Bad Impression : A Sadie Salt Novel (Sadie Salt Series Book 2)

by Ware Wilkins

  My right hand grabs Respect for backup. It practically sings in my grip, it’s so eager for retribution.

  Good.

  Then I stalk down to the guest bedroom, not even bothering to hide my presence. When I get to the door, a word tumbles from me and the wood is blasted apart, splinters flying everywhere. I step inside, bracing myself.

  A red-lipped frown meets me. Her eyes are locked onto the crackling ball of magic in my palm. Not waiting, I release a howl of anguish and toss the ball of magic up. My body flows like a river, grabbing Respect with both hands. As the sphere comes back down, I swing.

  The connection--damn-- it is harder on me than any hit I’ve placed on a body to date. My arms fall numb, even with Respect carrying the brunt of the blow. Magic screams as the ball of magic wails toward the red-lipped bitch. Because I’ve launched it with the bat instead of throwing, it’s moving fast.

  She barely has time to shield herself. The magic bursts as it slams into her, blinding me, its clash thundering so loud my ear drums ache. As the light fades, I’m left with smoke and dust and a ringing in my ear.

  My breath catches when the dust clears. She’s still standing there, shaking out her arms. The dirt and drywall are coating her long hair and face. Behind her…

  The back wall of my uncle’s home is gone. There’s only night sky, the tree line, and in the distance the lights of Grimloch.

  “Well,” she says in a melodic, teasing voice, “that was impressive and unfortunate. Sadie, you’ve grown. The coven will be delighted.”

  Her words fall like rain on cotton. I absorb them, but I don’t really get it, still too muffled and riled. “You killed my uncle.”

  “He got in the way.” She shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, he gave me one of the best fights I’ve experienced in a few hundred years. I regret wasting such an impressive warlock, but his bones--”

  “Belong to me.” My voice is a razor, cutting through pain. It’s rough and sharp and jagged. “My uncle, my bones.”

  She runs her fingers through her hair, trying to shake out the dust and debris. “Sorry, kiddo. Those aren’t the rules. It’s more of a finders-keepers sort of thing. You’ll learn when we teach you.”

  My chest aches fiercely. There were times, especially at eighteen after I’d made my deal with Tee, that I’d imagine a moment like this. How I would face my parents’ killer and not bother with talking. I’d just rip them apart.

  Now, this witch just murdered my uncle and mutilated his body and I’m standing here, blazing with power, and not doing anything. Apparently you can be so full of fury that your body and mind shut down. I’m not even on autopilot. In the moment, I’m frozen, just like his body was, unable to follow through with the power and inertia of the situation. “How did you deflect that?” It wasn’t all I have in me, but I do feel a steep dip in the power I’d been harnessing. It should have left a baseball sized hole in her stupid, red-lipped face.

  “I’ve got quite a bit of experience on you. Though you shouldn’t have been able to do that.” She puts a hand on her hip and looks at me like I’m a puppy who managed to tinkle outside, not a raging witch with a bat intent on murder.

  “It wasn’t all that hard,” I throw back, although in reality it had taken an incredible amount of focus.

  She taps her foot. “Who taught you?”

  “Where. Is. Ingrid?”

  This witch actually rolls her eyes at me. “She’s safe, she’s fine. Come with me and you’ll be with her again. Who taught you?”

  I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the audacity of this witch. I’m struggling not to lose it because all I can assume is Ingrid and the baby are in trouble, real danger, and it’s because of me. In fact, everything about this night and the night before are spiraling into something so awful that I’m sort of shutting down my brain and heart because this--losing everything like this--might actually break me.

  “I’ll come with you,” I say. “Bring Ingrid back safe and I’ll do anything. I’ll work your spell to shut out Baba Yaga. But I won’t do a damned thing until Ingrid is safe and I can see her.”

  Her peal of laughter eviscerates me. It’s so startled and delighted that I feel myself crumbling. I know I can’t win this. Not on just two teeth. Not without being certain I can help Ingrid. The woman with the red lips has all of the power, and she knows it. “I’m not here for you.”

  My mind goes blank. “What? Of course you are. I’m a bone witch. You sent Ms. Nickles to watch over me, to mold me or whatever until I could work your stupid world domination spell. That’s why all the hunters were here, too, right? To force me to come do whatever crazy shit you think I can do?”

