Hatchet Hollow
Page 1
Copyright © 2018 Amanda McKinney
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9995553-2-3
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9995553-3-0
978-0-9995553-4-7
Table of Contents
Also by Amanda McKinney
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Also by Amanda McKinney
Lethal Legacy
The Woods (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Lake (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Storm (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Fog (A Berry Springs Novel)
Devil’s Gold (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 1)
Tomb's Tale (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 3)
Evil Eye (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 4)
Sinister Secrets (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 5)
Dragon's Breath (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 6)
Skull Shore (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 7)
And many more to come...
Text AMANDABOOKS to 66866 to receive Amanda's newsletter and get the latest on new releases, promos, and freebies!
For Mama, the wind at my back.
PROLOGUE
A BLACK CROW swooped down from a decaying pine tree beside her, it’s cringing caw piercing the silence of the woods. She shuddered and zipped up her windbreaker.
Abby never liked crows, or birds for that matter. Not since her parents brought her back a rare, extremely expensive—their words, not hers—parrot from Honduras when she was twelve years old. It was one of the many vacations they’d taken without her—needing a break, they’d say—and leaving her with her nanny, Fran, whose hair always looked, ironically, like a bird’s nest, and whose breath could stop a clock. The same nanny who’d tattled on her for leaving a window open, allowing the precious parrot to fly away.
Her father didn’t speak to her for a week, and her mother, only when he wasn’t looking.
But that was a long time ago. That was then, and this was now. She was a woman now, freshly turned twenty-one with her whole life ahead of her. She didn’t need her parents or the shallow gifts they’d showered her with, replacing their inability to show affection. She didn’t need them anymore, just like they didn’t need her. That’s how they always made her feel, anyway.
A cool gust of wind carrying the sour scent of moldy earth swept past her. She glanced up at the cloud-covered sky. Another dreary day. Another stupid, dull day in this small, suffocating, godforsaken town—just like the day before.
But not anymore.
She could make her own decisions now, out from under their financial thumb. Go her own way in life.
And she was.
And her parents would kill her for it.
She stepped onto the jogging trail that snaked through the woods and stumbled on a rock. She looked down at her new black running shoes laced tightly over black ankle socks. Black leggings and a black T-shirt.
Black.
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
She’d always been fascinated with the mystical, creepy folktales that were whispered through the Great Shadow Mountains. Spirits, ghosts… witches. Hundreds of stories told during dark nights with no electricity, bonfires with too many drinks, Halloween, or just about any scenario shrouded in darkness. The stories were told with glances over the shoulder and hushed voices laced with fear, and if you listened carefully enough, respect. Respect for the evil forces that could snatch you up in the middle of the night, turn you into a lizard, or worse, curse you and everyone you loved.
Witches who could raise the dead from the earth.
Witches who could take your life.
Respect, power. Those were the two things she was promised when she’d been approached about “turning over a new leaf”. Taking control of her own life—and others if needed. Yes, she would be a part of something now, of something big, she was told.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes.
Was she apprehensive? Absolutely. But what they’d promised her had been too great to ignore. She’d been a fool to walk away.
Right?
She smoothed her black windbreaker.
Black really wasn’t her color, but they had been wearing it—head-to-toe—so she figured she’d better get used to it. There would be so much to learn, they’d explained, and embracing black was a good start, she guessed.
But dammit, it really washed her out. Her pale complexion and light blonde hair—a gift from her mother—looked even more lifeless against the unforgiving color.
Maybe she would take baby steps into the change.
Yes, baby steps.
Maybe it would be okay if she wore her red silk blouse and white Louboutin six-inch heels on her date next week.
Butterflies tickled her stomach.
A date!
She couldn’t believe it. Yes, she had been asked out by a good-looking, accomplished man, nonetheless. It was completely out of left field… and only hours after she’d officially committed to “turning over a new leaf.” Coincidence?
Yes, things were going to change for her. Things were going to go her way, for the first freaking time in her life.
She was going to be powerful, respected. Feared.
With an extra pep in her step, she rounded a corner in the trail and spotted her new jogging partner anxiously waiting ahead.
“Hey.”
“Hey, there. You ready?”
She snorted. “As ready as I can be, I guess.”
“First mile’s always the hardest. I’ll take it easy on you. Might want to stick those keys in your pocket, though. Uneven terrain.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah.” She nodded, looked down, and as she unzipped her pocket—
WHACK!
Her head snapped back as a fist slammed into her jaw.
Pain rocketed through her skull. Bright lights flashed in her eyes. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she stumbled backward. The world spun around her, sending a wave of nausea through her body as she tried to process what was happening.
What the hell?
She opened her eyes to fuzziness and tried to focus on the movement in front of her. But before she could come to, the next brutal force knocked her out cold.
CHAPTER 1
OMINOUS, GREY CLOUDS drifted over the setting sun, casting darkness over the Great Shadow Mountains.
