She took a rattling breath. Rather than explain the process in English, she started to speak in a language I did not understand. The other witches in the room called back in the same language, and they began to chant.
It was the most powerful experience of my life. Choirs often set the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. But this was a thousand times more powerful. As the witches’ voices swelled, they managed to hit a pitch that literally shook through the room.
My brow was now well and truly plastered with sweat. My heart was shaking, too. Though Sarah had commanded me to concentrate on Fagan, he was the last thing on my mind as I watched the séance kick into full gear. Just as the witches’ chanting hit what appeared to be an impossible pitch, the candles all extinguished.
Before I could gasp, they relit themselves, one by one. And as they did? It felt like there was… a presence in the room.
“Now,” Sarah said, her voice different, powerful, certain, “concentrate. Concentrate on Fagan. Bring his embodied presence into this room. And we will do the rest. We will find him,” her resonant tones echoed through the warehouse.
My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow. I’d curled my hands into fists, and I could almost feel blood trickling between my nails.
Now was when I should turn back, right? It was when the old me would have turned back. Heck, the old me would never have agreed to do a séance. Then again, the old me would probably have died of fright from the vision of Fagan slicing through her heart, so the old me could go hang for all I cared.
Despite my better judgment, I bared my teeth, closed my eyes, and concentrated. On Fagan. On his goddamn shined leather shoes. On that black suit, on his sickening smile. On his presence, his hatred, and his greed.
As I did, though I couldn’t fully appreciate it, a charge of magic pulsed through me.
“Good,” Sarah encouraged in that same strong tone, “continue to concentrate. Draw him towards us. Draw him towards us.”
“Draw him towards us,” all the other witches said at once.
Though my back crawled from the power of the experience, I held on. Held onto Fagan with all my might. I wasn’t going to die at his hand. I would do anything – anything to stop this from happening. And as my determination swelled in my gut, so too did that magic.
Though I was aware of the fact I was still standing there with my eyes tightly closed and my feet pressed against the cleaned and polished concrete floor, suddenly I felt myself moving. It was a dizzying, awful experience, but somehow I managed to concentrate on it without falling over.
I started to see Fagan. Really see him. This wasn’t me conjuring him in my mind’s eye – this was me witnessing him like a dream being played over my tightly closed eyes.
There was someone before him – a large man with a broad chest, a man I’d… a man I’d seen before.
Dimitri.
He was standing by a door as Fagan faced him, as Fagan laughed.
Dimitri had his hands in his pockets, and as a satisfied smile spread across his face, he pulled out a set of keys. The enormous set of transport keys I’d seen him show me in the bar.
He twisted them around his finger, smile only ever growing wider.
“Bring me back a finger – that will be enough,” Fagan said.
Dimitri chuckled. “Right you are, boss. A finger it will be.”
Dimitri curled the keys around his finger once more, and they jangled like an orchestra.
“Get a hustle on, Dimitri,” Fagan warned in a snap, “time’s a ticking. I want that little seer’s heart by 7:07 on the dot.”
“And you’ll have it,” Dimitri said as he threw his keys up and caught them one final time.
He twisted hard on his foot and headed towards the door at the end of the corridor. He selected one of his keys, jammed it in the lock, opened the door, and walked out.
I expected him to exit into some kind of building somewhere. I was wrong.
He walked out of a crypt and into a graveyard. The rows and rows of neatly arranged headstones were unmistakable.
By now I was only very dimly aware of where I stood in that warehouse. Luckily, I had enough concentration to remain standing. Though, if anyone had been watching carefully, they would have seen me swaying on my feet.
The longer I spent in this vision, the more real it became, the closer I seemed to concentrate on Dimitri. Until, as he strode off between the headstones, I kind of melded with him. My point of view became the same as his, almost as if I’d taken up root inside his skull.
It was an awful, confronting experience, and I tried to jerk back, tried to end the vision, but there was nothing I could do. I could vaguely hear the chanting of the witches, and it seemed to be locking me in place.
I struggled and struggled, even tried to call out to Max, but I couldn’t control my throat, because suddenly my throat felt like Dimitri’s throat.
He chuckled and whistled to himself as he continued to walk through the neatly arranged headstones until finally he came to a freshly dug grave. The turf that had been arranged on top was unmistakably new and did not match the long, lush grass around it.
Dimitri paused, shoved a hand into his pocket, and angled his head over his shoulder, obviously looking for witnesses.
When he was satisfied no one was around, he pulled something out of his pocket. I expected it to be the key chain. It wasn’t. Instead, it was a tiny plastic object which, on closer inspection, appeared to be a spade.
Before I could question whether Dimitri intended to dig up the grave with a tiny plastic spade, he reached forward and spat on it. Somehow, as soon as his saliva came in contact with that brown plastic, it began to morph, began to grow. Crackles of magic leaped up over his hand, discharging along his arm, and finally sinking into the air around him.
The plastic spade grew and grew until it wasn’t plastic anymore, and it certainly wasn’t tiny. After a minute, it was a real spade.
