Outcast (Moonlight Wolves Book 4)

by Jasmine B. Waters

  The cops never came back for me. They came back a few times during the night with kids – probably for violating curfew – but no one talked. No one even whispered.

  And just like last time, there was no offer of food, water, or a toilet.

  I closed my eyes and thought about David, thought about Monica. In my panic when I’d heard the knock on the door, I’d dropped my phone without sending a text. ‘Stupid,’ I thought. ‘I should’ve texted Monica and told her what was happening. She’s probably not even here. She’s probably in the woods, with her stupid fucking coven.’

  I felt bleak and helpless. If someone had been listening to my phone call with David, it had taken practically no time for them to arrive at my front door and arrest me. It was chilling to realize that my hometown had become a police state overnight. And what was with the talk about the decree?

  Suddenly, I remembered that night at the church when Andrea had begun railing against witches. I shivered.

  Just then, the door swung open. A cop glanced down at his clipboard.

  “Elizabeth Hartsell?”

  I scrambled to my feet, wincing at the pain in my arms. “Yeah?”

  “Come with me.”

  My heart was thudding nervously as I followed the cop out to the hall. Just before we turned the corner, he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. I heard the click of metal against metal, and suddenly, my hands were free. They were numb and purple, and I rubbed them until tears came to my eyes.

  Monica was waiting in the lobby, looking oddly distant. “Come on,” she said.

  Wordlessly, I followed her. It was early morning. Birds were singing, and the sun was making a valiant effort to appear from behind a gray cover of clouds.

  Monica handed me a jacket. “It’s probably too big,” she said. “I borrowed it from Brian. I thought my stuff would be too small.”

  I pulled it on, wrapping it around myself. It smelled comforting, like wood smoke. Monica turned and started walking away from town, away from my house.

  “Where are we going?”

  Monica didn’t reply. She set a fast pace, and I had to jog to keep up with her. I felt weak and hungry and tired, but I could feel adrenaline pumping through my veins as Monica walked on. Finally, I realized we were going to her house.

  “Monica, I wanna go home,” I said, yawning. “I’m starving and tired.”

  “I know.”

  “So, I’m gonna go,” I said. “I’ll come over later, okay?”

  Monica shook her head. “No,” she said. “Come with me.”

  I felt my legs start to move again, and I looked down in horror to see that I was still following her. Fear settled in my chest, and I tried to breathe deeply, but I couldn’t quell the rising sense of panic.

  When we were almost to Monica’s house, she turned and led me into the woods. My feet were soaking wet and freezing – I’d left my house for the police station in a pair of slippers – but Monica didn’t slow down. She led me deeper and deeper into the woods.

  After about twenty minutes, Monica turned to me.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you still want to join the coven?”

  I nodded. My teeth were chattering. “Yes,” I squeaked. “Yes.”

  Monica closed her eyes and lifted her arms into the air. Suddenly, everything went black. I screamed as my body started to fall through space, my limbs thrashing and waving.

  “Elizabeth…” Someone in the distance was calling my name.

  I tried to squint, but I couldn’t see anything other than an inky sea of black. I was slowing down, and soon I was just floating, like I was in the middle of the ocean.

  “Elizabeth…Sleep now, Elizabeth.”

  It was the last thing I heard before passing out.

  THE END

  Book 4: The Betrayal

  Prologue

  Elizabeth—Present Day

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I lay there in bed, listening to the rhythmic sounds of Steven’s snores, and wondered what I was doing wrong.

  For so many years, I’d tried to act like I’d been okay.

  But I didn’t think I would be able to keep up that pretense any longer.

  “Steven?” I prodded Steven in the shoulder. “Are you awake?”

  Steven grunted, then rolled back over.

  I rolled onto my side, tucked a pillow over my face, pulling the covers up to my neck, and closed my eyes. Yeah, I thought. I’ll be able to sleep—just a little bit. That’s better than nothing.

