They were an interesting bunch, pulling their crucifixes out from under their blouses before entering the shop, liberally sprinkling reminders of God’s grace between the appropriate passages of their book of the week. All the while perusing instruments of magic and books on the occult during their discussion breaks.
“Do you have any more copies of this?” Mrs. Cooper asked. She held up an old, weathered book simply titled RUNES in bold black letters. “I think both of my granddaughters might like a copy.”
Mrs. Cooper was in her nineties but still managed to get around without the aid of a cane or a chaperone.
“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Cooper. All of our books are one of a kind.”
“Really?” She examined the front and back of the book. “Isn’t that interesting.”
Ava had informed her elderly patron of this fact many times and suffered no annoyance in repeating herself. She liked Mrs. Cooper for her moxie and her determination not to crawl off somewhere and die like a ninety-something was expected to do.
Melanie came out from one of the aisles, carrying a box of antlers in the shape of corkscrews. “These are starting to grow roots on the shelf. We should probably run a special,” she suggested before dropping the box on the counter.
“Hmm…probably a good idea,” Ava agreed.
The ladies from the book club ended their weekly meeting and began filtering out of the shop. When they were gone, Melanie leaned her back against the door and looked at Ava’s cup of tea. “That’s exactly what I need.”
As she walked toward the cloth veil leading to the small kitchen in the back room, she heard the sound of breaking glass. She turned to see Ava stumbling out from behind the counter.
“Melanie!” Ava screamed.
The hot tea splattered across the glass case as the cup shattered against the floor. Ava’s eyes squeezed shut as she grabbed for the edge of the counter to steady herself.
“Ava! What happened?”
“Our girl is in trouble, Melanie.” The vision hit her hard, and for the first time since they began bombarding her days earlier, she knew what Maeve was trying to tell her. It was time to let go of old secrets, and it would take every ounce of magic that the two of them could muster to bring Alex home.
Melanie firmed up and stood tall. “What do we need to do?”
Ava looked at her with a bit of hesitation. “There’s something you need to know.”
Greer had worked and broken bread with Loden almost as long as he had with Thomas and Rhom. He was a pup in comparison, the youngest member of the crew with the charm and looks of a perpetual Lothario. For reasons Greer could only speculate on, he’d stopped aging at a time when most males were just beginning to grow into their oversized feet and inflated egos. In spite of his premature elevation from son to warrior, Greer trusted every word that left his mouth and every instinct he followed. Today would be no different.
Loden pointed with his eyes. Greer followed his stare and spotted the man carrying the tray. Tall and thin with the wiry stature of a runner, he seemed innocuous enough. The man walked past the register and stopped at the order window. He set the tray of food on the ledge and spoke to someone in the kitchen. A minute later, he was handed a replacement for the tiny pitcher he’d dropped and broken on the floor.
Loden paid for his order and walked back to the table with the bag of pastries and a cardboard holder with the four espressos. His adrenaline hit Greer square in the nose as he approached.
“What is it?” Greer asked, a burst of his own adrenaline crawling up his throat.
“The guy with the tray.” His head jerked in the direction of the counter. “Maybe I’m just looking for trouble where there isn’t any.”
“You? Nah.” Thomas shook his head as he reached for the espresso and the bag of cannoli. He ate half his pastry in a single bite and closed his eyes. “Man, you weren’t kidding about these things.”
Loden slid into his seat, but the thought kept nagging at him like an abscessed tooth. “Greer, what’s Alex’s favorite food?” The strange question had everyone at the table looking at him.
Greer’s brow furrowed. “You got something on your mind, just say it.”
“What’s Alex’s favorite food?” he repeated.
“French toast,” Rhom answered, eyeing Loden suspiciously.
Thomas nodded in agreement. Everyone at the table knew that. Alex spread the gospel about Sophia’s French toast to the point of obsession. Not a dinner party went by that she didn’t make reference to it as everyone cooed over Sophia’s cooking.
