A Lying Witch Book Three Read online

  I frowned. “For what?”

  “For what your magic costs you. I don’t know why Max lied to you, but he did. There is no creature on Earth for which the cost of the force is not high.”

  A thrill of nerves chased hard down my back, and I swallowed hard. But I still shook her hand. Then I whirled on my foot and walked away.

  Bridgette wished me luck. God knows I’d need it.

  Chapter 3

  My thoughts were a swirling mess as I headed back to the car.

  The rain was still driving down, drenching the city streets as if it were trying to wash them away. It pounded against my raincoat, made the thick waterproof fabric feel like nothing more than a sheet of paper. Water dribbled down my face, sloshed down my collar, and drenched me as if I’d taken an impromptu dip in a pool.

  And yet, I didn’t care. A pixie could have jumped up and rattled its chains by my head, but I would have ignored it.

  I was way too lost in thought.

  My magic would cost me something….

  Max had lied. What’s more, Max – or at least the shadow – kept pushing me to develop my abilities further. Was it just in aid of the public good – was it just to track down murderers?

  Or was something more happening here?

  I kept walking back to the car in a daze, taking my sweet time despite the fact every other living soul on the street was running for cover as the storm arced up into a violent, wet, windy frenzy.

  As I reached my hand into my pocket to pluck out the keys, I felt my phone vibrate with a call.

  I didn’t even bother to protect it from the weather as I pulled it out. And as I did, a thrill of energy tickled up my hand and escaped hard into my elbow.

  “Chi, where are you?” Max snapped, tone tight with nerves.

  “In the city, why?”

  “Get back here. There’s been a murder,” he said without pause.

  Instantly, my back seized up, a sinking feeling descended through my gut, and my mouth dried until it felt like Max had tipped sand into it.

  “Murder?” I couldn’t control my tone as it shook hard through my throat.

  “The Lonely King. He’s attacking again. He’s got another victim with him right now – I can feel it. Get back here so we can figure out what to do next. So we can stop him.”

  I nodded, the move so tight I could have torn my neck muscles. Then, realizing he couldn’t see me, I stuttered out an, “Okay.”

  He hung up, and a second later, I did the same.

  I slid the phone into my pocket as a truly cold sensation raced down my back. Suddenly the fact I was completely drenched in water struck me as a frozen feeling spread through my chest, high into my shoulders, and hard down my back.

  Finally, I acted, plunging my phone into my pocket, tearing my keys out, and jerking towards the car.

  Suddenly Bridgette’s warning flew from my mind as I concentrated with all my might on what Max had said.

  There’d been another murder, and another was taking place right now.

  Right now.

  Those words echoed hollowly in my mind. They shuddered through my brain as horror descended into my heart.

  I may have lied to Max this morning –I may not have been trying to develop my powers – but that didn’t matter. Because as the cold sunk deeper and deeper through my sternum, I started to sense something. Just at the edge of my awareness, just beyond the reach of my five senses.

  The hint of sparks. Flickering bursts of light at the edge of my field of view. The more I paid attention to them, the more they collected, blinking in and out like stars on a cloud-free night.

  Suddenly, I faced a set of options. A fork in the road.

  Follow the sparks, or turn from them. Follow them, and according to Bridgette’s warning, they would cost me something. If I didn’t follow them, the curse could be activated in full.

  And so it struck me. The curse appeared to be the perfect way to ensure us McLane seers always used our powers.

  But to what end?

  I didn’t take long to decide what to do.

  Because I didn’t take long to remind myself that out there someone’s life depended on me.

  Grinding to a stop on the street, reaching a hand out, clutching a lamp post for support, I closed my eyes. And I followed them. I willed the sparks to spread through my vision. That was all it took. The fireflies sparked brighter and brighter, spreading throughout my vision like fire over dry wood.

  And I started to see. The scene opened out before me in snippets. At first, they were like fragments of photographs drifting through the wind, but all too soon those fragments coalesced together as I saw someone being chased through some kind of factory.

  My heartbeat reverberated through my chest, and my breath bucked so hard in my sternum it felt like an army pounding on my torso.

  The scene was happening so fast as the victim ran from their attacker, twisting through the strange factory, pounding up metal stairs, desperately rushing past odd-shaped machinery.

  Finally, the scene opened out, and I realized what I was staring at. A foundry.

  The desperation of the victim pounded through me, their aching fear, their adrenaline-fueled frenzy.

  It scoured my body, gouged through my torso, made me feel like my heart would explode.

  I threw myself forward, opened the car, and jammed the keys in the ignition. I pulled out right before a taxi, almost collecting it on the side. It slammed on its brakes and skidded, blaring its horn.

  I didn’t even bother to mutter an apology under my breath. I slammed my foot on the accelerator and shot off down the rain-sodden streets.

  With my phone still locked in one hand, I diverted half my attention to it as I scoured the city for foundries. It didn’t take long to find one, didn’t take long to program it into my phone’s GPS. Then I drove. It was one of the most hair-raising experiences of my life. Because the vision was still there – still overlain over half my sight. As I darted down city streets, the car screeching through wet turns, I watched the fireflies play through my field of view.

