Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology

by Kristine Cayne

  Her terrified gaze locked on his face and her heart thundered wildly in her chest as he rolled to his feet. She ignored the nearly overwhelming desire to escape; she couldn’t leave him, not now. Placing the eye on a small rock cropping, she searched her mind for a viable distraction, something that would give her enough time to call for the wind to carry the stone to its final resting place.

  He strode furiously toward her, his long legs eating up the short distance. “Give it to me.”

  Frenzied, she swept her hand over the ground before her and murmured an incantation. The moment his foot touched the patch of grass that ran along the side of the path, he sank into ankle-deep sand. He jumped back and his eyes blazed before he scanned the area, looking for another way to reach her. “You can’t escape, Cindi. Give me the eye.”

  “I can’t. I won’t.” Her voiced quaked, tears burning her eyes. “If I destroy her, you’ll have your life back.”

  “My life isn’t worth a damn without her.” He paced along the line drawn by the quicksand, his eyes taking on a desperate cast. On the brink of madness, he appeared ready to drop off the precipice at any given second.

  Her heart ached at the realization that it was her fault. She had been foolish to think she could go up against a powerful goddess whose seductive influences transcended death. “This isn’t you, Marc. Remember who you are. Remember your grandfather, and Zan, and your mom. If she’s telepathic, she’ll sense you’re in trouble. Concentrate on your mother. Let her know you’re okay.”

  He sneered at her lame attempts to placate him. “Either you give it to me, or I’ll kill you.”

  “Please Marc, you have to fight it. You have to fight her.” She reached into her pocket for the fairy dust. If a tiny flake of the creature’s magic were sufficient to concoct a lethal potion, then a bag of it should be potent enough to either enchant him out of his madness, or kill him.

  “I warned you.” With a running leap, he jumped over the patch of quicksand. Eyes glistening coldly, he whipped out the gun from his waistband and lunged at her.

  She twisted, barely avoiding his raised fist. The ground under his foot crumbled and he staggered. His confused stare met hers. In that instant, she saw his caramel eyes breaking though the steel before he fell backward.

  “No,” she yelled, extending her hand in a feeble attempt to catch him before he tumbled into nothingness.

  Suddenly, the world around her froze. Marc hung in mid-air.

  Had it been her? Had she frozen him? She recognized the answer even before she heard Blain’s voice or felt her body stiffen as if she were being encased in clay. She dug her nails into the plastic bag and felt the tiny flakes escaping, the magic negating the effects of the spell.

  “Well, well, well. How is this for irony?” Blain stepped out of bushes, his black suit darker than the night sky. Careful not to move, she pretended to be immobilized. “I believe you possess something of mine,” he said, coming forward to pluck the stone from the ground where she’d placed it. Instinctively she shifted her gaze. He caught her looking at him and grinned.

  “You are getting strong, but you’re still too weak to stop me, Lucinda. You were handpicked for that very reason. Your sister witch counted on you to fail and as a reward, she will merge with Lilith,” Blain said, indicating the figure standing behind him on the edge of Cindi’s vision. She couldn’t see the traitor’s face, but something about her stance seemed familiar. “She had no problem stopping time for your friend. But if it weren’t for your stubbornness, he wouldn’t have to die. Pity, he was ever so useful.” He held up the stone with reverence. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed it lovingly. “The other witch isn’t as pretty as you. It’s the eyes, of course. Yours are the same color as Lilith’s, blue like the sea.”

  Cindi wished she could speak and perhaps tempt him into giving something away about the traitor Speaker.

  Blain leaned closer and his finger swept her cheek. “It’s not too late for you. Say the word—oh damn, speaking is beyond you, is it not? Then I guess you will have to live with his death on your hands. You have two minutes to pray for his peace. I doubt either of your gods will act on your plea, pagan or pure. I never understood why humans prefer the deity willing to let you die to the one promising eternal life. But there you have it.”

  Cindi mentally gave him a hundred reasons why.

