He focused the elliptical flashlight beam straight ahead. Sure enough, they were almost upon a small stream.
A shrill scream pierced the night air. Tanner froze, analyzing it in a flash. It wasn’t Sarah. It wasn’t a cry of pain. It wasn’t a yell of terror.
It was rage.
He ran, faster than he ever had on the football field. Faster than he’d ever run prior to the injury that ended his dreams. How strange. He pushed the thought aside, leapt across the creek, and kept running.
Under Samhain’s full-moon glow, Ann stood in a small clearing with candles lit on the ground beneath her feet, and a glistening athame was raised in her right hand.
Where was Sarah?
A dark shadow, a whoosh of wind, and something knocked into him. He stumbled to the ground, and whatever had felled him landed on top of his body.
Sarah stared down at him, eyes wide with surprise. A black cloth gagged her mouth.
Safe. Thank the Goddess.
Tanner wrapped his arms around her and set her to one side, a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he whispered.
But Ann had heard them. She charged their way, her unusually pale blue eyes illuminated in the dark like portals to a midday sky. Tanner began to scramble to his feet, but he was at a distinct disadvantage. Ann would be upon him before he could regain his balance. If only he had a few extra seconds.
There was a way, but he was out of practice, had denied his heritage for so many years, that he despaired of working a spell. But he had to try, for Sarah’s sake. Tanner inhaled deeply, reaching into the core of his being. Searching for that still, small presence that housed his inner power.
By all that is right and good, I beckon the forces of magic. Bend time for me. Slow the wind, protract the moon’s beam to Earth, sedate my foe’s movements.
Time ground almost to a halt. His senses recorded simultaneous details at once—the roar of an incoming helicopter, Sarah struggling to her feet, Ann’s intent face, the white knuckles of her hand gripping the dagger.
He rose, ready for the assault.
The helicopter flew directly overhead, its loud engine intruding in the silence of the woods. A spotlight glared down upon them with startling strength.
Ann blinked and looked up.
Now!
Tanner tackled Ann to the ground. The athame dropped from her hand, tumbling and twirling in the light like a baton.
Ann writhed beneath him, hissing in fury. A snake among women.
Footsteps pounded from behind, and uniformed cops burst onto the scene. Two of them grabbed Ann’s arms on each side. “We got her,” one of them said crisply.
Tanner stood and stepped backward. Sarah slipped to his side and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Gently, he removed the gag and cupped her face in his hands. Her mouth was bloodied, and a handprint bruise blossomed on each of her cheeks.
“Are you okay?” he breathed.
A paramedic walked to their side. “Do you need to see a doctor?” he asked. “We can take you to the ER and have you checked out.”
Sarah quickly shook her head. “No.”
All around was a rush of activity and noise, but his whole world was here in his arms. He never wanted to let go of Sarah.
“Take me home,” she said. “To your place.”
“Our place.”
He couldn’t imagine life without her in his bed each night, or waking up alone in the morning.
The fear in her eyes softened, replaced with a shining warmth. “Our place,” she agreed.
Epilogue
November 1: All Hallows’ Day
Sarah stopped in the middle of the cobblestoned street and gazed at Tanner, thunderstruck.
“You’re not limping anymore,” she cried.
“You just now noticing?”
“How . . . what . . .?”
“It happened last night. I can’t explain it, really. I was in a rush to get to you and”—he shrugged—“the pain was gone.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “After all those doctors and surgery and therapy. And then”—she snapped her fingers—“all better? Just like that?”
“All better.”
She screwed up her face. “You injured it playing football, right?” Tanner cleared his throat, a sure sign he was hiding something. “Explain.”
He scratched his head. “It was sort of a sports injury. I mean, it did happen during a football game. I, uh, fell off the bench.”
Sarah laughed. It felt good to laugh again. How quickly she’d recovered from last night. Mostly because Tanner had spent the night holding her close and showing how much he loved her.
“Hey, hurt is hurt,” he teased.
“No. I believe there’s more to it,” she mused.
“Such as?”
She smoothed a lock of his dark hair from his forehead. “I think that was no ordinary injury. It was meant to be a temporary condition all along. It brought you all the way from Alabama to Salem. It brought you to me.”
Right in the middle of downtown, Tanner drew her close to him and kissed her deeply.
She drew back, giving a shaky laugh. “Enough of the PDA. I might not be able to restrain myself.”
Tanner sighed melodramatically. “If you insist, we’ll stop. For now.” They resumed their walk. “What’s the name of this place we’re trying to find?”
“Soulful Supplies. I’ve heard it’s awesome.”
He looked skeptical. “Most of these places are tourist traps, out to gouge the naïve.”
“Try to keep an open mind.” She stopped abruptly. “Here we are.”
The building was small but tastefully decorated in a subtle, classical style. No blaring neon signs promising the sun and the moon for a fifty-dollar reading.
Sarah pushed open the door, which triggered a tinkling chime, announcing their arrival. Inside, the walls were lined with metaphysical books. Crystals sparkled everywhere. In the center of the room was a large mahogany table where a young woman sat reading.
Sarah approached her, passing by shelves and displays of tarot cards, herbs, and incense. “Excuse me, are you the owner?”
Whiskey-brown eyes regarded her appraisingly. She inserted a bookmark into the giant tome and closed it shut. “My sister’s the owner, but I’m familiar with everything in the shop. Can I help you find something?”
Sarah eyed the book’s title—The Lost Art of Soul Summoning. Her pulse quickened. “You can communicate with the dead?” she asked.
The woman looked mildly annoyed. “The witches’ circle was last night, you missed it.”