  Somehow I managed to keep it together. I didn’t slam into any buses, didn’t plow headfirst into any buildings. I followed the directions of the GPS while begging the man in my vision to hold on.

  Maybe now would have been a great time to call Max, but I didn’t have a spare phone, and I knew the victim in my vision didn’t have long.

  So I drove until finally I reached the foundry. I skidded to a halt, riding up the pavement, yanking on the handbrake, and lurching out of my car. I fell onto the slippery, rain-soaked streets, a rough section of asphalt tearing a hole in my jeans. I didn’t stop. I planted my hands onto the street, pushed up, and shot towards the half-open gates of the foundry. I didn’t even bother to close my car door.

  As the rain drove down, it stuck my hair to my cheeks, flattening my fringe over my eyes, and made the world nothing more than a gray haze.

  But my vision was still there. Pulling me forward. Telling me what to do next.

  So I followed.

  And as I did, I didn’t question. Bridgette’s warning slipped from my mind as I threw myself headlong into my vision of the future.

  Chapter 4

  I’d never been to a foundry before. Hello, not too many opportunities for fake fortunes there.

  It looked like it was straight out of an action movie.

  The yard outside was cramped full of metal rounds, old 44-gallon drums, fencing wire, and mysterious clunking, rusted machines whose use I couldn’t even begin to guess.

  I had no time. No time. That driving refrain beat through my head and practically rattled my bones as I threw myself through the yard.

  Mud was everywhere, pooled beneath every drum, sloshed over the piles of fencing wire, and plastered over my pants as I splashed through the rust-colored puddles.

  Though the day was gray and hazy from the rain-and-cloud-soaked sky, I still got a good enough impression of the foundry to figure out
that it was old, if not abandoned.

  That, however, didn’t mean it wasn’t running. Because something was running. The ground was vibrating with a persistent hum of machinery, and a steady thump, thump, thump reverberated through the yard, pitching through my feet and shaking my knees.

  I almost stumbled as my feet snagged against a loop of treacherous wire, but I shifted to the side just in time, saving my balance. I managed it, because I saw myself doing it in my vision a split second before it happened.

  And I followed. I followed, because I had no choice but to follow.

  For the vision, as it swarmed in my mind and took over my field of view, also took over my body at the same time.

  I didn’t have the opportunity to question.

  I thrust through the rest of the yard and managed to reach the massive doorways that led into the building proper. They were old and rusted, warped with use, chipped and bent from having been yanked open for too many years, day after day.

  As I shoved through the door and squeezed through the crack, a wave of acrid scent hit me. It felt like it was scouring the inside of my nostrils, like someone was attacking my throat with sandpaper. I instantly brought up an arm and crammed it over my mouth as I shoved forward.

  My hair was plastered across my face, a few strands darting before my eyes. I flicked them away with a jerked move of my head as I surveyed the foundry.

  I searched for the victim. I’d only seen him for a few precious seconds in my vision, but it was enough that I would be able to identify him. Young, maybe 25, floppy hair that was plastered over his eyes by sweat and rain. Black cheeks sallow with fear. Jeans and T-shirt torn over his shoulders and knees.

  My heart was a reverberating, beating mess in my ears that would have rocked me back and forth on my feet if I’d been standing still. But standing still I was not.

  The same level of disarray was present inside the building as was outside in the yard. Used up 44-gallon drums lay on their sides, suspicious pools of liquid spreading from them and eating away the paint on the already dilapidated walls. Small cranes and forklifts lay abandoned on their sides close to piles of rusting metal.

  The furnaces were at the back of the massive shed, and despite the fact everything else in this place looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years, they’d clearly been touched quite recently. Because they were on. Even from here I could feel the heat. It was so damn strong, it dried my cheeks in seconds.

  Just when I started to fear the worst, I started to hear a voice. It filtered through the cacophonous sound of the rain on the tin roof and the furnaces.

  The voice was coming from the back of the shed.

  I suddenly reminded myself that I needed to tell Max where I was, what I was doing. But my phone was back in my car. I simply couldn’t think straight. The more I gave in to the sparks flying across my vision, the more I had to do what they showed me. For it was only that which could keep me safe, which could save the victim, right?

  Right?

  No time to question.

  There was a long metal staircase that led up to a gangway that cut around half the room. As I jerked my head back, I realized there was some kind of operational control center on the far wall, shielded from the heat and sound of the main room by thick glass. Squinting my eyes, I saw figures within.

  I threw myself forward, wet shoes squeaking on the rough, pockmarked concrete as I headed towards the stairs. Reaching out with a shaking hand, I grabbed the rickety railing and yanked myself up each step in turn. Twisting my head to the side, I kept my gaze locked on the operations room.

  “Come on. Come on,” I begged.

  No time now. No time now. That refrain struck me, rattling through my brain, feeling like mini explosions going off behind my eyes.

  Sure enough, I heard a man’s long, drawn-out scream.

  Reason told me not to make my presence known. But my heart fought violently against that reason as I yanked my mouth open. “Stop,” I bellowed, voice loud enough that it punched through the noise of the rain and wind and furnaces.

  The man’s scream was cut short. Then there was silence. Don’t ask me how I heard it over the sounds of the storm. But it was there.