“Well, shit.” Zander looked over at Hunter in the driver’s seat, as he dipped the helicopter lower, soaring just above the pine trees below.
“Well, shit is right. Can barely see now.”
Zander nodded. “Spring storms coming early this year.”
Hunter hesitated a moment before saying, “We’re going to have to call this thing off soon, y
ou know. It’s been, what? A few weeks now?”
Zander clenched his jaw. There were two things Lieutenant Zander Stone was known for—making women fall to their knees, and his inability to drop a case. Ever.
It had been over two weeks since he’d arrested Marden Balik for holding her sister, Agnes, captive for forty years, for having an affair with her husband. Two weeks since Balik mysteriously escaped her jail cell and burned the letter K into the guard’s forehead. Two weeks of rampant small-town rumors that Marden Balik was actually Krestel, the rumored witch of the Great Shadow Mountains.
Frustrated, Zander raised the binoculars and scanned the vast forest below, muttering, “Where the hell did she go?”
Hunter shook his head. “Needle in a haystack, man. Needle in a haystack. And we’re only assuming she hid somewhere in the mountains, right?”
“Right. According to her sister, Balik spent most of her time in the woods.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
Zander cleared his throat. “Meeting with her coven, she thinks, but that’s only an assumption. Agnes wasn’t exactly willing to spend ample time with us when we interviewed her.”
“I don’t blame her. If my sister had kept me chained inside a house for forty years, doing God knows what, I’d want to get the hell out of dodge, too. Where’d she go?”
“Booked the first flight out to Ireland, to stay with some distant relatives. I doubt she’ll ever return to the States.” He blew out a breath. “How the hell did Balik break out of that damn jail cell?” He shook his head, gazing out at the mountains. “She’s got to be here somewhere. Close.”
“No trace of her whatsoever, right? Credit cards, cell phone, nothing?”
“Nothing. Zip. Nada. It’s like she disappeared into thin air. Or these damn mountains, which have endless places to hide.”
A moment ticked by as they surveyed the woods.
“Maybe she turned herself into a coyote, or snake, or a two-headed horse, or something.”
Zander lowered the binoculars, and rolled his eyes. “You really think she’s a witch, Hunter?”
Hunter shrugged as the helicopter skimmed dangerously close to the peak of a mountain. “The legend of Krestel goes back decades… hell, I remember my granddad telling me stories about her on Halloween night. Remember old man Stevens? And how his fifty head of cattle mysteriously died one night, not twenty-four hours after he created a petition to outlaw any so-called witches, or practice of witchcraft, here in Devil’s Den? He had to file bankruptcy. His wife left him. It ruined his life. And remember Mary Lou? Went deaf and blind after claiming she saw Krestel raise demons from the earth one night in the woods.”
Zander cut him a skeptical glance.
“Okay, just one more—although I could go on and on. Remember Cindy Hampstead? Orphaned after she woke up to every one of her family members dead? Rumor was that her mom was part of Krestel’s coven, and wanted out, and threatened to reveal the identities of Krestel’s followers. That was Krestel’s revenge.”
“So you do think she’s a witch? That she’s Krestel? You believe it?”
Pause. “I learned a long time ago that sometimes things aren't as they appear.”
Zander nodded. As a former military intelligence officer, Caleb Hunter had been on the receiving end of plenty of surprises over the course of his career.
Hunter continued, “What exactly did you dig up on her?”
“Marden Balik was born and raised here in Devil’s Den, nothing of interest in her childhood. She worked as the school librarian until she retired a decade ago. No close friends, parents died decades ago, and she kept to herself, mainly. No record, hell, not even a damn speeding ticket. Woman’s as clean as a whistle.”
“No friends at all?”
“Nope.”
Hunter chewed on his lower lip. “Let’s assume for a second—
“You know I don’t like assumptions, Hunter.”
“Humor me then, you narrow-minded tight-ass. As I was saying, let’s assume that the rumor is true, that Marden Balik is Krestel, the witch of the Great Shadow Mountains. So then, according to the legends, she’s the head of a large coven of witches.”
“According to the legends, yes.”
“So… more than one witch. Here in Devil’s Den.”
Zander met Hunter’s gaze, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, letting the disturbing thought sink in.
Just then, a thin trail of ink-black smoke snaked up from a mountaintop in the distance.
Zander scooted to the edge of his seat, peering through his binoculars. “Whoa, you see that? Just beyond the clearing?”
“What am I, blind? Yeah, I see it.”
“Any houses out here?”
“Hell no, not for miles and miles.”
“That’s a lot of smoke for a campfire.”
“And black as coal.”
A zing of excitement—hopefulness—shot up Zander’s spine. Could they have finally found Marden Balik? He shifted in his seat, and craned his neck for a better angle. “Let’s check it out.”
“You got it, boss.” Hunter accelerated, zooming over the mountains.