  Blain smirked. “Of course, I could take pity on you. Winning easily is boring, but giving you a fighting chance might be construed as benevolent and I’m afraid I can’t suffer the insult.”

  Much to her horror, he brushed his moist mouth across hers. “See you in hell, little witch.”

  Midnight black wings unfurled from his back and his feet left the ground. Floating in the air, he lazily drifted off, his booming laughter echoing across the abyss. He swooped down and encircled the witch’s waist, drawing her up to his side. They hovered, no doubt waiting for the spell to end.

  Heart pounding, Cindi gauged the distance between her and Marc. With Blain still watching, she couldn’t move, but she could conjure a spell. Putting all of her concentration into it, she called upon the power of the wind. At first, it seemed useless, and then a faint breeze feathered her face followed by a gust that ruffled her shirt. Channeling her energy into the spell, she willed the wind to sweep up from the ocean. She heard the telltale whistling first. In a burst of energy fueled by the fairy dust, she raised her hands. “Winds of time hear my plea, rise.” A hurricane force wind responded to her request and swept around Blain. His body jerked as he tried to fight the momentum before he became trapped by the airstream and was carried helplessly toward the coast.

  Suddenly, the weight lifted from her lower limbs. The time spell had worn off. Her gaze flew to Marc. Wide-eyed, he stared at her for a petrifying instant before he tumbled over the cliff.

  One minute Marc recalled seducing Cindi and the next he was falling into oblivion. It had happened. He’d gone mad and now he was dying. His stomach dropped, his eyes closing as he waited for the inevitable pain. A familiar, loud rush of sound reached his ears. The powerful wind tossed him out of the crater and onto the hard packed dirt.

  The wind died.

  “Marc,” Cindi rasped, rushing to his side. “Marc, are you all right? Are you hurt?” Blue eyes wet with tears met his. “Who am I? What’s my name?”

  “Cindi, I’m fine.” Images rushed through his mind. A vision of him kissing her desperately, her struggling against him, his fist raised to strike her. Horrified, he allowed his gaze to scan her body, taking in the bloody knees, and scratched hands. “I hurt you.”

  “You didn’t mean to hurt me. You weren’t in your right mind.”

  “It’s no excuse.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. It came back smeared with blood. “I hurt you.”

  “I kicked you in the face and broke your nose.” Her eyes glowed soft and apologetic. “We both did things we regret.”

  Like kissing me back? He wanted to ask, but stopped himself. This time the voice inside his head belonged to him alone. “Why am I not crazy anymore?”

  “Who said you weren’t?”

  Marc whipped around at the familiar voice. Zan stumbled out of the darkness.

  “I have no idea what broke the curse,” Cindi said, sighing. “I’m just glad you aren’t dead.”

  “I feel as if I am.” Marc stood and held out his hand to Cindi. She hesitated for a telling moment and he recognized with a wrench in his gut that she feared him. He stared at her bowed head, her gaze not quite meeting his. He couldn’t fault her. He had never been violent toward a woman, yet he had ached to consume her until she had thwarted his attentions. Even worse, he’d experienced a burning desire to kill her when she had refused to give him the eye.

  Ashamed, he started to pull back when she raised her head and placed her fingers tentatively in his palm. He stared down at her eyes shadowed by the dying light. Her grip tightened in silent reassurance.

  “That guy just flew away,” Zan murmured,
his expression awestruck.

  “Blain. I’m afraid he stole the eye, and he has a willing witch to merge Lilith with,” she said. “Once she’s resurrected, she’ll be close to unstoppable.”

  Marc shook his head, guilt and recrimination over his actions giving him added incentive. “She’s not back yet. If we can get to him before the spell is cast, maybe we can still destroy it.”

  She turned to him, chin raised in determination. “This isn’t your fight. My employers will retrieve the eye. Go home and forget about this nightmare.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I fell for Blain’s trap and now Lilith is a threat because of it. If I have the ability to resurrect the stone, reason says I should be able to destroy it. You need me whether you want to or not.” And I need to stay with you, to make amends for what happened.

