3 Minutes to Midnight: Urban Fantasy Midnight Trilogy Book 1

by L. M Hatchell

  As carefully as he could manage, he bent the iron further, gritting his teeth at the creaking of metal. He was still for a moment as he waited to see if the noise drew any attention. When there was no sign of movement, he squeezed through the tight opening, staying low to the ground.

  The warehouse was large and open-plan with metal racks surrounding the perimeter. Old boxes covered in green mould lay discarded on the shelves. The hole he’d squeezed through was behind one of the many shelving racks and, for the moment at least, he was out of sight in the dark shadows.

  Without the walls to act as a buffer, the air had grown even murkier with dark magic. Ethan shook his head in an attempt to clear the fuzziness and surveyed the scene around him. He could hear the low chanting of the witches not far from where he stood, but the boxes that kept him from sight also kept them from his. The space along the wall to his left was empty save for a few packages that had fallen over. But to his right was a sight that both eased and sky-rocketed his worry in equal measures: Annabelle, crouched in the corner, hidden by shadows. Visibly trembling, but very much alive.

  The relief in her eyes when she looked up and saw him made his gut twist.

  We’re not out of this yet, kid.

  Crouching low, he made his way to her side and held her close when she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Annabelle quickly pulled herself together, wiping the back of her sleeve across her running nose, and in hushed tones she filled him in on the scene before them.

  Through a break in the shelving he could see a young girl, no older than Annabelle. She was crouched on the floor in a white nightdress, tears streaming down her face as she begged and pleaded. The circle of seven witches surrounding her paid no heed as they continued their chanting.

  “Okay, Annabelle, I need you to very quietly start moving back the way you came in.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, urging her to look at him. “We need to get you out of here. Now.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “I can’t leave Izzie. They’re going to kill her because of what she told me.” Her voice broke on the last words.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to your friend, kid. I just need you safe first, okay?”

  She hesitated long enough to make him worry he’d have to carry her out, but finally, she nodded. With one more glance towards her friend, she edged slowly towards safety.

  She made it less than ten feet from him when the chanting began to pick up pace. Ethan’s adrenaline surged as he felt his wolf aching to break free. The magic around them was like static shocks prickling at his nerves and he struggled to maintain control.

  In the centre of the warehouse, a circle of thick, inky-black candles flared to life, casting an eerie glow on the young girl huddled at their centre. The witches surrounded her, heads thrown back, hands clasped together. Their chanting began to reach a crescendo and one of the witches stepped free of the circle, holding a large ceremonial dagger in her hand. The razor-sharp edge of silver glinted in the candlelight.

  Annabelle’s forward momentum halted and she turned to peer through a gap in the shelving with a look of horror on her face. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Before Ethan could do anything, Annabelle instinctively reached out a hand towards her friend, knocking boxes to the ground in the process.

  The chanting ceased abruptly and the witches turned as one in her direction.

  Realising their time had run out, Ethan’s movement became a blur and he pushed over the metal shelving as he hurled himself towards the witches. Their circle broke apart with shrieks of surprise, but Ethan found himself rebounding off an invisible barrier before he could reach them or their young sacrifice.

  Stunned, he was only vaguely aware of Annabelle screaming his name. He turned just in time to see the head witch lunge for him. The ceremonial dagger was still in her hand, and her face was contorted in rage. Ethan flung himself to the side, the downward swipe of the blade only just missing him.

  As he blocked her next lunge, he allowed his claws to extend and swiped the razor edge cleanly across her throat.

  With their leader fallen, a number of the witches fled. The ones that remained took up their chanting again and their words caused the hair on his arms to stand on end.

  “Annabelle, a little help here,” he called, trying again in vain to reach the girl held within the circle of candles.

  “Working on it,” she replied, her voice strained. A second later the flames of the black candles flickered out and the chanting came to a sudden halt.

  Ethan kicked the candles clear and a whoosh of air passed him as the spell lifted. The girl, however, remained sobbing on the floor.

  Dammit, why can’t people ever help out when they’re being saved.

  Just as he reached for the girl, he heard Annabelle yelp behind him. He turned in time to see her flung through the air into a pile of boxes on the floor. One of the remaining witches stalked towards her, the ceremonial dagger now clutched firmly in her hand, having obviously been confiscated from the dead witch.

  With a growl rumbling deep in his throat, Ethan leapt at the witch and knocked her clear of Annabelle. Caught off-guard, the witch scrambled for the dagger, but a swift elbow to the jaw stopped her short.

  He kicked the dagger well out of reach, but before he could finish her off, a low mumbled chant sounded behind him. The air became leaden as a tangible weight crushed him into the ground.

  Using all of his strength, Ethan pushed to standing and searched the warehouse for the source of magic. He found the one remaining witch standing in the shadows with her head thrown back and palms spread wide. Melodic words tumbled from her mouth.

  Each step he took towards her almost brought him to his knees. His limbs crumbled under the onslaught of the invisible weight, but he forced himself to move. One limb at a time.

  The closer he got to her, the faster the words came. The more each bone in his body felt like it was being crushed. His wolf raged against the attack, giving him a surge of adrenaline that pushed him the final steps. Sweat slid down his forehead as he wrapped his large clawed hand around her throat and squeezed.