Zander’s pulse picked up as they drew closer. There was something about the way the smoke moved—how it curved and danced in the wind that made his senses pique.
Hunter slowed, hovering just above a small clearing. Sprinkles of rain began to dot the windshield. Darkness was closing in.
“Looks like it’s coming from a few yards in the woods.”
“And definitely not a forest fire.”
“Want me to land?”
“Yeah, let’s check it out on foot, before the storm hits.”
Suddenly, a bright light shot out from the smoke, piercing through the helicopter windshield.
“Son of a bitch!” Hunter squinted, and blocked the beam of light with his hand.
Zander jerked down the binoculars, tears welling in his eyes. “What the fuck? What the hell was that?”
Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head, trying to blink away the spots flashing in his vision.
“You okay, man?”
“Yeah, that fucking blinded me for a minute.”
Zander looked back at the smoke. He repeated, “What the fuck?”
Hunter wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand. “Maybe some dumbass teenage punk with one of those laser lights or some shit.”
“All the way out here? No way. Land this son of a bitch. Let’s check it out.”
With a deep breath, Hunter gripped the control stick and began to descend.
Zander’s heart started to race as they neared the ground. He squinted and leaned forward. Was that… a small group of people? Standing just beyond the tree line? No way. He blinked, refocused the lens. It was—and they were cloaked in black, creepily swaying back and forth. “I, uh, think I see something. People, maybe. Get lower.”
“You got it.”
As the helicopter lowered, a massive cloud of black smoke suddenly burst from the woods, engulfing the helicopter.
“Fuck!”
“I can’t see a Goddamned thing!”
A blackness as dark as tar surrounded them.
“Pull back!”
The helicopter tipped and lurched to the side. Zander gripped the seat as his body slammed into the window. His heart hammered as he looked over at Hunter.
“You okay? You got it, man?”
A bead of sweat rolled down Hunter’s forehead, as his gaze stayed laser-focused on the controls.
Zander leaned forward. “Hunter? You good?”
Just then, the helicopter sputtered, and an eerie silence filled the cab just before it tipped forward and plunged into the darkness.
CHAPTER 2
RAVEN SQUEEZED HER face, and shifted her weight, attempting to roll off the twig that had been poking into her ribcage for the last forty-five minutes.
Snick.
The twig snapped in half, the sound echoing through th
e woods.
Dammit! She held her breath, froze, and peered through the long-range camera.
Phew. Eric Stevens hadn’t so much as lifted a finger as he sat, alone, on the tailgate of his truck, in a small field just beyond the tree line.
She released an exhale of relief as a cool breeze blew her long, brown hair across her face. She took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp mountain air. Although there were still stubborn patches of ice clinging deep in the valleys from the last winter storm, spring was almost here, and she couldn’t wait.
She lowered the camera and took a moment to look at the view.
In a leather jacket, black beanie, and black jogging pants, Raven was perched high on one of the many cliffs that made up the Great Shadow Mountains. Dusk sat on the horizon, its bright colors of orange, fuchsia, and red fading into the thick, grey clouds that hung heavily just above her head, it seemed. The sweet scent of rain carried in the wind, a polite reminder of the impending storm, as promised by Stan the Weatherman. Dark shadows stretched across the ground below her, darkening the dense woods that ran for miles and miles.
They weren’t called the Great Shadow Mountains for nothing.
In the distance, she heard the low rumble of a helicopter and had no doubt it was Devil’s Den PD, still looking for the elusive Marden Balik, aka, Krestel, the legendary witch of the mountains. She shook her head, hoping they would find her, ASAP, which would help to ease the citizens of Devil’s Den. The small town had been in a constant state of fear from a recent string of vicious murders, and from the realization that a witch had walked among them for decades.
She glanced back at the field, and a yawn caught her. She kicked herself for not bringing a thermos of coffee—or wine, or hell, anything with liquor in it—in her bag. It had been a hell of a day, and now, here she was, at seven o’clock in the evening, lying on her stomach over a bed of rocks, surveilling a man suspected of insider trading.
Boring.
If luck was on her side, and if her intel was correct, Eric would be meeting with the Coleman brothers—one, a state senator, and the other a prominent plastic surgeon—to divulge confidential information about an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company, in exchange for sixty-thousand dollars. Black Rose Investigations had been hired by Eric’s firm, who suspected him of insider trading for some time. But it wasn’t until Eric hit the Securities Exchange Commission’s radar that the firm decided to take action, so they didn’t have to take the hit. Raven’s boss, Dixie Knight—one of the most sought-after private investigators in the country—had given the case to Raven, much to her surprise. It was her first solo case and the first time for her to prove herself worthy of being promoted from an assistant to an official PI. Raven had been working her ass off, from morning to night, seven days a week, and she was more than ready to take on her own cases, even if they were a total snoozefest, like this one.