Dimitri chuckled to himself again as he swung the spade around, almost as if he were checking to ensure it was sturdy. When he appeared satisfied, he plunged it into the freshly dug ground of the grave.
My heart lurched as I realized what was about to happen. It had been an academic fact until now, but now that fact clawed up my spine and shook my heart.
This man was going to dig up a dead body and chop off its finger.
I tried harder to pull free from the vision now, tried with all my might, but there was nothing I could do. I was locked into Dimitri’s head by the chanting, and unless I could control my own throat and scream out at the witches, there was no way I was going to get free.
So I remained there in horrified shock as he continued to dig.
He made light work of the process – he was a fairy, after all. It only took several minutes until he struck the coffin.
A satisfied grin spread across our faces. Yes, ours. The longer I spent inside his head, the more closely attuned I became to him. I could even sense his emotions now. His greed, his drive for power. Not once did a flicker of disgust cross through him. He was far, far beyond that. His heart pulsed with an eagerness to get the job done.
He discarded the spade, climbed on top of the coffin, and started to dig away the remaining dirt with his hands. It was collecting under his nails, dragging through his sleeves.
I had to get out. Had to get out. Had to get out!
Finally, he removed enough dirt that he could press his fingers forward and wrap them around the lid of the coffin.
He shifted it, started to open it—
No. I would not witness this. I couldn’t stay in this man’s ugly mind.
I fought against the chanting with all my might. Every scrap of determination I’d ever mustered.
I fought, almost as if I were clawing through water, trying to get to the air before I drowned.
And finally, finally something snapped.
Suddenly, I rocked back, my attention returning to my body.
I gasped and fe
ll to my knees. I expected it to be over – expected the dream to fade. It didn’t. Not entirely.
I looked down, and I saw fresh wet dirt over my fingernails. I screamed. I screamed, and I screamed.
I jerked backward out of the circle of light, but the dirt did not disappear. It was still there, covering my hands just as the vision of that half-open coffin played through my mind.
“Whoa, hold on,” Bridgette said as she snapped towards me and grasped my shoulders.
“There’s dirt, god, there’s dirt.” I could barely control my voice, let alone draw in a breath long enough to stop myself from choking.
“Hey, calm down,” Bridgette stammered. Then she dropped her gaze and saw the dirt clogged underneath my fingers. “What the hell?”
“Why are you breaking the circle?” I heard Sarah Anne shout from the other end of the room.
My head was spinning. I could taste dirt in my mouth, feel it all over my body. A second later, I felt my hand reach for the spade to continue digging.
I fell down to my knees, these confusing sensations too much for me.
Bridgette fell with me, one hand still clamped on my shoulder, her worried gaze staring into my eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. But where the hell did that dirt come from? Sarah,” Bridgette called as she turned over her shoulder and screamed across the room, “break the circle. End the séance. Now. Do it now!”
Bridgette’s terrified shouts were obviously carrying, because a second later, I heard someone hammer at the door. “What’s going on in there?” Max’s unmistakable angry tones echoed through the room.
I jerked my head towards him as soon as I heard his voice. “Max!” I called. I didn’t say anything – couldn’t add anything as I desperately tried to claw the dirt from underneath my hands.
It didn’t matter.
He kicked the door open. I do mean kicked. Apparently, he didn’t have the time to reach forward, clutch a hand over the handle and twist. Nope. In one powerful move, he sent the door splintering on its hinges.
He shoved into the room.
I watched his eyes dart from left-to-right as he obviously searched for an enemy.
He skidded to his knees, reached me, and turned his suspicious gaze on Bridgette. Before he could conclude that she’d done anything to me, I brought my shaking hands up towards him. “He’s digging up a body. One of the dead witches. There’s dirt on my hands. It’s on my hands. It was a vision—” I didn’t get a chance to finish.
He reached towards me, grasped my hands, and stared at the dirt. It transferred onto his fingers.
It couldn’t be a vision – couldn’t be some magical trick of the light. The dirt was real. It was covering me like I’d been the one to carelessly dig up the dead.
I was shaking, shuddering, my shoulders feeling like they would dislodge from my back and fall into my lap with wet slaps.
“What’s happening? What’s happening?” I choked on my words.
Max took several seconds to stare at my hands before he tilted his head back. “Break the circle,” he commanded in a resounding voice.
When the other witches didn’t break the circle quickly enough, Max pushed to his feet. He strode over to the magical circle then kicked his foot through the chalk.
I heard the sound of glass breaking. I smelt the sudden scent of candle wax and burnt dirt.
The other witches in the room screamed, jolted back, and clapped hands over their heads.
Bridgette winced. “That’s gotta hurt,” she commented, then she returned her attention to me.
“Why did you break the circle?” I heard Sarah Anne demand, for the first time anger filtering through her usually sweet tone.
I didn’t say a word. I stared at the dirt under my nails, wishing for it to disappear. Because it had to be part of the vision. There was no dirt in this room – save for the special chalk from the Isle of Wight.
So there was no way that earth could be smeared over my hands, clogged between my fingernails, and trailing down my wrists.