  “It’ll be too dangerous. I can’t let you,” she argued.

  He scanned her features in the dim light. “Either you let me come with you, or I’ll dog your every step. It’s your choice.”

  She sighed, lips curving into an exasperated smile. “It’s not much of a choice. Either way I’m stuck with you.”

  “Aren’t you the lucky one?” he teased.

  Dropping their still linked hands to his side, he threaded his fingers through hers. As they descended the darkened path to the car below, he felt relief mixed with unease. He no longer lived under the threat of the curse but he was far from free of its effects. Not only did he have a score to settle with Blain, but if the fairy had told the truth, a different source of trouble awaited them. Tomorrow he would look for answers. Tonight he would settle for a hot shower and a comfortable bed.

  Epilogue

  The faint light of dawn peeked through the closed curtains of the shabby room. Cindi stood between Marc’s outstretched legs, gauze in hand. With her thumb, she tilted his chin up to the dull lamplight and eyed the deep bruises that spread across the bridge of his broken nose. She had caused that damage. Guilt and self-recrimination hit as she swiped the antiseptic swab over a deep cut on his cheek. “I hope Zan is all right.”

  Given the fairy’s warning, she and Marc deemed it wise not to return to the university. Zan had insisted on staying with them. After delivering them to the hostel and charming the female owner into providing a mismatch of clean clothes, Zan ventured out to buy some food and supplies. During his absence, she and Marc took advantage of the facilities for a much-needed shower. The water had washed away the filth from her harrowing adventure, but it couldn’t cleanse the emotional turmoil of the past twenty hours.

  “He should be fine. It’s me I’m worried about. That hurts.” He shifted on the desk chair and his caramel eyes flashed up at her in protest. “But then what part of me doesn’t?”

  “Stop being such a baby,” she ordered, attempting to keep her attention on task and not on the enticing smell of him, a mixture of soap and the butterscotch candy he’d absconded from her backpack.

  “Your bedside manner sucks,” he complained.

  “Man up,” she retorted with an exasperated laugh. “I’m not your mama. I’m not about to kiss it and make it better.” Although it was an intriguing idea.

  His deep chuckle greeted her ribbing and he surprised her by tightening his thighs around her legs, drawing her forward. She lost her balance and fell against him, her hand on his chest. Her eyes met his and it seemed natural to curl into his lap and kiss his smiling mouth.

  Their lips melded together, the pressure both sweet and painful given the abuse her lips had suffered during his earlier attack. She pushed the excruciating memory back and concentrated on replacing it with this much more pleasant experience.

  A short rap at the door proceeded the turn of the lock. The deadbolt opened with a soft click. Marc tensed beneath her at the sound, and she made to push to her feet in alarm when Zan spoke. “Sorry, it appears you’re in the middle of something. I’d offer to leave, but I’m not that nice,” he said with an amused drawl. “Besides, you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

  Discomfited heat flooded her cheeks and she attempted to withdraw from Marc’s grip. He tightened his hand on her hip, encouraging her to remain where she was. She considered ignoring his silent request, but she liked the feel of his embrace and relaxed against his strength.

  She watched Zan pull out a folded map. “Did you sense something?”

  He moved Marc’s wallet and phone aside and laid the map on the desk next to where she and Marc reclined. She assumed by his relaxed manner, he wasn’t expecting any immediate threat.

  Marc eyed the map of the United States. “What do you plan on doing with that?”

  “It’s called a map. It’s what people use to guide them to places,” Zan said, running his finger along the southwest border. “I walked by it in the store and it…” He trailed off, a telling flush heightening his cheeks.

  “It spoke to you,” Cindi guessed.

  He nodded but never took his attention off the paper. “It’s a bit outdated but it’ll do, I suppose.”

  “That’s because nobody uses them anymore.” Marc offered his phone to Zan. “Most normal people have a GPS. Try this, you might have better luck.”

  “Joke’s on you.” Zan held up the cellphone and pointed at the icon in the corner that read ‘searching.’ “Maps don’t need reception to work, asshole.”

