Lonely Graves: A Rue Hallow Mystery (Rue Hallow Mysteries Book 3)

by Amanda A. Allen

  “Woah there champ,” Felix said to Finn. “It’s the dark witch. Let’s not jump outside of the wards.”

  “To the magic room,” I said, skipping around the others as if my stomach wasn’t tight with anxiety and I wasn’t sure that we were about to die. What Markus and my coven had done to the wards on Martha was—insane.

  “Where are the others?” Finn asked, following along as if I’d been speaking to him rather than Felix. Of course, the moment they’d been yanked into Martha, they’d been yanked into the stupidity of our plan.

  “Do you mean Saffron? Because she and Elizabeth went to check the other graves,” I answered. “And maybe see if they could track the dark witch from her little playground.”

  “Or the Hallow Family Council?” Felix opened the door and waved the others through as he answered. “Because Rue kicked them out.”

  “Or Cyrus and Jessie, because I’m sure they heard the gentle tap-tap at our door and are on their way to the coven room.”

  “Or the werewolves? Because they’re here for the fun.”

  Finn and Monica looked sick as they realized that we were all useless at magic and their team wasn’t around. No one would be coming to our rescue in time given the way Martha had rocked on her foundations as the dark witch hit us. I’d guess they were doing the calculations I had already done. We were probably going to die. Hallow House would be destroyed in the process, and probably a dark witch would rise in St. Angelus to steal all the little vampire and shifters and use them as ingredients for nasty spells.

  It didn’t feel like it was the time for me to give a pep talk given my take on what we were doing.

  Markus arrived at that moment, opening the door and coming in. He was as light on his feet as—well as a werewolf with super-human strength—even though he carried Chrysie in his arms. There was another werewolf behind Markus carrying her IV. And a third werewolf who tenderly carried the wide-eyed, scarred little girl.

  I hadn’t let myself see her again or meet her eyes. I had so carefully avoided it since I’d have exchanged her for Chrysie if I could have, and I didn’t want to see the person inside. But she caught my eyes and held me prisoner. Her gaze was wide, frightened, and fixated on me. It was probably why I found myself saying things I didn’t want to say.

  “It’s ok,” I lied. “We’ve got this.”

  “She’s evil.” The girl wasn’t wrong. And her terror colored her voice, her face, the way her hands shook, and the way she couldn’t blink even as her eyes darted around the room as if she were trying to find all the hiding places. I didn’t think there was a hiding place possible for her given the dark witch had consumed some of the kid’s essence. At this point, it was the dark witch or Gwennie and I thought the little girl knew it.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “She’s strong,” the girl said. I could see what she was building up to. The fact that we didn’t have this at all.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. I had the wounds to show how strong that dark witch was.

  “We’re all going to die,” Gwennie said clearly. And I was forced to see her for a person since she was speaking my thoughts. This little girl named Gwennie. Markus had told me as we’d laid our plans and spells earlier that she still slept with a ragged purple teddy bear and played soccer. That she dreamed of becoming a surgeon. I didn’t want to see how she didn’t have a song in her heart anymore. I didn’t want to see how she had nightmares in her eyes. I didn’t want to see how she’d never be the same again. But all of those things were true.

  “Maybe,” I told the kid as if it were just the two of us and we weren’t being watched by a pack of werewolves, my coven, Finn, and Monica. “But I’d rather die than give up.”

  “I’d rather die than go back into the grave,” she said. No tears fell. I suspected she’d cried all the tears she had in that grave.

  “Well, I’m counting on your Markus to save us.”

  “He didn’t save me. You did.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. So I just said the first thing that came to my mind, “I guess he owes us both one then. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s hero material. So’s Felix here. He hides it behind that nasty hair, but he’s a hero. Even Finn, the great and noble jerk. He’s all hero.”

  “You’re the hero,” Gwennie said softly. And I felt like she were pinning her hopes on me. Had she not noticed the limp and the bandages?

  “I’m not a hero,” I answered. “I’m just a girl.”

