A Wicked Night (Creatures of Darkness 2): A Coraline Conwell Novel (30 page)

Sara glanced at the old, dust ridden wooden cuckoo clock nailed into the wall behind the shop’s front counter; one of Gran’s prized possessions. It was so old, some of the inner gears were rusted into place and the little bird no longer popped out to chime the hour, thank the goddess. The sound was so annoying.

Surrounding the tiny bird door were embellishments of wood-carved doves in flight, leaves, and sticks that crisscrossed all the way over the decorative roof. Gran said she had found the clock among some rubble on the outskirts of town.
Another man’s trash
…

Sara always thought it was a miracle the thing could even tell the correct time, but it was always spot on.

Right now the clock’s nagging hands announced it was time to feed the vampires. And wasn’t that a notion she never thought she’d be entertaining.

Ugh. It was like having a pair of needy pups who, instead of wagging their tails, lectured her on what a dolt she was.

Might as well get it over with.

With a sigh, she retrieved two blood bags and headed to the cellar. Before rounding the corner of the stairs, she paused at hearing Knox’s voice.

“Get up, you fascist pig. You lazy git. Rotting there on the floor like a waste of air. Why don’t you just go on and die then, you worthless tosser. Then I’ll have your girl all to myself and I can do whatever I want with her. Maybe I’ll take her out on the ocean and show her the ass end of a shark’s intestine. But before that, maybe I’ll show her what it’s like to shag a
real
man.”

Sara had heard enough. Making her steps heavy, she descended the stairs. Knox was seated with his back against the wall a few feet away from where Mace lay unconscious.

“Oh, brilliant. You’re back.” Knox’s tone didn’t have its usual bite. Nor did he bother to get up and make a show of lounging against the bars as if he were ordering at a bar.

“I could leave you to starve if you like,” she snapped as she magically lit a torch on the wall.

“Wouldn’t be much different if you did.”

And yet, when she chucked in the blood, he scrambled for both bags.
Figures
, she thought. He was going to drink them both down with no regard for Mace. Disgusted, she turned to head back up the stairs, and then, for some reason stopped at the top.

“Come on, you lazy fucking bastard. Open up,” Knox grumbled. “Can’t believe you’re making me do this shit.”

Sara heard the ripping of plastic and was compelled to inch back down and peek into the low-lit room.

Knox was kneeling over Mace, slowly pouring blood into his gaping mouth while continuing with a string of curses. Then, when the bag was emptied, he collected the second one, sank his fangs in to tear it open, and then proceeded to spill its contents into Mace’s mouth as well.

Sara cocked her head and watched him give Mace every last drop, leaving none for himself. She backed away slowly, utterly confused by Knox’s actions. He acted as though he hated Mace. Why, then, would he care for him in such a way? From what she knew of Knox, it made no sense. No sense whatsoever.

Unless…had he realized she’d been watching? Putting on a show? Hoping for sympathy? Ha! As if that would win him his freedom. He thought her a fool, and took her for one at every turn. She would not be duped so easily.

Returning to the back room of her store, she used the weight of her upper body to shove closed the heavy door that matched the hearth’s stone so as to be invisible to those who were ignorant of its existence.

“Hello?”

She jumped at the masculine voice that called out from sales room.

Hadn’t she locked the front door?

With all the stress she’d been under lately, she’d probably just forgotten.

“Hi,” she greeted, sliding into the room. “What can I—”

She stopped in her tracks, shocked to see Devon standing in the middle of her shop.

His expression was passive, irritatingly so…and unapologetic.

She stiffened. “What are you doing here?”

He turned sullen, but she didn’t buy it. There was something false in his expression, even in his stance. “I wanted to apologize for running out on you like I did.”

“So then why did you?”

“Business. I, uh, survey real estate for my employer.”

“Really? And that couldn’t wait another few minutes till we finished dinner?”

“My employer is…demanding.”

Sara took her seat behind the counter. “Who’s your employer?”

“Someone you don’t ever want to meet.” His smile belied his tone.

A shiver scattered along her shoulders. She hadn’t noticed before, but there was something off about Devon. Something sinister. His smile looked fine at first glance, but upon examination it seemed a bit forced. His eyes didn’t crease at the edges the way they should, and his lips were peeled back just slightly too much.

“A real dickhead, huh?” she replied in an intentionally lighter tone. “That’s why I’m glad to own my own business. No bosses.”

“And how is business lately? Have you dealt with those vampires like we talk about?”