  The night was eerily quiet. It was cold for spring—almost too cold to be outdoors—but we had our bedroom window cracked open, chilled air filtering in and freezing my nose and fingertips.

  My mind raced with thoughts. I’d always been like this—intense, as my mother to call it—but in the past week or so, everything had gotten worse. I could barely be alone with Steven without wanting to tear my hair out. Since the party, things had cooled between us. I wondered if I was just getting cold feet—maybe that was normal. After all, I had no idea what it was like to be married. None of my friends were married… not that I had many friends besides Steven and Karen nowadays.

  Not to mention that I couldn’t stop thinking about David.

  I lay there for probably two hours, tossing and turning and thrashing around. I hate to admit it because I know how bitchy it sounds, but part of me almost hoped that Steven would wake. Since the party, there had been a thick tension between us that I was loath to confront… but even I realized that at some point, soon, things would explode.

  By the time the sky was streaked pink and orange with the coming of dawn, I knew that sleep would elude me for the rest of the night. I wistfully thought back to the months before, where I could just lie in bed all day, close my eyes, and pretend like I was falling asleep. But I hadn’t felt a calm like that in a very, very long time.

  Sighing, I crawled out of bed, trying not to wake Steven. He made a murmuring sound, then flopped over and rolled into the space formerly occupied by my body. I frowned as I reached for my robe from the floor and wrapped it around my body. The fabric was cold, and I shivered, almost tempted to climb back into bed. Then Steven started to snore and I rolled my eyes, turning on my heel and padding out of our room.

  The old wooden floor creaked under my feet as I crept down the hall. Passing Karen’s room, I heard the light sound of her snores. I walked down the hall and stopped at the end, kneeling in front of a closet and turning on the harsh, yellow light.

  I groaned. This closet was filled with everything from my Mom’s house, everything I’d taken when I’d moved out after college. Grimy cardboard boxes were covered with a layer of dust as thick as my hand. Covering my mouth and nose with a flap of my robe, I coughed until pain spread through my chest and my eyes were damp.

  “Christ,” I muttered under my breath as I reached into the closet and pulled the boxes out into the hall. Soon, I was surrounded by towers and stacks of cardboard. It was ridiculous—there seemed to be twice as many boxes as I remembered.

  It took a long time for me to find the boxes with my high school stuff. As I rifled through old papers and things my mom had saved for God knows what reason, a powerful wave of nostalgia passed over me. It didn’t seem like very much time had passed—but digging through my memories, I realized that seven years was a surprisingly long time.

  Finally, I found the box I was looking for. My heartbeat slowed to a dull thud in my chest and my stomach twisted nervously as I removed the lid and picked my way through the contents. I swallowed a newly formed lump in my throat as I dug through the books.

  When my fingers brushed against the ancient leather cover, a shiver ran down my spine. As quickly as I could, I crawled to my feet and tucked the book under my arm. I walked into the laundry room and pulled on a pair of jeans under my robe, knotting my hair at the nape of my neck.

  No matter how many times I tried to call the past to mind, it wouldn’t come. Whe
never I tried to think about that time of my life, seven years ago, it was like my brain disappeared into a sea of mist. I could barely even make out the features of Monica’s face. Before she’d finally disappeared for good, we’d spent almost every day together.

  Now it was like we’d barely known each other at all. I struggled with the most trivial information—her last name, the house where she’d lived with her weirdo hippie parents—anything that had once been as clear as day in my mind was now gone.

  As I walked out into the chilly dawn air, I clutched the book in my hand. It was early in the spring, but I knew I could still probably find what I was looking for. The neighbor had an herb garden, and while I didn’t normally borrow from it, I figured he wouldn’t even notice.

  Squatting down, I scooped up a few dying sprigs of lavender and sage, tucking them into the pocket of my robe. The ground had begun to thaw and my feet slipped messily over the wet surface until I very nearly lost my balance. But by the time I walked into the woods, I’d regained my balance.