  She didn’t argue anymore. It seemed I’d exhausted the little waif or maybe the terror was clamming her up now that she’d said what she had to say. We set her and Chrysie down in the center of the pentacle that we’d made earlier. Inside the 4 points of the pentacle, we’d drawn in blood. The combined blood of one witch and one werewolf runes that were—at best—shady. The tip of the pentacle held the emblems for Martha.

  Each of my coven with one wolf took our places inside the pentacle.

  “You can come inside the pentacle with us,” I told Finn. “Or you can stay out there and fight with them.”

  He looked behind him and a dozen wolves that had hidden in the room. They’d snuck in one after another with their own magic melting them into the shadows. Each held curved blades and carried grim, deadly expressions.

  Finn glanced around and said, “I”ll fight.”

  “Come in here, Monica. Feed your magic to the spells. Fight that way.” There was a plea in Felix’s voice as he spoke to her, and it stabbed me right to the center of my heart. Gods…maybe I did care about him. That way.

  “That is dark magic, Felix,” she said. Her gaze narrowed on the runes we’d written. She wasn’t wrong. It was a pretty damn dark spell. Dark and necessary.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I will have no part of that,” Monica continued, tossing her hair and taking up a stance behind Finn. She was a powerful witch. She was athletic and strong and capable. There was no reason to stand behind Finn, but she took her place behind Finn’s shoulder as if there were nowhere else to be. The wolves shrugged and leapt towards the ceiling, disappearing into the darkness of the rafters above.

  “Let her in,” Markus growled. I suspected his change had started to come over him. I couldn’t tell since his magic had hidden him into the shadows making him invisible to probably anyone other than another shifter. He’d told me that the pack would partially change. It made them more terrifying but also more deadly. They’d be all fangs and claws and blood in their eyes, but they wouldn’t hurt any of my coven.

  The next hit from the dark witch came moments later, rocked Martha, and left us all shuddering.

  “Let the wards crumple at the back of the house, Martha,” I told the house.

  “What?” Finn shouted. “Are you insane?”

  The dark witch hit again, not that I felt Finn deserved an answer and didn’t bother with one. He didn’t seem to understand that he was not in charge and also not wanted. I should be grateful that he was here and that he’d help. But I wasn’t. I suppose that was a little damaged of me, but he just—I don’t know. He made me feel I was less because he wanted to help so much. He cared. I struggled with what was right. I sometimes felt like I had to think too long and too hard for normal life, and he just knew intrinsically. That made me feel like I was less.

  Regardless, we were being attacked by a dark witch, Finn was here, and there was no time to explain our plan. It was far too late for that. He could fight with us. There was no escape, given the witch was outside. Not that Finn would have left—even I would give him that. He was a good man. He’d stay. He’d fight. He’d have helped anyone in these circumstances.

  “Here she comes,” I told the wolf behind me. She was a woman with long brown and gold hair, fierce eyes, and an expression that demanded vengeance. She was actually pretty scary. If we didn’t have a dark witch finding her way to us, I’d have been edging away from her. Instead I sliced my palm, she sliced hers, and we clutched hands. The moment we did I felt
the magic of the wolf magic begin to meld with my own magic. I opened my senses and reached out for Felix. His magic, combined with the magic of the wolf who stood with him flowed into mine. A stream joining a river. Next came Jessie and her wolf. Cyrus and his. We were a torrent of power. The shifter power was so different and so the same. It was raging, strong, but not nearly as nuanced as Felix’s or Jessie’s. Cyrus’s magic seemed to blossom as it mixed with the wolf and finally show a flavor of its own.

  The little wolf girl took a knife, sliced her palm and then Chrysie’s and fed her magic into the final stream of our river of power. I could feel the dark witch moving through the house. She was a shadow that brought her own darkness along. And there was something with her. It didn’t feel—quite—human.

  I let a little of our magic leak out. Just enough to entice her on her way and protect Martha as well as I could. Distract the witch from Martha, lead her into our trap, and pray.

