Black Mountain Magic (Kentucky Haints #1)

by Megan Morgan

  “What’s it doing?” Zeke muttered. “The ward got it stuck or something?”

  “Probably can’t figure out why it can’t get through,” Jack said. “Confused.”

  Deacon kept his sight on it, his finger on the trigger. A low growl came from the trees, so quiet a normal human probably wouldn’t have heard it. Then, it hit him.

  A stench, profound and rancid on the cool night air. The foul odor of Wolvites. He’d smelled it many times before, but it came across much heavier than usual. He took a few steps back, winced, and coughed.

  “Goddamn.” Deacon brought his arm up across his nose. “What the hell?”

  Jack and Zeke also recoiled and gagged. For once Deacon hated his keen sense of smell.

  “That’s foul,” Jack said, muffled behind his own arm. “Jesus Christ, why do they stink so bad?”

  They got their answer quickly. Rustling came from the trees. Flashes of golden eyes. Shadows emerged, blobs of darkness separating from the night. Growls. Snuffling. Hunched, shambling creatures lurched into the moonlight.

  Wolvites. A lot of them, and a lot more. They kept coming out of the trees, and formed a line. Their growls transformed into a warning rumble as they combined. Teeth snapped. Claws flexed. Fifty of them, maybe more. The smell rolling off such a large group was oppressive and overwhelmed Deacon’s senses. His stomach lurched, both from the stink and the horror of the sight.

  “What the fuck?” Jack gasped.

  They backpedaled, despite the ward, back toward the house. They had their guns up, but none of them knew exactly where to point.

  “I ain’t never seen that many at once,” Zeke said. “What the hell is happening?”

  The creatures stood at the edge of the yard, restless and snarling, golden eyes reflecting the moonlight. Barks and howls erupted.

  “We gotta get in the house.” Deacon spoke anxiously. “We can’t take on this many.” They moved faster.

  The first Wolvite, the one that had been pacing, suddenly stopped and started digging furiously, kicking up dirt. Then it threw its head back and let out a high, unearthly howl. The other Wolvites answered, as if in triumph.

  Then the line of Wolvites sprung forward and passed through the ward, and charged at them.

  * * * *

  Lorena stood in the pool of light from her flashlight and stared down the Wolvite in front of her. Only a few feet separated them, so the awful fetid stench that came off it filled her nostrils.

  She couldn’t move. She had to shoot it, but her muscles had locked up, her breath caught in her lungs. She had never been so close to a living Wolvite. The one time she’d been remotely close to one still alive, a thick layer of glass separated them and the creature had been sedated. The one she’d shot in Jack’s yard, she’d barely even seen.

  She should have stayed inside and kept shooting at paper targets.

  The thing was hunched over. Long, sinewy, hair-covered arms hung in front of it, which ended in hand-like paws with curled black claws. Coarse hair covered its body, matted and glistening with dew, or sweat. The long snout extended wolf-like, black lips curled back and long, sharp teeth on display. Golden eyes fixed on her in hard, deadly pinpoints, its ears erect on top its head. The creature seemed to be sizing her up.

  Her arm hung at her side, the gun heavy in her hand. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears. She could still feel the forest, the valley, in tight formation around her, as if waiting to see what she would do.

  The Wolvite emitted a warning growl, its muscles flexing beneath the hair.

  She snapped out of her paralysis and jerked the gun up, steady in her aim thanks to adrenaline. Before she could pull the trigger, it sprung.

  She didn’t have time to react before the heavy, powerful weight of it slammed into her. She tried to fire, if not to hit it then at least to alert those around her that she was in trouble. Instead, the gun flew from her hand and tumbled away in the leaves, out of reach.

  She hit the ground hard, so hard her bones rattled inside her flesh and all the air rushed from her lungs. She couldn’t make a sound. She flung her arm up, the flashlight still attached to her wrist, and tried instinctively to shield her face. She braced herself for the sensation of claws or teeth, but instead, the Wolvite scampered away from her.