  Cindi laughed at the good-natured taunt. For the first time since this ordeal began, she felt content and snuggled deeper into Marc’s lap.

  “So what exactly did this map tell you?” Marc asked.

  Zan rolled his eyes at the question. “To buy it, idiot.”

  “I’m the idiot? You’re the one who talks to inanimate objects,” Marc shot back.

  “Children, do I have to separate you?” Cindi chastised but the laughter in her voice ruined the effect.

  “I definitely think Zan needs to go to his room and think about his mistakes.” Marc said, his lips brushing Cindi’s temple, warm and inviting. Suddenly she wished the same thing. When Zan left, they would be alone. The thought sent an infusion of heat into her veins, warming her body and her imagination.

  “Gotcha,” Zan exclaimed and tapped the map. “He’s here, or will be.”

  “I thought you weren’t psychic. How do you know he’s there? And for that matter, where is there?”

  “There is somewhere Blaine mentioned to Cindi right after he kissed her.”

  Marc’s thumb stopped teasing the skin on her inner wrist. “Blaine kissed you?”

  She flashed him an exasperated look. “Like I wanted him to, yuck. Besides, he said he’d see me in hell–a place I don’t plan on visiting soon, if ever, thank you very much.”

  “He didn’t mean that hell, he meant this one. Hell, Arizona.”

  Marc frowned. “Why would Blaine go to Arizona?”

  The answer occurred to her immediately and her stomach sank.

  “I suppose a ghost town in Arizona is as good a place as any to hide,” Zan said.

  “Then he has to be traveling there to finish the spell,” Marc guessed.

  Cindi nodded. “The town is enchanted. To the naked eye, it appears like a ghost town, but behind the old facade exists some intense magic. I don’t think he’s going there strictly to hide. It’s too much of a coincidence that his destination is in the backyard of one of America’s prominent families whose estate is nearby. You might have heard of the most famous member, Eric Fremont.”

  The silence in the room that followed her words was deafening. Marc broke the tension with a ragged sigh. “Son of a bitch. You think he intends to sic Lilith on the president of the United States?”

  “Not if we can stop him first. We have to get a flight out of here ASAP.” Cindi placed her feet on the ground and stood. A wave of exhaustion hit her and she gripped Marc’s arm to steady herself.

  Zan waved her back and said in a stern voice, “I’ll go find a phone and make reservations. In the meantime, you’d better get some rest–and yes, I said res
t, not sex—” he winked.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Marc ordered.

  The moment Zan left, Marc scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. “He’s right, we need to have sex.”

  She punched him in the shoulder. “I think we should take his advice and get some sleep while we can.”

  He laid her down on the lumpy mattress before climbing into the narrow cot beside her. She rolled onto her side as he curled behind her, his body warm and solid.

  “Do you really think he’s after the president?” he asked.

  “Blaine is power hungry, and the president is the most powerful man in the world. It makes sense.”

  “Given what happened to me in just a couple of hours, I can’t image what kind of havoc Lilith’s enchantment could play on his actions. I knew about the threat ahead of time and thought I was prepared. We both know how that turned out. I let her take over my mind. Clearly a TSTL moment on my part,” he said, voice grave and tinged with shame.

  She turned over and glided her hand across the scruff of his jaw. “Lilith’s dark magic has killed hundreds of men over the years; strong men. You survived and that’s all that matters.”

  He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “The President will have no clue unless we warn him. But given who he is, how are we ever going to accomplish that? It’s not as if you can call him on the phone or approach him on the street. And even if it were possible, we’d have to convince him that some supernatural femme fatale is coming for him–oh, and we don’t know what she looks like other than she vaguely looks like you except for the eye color. That’ll go over well. We’d be locked up good and tight while the world went to hell in a hand basket.”

  Everything he said was true, but the Speakers had far-reaching arms. As much as it pained her to admit it, she needed one person in particular to assist her. “I’m not without contacts. My father can get us an audience.”

  “Your dad knows the president?” he asked, incredulous.