She kept her composure demure, placid. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to reveal that she had followed through with her plan, thanks to his savvy suggestions. His convenient, timely suggestions.

Mason’s words echoed in her head.
He could be dangerous.

“I’m still considering my options,” she evaded artfully.

He turned as if to peruse a display of gemstones and arbitrarily asked, “What about that girl? Cora?”

Sara’s blood chilled by the intentionally muted interest in his voice. “What of her?”

“Have you heard from her lately?”

She crossed her arms. “What do you care?”

He rounded on her and cocked his head. “You seem upset.” His eyes narrowed, studying her.

Was he sensing her suspicions?

“Why would I be upset at seeing you just stroll in here like you hadn’t ditched me and stuck me with a hefty bill? Then I don’t hear from you in weeks? Plus,” she added spitefully, “that rose you gave me died within hours….” She trailed off as an unconscious brainteaser unraveled in her mind.

Belladonna? Henbane…? The other items he’d purchased from her store? Separately they were used in benign spells such as sleep aids and general relaxants, but together? They could be concocted into anything from truth serums, hallucinogenic party drugs, or even into a substance used to strip someone of their very will!

Worst, when ground into a powder it was virtually undetectable, easily applied to everyday objects…and was toxic to plants, wilting and drying them out over a relatively short amount of time.

Like the rose she had generously sniffed upon accepting it from Devon.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, edging closer.

“What?” She laughed awkwardly. “Why would something be wrong?”

The bastard had drugged her!

She remembered being excessively talkative that night while Devon had grilled her about Cora and her vampires, but she couldn’t recall the full conversation. What had she revealed? Had she mentioned the vampire’s secret cottage?

Magic gathered in her palms. She kept them hidden at her sides, just behind the counter. However, Devon seemed to assess the danger. He canted his head, giving her that devastatingly handsome half-grin that before now would have had her giggling and flirtatious.

Why were all the bad ones so attractive?

“Sara?” Now his tone was rough in a way that made the hair on the back of her neck do the cha-cha. He took a step toward her.

Her hands shot up, palms out and lit up like the fourth of July, halting him in place. “Get out of my shop.”

His lips pursed with a hint of amusement, even as he dropped the pretense. “Come, now, Sara, it was only a
little
spell. You didn’t even notice.”

“You used me, you son of a bitch—with my own merchandise.”

Brazenly, he moved closer. Her palms brightened in warning, and he paused once more.

“Last chance, dirt bag.” She jerked her chin toward the door.

He released a slow sigh, not taking her seriously. “I must find Cora.”

“Well, surprise, you sewer sucking slime ball, she’s not here. So you can just take your happy ass elsewhere.”

Instead, he surveyed her body with a quirk to his lips. “I take it by your insults there’s not going to be a second date.”

The fuck?
“Crawl back to the gutter, loser, where I have to assume your family is busy fornicating with each other.”

“Oh, that one almost stung. Really.” He displayed that crooked grin again, though thankfully he turned and headed for the door. Before exiting, he gave her his profile. “Say hello to the vampires for me.”

“Say hello to you mother for me,” she yelled after him, then rushed to lock the door. With her heart still thrumming, she leaned her back against the door and mumbled, “Well, crap.” Mace had been right.

Cora stumbled for what must have been the fifth time, maybe sixth, earning her an exasperated grunt from one of her captors. She wasn’t normally so clumsy on her feet, but she had been closing her eyes, trying once again to bespell Bray’s ropes. And failing.

“Keep moving.” One of the men shoved her forward.

She stumbled again, nearly tumbling face-first into the snow. At the last second, she caught her footing. Bray glowered at the man, but continued moving.

Normally she would have been livid at her treatment, but she was too excited. Finally she had recognized a spark of magic within her. Although, as best she could describe it, it seemed to be flowing like a severed live wire, aimlessly flopping around, out of control, seeking a connection. She didn’t have a solid grip on it. But it was there!

And though she wasn’t able to direct it, it appeared she
was
using it.

As she would chant to herself, her magic would shoot out to do her bidding, but inadvertently would go astray, landing on some unsuspecting twig, then aging it by degrees, or a nearby stone, crumbling it to dust.

Whenever the odd movement caught the corner of her captor’s eyes, her heart would leap into her throat. But every time, they’d turn a second too late to catch the spell at work.

Still, they would pause for a moment with a skeptical look as if they couldn’t let themselves believe what their mind insisted had just happened, most likely placing blame on the small forest critters.

The dogs, however, were not fooled. They barked wildly at each anomaly and grew more agitated as the day progressed, giving her a wider and wider berth.
They sense a monster in me.