  Being out in the air was soothing—almost as much as hiding in bed, pretending to be asleep. And now that I was away from Steven, I felt infinitely less annoyed with him. Maybe it really is just cold feet, I thought, glancing down at the huge ring on my finger. Maybe everything is going to be fine. Still, a part of me didn’t feel like going back, not just yet.

  The sight of new, green buds on the tree branches made me smile as I pushed my way through the dense mass of trees. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of walking, I stumbled into a small clearing. The last time I’d been here, it had been the middle of summer. The ground had been covered with a lush, emerald carpet of grass and the sun had been shining down through the trees.

  But now, everything looked cold and dead. I dropped to my knees and pulled a lighter from my pocket, scooping together small twigs and dead leaves until I had a nice little blaze going. With my knife, I cut the herbs into bits and sprinkled them over the flames. Soon, the air was filled with a herbaceous, aromatic scent that somehow made me think of David.

  My eyes watered with smoke but I forced myself to keep them open as I sat down, crossed my legs, and opened the thick book on my lap. Immediately, I found the page I sought. The drawing of Monica, looking blonde and serene, surrounded by her coven.

  A chill ran down my spine. A sharp memory of being with David, looking for Monica, blasted into my head and I cried out. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a small knife that I’d borrowed from the kitchen. I gritted my teeth and sliced my palm open, squeezing the folds of the cut together with my other hand until blood dripped onto the fire.

  Suddenly, everything went black and I felt myself slipping away from consciousness.

  When I woke, I slowly rubbed my eyes. Around me, everything had turned a brilliant shade of green. Lush trees blew back and forth in the breeze. Looking down, I saw that my palm was still bleeding.

  Henrik, Ligeia, and the rest of the coven stood all around me. Ligeia’s hands covered her mouth, but her blue eyes didn’t hide the intense shock on her wrinkled face. Henrik slowly shook his head.

  “Elizabeth,” Henrik spoke after a long moment. “We… we weren’t expecting you.”

  “I know.” Getting to my feet, I brushed my muddy, bleeding hands off on my robe.

  “Tis Beltane soon,” Henrik said. “Were you thinking to join us for the festivities?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” I said. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  Nearby, the leather-bound book lay in the wet grass.

  “How may I help you?” Ligeia stepped forward and pulled me into a brief hug. I wrapped my arms around her shriveled form, holding her close.

  “I think you know why I’m here,” I said uncertainly. The pages of the book flapped open in the wind, settling on the image of Monica and the coven.

  Henrik and Ligeia exchanged a long look.

  “Child, don’t make me attempt to read your mind,” Henrik said.

  “I need to know what happened to Monica,” I said finally.

  The silence following my request was deafening. The wind slowed—even the birds in the trees ceased chirping and singing.

  “Child…”

  “Tell me,” I said. Tears welled up in my eyes and I balled my hands into impatient fists. “I need to know,” I added hotly. “Things are falling apart and I can’t stand it anymore.”

  Henrik and Ligeia stared at each other.

  “Come on,” I groaned. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me beg,” I added sharply. “I helped you! I risked my life for you! And you won’t even tell me what happened to my best friend?”

  “It isn’t so simple as that, child,” Henrik said slowly.

  “And stop calling me a child!” I yelled. I knew that I was losing my temper—never acceptable behavior in front of my superiors—but I couldn’t help it. “I’m not a child! I’m twenty-two fucking years old!”

  “Child…” Ligeia came forward and offered me a mug of something hot and steaming. “Drink this. Calm down, then we’ll talk about Monica.”

  I stared at her with a mixture of contempt and disbelief.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked quietly. “What’s the big fucking secret, huh?”

  Ligeia cringed.

  “I’d do anything to have Monica back,” I begged, dissolving into tears. I dropped Ligeia’s earthenware mug onto the ground and it shattered, spilling hot mead over my bare feet. I didn’t care—the pain only seemed to dull the emotional agony in my heart. “Please,” I added. “I need her. Everything is falling apart, and I can’t deal with it on my own.”