  With a choke, her words cut off. The weight in the room lifted so suddenly Ethan nearly fell to the floor with relief.

  His wolf clawed at its mental restraints, eager to finish the witch off. But just as he prepared to end her worthless life, the air around him crackled with electricity. He turned with the witch in his grasp only to find himself blinded by a fierce blue light that momentarily scrambled his senses.

  “Noooo –” Annabelle launched herself in front of him. Her scream abruptly cut off as that same blue light sent a jolt of electricity through her.

  In shock, Ethan watched her fall to the ground, her body spasming as the currents ran through her. The witch he’d stunned earlier now stood fully conscious on the far side of Annabelle. Her hands and lips moved frantically as she worked to draw more electricity to her.

  Ethan’s vision turned red, and in an instant, all conscious thought ceased and his wolf took the reins. With a roar, the hand that held the dangling witch clenched. In one clean motion, he tore out her jugular.

  Blood ran down his arm as he stared numbly at Annabelle’s crumpled, unmoving form before shifting his attention back to the one remaining witch.

  His teeth elongated as he stalked towards her. Rage and the full moon combined to overpower his usually iron-clad control. Ethan fought the change with what little of his human consciousness remained. Annabelle needed him.

  The ball of electricity began to form again in the witch’s hand as her chanting grew more frantic. But it wouldn’t save her this time.

  Ethan waited until she was close to the end of her chant. A brief flash of hope flared in her eyes just before he plunged his fist straight through her chest and gripped her still beating heart in his hand. He crushed it slowly, his wolf looking in fascination at the thick, black blood that ran down his forearm.

  A haze filled his vi
sion, and it took all the willpower he had to stumble back to Annabelle on two legs. He fell to his knees beside her, an invisible fist clenching his own heart.

  He knew already, but still he checked her pulse.

  Nothing.

  He could sense no thread of life from her, no small spark to cling to. She was gone.

  Her arms hung limp by her sides as he clutched her small frame to his chest, and his wolf howled in anguish. It was his job to protect her. He should have protected her.

  A soft whimpering slowly broke through the haze of his grief. Looking up, he found himself staring into the glazed, green eyes of Annabelle’s friend, Izzie. As she took in the sight of him covered in blood, canines still elongated, her eyes widened in terror. Scrambling away from him, she let a bloodcurdling scream and ran for the doorway.

  Ethan watched her go, too tired to follow. She would have to fend for herself. He rose to his feet and gently cradled Annabelle’s body as he walked out into the dark night.

  Phoenix was just putting out the bins, ready to lock up for the night, when she heard a noise behind her.

  Seriously? Again?

  This time instead of freezing, she turned, ready and willing to fight. The sight in front of her stopped her short, adrenaline turning to ice in her veins.

  Like before, Ethan stood in the alley with her. But unlike before, he was now holding a girl in his arms and dripping blood. His eyes had a haunted look that sent chills through her.

  “Is she …” Her breath caught and she couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

  Ethan nodded, looking lost as he cradled the small body close to him. “I couldn’t save her. I was meant to protect her.”

  Phoenix stared in shock at the perfect, unblemished skin of the girl’s face, ashen now that the flush of life-giving blood had been stolen. Her eyes were closed and she looked almost peaceful, at rest. But the image was wrong. She wasn’t at rest. The girl was only a child, sixteen at best. What the hell could have happened to her?

  Scanning the alley around them, Phoenix noted a large motorbike lying on its side in the shadows, not far from where Ethan stood. She was vaguely aware that there was something strange about the fact he was standing, something about the full moon, but she couldn’t focus on anything other than the girl.

  “Ethan, tell me what happened,” Phoenix said softly, instinctively taking a step towards him.

  “The prophecy …” He shook his head, eyes clenched tight as if to shut out the images. “She wanted to help, and they killed her.”

  He turned on her then, eyes flashing yellow with anger. “She wanted to help.”

  His words were like a blow. The prophecy? This girl was dead because of the prophecy? Guilt flooded Phoenix in a wave that nearly choked her. All the time she’d spent burying her head in the sand and hoping it would all go away when this young girl had been trying to help.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here … I only had the bike, I couldn’t carry her well, I needed somewhere close …” Ethan shook his head and his arms tightened protectively around the girl. “I needed you to understand.”

  Phoenix gave herself a shake, suddenly aware of how exposed they were, even in the darkness of the alley. There would be time enough for allocating blame later, but they needed to get inside before someone saw them. Grateful that Abi had already gone to bed, Phoenix ushered Ethan through the side door and into the kitchen at the back of the bar. A small terrified voice in the back of her mind screeched at her the whole time. What the hell was she doing getting involved? She resolutely ignored those thoughts and focused only on the child in Ethan’s arms. The girl was the priority.

  “The girl is … was a Supe?” Phoenix pushed past the lump forming in her throat.

  “Annabelle. Yes, she … was a witch.” A small smile pulled at the corner of Ethan’s mouth as he tenderly brushed a strand of hair from Annabelle’s face. “A bloody good one too.”