  The flashlight swung wildly on her wrist and threw light around her, making everything chaotic, like watching through a bouncing video camera. The beast’s heavy breathing remained close by, and cold terror gripped her as she waited for the next blow.

  It didn’t come.

  She groped around frantically, but only dry leaves and cold earth passed beneath her hands. She struggled to get her breath back, to make a sound, but she could only manage a wheeze. She caught the flashlight as it swung against her hand and gripped it tight. She would use it as a club if she had to.

  The light fell on the creature, a few feet away. The Wolvite prowled sinuously against the forest floor as it stalked around her.

  She tried to think clearly through the pain in her chest and back. She couldn’t reach the knife in her boot. Even if she did, the Wolvite would be on her again before she could pull it.

  Hopefully, someone had heard or seen something and would come to help her.

  The creature slunk toward her. She pushed her hand into the pocket of her jacket and groped for her cell phone. The Wolvite probably wouldn’t allow her enough time to make a call, but if she could set off the alarm on it, maybe she could scare it or alert someone.

  The awful stink filled her nose again as her breath returned. She flung her arm out and focused the flashlight beam on its horrid, evil face.

  She fumbled with the cell phone in her pocket. The world around her seemed to be slowing down. Every detail, every anxious second shone in vivid relief. The thing drew closer, claws extended.

  The stone slipped into her palm, the black opal she’d taken to show Hazel. She’d forgotten to give it back to Dr. Winston. As she grabbed it by accident, something happened.

  Everything around her brightened, as if someone shone a light down on her, or as if day had replaced the night. The trees glowed, their colorful leaves shimmering. The forest floor lit up, like a stage. Calmness rushed over her, a sense of certainty, of wisdom stronger than she’d ever known before. She could hear the trees, taste the air. The earth pulsed with life.

  The Wolvite immediately recoiled, ducking its head, and its growl turned to a whimper. Her lungs expanded. She thought to scream, but didn’t need to now. She gazed at the creature in fascination.

  She pulled her hand out of her pocket and opened her fingers. The stone glowed soft blue and warmed her palm. She propped herself up on one elbow.

  “What’s going on?” she gasped.

  A few feet away, in the layer of leaves, an object shone clearly. Her gun. She could make out everything around her, every leaf, every root, every branch. Even the bugs burrowing in the dirt.

  A flicker drew her attention back to the Wolvite.

  A shaft of light projected from it, toward her. The light brightened and a form appeared in it.

  A man loomed over her. She couldn’t tell how tall since she lay on the ground, but he towered above her like a giant. He was thickly muscled and golden-skinned, and wore only a furry gray animal pelt across his hips. His wide chest heaved with breath. His hair hung smooth and blond around his face and rested thick on his shoulders.

  His face captivated her—it was masculine and bold, his jaw square, his brow thick. His eyes were intensely blue, not unlike Deacon’s, but more penetrating and darker.

  She slipped off her elbow and fell back on the ground, and stared up at him wide-eyed, the stone clutched in her hand.

  “Who are you?” She couldn’t see the Wolvite behind him, as the light obscured everything.

  “I am Dafydd.” He had a deep and reverberating voice, thick with an accent she couldn’t place. Scottish? Irish? “We are not to harm witches.”

  “Where did you come from?”


  Something hung around his throat, something out of place with the rest of him. A thin silver chain that held a blue sparkling jewel.

  He curled his upper lip to reveal white human teeth. “You reek of Lycan.” He bent down and gripped her arm.

  She expected him to be insubstantial, like a ghost, but his grip was real and hard. He yanked her up swiftly to her feet. She yelped, and stared at him in both wonder and fear. He towered over her, his eyes burning blue fire. He kept her effortlessly on her feet with one hand. His touch warmed her and made her body tingle from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

  “Go.” He spoke close to her face. “Leave this forest, or I may lose control and disobey. We are not to harm witches, even ones who have lain with a Lycan.”