  “Maybe that had been the plan once. But you’ve gone and used up too much of your life force. We need someone almost completely devoid of the markings. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so willy-nilly with your casting, Ingrid would still be here and your uncle, too.”

  Mouth dry, I swallow, trying to digest what she’s saying. “If you don’t want me, then why do you have Ingrid? She’s not a bone witch.”

  “No, she isn’t. But her baby girl will be.”

  I’m not sure how I manage to not destroy the entire house. Hell, I’m not sure how I don’t destroy the mountain. As soon as she says they’re after the baby, I lose my shit. Every ounce of power I have is surging through. The spells that Tee unlocked inside of me are fighting with blood-thirsty eagerness to be cast. I cast each one, inflicting a torrential rain of battle magic on the bone witch. She deflects, she retaliates, but she also starts to lose ground. When of my spells rips through her shield, puncturing her shoulder in a spray of blood, I know I need to do one last push. Refocusing my power into my palm, I make quicker work of the spell. The ball is larger. It is all of my remaining power from the two teeth, fed by hate. A small cyclone condensed into a sphere, blazing in colors so bright it hurts to look at it.

  I don’t wait. Toss, swing, and duck.

  There’s a thundercrack in the room. Whatever remained of my ear drum bursts. The other ear is ringing so badly it blocks everything else out.

  When I find enough strength to look up and out, I don’t see the witch. I do, however, see the trail of ruination my spell left, carved into the trees and mountains for miles, a straight and burning line. The night stars are quickly being blotted out by the smoke of the forest fire I’ve just started.

  My heart thuds hard in my chest. If I caught her with that, there’s no way she survived. I don’t care how old or powerful she is.

  A foot plants in my back and I’m kicked to the floor. Her weight keeps me pinned there and I’m far too weak to fight back. Her voice dances into my head, carried there magically, passing my deafened ears.

  “You’ve got spunk, kiddo. But you really should have come to train with us.”

  Something thunks, and too late I realize it was a hard object connecting with my skull.

  I descend into darkness.

  “Just sign here, Miss Salt, and the property transfers to you.”

  The lawyer pushes a stack of papers toward me and points to the last line I have to sign. I’ve already initialed a hundred times, signed, signed again, and made copies. I’m barely able to hold the ball point pen as I scrawl my name. He smiles and moves with a pert efficiency that makes my skin crawl.

  “Excellent. The property and all of its belongings are hereby yours, deeded to you by your uncle. I hope the memories this house holds bring you comfort and healing.”

  “Right. Sure.”

  I don’t move as he packs up and leaves. The lawyer had been polite, gracious, and expedient. He also hadn’t mentioned the giant hole that is in the back of the house, or the forest fire that is still raging close enough by I should probably evacuate. The smell of smoke is in everything now, my nose and lungs burning with each breath.

  Those things don’t matter. I sit in the kitchen and stare at the broken bat on the table. Respect is in two pieces. When I touch either part, all I feel is w
ood. Not even a glimmer of magic. I don’t know if the witch broke the bat, or my final spell did. It doesn’t really matter. Knowing the origin doesn’t fix the freaking bat.

  The witch broke my bat, and she took the bag of teeth Ms. Nickles left me. She’s left me with nothing, and it is crushing me.

  Night comes, and with it, the pack and Benji. The wolves shift back to human bodies, getting dressed in clothing I let them stash in closets around the parts of my home not obliterated by my fight. Soon the sounds of saws, hammers, and the good-natured ribbing fill the space. Abe’s helping to rebuild the back of the house. The pack is aiding him in thanks for me helping to bury Alec.

  I can’t help them. It’s hard enough for me to keep breathing. I wouldn’t be eating, either, except that Benji is here and shoving food in front of me. He all but forks it into my mouth. “Sadie, it’s been two weeks,” he says. It’s a plea and a bit of judgment and mostly it’s pity, which I can stomach about as well as I can meals. Which is to say, barely.

  We sit and listen to the pack work. Benji holds my hand. I notice he’s starting to look hungry. Not at me, but getting the gaunt, dark-eyed and sunken look that says he’s spending time with me that he needs to be out feeding during.

  Abe comes and grabs my shoulder. “Salty, I found something.” He slaps a journal in front of me. It’s one of my old journals. I had a ton. I was one of those teenagers guilty of buying every cute notebook she came across, intending to write each deep secret and marvelous philosophical thought down. Instead, I’d journal for a few pages and then forget about it until a new notebook sparked my interest. The one in front of me has unicorns on it.