  Phoenix noted the pride in his voice but didn’t pry further. “Then we need to help her pass?”

  Ethan looked up at her, surprise in his eyes. He nodded. “Her soul can’t rest without the Ritual.”

  The Ritual of Passing was one of the few Lore traditions her parents had made certain to pass on to her from a young age. Supes liked to believe they were invincible, but the truth was they could be killed just like everyone else – once you knew their weaknesses. Unlike humans though, a Supe’s soul couldn’t easily move on when the body was destroyed. Without the Ritual of Passing, the soul would become trapped and never be reborn. It was a thought that filled her with terror.

  “I think I have everything we need.” She turned on her heel, making her way towards the stairs. “Bathroom’s down the hall, get yourself cleaned up.”

  “Phoenix.”

  She stopped and looked back at him.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  The smile she gave him was sad but resolved. “Yes, I do.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, she slipped quietly into her bedroom and pulled out the small oak box she kept buried at the bottom of her wardrobe. The wood was ornately carved with a sun emblem that matched her medallion; it had been one of the few things her mother had taken with her when she left Faerie.

  Opening it to check everything was inside, a sudden thought stopped her in her tracks and made her stomach clench painfully. What about her parents? Would someone have cared enough to do the Ritual for them? She had to assume they were dead after all this time, but it had never occurred to her that they might be stuck and unable to pass on.

  Phoenix dug her fingernails deep into the palm of her hand and forced the thought from her mind. There was nothing she could do to help her parents, but she could help Annabelle.

  “Fifi, what’re you doing?”

  Phoenix froze at the sound of Abi’s sleepy voice behind her. Heart pounding furiously in her chest, she willed a relaxed smile onto her face and turned to find her friend standing in the doorway, watching her with a look of curiosity.

  “I’m just grabbing my jacket. A friend is stranded so I’m going to pick him up.”

  “Oh really?” Abi raised her neatly manicured eyebrows, making air quotes as she repeated, “You’re going to pick him up?”

  Crossing her arms, Phoenix glared at her friend. “Yes, Abi. I’m going to pick him up.”

  Abi held up her hands in surrender, but was laughing as she retreated to her bedroom.

  Air left Phoenix’s lungs in a whoosh as she released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. She hesitated for a moment longer in case Abi came back, then grabbed the box and a blanket, and ran quietly down the stairs.

  Ethan was waiting for her in the kitchen, thankfully looking less like a scene from a horror movie. Maybe no one would even notice that they were carting a dead body around.

  She helped him carefully wrap Annabelle’s body in the blanket and they slipped out the side door of the bar, moving quietly to her old, imported Mustang, which sat patiently in its parking spot behind the bar.

  ***

  Phoenix focused on the road ahead, trying hard to give Ethan privacy while he talked to someone named Nate – not an easy thing to do with him sitting mere inches from her. As snippets of the conversation breached her consciousness, she wondered again about Ethan’s frequent use of “we”. The dead body in the back of her car was proof that others were involved in this prophecy conspiracy, but she had no idea how many, or what she’d signed herself up for.

  From the conversation, she knew there was a sister, Lily, that was soon going to receive some of the worst news of her life. There was also reference to someone called Shade – a nickname? – and Nate, the person Ethan was speaking to directly. If there were others, they weren’t mentioned and didn’t seem relevant to tonight’s events.

  Ethan kept the details brief and to the point, asking Nate to bring the others to their meeting point so he could break the news himself. Phoenix noted the change in his demeanour
with a morbid fascination as he put aside his grief and took charge of the task ahead.

  As they drove further from the city, the night grew darker around them until eventually the only light was from the car headlights and the glow of the moon breaking through the clouds. The shimmering silver light reminded her once more that it was a full moon and her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch as she suddenly remembered another concern even more pressing than the upcoming Ritual.

  When Ethan hung up the phone she blurted, “How are you not in wolf form?”

  Her question seemed to catch him off guard, and for a moment he looked at his hands in confusion, almost as if wondering himself why they were human. But then he shook his head, regrouping.

  “I don’t change at the full moon. Not while I’m away from my pack.”

  Well, that clarified things – not.

  Before she could push any further, Ethan pointed at a narrow dirt road swiftly approaching on the left. “Turn here.”

  Cursing, Phoenix dropped gears and turned just in time. The rear of the car skidded out behind and she had to fight to straighten it, narrowly missing the trees that caged them in on each side.

  “Jeez, a bit of notice would be helpful.”

  Ethan gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I was out this direction.”

  “Where are we going anyway?”

  Phoenix knew it was best to conduct the Ritual where the gateways were weakest, but she’d been following Ethan’s directions blindly ever since they left the pub and she was none the wiser as to where they were.

  Ethan looked at her for a moment, then turned away as he quietly replied, “The Cathedral.”

  The car veered as Phoenix turned to him in surprise. “We’re going to a church?”

  Reaching one hand for the wheel as if to steady her erratic reactions, Ethan shook his head. “No … well, yes. Kind of. But not in the way you’re thinking. It dates back long before the church as you know it now. Back before the church’s true meaning was lost.”