  She dropped her gaze and focused on his necklace. The jewel was a sapphire heart. The necklace looked absurd on him, so fragile and delicate. On impulse, she reached out and grabbed it.

  The chain broke. She stumbled back as he released her from his grip. When he realized she’d taken it with her, he groped at his chest, and growled. The growl of a Wolvite.

  “Jesus.” She scurried back. “You’re a Wolvite!”

  He gnashed his teeth and snarled, a sound no human could possibly make.

  “Lorena!” Marla yelled, a short distance away. “Are you all right? Where are you?”

  Lorena gasped and looked around, then back at him.

  His shoulders flexed, but he didn’t spring. “Go!” he snapped. “Leave this forest, witch.”

  The light flickered. He vanished, like smoke on the air, and became again the hunched, snarling Wolvite. The details around her faded as darkness rushed in. She hurried over to her gun before she could no longer see it and grabbed it up out of the leaves.

  The Wolvite scampered off into the trees.

  The chill of the night rushed in. She became aware of herself again and the fact that she hurt. Her shoulders and back ached from the impact of hitting the forest floor.

  She stood still and stared into the darkness, the flashlight dangling from her wrist. Her gun dangled from her other hand, cold and heavy. The slender silver chain swung between her fingers.

  “Lorena.” Marla approached her. “There you are. Why didn’t you answer me?”

  Lorena was confused. Popping sounds continued in the distance.

  “Let’s get back to the meeting spot,” Marla said. “The others are heading back that way.”

  “Okay.”

  Lorena took a step to follow her, but then a new sensation filled her. A sense of danger, like she’d felt at Deacon’s house. Huge, horrible, and all-consuming.

  The feeling didn’t emanate nearby, but from far away, and reached out to her across the distance, like a scream across the hills.

  She gasped wide-eyed into the dark forest. “Deacon!”

  Chapter 13

  Deacon stood in the kitchen with his cousins. Snarls filled the night outside. Barks. Howls. The windows and doors thumped and rattled as the Wolvites clawed, trying to force their way in. The commotion was surreal, like being trapped inside a horror movie.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Jack stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. The back door shook on the hinges and he swung his gun around and aimed at it.

  “I’d say we’re under attack.” Deacon turned to the kitchen window. Claws scrabbled at the pane, and squeaked against the glass.

  “I’ve never seen this many at once,” Jack said. “Not even when we went into their territory.”

  Deacon hollered into the house. “Zeke! You get anyone on the horn?”

  Zeke had gone to cover the front door.

  “I got Dad on the phone!” he yelled back over the commotion. “They’re gonna round everyone up and get over here quick as they can.”

  Getting their family mobilized would prove a hell of a lot more effective than calling 911. As long as they got there fast enough, that was.

  “Deacon.” Jack grabbed his arm. “Help me push the table up against the door.”

  They dropped their guns and hurried to the kitchen table.

  “Zeke!” Jack yelled. “Push some furniture up against the front door!”

  They pushed the table across the room and up against the rattling door. The scratches and growls seemed to grow louder, like more had joined the attack. The real danger lay in them busting through one of the windows, though. They couldn’t block those with furniture.

  “The garage door too,” Jack said.

  They pushed a desk from the hallway in front of the garage door, though the Wolvites didn’t seem to have breached the garage yet. The outer doors shook and made one hell of a racket.

  “I’m gonna run upstairs.” Jack grabbed his gun. “Make sure none of the bastards are climbing the house.”

  Deacon remained in the kitchen, clutching his gun as the frantic noise filled the air, a deadly storm buffeting the house. His thoughts raced to Lorena, out there in the woods. If they were this mad, this desperate, she could be in terrible danger. His phone was a heavy, silent weight in his pocket.

  Jack thundered back downstairs a few minutes later. The three of them met in the living room.

  “They haven’t climbed the house yet,” Jack said. “But I figure it’s only a matter of time. I pray to God we can hold them off until the Calvary gets here.”

  A distinct cracking sound made them all go silent and stiff. It was the sound of glass splitting, as it started to give way under the assault.

