear, which was a heck of a lot nicer than a knife doing the same.

  Max’s smile stiffened, and for the briefest flash of a second, I swore I saw his shadow shift, convulse almost.

  I frowned. “Max?”

  It took him awhile, but he shook his head.

  “How did you manage to dispatch all those darklings, anyway?”

  “What?”

  I blinked. I pointed behind him at the darklings crumpled on the floor. “The darklings, you must have defeated them all, unless they ran away?”

  Max shook his head. “I don’t really… remember,” he conceded.

  My stomach sunk and my shoulders fell. “Do you… do you remember who I am?” I asked tentatively.

  Though Max had been looking fragile and weak seconds before, now he crossed his arms and shot me a withering look. “Do you think I could forget?”

  “But you—”

  “I may have forgotten how I defeated the darklings, Chi, but you’re another matter.”

  I blushed. It was only subtle and hopefully wasn’t visible under this dim light. But it was still there.

  We descended into silence.

  I felt myself smile. Then my smile froze. “What… what happens now?”

  Max nodded to the prone form of Farley. “Prison. For life.”

  “But,” I stuttered as I suddenly remembered the interaction I’d had in the bar, “there’s more. I came across a man called Fagan.”

  Max stiffened. “What happened?” The words blasted out of him.

  “Nothing. I was taken to some kind of bar. Farley was working for Fagan. I overheard Fagan on the phone to somebody – they were talking about some kind of deal that would go down at the docks.” I spoke so quickly I could barely breathe.

  Max drew up a hand and spread his fingers wide. “The details can wait.”

  “They can?” I stuttered. “But this Fagan, he has to be stopped. Farley was working for him, taking,” my lips stiffened as I tried to force my words out, “hearts from witches. They were eating them,” my voice dropped to a harsh, husky whisper.

  Max paled, his gaze darkening. “They were consuming their magic,” he explained. “When you eat the heart of a practitioner, you gain access to their magic for a time and the usual consequences for practicing magic are removed.”

  I managed to control my neck long enough to nod. “I know. But Fagan was talking to someone on the phone – and whoever it was, he needed more hearts. God, Max….” I shoved a hand over my mouth, incapable of finishing the thought.

  Max nodded. “I know. But that can wait. Fagan won’t move again anytime soon – not now we’ve got Farley. He will go underground. We have time.”

  I looked up at Max. “Time for what?”

  “Time to get you home. Time to fix your wounds.”

  I winced as I remembered what had happened to the house. But then I remembered something else. I paled, dropping my gaze to my hands.

  I watched him narrow his eyes.

  “What is it, Chi McLane? You did good tonight. Great, in fact,” his voice shook with unmistakable pride.

  I paused. I felt like I was on a precipice, squeezed between two choices. Should I tell the truth, or should I turn from it?

  … The truth won out.

  I tipped my head back and looked him in the eye. “I caused this. I ignored my power. Did exactly what you told me not to do. Then… those darklings,” I cut my gaze to the left and locked it on one of those crumpled forms, “they attacked. I caused this,” my voice shook as tears streamed down my cheeks.

  At first, Max didn’t say anything. At first, he was nothing more than a looming shadow beside me. It took a heck of a lot of courage to shift my gaze up and stare into his eyes.

  I did not, however, see hatred flickering within.

  Just resignation. And that resignation? It quickly spread into a smile. “I know. But it doesn’t matter.”

  “It… doesn’t?”

  He shook his head with some finality. “No, Chi McLane. It doesn’t.” He reached a hand out to me.

  “Why? Why doesn’t it matter?”

  “Because you’re finally starting to tell the truth.”

  With that, I accepted Max’s hand. Yet, when it became all too clear that I could hardly stand considering the night I’d had, he stepped in and picked me up.

  My heart soared as his arms wrapped around me.

  I felt reassured, and yet I knew this wasn’t the end.

  For now, though? For now, I felt safe and secure.

  Tomorrow?

  We’d just have to wait and see.

  I was now a future witch, and who knew what would happen tomorrow?

  Epilogue

  So this was it, ha? I was a future witch. A lying future witch.

  I was up in the attic, pressed over one of my grandmother’s journals as Chi the cat sat purring in my lap. The little thing had kept insisting I come up here, had kept pawing at the piles of my grandma’s journals until I’d plucked them up.

&
nbsp; I was taking this world seriously now, wasn’t I? I’d learned my lesson at the hands of Farley and the darklings. I had now turned over the proverbial leaf.

  I frowned as I leafed over a page.

  It was torn in half.

  In fact, there was a lot missing from her journals. Either she’d been ashamed of what she’d written, or someone had come along and redacted them afterward.

  I scratched my head, leaning forward as I stared at the torn page.

  … There was something written along the margin, something that was so faint, I could only just pick it up as I pushed the book closer towards the light.

  Whoever had torn the page in half, had torn off half the sentence, but enough remained. Enough for my heart to suddenly kick, enough for a lick of sweat to spread across my brow.

  The sentence read: “Watch out for Max, he isn’t what—”

  “What the hell?” I whispered as I pressed closer to the book, running a finger over the page.

  I read the sentence out again, subvocalizing it as I spread my lips softly.

  Watch out for Max, he isn’t what….

  He isn’t what he seems? He isn’t a friend? Isn’t a fairy?

  As my mind cast through those possibilities, I shook my head. It was a defiant move. It was defiant, because my heart suddenly told me I couldn’t doubt him.

  He’d saved my life, come charging to my aid.

  And yet, these mysterious words remained on the page, taunting me.

  I looked from them to the doorway down to the floor below.

  I could hear Max downstairs cooking.

  Max the fairy. Max the pain in the ass. Max my doorway into this crazy world. Max who kept me safe.

  Max, the guy whose mere presence set my heart aflutter.

  That Max.

  I trusted him, right? I believed that he’d once been my grandmother’s bodyguard, that he’d lost his memories in her final battle. More than that, I believed he was the only man – or fairy – who could get me out of this.

  Right?

  “Right,” I answered my own question. I closed the book and pushed back from the chair.

  I walked away.

  One day, I would return.

  The end of A Lying Witch Book One. Book Two is currently available. This four-book series is complete. You can either purchase each book seperatly, or buy A Lying Witch: The Complete Series for a reduced price.

  If you liked this book, you may also like other urban fantasies by Odette C. Bell. For a full list of books, please visit www.odettecbell.com.

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