  “She’s not alone,” I told the others. Low growls filled the air, but I could only hear them because of the magic that was rampaging in my grasp.

  The plan was stupid. Let the witch in. Hold her. Fight until one side was dead. Markus was the one who suggested the dark magic—it wasn’t truly, truly dark. It worked off of blood and sacrifice. But other than Chrysie—who couldn’t speak but who I knew in my heart would have been willing—all of our sacrifices were willing. We were giving our blood and our energy to fight the witch. We would succeed or die trying.

  “You think you can use my own sword against me,” the dark witch asked as she blew the door to the coven room open.

  I stared at her. She was…a quintessential grandma. Short, curled hair. All sprayed out with too much hair spray. Age spots on her face and hands. She wasn’t old-old. She looked as if she had just retired and was considering a trip to the English countryside.

  “I don’t know her,” I said to my coven. They shook their heads but a growl started low in the female wolf behind me.

  It was Gwennie who said it though. “That’s Miss Sanderson. She teaches me in third grade.”

  Felix’s curses were drowned out by the wolves in the pentacle. The others were entirely silent. Then a shifting form came towards us. And then another. They were dogs. But not. Their eyes were too intelligent, too mad, too aware. Their lips curled back to show wicked fangs, and I found myself whispering gratitude to all the gods that the wolf pack was here.

  The Witch Sanderson threw up a hand and Monica was slammed into the wall, she slid down it, and didn’t move.

  “Who’s next?” the old woman asked with a granny sing-song as if she was asking who had been good enough for a cookie. “Tut-tut. I don’t like waiting.”

  Finn threw a hand forward, but he used a necromancer spell and it melted off the dark witch. He was tossed up at the ceiling and dislodged a couple of wolves.

  “What’s this?” the Sanderson witch asked as they landed on their feet near her. “A trap?”

  The old lady cackle filled the air as the wolves began to circle. One inside the pentacle let out a howl, and it echoed around the room. But was answered only by those who were in plain sight. The others were silent hunters in the darkness. One dropped and one of the hounds was dead. The wolf moved like a blur and another dog fell and another. The witch shrieked, and I threw a bit of power forward distracting the witch from the werewolves destroying her…hounds. My spell failed as if it hadn’t even existed.

  “She’s warded,” I told my coven.

  “Not unexpected,” Felix said calmly, an oak in the storm, standing firm with a wolf’s hand clasped in his own.

  “So we break the wards,” Cyrus added without an ounce of concern. For a boy who hadn’t been able to touch magic a few weeks ago, he had little regard for the complexities of it.

  The old woman’s gaze darted amongst us and she laughed. “You think you’re a match for me?”

  No. No. I didn’t think that for one instant. Another wolf dropped from the ceiling on silent part-pawed, part-human feet. He lunged forward with a knife and she reached back and dug her hand into his chest. He yelped and jerked away. She’d have taken his heart if Felix had pushed at me, leading a jab of power at the witch.

  “Gods,” Felix said and swore again.

  “Monsters,” I corrected. “She’s all monster.”

  “Rather like we are,” he said. And there was something so bloodthirsty in his voice that I was chilled. And then there was little thought but the movement of wolves and magic. All of us attacking one old woman and the few standing dogs. But we were failing. She came closer and closer, injuring wolf after wolf until she was face to face with me.

  “Hello, dear,” she said and ran her fingertip along the edge of power that divided her from my coven—the invisible wall of the pentacle. She wanted to destroy me, my coven and the wolves helping us. She wanted to recover the two in the center. “I will take your power with theirs. It has such delightful flavor. I will keep you alive until your little vampire friend is gone and bury you alive in the same grave as her body. I will drain you and use your magic until…”

  I stopped listening as her eyes locked on mine. Nothing was happening that could be seen with the human eye. But her magic—her dark well of stolen magic and madness pressed against mine trying to break me down. If it had been just me, I’d have crumpled. But I was not alone.