Max shoved hard on his foot, skidding down to his knees as he returned to me. He grasped both my wrists tenderly, simply hooking his fingers around the skin as if he was scared to hold my hands completely.
With a strong frown pressed over his lips, he inspected me.
We heard footsteps, and Sarah Anne finally came close. “What happened? Who broke the circle? I was so close to getting Fagan—”
“Just give it a rest, Sarah – our magic had unintended consequences,” Brigitte explained.
Unintended consequences? I still kind of felt connected to Dimitri. Despite the fact the circle was broken, and its magic was waning, I swore I could still feel a spade in my hands, wet clogged earth under my feet, grass trapped beneath my nails.
I shook my head, squeezed my eyes tightly, and tried to dislodge the sensation. But nothing would work. Nothing would work!
And the dirt? It did not disappear.
“You should have been more careful,” Max snapped.
I opened half an eye, expecting his scowling face to be pressed up close to mine. But he wasn’t talking to me; he was talking to Sarah.
He let go of my wrists tenderly then pushed to his feet. “You said you were just doing a location spell.”
Sarah, totally surprised, blinked her pretty eyelashes. “I was.”
“That’s a transport spell,” Max spat as he pointed towards me.
Sarah shook her head, obviously surprised. “No. We didn’t have the magic for that—”
“Well someone did.”
“Why isn’t the dirt disappearing?” I demanded. When nobody answered me, I took in a shaking, stuttering breath and screamed, “Why isn’t the dirt disappearing? It was a vision, wasn’t it? Then why isn’t the dirt—”
Bridgette leaned down, locked a hand on my shoulder, and brought her face close to mine. “It’s okay. The dirt’s not disappearing, because… it’s real.”
I turned my horrified gaze on her. “It can’t be real. I was standing here. Not out there with… he was here… he was digging up a dead body.”
“Who?” Sarah demanded.
“Dimitri,” Max answered as he turned on his foot once more, pushed down to his knees, and returned his attention to me. He cast his wary gaze to the dirt, obviously giving it one last chance to hurry up and disappear. When it didn’t, he took a pressured breath. Though he was the one breathing, somehow I felt so connected to him that I drew in a deep breath at exactly the same moment.
Silence spread through the warehouse.
I was possessed with the idea that I had to remove this dirt from my body immediately.
I brought my hands down and tried to wipe them on my jeans.
Neither Max nor Bridgette would let me. Both shoved forward, catching the same hand.
Bridgette cast her gaze towards Max quickly before locking it back on me. “No – you can’t get rid of it. Not yet. We can use it.”
“Use it?” I stammered. “I have to get it off me! He was digging up a dead body. I was digging up a dead body!” My mind merged the two thoughts.
Max shook his head, his expression grim. “No, Chi,” his voice dropped, became certain in that way it always did when he was trying to calm me, “you were not digging up a dead body. You were momentarily possessing Dimitri. Now think. Do you know where he was? Which graveyard?”
The last thing I wanted to do right now was plunge myself back into that memory. It was too raw. I feared that if I did it, I would wind up back there, inside Dimitri’s head as I gleefully dug up the dead.
I clenched my teeth and shook my head. Max almost looked as if he wanted to reach up and grab his hands either side of my cheeks. He didn’t. He simply held my gaze. “Chi, this is important. Any details. Do you remember where you were?”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Just give her some time,” Bridgette snapped.
“We don’t have time. She doesn’t have time,” Max added in a lower, constricted tone.
This séance had been designed to find Fagan, designed to buy me at least 24 hours. Instead, I’d been plunged into the dark mind of Dimitri.
I’d wasted my only opportunity.
I opened my eyes. I turned my hand around, shrugging it out of Bridgette’s grip. Before she could reach forward and lock my hand in place once more, I looked at my watch.
I swallowed.
Two hours.
I had two hours until Fagan came for me, captured me, and cut my heart out.
I began rocking backward and forwards. It wasn’t a conscious move – it was a last-ditch attempt to release the tension welling in my body. My body felt like it was seconds from breaking.
“Chi, it’s okay,” Max said, voice different. Gone was the certainty. There, in its place, was the tenderness – so delicate, so warm. It called to the center of my soul. He reached a hand out, too. He let go of my wrist, placing that hand on my shoulder, his fingers tantalizingly close to my neck, one brushing up against my ear.
The warmth… it was amazing. My fear had been like a cold, violent blizzard. His touch? It was like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a hard day. All my troubles… they felt like they were… drifting away.
“We need that dirt,” someone said, interrupting the moment. It was Sarah Anne.
“Just give her a second,” Max said, voice still tense.
“We don’t have time,” Sarah insisted. “We’ve only got two hours—”
“I know,” Max said, voice dropping low, shaking through me.
Though all I wanted to do was remain there in that warmth, I knew I couldn’t.
Because as every second ticked by, it was a second Fagan came closer.
Finally, I opened my eyes. Though I could cast my gaze to Bridgette or Sarah or any of the other witches, I looked right into Max’s eyes. Everyone else fell away as I stared at him.
Why did his magic – his mere presence – have such an effect on me?
A Lying Witch Book Two Page 10