She feared their instincts were right.

Over the last few weeks, possibly even before that, something had been growing in her. Unfurrowing. She felt like a stranger in her own body. That perhaps, like Sadira, she was an unwanted passenger. Currently in control, but maybe not for much longer.

She reasoned that the ominous concept was due to the fact that she had lived her whole life without magic, and now, for the first time, she was feeling it flow through her…

But her subconscious kept insisting it was something else—that she should fear whatever she was becoming.

She focused on the positive.

Humans knew of vampires, but were largely ignorant of the existence of witches—a fact that currently worked in her favor.

At least there was one thing.

That she was actually wielding her magic,
intentionally
, was another.

If only she could stop flinging it about!

Chant, there goes a limb. Chant, an aging log crumbles. Chant, another stone is rendered to dust. And with every attempt, Cora felt her energy waning.

Yet still they marched on. They’d crossed over half-frozen rivers, sparse meadows, and dangerous gullies. The men didn’t seem to want to stop in their pursuit of breakfast. Their destination had been farther than they’d thought.

Then, after climbing a steady incline to its peak, they came upon a rickety log cabin. Its foundation was sloped as if the ground had at some point slipped out from under it, displacing the entire frame. A section of the building listed to the side, the logs sagged and warped. There was a small lopsided porch where splinters were clearly born and bred. One of the wooden pillars holding up the roof looked to have been chomped on by a beaver at its base, yet miraculously the structure seemed to be holding true.

A couple of dilapidated chairs decorated the porch along with a metal wash bucket. To the left of the porch, someone had stacked a bundle of freshly cut firewood. An ax was lodged in a tree stump several feet away.

Aside from the ax and firewood, if Cora didn’t see the plume of smoke rising from the chimney, she’d have assumed this place was as abandoned as the shack she and Bray had happened upon the day before. Neglect was rampant in every aspect; unkempt front yard, wood rotted near through in places, windows webbed by cracks and held together with duct tape.

She would have expected to find a fully bearded hermit in a place such as this. Instead, a small brunette child in a tattered dress ran out onto the porch, followed by a laughing little boy in chase.

Both skidded to a stop when they caught sight of the strangers on their land.

Right away, the girl seemed to sense that something was amiss. That this wasn’t just a hapless group of friendly travelers in need of some good old-fashioned hospitality—though she couldn’t see that Cora and Bray’s hands were tied behind their backs.

She snatched the boy’s hand and dragged him back into the house, calling, “Mama, Papa!”

An entire family lived here?

Although the cabin looked run-down, it wasn’t as bad as some of the places Cora had squatted. In fact, with the wide open space and phenomenal view of the surrounding mountains, this would have been a helluva step up.

At seeing the kids, a look came over the man with the straight nose. Something depraved with hints of a monstrous compulsion. The little smile that rounded his lips, the developing sheen to his previously dulled eyes, told Cora everything she needed to know about him. She’d been the recipient of that look from countless vagabonds back in St. Stamsworth…up until she’d reached a certain age.

The man adjusted the grip on his gun, his stance ready to pounce.

Glacial dread sliced a path up Cora’s throat. “Don’t hurt them,” she choked out.

His heartless eyes trained on her. Then one corner of his mouth twisted into a vile grin, and suddenly the horrific order of future events slammed through her mind like a landmine.

This poor family would not live to see the rising sun—approximately T-minus ten minutes from now.

Had she just experienced a vision of sorts, or merely a natural deduction? She couldn’t say for sure. All she knew was a thick burst of liquid panic invaded her brain, clearing out all thought but one.

Stop him!

She rushed toward the man and attempted to shoulder him to the ground. All she managed to do was knock him slightly off balance. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but with her hands tied behind her and her magic firing wildly, it had been the only recourse she could muster.

“Don’t do this!” she cried.

The man reared up and then whipped the back of his hand across her cheek in a brutal hit that sent her twirling to the ground. With her hands tied as they were, she could do nothing to soften the fall.

Her shoulder crashed into the frozen ground, catching the sharp edge of something. A rock? Spots pinwheeled over her eyes. Her ears rang with a high-pitched squeal. She tasted blood. Pain followed.

As her vision whirled, her mind desperately tried to regain equilibrium. She saw blurs of both men fending off Bray, who had lunged at the man that had hit her. His fangs were ruthlessly seeking her attacker’s jugular while his friend had him in a bear hug to hold him back.