  Ligeia stared at me, her blue eyes flashing. “Anything?” she asked solemnly. “Because if that is your wish, there is no going back.”

  Suddenly, I felt nervous. Nervous and scared in a way that I hadn’t really felt since the town of Jaffrey had turned into hunting grounds for witches. Anxiety ran through my veins, chilling me to the bone.

  “Tell me, Elizabeth,” Ligeia said softly. “Would you truly do anything for your best friend?”

  I shivered and nodded. “Yes,” I said after a long pause. “I swear. I would. I will,” I added quickly.

  Ligeia waved her arm and one of the witches walked over to her, dipping into a low bow.

  “Build a fire, child,” Ligeia said. She stared at me. “We’ve got a long matter to discuss.”

  I waited anxiously as the young witch built a fire. She trembled in fear—I wondered how long she’d been with the coven—but in a matter of moments, a strong fire blazed. Ligeia walked around it, murmuring under her breath.

  An apparition of a girl—Andrea D’Amico—flickered above the fire. Andrea stared at her, the flames blazing behind her eyes. It looked so eerily, so uncannily like her that I shuddered with fear.

  “What’s going on?” My mouth went dry as Andrea’s form taunted and swayed. “She died, years ago!”

  Henrik threw his head back and laughed. The harsh, rough sound caught me off guard and I stared at him, blinking in confusion.

  “What the hell?” I demanded angrily. “What have you done?”

  “You’ll never be as smart as you should be,” Henrik said angrily. He laughed again, but this time it was quite obvious that the sound was as bitter as wormwood.

  I narrowed my eyes. “And what does my intelligence have anything to do with this? Tell me,” I demanded angrily.

  Above the fire, Andrea’s form flickered and hovered. She yawned, keeping her eyes locked on me the whole time.

  “Andrea didn’t die, you little fool,” Henrik said sharply. “Monica imprisoned Andrea’s soul, as a means of keeping her under control.”

  My heart skipped a beat, thudding against the walls of my chest. I felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

  “You’re kidding,” I said softly.

  Henrik narrowed his eyes. “No,” he replied calmly. “The only way Monica could accomplish this task was to seal herself away from the rest of the world. Elizabeth
, your friend made a choice.”

  “For me.”

  “Yes. For you. Because she was, ultimately, not a selfish person.”

  Tears came to my eyes and I tilted my head towards the sky, blinking them away. It seemed absurd to me that the day could be so beautiful when I hurt so deeply inside. Even though I knew it was all magicked together by Henrik and Ligeia, it seemed especially cruel to perpetuate such beauty when I felt so low.

  “I want her back,” I said softly. “Why would she have done something like that?”

  Ligeia raised a wizened eyebrow. “Child, you cannot be serious,” she said. “You must know.”

  I didn’t reply.

  Henrik sighed harshly. “She did it for you, Elizabeth. She did it so you could have a chance of happiness.”

  “With Steven?” A tear rolled down my cheek.

  “Yes, child.”

  “Please let me go back home,” I whispered, burying my face in my hands. The other witches stared at me, their expressions murky and difficult to read.

  “Coward.”

  Henrik’s insult stung, but it wasn’t necessarily unexpected. I glanced up, my face dripping with tears.

  “You don’t even want to stay?” Ligeia glared at me critically. “You said you’d do anything, remember?”

  “There are some things I have to do,” I said softly. “I can’t stay here, not now.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Not from me,” I said sharply. “I swear, I’ll return to the coven… and I’ll complete… I don’t know, whatever it is that you want me to do! But right now, I can’t. I have to go home. I have to make things right first.”

  “If you want to make things right, you’ll stay here,” Henrik thundered angrily. “You can’t run away because we didn’t give you the answer you wanted to hear!”

  I glared at him. “I don’t care,” I said. I got to my feet and wiped my palms on my robe. The hem of my jeans was soaked with wet, cold mud and I felt nauseous. All I wanted was to be back home, in my own bed.

  “You’re still a child,” Henrik snapped. “You really think everything is about you, don’t you?”