  Still squinting my eyes as I threw myself along the metal gangway, I saw somebody walk towards the operations door. There was a creak as it opened.

  Out walked a man.

  I instantly recognized what he was. A faceless assassin. He was dressed in a long dark robe that hid his hands and feet but left his face in full view. Or at least what was left of it. Max had already told me that faceless assassins gave up their features every time they used their magic until there was nothing left of their face but skin. By that time, they would die – as they wouldn’t be able to breathe. But faceless assassins were bred and trained to view death at the hands of their power as ascension – as the only fate worth living.

  This guy had to be close to death – as the only thing that was left of his nose were two slight slits. And those two slight slits flared as he tilted his head to the side.

  I was now halfway along the metal gangway. It was stupidly long – wrapping around the entire wall of this factory.

  Suddenly, the faceless assassin jerked to the side, wrapping both his palms around the railing. A second later, a charge of magic spread from his touch, eating into the metal. There was an earsplitting crack as it spread through the metal railing, reached a rivet, then plunged down into the grating that made up the floor.

  Suddenly the whole gangway lurched as a powerful wave of force charged through it. It threw me to the side, and if it weren’t for my sudden quick reflexes, I would have fallen under the railing, rolled off, and killed myself on the concrete 5 m below.

  The faceless assassin kept both hands locked on the railing and tilted his head even further to the side. I had just enough time to watch his nostrils flare as he allowed another pulse of magic to spread from his touch and slam into the metal.

  This time there was a god almighty crack as the metal gangway split halfway down the middle.

  I kept hold of the railing, using every ounce of strength I had to wrap my frigid, white-knuckled fingers around it.

  It was the only thing that kept me alive.

  Because, a second later, the gangway started to pull away from the wall.

  I screamed as the railing I had hold of popped free from the gangway.

  But I didn’t die. Instead, the fireflies returned. Quick this time. So fast I couldn’t push them away as they swarmed through my mind.

  Directly beneath the section of walkway I was on was a large, haphazard pile of metal sheets. The sheets were curled, their razor-sharp edges pointing upwards.

  It was a death trap.

  But I didn’t have any choice – the vision moved through me. It forced me to let go of the railing just in time, just before the entire gangway pulled away from the wall in a shriek of metal.

  I sailed down the short half-meter distance to the pile of metal sheets. I did not, however, fall against one of those razor-sharp edges and end up sliced in half like a knob of butter.

  Instead, as the sparks swarmed through my vision with more power than I’d ever felt, they timed my descent perfectly, they curled my body to the side just at the right moment, and they saved my life. I struck the metal sheets, sliding down them, tucking my arms against my stomach, pulling my left hip to the side.

  The metal sheets began to tilt, and with a screeching, grating noise that filled the air, tumbled to the floor.

  And I tumbled with them. I wasn’t, however, squished. Instead, at the right moment, I pushed into a dive role, struck the concrete, and managed to save myself.

  No. I didn’t save myself. The sparks did.

  I heard the faceless assassin let out a grating scream. There couldn’t have been too much left of his throat, because it sounded as if somebody was trying to shriek through a straw.

  There was a great clatter of feet on metal and a hiss like steam escaping a
pipe. Then he threw himself off the remnants of the metal grating, sailed through the air, and landed several meters in front of me. Instead of smashing headfirst against the damaged concrete, a cloud of magic escaped his feet at the last moment, cushioning him so he didn’t crush his legs.

  He didn’t pause. Didn’t wait to tilt his head to the side and consider me with his eyeless face. He threw himself at me, a cloud of magic breaking in his wake.

  I jerked to the side, ankle catching on one of the curled-up scraps of metal. It cut easily through my jeans and sliced across my skin sending a smattering of blood over the dirty floor.

  I felt a wave of power slam into my side. It struck me with such force, it sent me spinning backward into the mound of metal sheets. This time I wasn’t so lucky, and one of the sharp edges sliced into the back of my thigh.

  I screamed, jerking my head to the side as pain blasted through my body.

  The assassin lurched towards me, magic still lapping off him in waves.

  Though my mind was spinning from pain and fear, I held on to one fact – the faceless assassin couldn’t afford to use too much magic. Do that, and it would cost him his nostrils and ultimately smother him.

  … So all I had to do was make the bastard use up more of his power.

  I somehow found the strength and coordination to lurch to my feet, blood slicking my ankle and pooling beneath my shoe. It felt like I’d sliced my thigh through – blinding pain pulsed out of it and ate up into my hip.

  I pushed the pain away as I skidded towards the broken remnants of the gangway.

  The gangway was a warped mess of metal. It could provide defense and a weapon.

  I felt a whoosh past my right shoulder and threw myself to the side just in time as a shot of green magic slammed over my shoulder. It caught the wet ends of my hair and burnt them to ash. If the magic had hit me, it would have burnt my arm clean off.

  Finally, I reached the broken gangway, hooking a hand over one of the jutting sections of railing and using it for purchase as I dropped to my side. I reached around with my hand, desperately searching for a piece of broken metal – for a broken pole or scrap of sheeting or shard of steel – anything.