  “This is mine.”

  But Benji’s already reaching across me for it. “It smells like Ingrid.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too. So I picked it up. Read it.”

  My hands tremble as I slide it back toward me, opening it slowly.

  Visions.

  I left my other vision journal at the apartment and now it’s being overrun by hunters, so who knows when I’ll see it again.

  This vision was weird. There were all the cats from around the complex, only they were hanging in trees. Their eyes followed me as I circled below them. Then the vision changed and the cats all had these head kerchiefs on and their back paws were chicken legs. What in the hell, right? Then this lady came and started chewing on their bones. So gross.

  I don’t know what that was about. Probably Oliver has given me some funky tea and we’re going to have to have a serious talk about what kinds of herbs he thinks it is okay to give a pregnant lady.

  Second vision is from the other night. I need to tell Sadie about it but I’m so mad at her right now that it’ll have to wait. She can be so dense sometimes. Unbelievable. Anyway, this felt important. In it, she was in a large building complex, like a government style building? Or a prison? And she was searching for a silver broom. The vision felt powerful, so I think the silver broom must represent something, but I don’t know what?

  Her loopy, flowing handwriting stops there. Just two visions, and only one makes any sense to me. “The cats were supernatural.”

  “What?” Benji says at the same time Abe says “What cats?”

  “Her vision said they were watching her wherever she walked. Like spies, right? And then they were wearing headscarves and had chicken feet.”

  Abe’s mouth is open. “What in the fu--”

  “Those are from the myth of Baba Yaga,” Benji says.

  “She’s the source of the bone witches’ power. Of my power.”

  Benji leans back in his seat, appraising me with calm, cautious eyes. “You know this from your neighbor?”

  “Yes. I had a book from her about it. But it went up in the fire. The cats were the bone witchs’ spies, I think. Watching Ingrid and me. Maybe the hunters found them and killed them?”

  Abe finally pulls himself together and sinks into another chair at the table. He’s a bit grimy, his white undershirt dirty and clinging to his muscled body. I admire how he looks, but it’s surprising how much of my crush on him has dissipated since our talk. “I’m still catching up. There were dead cats?”

  “Sadie found them in the woods. I smelled them and found them later.”

  “You should have told me, Salty.” Abe looks wounded.

  I place my hand on his shoulder and pat once. “You weren’t in a place where I thought you could handle that kind of news and not wolf out on me.”

  “But I used to be a sheriff. If there had been clues or a trail, I might have been able to help.”

  He’s right. It’s another thing to add to my list of Things Sadie thought she was an expert on but it turns out she’s an idiot list.

  “What about the broom?”

  “No clue about that.” I want to crumble into myself again, but Benji and Abe exchange a look. “What? What are you two thinking?”

  Benji put his elbows on the table. “If she saw you looking for a silver broom, maybe Ingrid was seeing a way for you to save her.”

  “That’s a long jump,” I say warily. But inside, I feel the rumble of hope.

  Abe nods. “Yeah. They want Ingrid’s baby, Sadie. That gives us what, three or four months to find her?”

  “Three, tops. And us?” They both look at me like I’m a brick. Ooph. I earned it. “Yes, okay. Okay. Us.” It’s time to start actively mourning Oliver instead of numbing myself to it. I’ve got to let go of feeling like I failed Ingrid, because I couldn’t have seen her abduction coming. I didn’t fail her then, but if I don’t start working my ass off to find her and save her, then I’ve failed her for sure.

  My bat’s broken. I’m out of teeth.

  I don’t care.

  I’m going to get my friend back.

  To be continued December 2017. You can find the pre-order HERE!

  Special thanks goes to Erin O, Faith P.D., and Wendy C. Your fast work and comments were invaluable in making this a stronger story. Thanks also to Leah R., who is supportive and wonderful.

  Thanks also to my daughter’s preschool, for giving me time to write and enough breathing room to think. And to my daughter, who delights, mystifies, infuriates, and inspires.

  I’ve gotta say… writing Sadie Salt novels is an exercise in pleasure and torture. Thanks for taking the time to read my work. It means a lot to me.

  About the Author

  Ware Wilkins lives in Raleigh, NC. When she’s not writing Urban Fantasy, she writes some other romancey type stuff, and when she’s not writing at all she’s probably napping. Other hobbies include binge-watching tv (TNG, yeaaaaaaah!) and going on adventures with her daughter, Evey.

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