  “Oh shit,” Jack breathed out.

  They rushed to the kitchen. The glass in the window over the sink had cracked down the middle. Outside, claws scrabbled and pounded at it.

  “Goddamn it.” Jack lifted his gun.

  Deacon lifted his too. “Can we kill all of them? Do we even have enough ammo?”

  “If they only come through one at a time.” Zeke stood on the other side of Jack. “Maybe we can slow them down until help gets here.”

  Deacon tried to focus his senses. He had to use his head the way he did out in the woods, trust his instincts, and stay calm. Pick the buggers off one by one, don’t think too far ahead.

  Over the sound of Deacon’s thudding heart in his ears, over the snarling and rattling, another sound rose. A rumble. The sound of an engine.

  “You hear that?” Deacon looked at Jack.

  Before Jack could answer, light flashed through the windows. Headlights. The sound of more engines approached. More lights.

  Zeke lowered his gun. “Ain’t no way that’s Dad and them. It ain’t been ten minutes since I talked to him.”

  Whoever it was, they surrounded the house with vehicles and lights filled the windows. The howling and snarling grew louder, a furious, defensive sound. The scrabbling and rattling decreased, however.

  Deacon’s phone rang in his pocket and made him jump.

  He fumbled it out. The screen was lit up with one word across it: Lorena.

  He answered, breathless. “Are you all right?”

  “Get down,” she said. “Hit the floor!”

  Deacon didn’t react for a moment as he struggled to process the words, then their meaning slapped him in the face. He dropped the phone and grabbed Jack’s arm. “Down! Now!”

  The three of them fell to the tile. Gunfire erupted. The growling and barking turned to yelps and squeals. The dull thunk of bullets peppered the house like a hailstorm. The window above the sink shattered and rained glass on them. Deacon jerked his arms over his head.

  “Fuck,” Jack growled against the floor. “Insurance ain’t gonna cover this!”

  They stayed flat as the gunfire gradually slowed, as the yelping grew less. Another window shattered in the living room and Jack snarled again. A bullet pinged off something in the dining room.

  After what seemed like ages, everything ceased. The commotion fell off until only the rumble of engines and muffled shouting voices remained.

  Deacon took his arms off his head and looked around. J
ack and Zeke lifted their heads as well. Deacon’s phone lay on the floor nearby and he grabbed it. He turned the screen on, but the call had disconnected.

  “Hello in there!” a male voice called. “If you can hear me, it’s safe to come out.”

  Deacon and Jack stared at each other dumbly for a moment, then they all got to their feet. They had to move carefully, shaking shards of glass off their clothes.

  “Jesus Christ.” Jack groaned. The kitchen looked like a war zone.

  They pulled the table away from the back door. Warily, they all made their way out onto the deck.

  Trucks and Jeeps ringed the house. The soldiers from the agency filled the yard. Headlights and spotlights were aimed at the house, bathing it and everything around it in light. Everywhere lay twitching, bleeding Wolvites, including scattered across the deck. They lay in the yard and against the house, in a pattern that suggested they tried to run when they were set on but didn’t get far. Their stench, mixed with the reek of blood and gore, made Deacon’s nostrils burn. He brought his arm up across his nose and his eyes watered.

  Jack looked up at the house and hissed through his teeth.

  The siding was pocked with bullet holes and splashed with blood. Blood soaked the grass and pooled in thick puddles on the deck. The deck railings were splintered and the back door was a mess of deep, ragged claw marks and more blood.

  “God.” Jack gripped his hair in his fists. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “You guys all right?” A man holding a shotgun peered up at them through the damaged deck railing. “Anyone else in there?”

  “We’re okay,” Deacon said. “Thanks to you guys. But how the hell did you know that—”

  Someone shrieked, and a figure pushed through the group of soldiers and ran toward the house.

  “Deacon!” Lorena screamed.

  Deacon darted across the deck, jumping over several Wolvite carcasses. He met her in the yard and she flung herself against him. He gathered her up in his arms.