“Holy fuck, Dallas, they’ve dropped their disguises. These guys are the worst of the worst. You don’t want to mess with them. Get the main door locked up again and get away from these pissants as quickly as possible. They are not what they seem.”
“You think?” She shut the heavy wooden door as fast as she could. Anya’s protective enchantment on the house had done its job. Relief flooded through her, coupled with intense anxiety. If they were strong enough—and by the way that Clifton’s voice shook they were—they just might be able to breach the perimeter and then she’d be up shit creek without a paddle. She couldn’t take on three seasoned witch hunters on her own, especially if they’d somehow been able to tap into Marion’s, Nicholas’s and Finley’s powers. She could only pray that they had merely incapacitated them and not killed them.
“I’m getting on the horn to find you some more help, honey. You just hang tight until we can get more backup for you. It looks as if we underestimated the strength of these particular witch hunters. They mean serious business… They are not like the others we’ve dealt with for you.”
“There were others?” she sputtered, fear clenching her heart. What the hell was going on with her life? Why did it seem as if she was always the last one to know anything when it came to her well-being? It was her life dammit.
“Why of course, we assumed that Anya had told you. Luckily they came for you when Anya was around and well, she dolled them up pretty quickly. Boy was she pissed, and you should know hell hath no fury like your cousin when she’s riled up. Why she’s worse than anyone I’ve ever known when she reaches her boiling point.”
Yeah, she did know that. Anya was like a demoness from hell when she got her temper up and when it came to keeping her family safe, there was nothing that could stop her. Not even twenty witch hunters could hope to out-witch her.
Regardless, Anya shouldn’t have kept that pivotal information from Dallas—it pertained to her own personal safety and not knowing they’d tried before put her even more at risk. Sometimes Anya was too confident for her own good—and for those who were close to her. She knew why her cousin had kept the truth from her. Everyone in her family believed Dallas to be as fragile as crystal but she wasn’t. She could deal with anything that came her way. She just wished that Anya had realized that.
The house shook under the impact of the magical bombardment the three witch hunters were throwing at it. She slipped and fell on her ass, and on her way down she knocked a vase off the hall table. The vase was from Vanguard and Anya had given it to her a few years back. It crashed to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. The shock of watching it break jarred her memory in a good way.
“We’ve got to get to the library, Clifton. Anya told me she was leaving an emergency kit in there for me. I only paid half-assed attention to her at the time. I know I should have listened more closely. I guess she was trying to keep my butt covered in case the witch hunters tried to grab me again. Thank the gods for an overprotective cousin.”
Redgrave House was an old sprawling manse dating back to the 1800s. It had been built by an ancestor of theirs named Captain Isaac Redgrave, and he’d been one of the most prominent men in the town during his lifetime. Needless to say, the house was filled with antiquities and looked as if it suited life a few centuries ago better than it did this ultra-modern age.
“Don’t you have a family spell book anywhere? I’m sure that would be filled with loads of spells that could help you protect yourself from the sons of bitches outside.”
“It would be in the library, but to be honest with you, I’m pretty hopeless when it comes to spells. I’m a pretty hopeless witch actually, and I am more woman than witch when I think about it.”
Depression welled inside her. It was true—compared to Anya she was like a murky mirror. Anya shone with brilliance, a brilliance Dallas could never hope to achieve. The only three things she could do well made her life a living hell. She’d only opened one time portal in her lifetime and that had been with her mother’s careful supervision. Even then they’d only opened a portal to travel back five minutes in time.
As for her premonitions, those cursed things hit her clear out of the blue like a lightning bolt. Well, she could do without those, as they wreaked hell on her emotionally and physically.
And her touchy-feely talent only made her a town pariah no one wanted to get close to, fearing what she’d make them see when she touched them. They didn’t understand that she’d make them see bad things only if she were mad at them. The one shining thing about her visions was that if she could get close enough to an adversary, she could make them relive something terrible from the past or future.
As a child, she’d done that to a bully of her brother’s after said bully had gotten his mates to gang up on her brother and beat him bloody. When she’d touched the bully, he’d gone ashen, and by the smell that had engulfed him, she was fairly certain she’d scared him not only witless but shitless. His mates had quickly abandoned him, screaming “witch” and “mommy” as they fled.
From that day on, her brother had not been beaten up and she, in turn, had not touched anyone at school since no one dared come near her. It had made finding dates to school dances and, of course, to the prom, a little tricky to say the least.
She dragged herself to her feet and made her way to the library. She entered, closed the door, and pushed over a sofa to block anyone who might try to cross the threshold. The couch would only slow them down, not keep them out. Still, the small gesture made her feel a bit better about her current situation.
“I do believe they are going to invade Redgrave House shortly, Dallas. Just keep calm and search for that kit Anya left you. If you don’t find it, you’ll really be in trouble.”
Keep calm? Was he out of his freaking-mad mind? How could she keep calm when thoughts of what they wanted to do to her kept rioting through her head? She sped past the library wall filled with her ancestors’ portraits, stopping briefly to stare at the portrait of her parents commissioned over thirty years ago. They’d been so young. Neither had been prepared for what had awaited them—they’d thought their marriage would last forever. Instead it had been shattered, and along with it, the rest of their lives had been irrevocably changed for the worse.