  Felix stood with me. Jessie. Cyrus. Several wolves. Other wolves circled trying to get closer. Even Finn was throwing his magic at the witch. But…each of us were failing.

  I heard the little girl whistle—our signal. And Markus dropped from the ceiling, two knives in his hands. He didn’t try one bit of magic. He didn’t use his wolf strength. He was not warded. He had dropped every single protection, every bit of magic, and used normal kitchen knives to shove into the body of the old woman.

  She had warded against everything supernatural. But the mundane? The potential sacrifice of a brother who would risk everything to attack a dark witch unarmored? Such a creature as this old woman could not understand that kind of willing sacrifice.

  She gasped and as she died, I dropped the magic of the pentacle, all of my own protections, released my hold on Martha and the final disguise. The knife I held in my hand, hidden by the hand of the wolf behind me. I was going to stab the dark witch—but the wolf didn’t let me take the blade. She took it so easily from my grasp, reached passed me, and shoved it into the throat of the dark witch.

  “Gwennie is my daughter,” the wolf behind me said to the dark witch. “She is never going to worry about you coming for her again.”

  There was no anger in the voice. I’d have thought there would be. But there was only a firm clarity of purpose. This mother was taking away the nightmare of her baby. However she had to do it. She’d have never chosen to do something like this—but she hadn’t been given the choice. The choice had been made by a monster who had dared to prey on a little girl.

  The dark witch snapped out with her magic, but Martha had never really been weakened. The magic that had been laid upon this house by generation after generation of warrior witches rose up as if it had never faltered.

  “Cleanse,” I said in proto-Romanian focusing my will. As the Hallow of the Hallow line—as the true heir and the possessor of Martha, I was the only one who could have done what I did. But today, Markus and I combined our blood with sage, angelica, blessed thistle, and cacao. A pentacle had been laid by ancestors as they built Martha. It was in the very foundation of the house and earlier that day, I’d placed a cleansing rune in the six major witch languages. It was the most thorough of possible cleanings—what you used to remove something truly horrible. And the final trap sprang into place, putting us all at risk.

  Cleansing runes for dark magic. A magic we had just practiced. If we had gone too close to the edge—we could have been destroyed. I screamed as I felt my own magic and the magic of my ancestors swarm over me. It scoured me. I couldn’t breathe for the whirlwind of aggressive power. Those
of us who’d participated in the spell fell. Curled in on ourselves and buffeted by the unseen.

  I heard howls around me and the swish-whirling of a wind I could not see. I didn’t hear my own screams—they melded into the chorus, but when it stopped, I touched my hands to my ears and my fingertips came away bloody.

  At first I heard nothing, saw nothing. But slowly swishes of color formed into faces—Finn and Monica. Markus and the other wolves—it was us witches who stayed down the longest. Our magic didn’t heal like theirs did and we had already been injured and broken.

  I blinked and blinked again and rubbed my eyes. A pounding formed in my hearing and it was the pulse of my heart and then the murmur of voices and then the world snapped back into place.

  “Hecate, goddess of magic, bless this house,” I said, curling onto my side and letting the pain roll over me like the tide.

  When the pain subsided, I felt a hand in my hair. I cracked my eyelids and found the golden eyes of a little, scarred girl staring down at me.

  “We lived,” she said. “You did it.”

  “We did it,” I replied. She tucked her hand into mine and even though I hurt, and I didn’t want to like her, and loving another person was the last thing I needed, she snuck right into my heart.

  “Go to sleep,” she said. “We won after all.”

  So I did.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I woke alone. It was dark and I had a flash of feeling like it was me in the grave this time. That we’d lost and everything I cared about in St. Angelus had been destroyed. It took me too long for my self-respect to reach out and ensure that it was the banister of my bed I felt under my fingers rather than a wood box. But it was, in fact, my banister. And when I dared to listen, I could hear the humming of Martha’s ward resetting. I could feel the shuffle of her unaccountable breezes against my face, and there was something else in the feel of Hallow House.