Unfortunately the men had the advantage. It was obvious Bray was still coming down from the drugs they had pumped into him. Coupled with the restriction of his limbs, it wasn’t long before the men wrestled him to the ground, snarling and thrashing.

Uncaring now if the men discovered she was a witch, she began chanting the spell she’d failed to execute the entire morning, mentally begging for her magic to obey.

“What the hell are you doing?” the man with the crooked nose demanded. Her words would sound foreign to him. “Shut up,” he growled. When she didn’t, he turned to his comrade. “Dammit, man. You hit her too hard. You’d better hope she doesn’t have brain damage.”

“Heads up,” the other man grunted, jerking his chin toward the house.

Cora followed the direction of their gazes and found an unexpected hope by way of a burly, bearded man rushing from the cabin. Dangling at his side was a twenty-two-gauge shotgun. He gestured for his fair-haired wife, who had emerged to clutch the two children to her skirts, to go back inside.

She refused. Confusion and fright was apparent in all their faces. All except for the man on the porch. He looked incensed, ready to defend his precious family.

To him Cora screamed, “Shoot them!”

“Bitch!” the man with the straight nose spat, then raised his gun toward the family.

There was only one shot. One deadly, spot on shot.

The father of the impoverished family hadn’t even had time to raise his gun. Blood sprayed from the back of his head as the bullet broke through skull, splattering his family. The woman let out a harrowing, heartbreakingly devastated scream and went to her knees. Shocked as she was, she didn’t have the good sense to usher her children to safety.

“Run!” Cora half screamed, half sobbed.

But there was no time.

Once again, the man with the straight nose pulled the trigger.

Grief-stricken, Cora could only watch helplessly from her position on the ground.

As the woman’s lifeless torso fell across her husband’s dead body, the sound of the gunshot that killed her continued to reverberate through Cora’s ears like an earthquake, sifting free a dark memory from the deepest depths of her mind…

A dozen voices chanting. Hunting. Wisps of magic seeking them out. Her little fingers locked in the tight grip of her mother’s hand as they hurried through the darkened corridor. Ahead of them was her father, clutching her baby brother in his arms. They were headed for the basement, where her parents would begin a spell of their own. Father was good at concealment spells. The best, in fact. There would be nothing to fear once he invoked his sorcery. Cora always wished she could use magic, but Mother told her not to worry about it till she was older. “Magic requires a lot of control,” she’d said.

Cora couldn’t wait to be older.

It wasn’t fair that she had to wait while already her brother, not but two years old, was showing signs of magic-use. For example, his favorite teddy bear was always mysteriously close to him, even after Cora had attempted to hide it from him one day. When she saw it was back by his side a few minutes later, she had rushed outside to check the undisturbed pile of leaves where she’d stuffed it. She’d rummaged through the leaves till she was sure the little fuzzy bear was indeed not there.

Entering a darkened stairwell, her breathless mother lifted Cora in her arms to dash down the stairs. The basement had the stench of old, wet socks and rat droppings. Cora wrinkled her nose. Her brother started to cry.

“Shh,” her father cooed, whispering, “Quiet,” over and over again in a tone Cora didn’t like and had never heard him utilize before. It filled her with such terror.

“Hide us, Daddy,” she whispered.

“I can’t, baby. Not this time.”

“But why not?”

Her mother shushed them both, glancing overhead as though she feared something terrible would come at them from above. Then she placed her lips on Cora’s forehead and urged her under a sturdy looking desk that sat near a wall. “Do not move from this spot. And do not make a sound.” She turned to her husband. “We have to lead them away.”

Cora’s heart fluttered with the onset of panic. Were they going to leave her? Here?

Her father hugged her little brother closer to him, then leaned down to kiss her forehead as well. “Stay put until we return. Quiet like a mouse, yeah? Like we practiced.”

She gave a solemn nod as liquid blurred her sight.

With that, Cora’s family walked out of her view. She brought her knees to her chest and battled a rush of tears. Why did she need to stay when her brother could go with them?

The ominous chanting that had been but a muffled aspiration suddenly intensified. Her mother’s scream echoed as the ground shook with the roar, rocking Cora inside the shell of the desk. The building crunched and cracked and quaked. Cora slammed her eyes shut, hugging her knees as though the tighter she did so, the safer she would be.

Dust plumed around her, choking the breath from her. She pulled her hands into the long sleeves of her shirt and used the fabric to cover her mouth and nose.

Cora gasped as she ripped herself from the memory. She’d always assumed it had been an earthquake or that they had inadvertently walked into the middle of a human vampire warzone. But could her parents have been targeted? Murdered? By witches?