Her mother’s smiling face, curly strawberry-blonde hair and sparkling sea-blue eyes, and the pronounced dimple she had in her right cheek made Dallas feel a little better, while her father’s strong, stalwart visage put that steel in her veins. His dark eyes, dark hair and large build were a complete contrast to Bryony’s elfishly delicate look.
Bryony Hyde and Ashley Redgrave had been polar opposites when they’d met, but sparks had flown and soon Ashley was head over heels for the quietly reserved Bryony, the daughter of his family’s lawyer. If her father knew witch hunters were attempting to invade his home, he would put up one hell of a fight and never give up, so why should she?
If only there wasn’t a magical teleportation law in Nova Scotia. It were rare to have such a strict law prohibiting the use of magically popping through time and space, but the law stood, and the Magical Authority wasn’t about to break it.
She imagined that was one of the reasons Anya kept leaving to travel throughout the known worlds. If she were coming home to roost, she’d have to get used to not popping in and out as she pleased.
She still remembered how pissed off her father had been after the law was passed. He’d believed it was a restriction of witch and warlock rights, and she could understand why he’d thought so.
Her mother had still been alive when the bill had passed, and unlike Dallas, her mother had been able to work more than just a smidgeon of magic. Bryony could actually use her magic to travel from one place to another, and she used to take Ashley along for the ride, something he found quite enjoyable.
Her father had left her shortly after her mother’s death because he couldn’t bear looking at Dallas. She knew it, he knew it, but they never talked about it. Her moth
er had been the light of his life, his guiding compass, and Dallas was so much like her mother that being around her had caused him insurmountable grief.
Her brother, on the other hand, looked more like the Redgrave side of the family and had very little of their mother, not causing her father to think of Bryony whenever looking at him. She had never experienced soul-abiding love like the kind her father had felt for her mother so she couldn’t quite wrap her head around how he could become so lost—so broken.
Anya was so lucky. She looked exactly like her grandmother. Aunt Angelica seemed genuinely happy to have a child who looked so much like her dearly departed mother, Ebony Ross.
Dallas screamed as a bolt of lightning hit the house. She knew it wasn’t elemental lightning but rather conjured lightning from one of the witch hunters, and that meant they’d probably broken Anya’s protective shield.
Clifton started to blip in and out. “Those bastards have done something and it’s disrupting my signal, Dallas. I am afraid I’m going to fade out within the next few seconds. Have faith and remain strong. The Magical Authority should arrive soon, if you’re lucky. Their response time on this emergency is less than stellar. I’m very disappointed in them and you can be certain I shall be filing a complaint with Head Office.
“I think that branch of the agency needs to be reworked, as in firing all the agents and getting fresh blood. Or old bloods since the brash young agents seem to think they know best and to hell with the founding ideals of the Magical Authority. They think their way is much better and to hell with what anyone else might believe.” Clifton worked in the homicide department, and since magical murders were at an all-time low, he spent most of his time sitting behind a desk.
He disappeared with a sputtering crackle, leaving her dismally alone. Dallas dashed over to the desk that Anya used whenever she was in residence, searched the drawers and found nothing. Where had she stashed it?
She knew Anya would have put it somewhere safe, and what was safer than the old twenty-first-century safe their fathers had used to hide their traveling documents and any of the other treasures they’d brought back from their smuggling adventures?
She walked over to her grandmother’s portrait and carefully moved it aside to reveal the safe. She had to think a moment to recall her grandmother’s birthdate and when the date came into her mind, she punched in the code.
Once the door swung open, she inhaled sharply. There, before her, was a purple leather bag that didn’t belong to her father or her uncle, clearly marked with the initials A.R.R. She grabbed it, pulled it out of the safe and shut it securely. She moved the portrait back into place.
No sooner had she grasped the bag than the door to the library exploded inward, blowing splinters of wood everywhere. She dropped to the ground and the bag opened. Different colored vials of potions started rolling out of it.
“Oh, no, please no, come back here,” she gasped, attempting to gather them all up and put them back into the bag.
“Well now, here’s a pretty little witch for us to have some fun with.” The witch hunter’s crusty male voice set a chill up her spine. He sounded as if he’d been spawned from the bowels of hell. Her stomach clenched tightly and a nervous sweat broke across her brow.
“I call dibs on enjoying her wares first,” the second witch hunter said. His voice was bit higher-pitched but sounded like a cold, bitter winter morning.
“Well, boys, why don’t we fuck her senseless first, and then we’ll go about enslaving her and capturing her power for the one who hired us.” This voice had to be the third witch hunter, and though one of them had been disguised as a woman to play the part of Marion, it was pretty clear by their voices that they were all men, and this man was the worst of them all. His voice sounded as if he’d had his throat slashed at some point, because it was low and hoarse and chillingly menacing.
“We should probably collar her up first before we enjoy her,” the first witch hunter mused.
“Why? She’s just a pathetic excuse for a witch, with no redeemable talents aside from the time manipulation…and that one she wouldn’t dare try using while we’re around. We’ve all heard the way the bitchy Hyde witches have sworn off using the gift whenever they are around others who might exploit it.”