“Well, I just think it’s a little strange that the guy behind the counter is carrying a plate of French toast,” Loden said as he focused on his cannoli, “in an Italian bakery. Who the hell is he taking a tray of French toast to?”
Greer’s face hardened like a stone. He looked up as the guy with the tray walked past the cash register and headed toward the wall on the left side of the room.
“Get up,” he ordered. Loden slid out of the booth so Greer could stand up for a better view.
Greer walked toward the counter, absently pushing past people as he followed the man with his eyes.
Thomas glanced at Loden and then Rhom. “Would someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” A lightbulb must have gone off in his head, because his expression suddenly changed.
The man kept walking toward the empty wall like he was going to run straight into it. He stopped within a foot of it and reached for the light switch. The wall opened, and he disappeared into the hidden doorway. Then it closed behind him, leaving no trace that it was ever there.
I looked at the blood that was now dripping from my fingers and waited for the show to begin. “Be careful,” I warned my mother. “I’m dangerous when I bleed.”
She laughed softly and then leaned in to kiss my forehead, the blood on her lower lip leaving a small smudge on my skin. “You won’t hurt me. I'm your blood.”
I thought about how I’d cut myself with the razor, hoping it would buy me a way out of Daemon’s prison. But it didn’t. Nothing happened because I couldn’t take my own blood.
She cupped my arms and pulled me closer. “It’s been a good fight, Alex. We’ve outrun this much longer than I ever imagined we could.”
A heaviness filled my chest as an unexplainable feeling of loss began to throw a cloud over my head. “Outrun what?”
My mother ignored the question and continued with her declaration of defeat. “The game has changed. You’ll be relying on your intelligence from now on, Alex. Do whatever you have to, and remember that no matter what happens I will always be with you.”
I felt like I was being sent to the lions and my own mother was opening the gate. Her mouth tensed as her hands dropped away. “Don’t you dare lie down and die.” Her face hardened with defiance.
“I’ll find you and kill you myself before that happens,” Isle hissed at me with a firm nod.
“Mother!” Maeve shot Isla a wicked glare. She motioned to a large black bowl on the altar. It was filled with water that looked like a liquid mirror. “Look,” she said.
I bent over the bowl and gazed at my reflection. It took a moment to understand what she wanted me to see. It was such a subtle thing. But as I watched, I knew.
My head shook as I looked back at her. “I thought it was impossible.”
An awkward smile softened her face, and then her lips began to tremble. “Close your eyes, my darling.”
We’d learned to play this constant game of hide and seek, but I was afraid if I closed my eyes again, this time she’d be gone forever. Even though she said she would always be with me, I couldn’t help but doubt her power to save me from what I was about to face.
Maelcolm was standing in front of me when I finally mustered the courage to open my eyes. His head cocked as he watched me return to the here and now.
“You saw her, didn’t you?” His eyes darted discreetly around the room, looking for a ghost he couldn’t see.
“M
y mother?” I knew whom he meant. “Yes. It’s been quite a family reunion today.”
A barely discernable tic appeared at the crease of his mouth, a telltale spike of discomfort or maybe even relief in his expression. “That is interesting,” he said, turning to look me straight in the eye. “Why would you say that?”
I gazed back at the golden rings circling his blue eyes, identical to the ones that were now circling mine.
“You are my father, aren’t you?”
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About the Author
LUANNE BENNETT is an author of fantasy and the supernatural. Born in Chicago, she lives in Georgia these days where she writes full time and doesn’t miss a thing about the cubicles and conference rooms of her old life. When she isn’t writing or dreaming up new stories, she’s usually cooking or tending a herd of felines and basset hounds. Look for her new series debuting in 2017.
Copyright © 2016 Luanne Bennett
All rights reserved.
The Word Lounge
Atlanta, Georgia
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any written or electronic form without permission from the author, except for quotations and excerpts for articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
First Edition May 2016
version 1.0_r2
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
About the Author
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The Blood Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 2) Page 29