“I was a little indisposed,” Sarah remarked dryly. “Besides, I’m looking for a real practitioner.”
The woman raised her brows. “You’ll want to speak to my sister then. Her name’s Riley.”
“Maybe you’re the person I should see.” Sarah sat down across from her, and Tanner sat as well. She nodded at the book. “Can you speak with the dead?” she asked again.
“Maybe,” she replied crisply. “What do you want?”
Tanner tapped her shoulder. “I thought we came here to undo the binding spell.”
“There’s that,” she agreed. But from the moment she’d seen the book, she’d known the real reason she’d been drawn here. “I want to speak with my mother,” she explained. “She died years ago in a car accident.”
The woman’s face softened. “My work is more in the line of communicating with murder victims. I help the police solve crimes. But I’m sure we can arrange something.”
“Please, I—”
“Hello, there.” A woman with a purple and blue Mohawk extended her hand. “I’m Lexi. And you’re?”
“Sarah Welch. This is my boyfriend, Tanner.”
Lexi gasped. “The one who was abducted last night?”
Sarah winced. Damn newspaper article. She hoped the story would die down soon. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Is that crazy woman still locked away? You hear so many stories t
hese days about criminals getting out because of technicalities.”
Tanner gave her hand a quick squeeze under the table and spoke up. “They have her in a locked-down psychiatric hospital. She won’t be going anywhere for a long time.”
Lexi assessed her a moment and then nodded to the other woman. “Sarah’s legit. And I’ll bet you’ll find something more than a little magic in this girl.” She turned back to Sarah. “Sarah, this is Autumn, necromancer extraordinaire.”
Necromancer? The very word made her scalp prickle.
Lexi’s eyes pierced her, seeming to read her soul. “Tell Autumn about your dreams.”
Sarah exchanged a wondering, questioning look with Tanner. He gave a slight nod, his stamp of approval on confiding to these strangers.
She told them everything—the dreams, the coven, the betrayals, the binding spell.
“Fascinating,” Autumn murmured. “In all your dreams, you’re with people who have died.”
“Right. I used to regularly dream of good times with my mom. It kept me from being so lonely during the years I lived in foster homes.”
“And then she dreamed of the witch trials,” Lexi said with a significant glance at Autumn. “She had a connection to Judge Hathorne. Another dead person.”
What the hell was Lexi trying to say?
Autumn gave her a gentle smile. “My guess is that you have a touch of necromancer in you.”
Sarah laughed and shook her head. “No way.”
“It’s not unheard of for people to channel the dead through their dreams,” Autumn explained. “What you need is to regain control over your dreams. With time and practice, you can achieve that.”
She momentarily closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to have that kind of freedom. That kind of power. And she knew just which moments she’d like to revisit in her dreams. Moments that involved the not-so-distant past—and they all involved Tanner. Their first meeting at the library, their first kiss, the first time they made love.
“Yes, I’d like that very much,” Sarah said softly.
Autumn gave a brisk nod. “We can help. The first step is to undo the binding spell.”
Tanner plunked the black feather with the red skein on the table, along with a clump of fine, dark hair.
Lexi frowned. “Ann managed to get a lock of your hair?”
“Stole it from my mother’s grimoire.”
Autumn picked up the feather and hair. “I have a loft upstairs and a friend who can help us. Let’s go up there so he can do a burning ritual to reverse the binding. No more witch dreams.”
Sarah started to rise, but Lexi stayed her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You stay put. Autumn and I need a few minutes alone to prepare.”
Autumn raised a brow. “We do?”
“Yes, we do.” Lexi rose and motioned for Autumn to leave. As she pushed her chair back to the table, Lexi bent down and whispered in Sarah’s ear.
“Your young man is eager to speak with you in private.”
With that, the two beat a hasty retreat.
“What do you think?” she asked Tanner. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”
He glanced around the shop. “I’m thinking you and I should go in business together. With your growing ability to channel dreams, and my gift for finding, we could open our own place. After all, Salem needs another metaphysical store.”
She groaned. “I can never tell when you’re serious.”
“I am serious.”
“I thought you hated living up here.”
“There’s that. But as long as I’m with you, it’s tolerable.”
That was about as romantic as Tanner got. Still . . . when Lexi said he had a question, going in business together wasn’t what had set her heart racing.
“Maybe one day,” she agreed, rising to her feet. “I bet they’re ready for us upstairs.”
“Wait a minute.”
She paused expectantly.
“Thanksgiving will be here soon,” he said, shuffling to his feet, a slight flush reddening his face. “I was wondering . . . will you come home to Alabama with me? You know, meet the folks?”
Terror rippled down her spine. She’d never been invited to meet a guy’s family. “What if they don’t like me?”
“They’ll love you,” Tanner said confidently. “Just like I love you.”
He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head on his chest. And only a minute ago, she’d imagined he wasn’t romantic.
A purple and blue Mohawk popped out from the door upstairs. “C’mon, you two,” Lexi called. “Time to bury the past and prepare for the future.”
THE END
About the Author
Debbie Herbert writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belie that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her oldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US Army. A past Maggie Award finalist in both young-adult and paranormal romance, she’s a member of the Georgia Romance Writers of America.
Also by Debbie Herbert
Appalachian Magic Series
Changeling
Charmed and Dangerous
Dark Seas Series
Siren’s Secret
Siren’s Treasure
Siren’s Call
Bayou Magic Series
Bayou Shadow Hunter
Bayou Shadow Protector
Bayou Wolf
Charmed by the Salem Witch Page 10