So they didn’t know about her touchy-feely talent. That tipped the scales in her favor. The only thing was, she didn’t fancy having them get that close to her, especially given what they intended to do to her.
The vile bastards should rot in hell, and if she had the power at her fingertips, she would have sent them there already.
“She’s got something in that purple bag. Destroy it immediately.” At their words, she shielded the bag with her body, hoping they viewed her as far too valuable to risk blowing up.
Her gaze set on the three of them. One had gray closely cropped hair, the second shaggy, greasy-looking black hair and a patch over his eye, and the third had no hair at all.
She stuck her hand in the bag, pulled out the first bottle she touched and threw it toward them. The bright-pink bottle arced through the air, and seeing it, the gray-haired one shot an energy bolt at it, causing it to explode.
What they didn’t count on was that the potion, still activated, swirled thick, billowing charcoal-colored smoke around them. She kept low to the ground, hoping not to get caught in the enchantment.
So she wouldn’t be affected by the spell, she continued belly crawling toward the nearest window. Maybe she could climb out and somehow find safe haven by fleeing her pursuers. The potion’s enchantment should work to disable them but there was no telling how long the effects would last.
“I’ve always said that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” This man’s voice was far lower than the rest and rumbled through the room like human thunder.
Frozen with fear, she stopped just as she was about to get up and open the window. There were four of them. Damn it.
The smoke started to clear and though her eyes were watering from it, she could still see Anya’s handiwork. Three fat rabbits hopped around the room. One was an American Sable, one an American Blue and the last one an American White. Dry-mouthed, she stared agape.
Anya usually didn’t hurt her subjects with her potions but rather made them a nonviable threat. That took care of three of her witch hunters, but what the hell was she going to do with the fourth?
She looked to the broken door of the library. He stood regally, in all his terrible glory. Clad in what looked like alligator-leather boots with steel tips, he cast a striking yet hideous silhouette. She looked up and when she saw the crimson cloak marked with the skull and crossbones representing the Bloodbayne Coven, her blood ran cold, causing her hands to tremble with fear. Desperately, she reached back into the bag and came up empty. Everything must have rolled out of Anya’s bag of tricks…and now she had to find them fast.
“I wouldn’t try any more funny business, Mistress Hyde. I want you to stand up and come here immediately. If you obey me like a good little witch, it will go much easier for you. If I were in your shoes, I’d do it the easy way, not the hard way.”
Who the hell did he think he was, talking to her like that?
Did he actually expect her to oblige him by willingly handing herself over into a life of slavery? Well, he could go straight to hell and burn there for an eternity.
She was sick and tired of being afraid of her own damn shadow. If she was going down, she was going down with a fight, and given the future the witch hunters had in store for her, she’d rather go down and sacrifice her life than to live a life of sheer misery. For without her freedom and her powers, she was better off dead. She’d promised her mother to safeguard the heavy burden they carried and she would not fail her. Her honor was the only thing she could really be proud of and she’d never broken a promise, so she wasn’t about to start now.
Standing up regally—well, as regally as she could while wearing a T-shirt nightgown and bunny slippers—she met h
is eagle-eyed stare. His eyes had little to no emotion in them and his hands glowed with an unearthly red hue.
“I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression of me, sir. I will not leave my ancestral home without one hell of a battle.” Sure, she’d engage him in combat but who was she kidding? It would be more of a monumental struggle on her side.
He would make mincemeat out of her, so all she had to do was accept her grim future with a bravado she’d never displayed before. She would force him to give her exactly what she wanted—her death. He could not feed off her abilities when life no longer flowed through her body. The Magical Authority hadn’t arrived yet, and she’d given up on them, so unless someone else came to her aid, she was dead meat.
Rather than looking as if he was troubled or intimidated by her reaction, he started to laugh—a laugh that sent shivers of dread coursing through her.
“I was hoping the next target would give me a bit of sport and you shall please me greatly, witch. Have it your way then, Mistress Hyde,” he said as he conjured a fireball and sent it hurtling toward her.
Life as she knew it was over. What was she going to do now?
Chapter Two
Oliver White drove through the quaint picturesque town where Anya had grown up. The beautiful harbor-side town had a charm unlike any he’d ever seen. It was as if he’d stepped back in time. They lived quite humbly and old-fashioned in this part of North America. While they had the most up-to-date technological advances, they didn’t seem to rely on them as heavily as other parts of Earth.
Tall, majestic ships still sat in the harbor, relics of an ancient past, and yet the awesomely simple beauty of them stirred something inside him. He would love a ship like that of his own one day to share with a family he someday hoped to have.
He was on his way to Anya’s ancestral home, Redgrave House, to visit with her cousin Dallas Hyde-Redgrave. Anya had insisted he not communicate with Dallas in advance to tell her he was coming. Instead, she wanted it to be a surprise. For a woman who hated surprises, she was awfully adept at throwing them for other victims of her choosing. Still, he wasn’t comfortable with showing up on Dallas’s doorstep unannounced, especially given the late hour.
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