A Lying Witch Read online

  I saw the guy reaching for a flip knife in his left pocket.

  I didn’t have time to notice that the blade was covered in glowing runes. I didn’t have time to notice the light lick of flame that danced around his fingers and down his palm.

  All I could do was react.

  In a snap, the image over my vision stopped.

  And, in real life, I saw the man reach for something in his pocket.

  Don’t ask me how I did it, but I bucked at just the right moment. Something moved through me, controlling me, saving me. I shifted so hard to the side that the chair lost its balance and slammed into the edge of the table, upending it.

  It caught the guy’s side, and he slipped, jerking backward.

  The knife slipped out of his grip and arced through the air.

  I watched it with a frozen heart as it landed on its side and slid down the table.

  I used all my strength to haul myself and the chair to the left, aligning myself with the table.

  Just at the right moment, I shifted back a little and somehow caught the knife.

  I caught the knife because I could see myself doing it. And as I watched, I could do nothing but follow.

  Again, in a flash of dancing sparks, I saw an image over reality.

  And I followed it. I followed it until the hilt of that glowing knife slipped into my grip.

  The guy was picking himself up from behind the table just as I twisted the knife around and cut through the tape tightly wrapped around my wrists. There was the unmistakable ripping sound of tearing plastic. Then my hands were free, and in a deft movement I ripped the tape from my mouth.

  I lurched off the chair, throwing my torso free and grabbing the edge of the table just as the guy punched to his feet.

  I shoved the table with all my might, and one of its upturned legs caught him right on the knee cap.

  His knee buckled and he fell backward, slamming into the floor with a rattling thump that shook every pot and pan arranged above the cooker.

  Screaming, breathing with such an erratic, chest-shredding pace it felt like my lungs would explode, I twisted around and slashed at the tape binding my legs.

  Then I ran.

  Though I wanted to make it to the front door, something told me to head for the stairs instead.

  There was a coat rack by the base of the stairs, and I grabbed it as I swung past, shoving it behind me.

  The man growled as he caught it and elbowed it aside.

  I stumbled up to the second floor.

  I screamed.

  God did I scream. I screamed at the top of my lungs with every ounce of vocal strength I could muster.

  But he was still right behind me.

  Still right behind me.

  Though I could have headed to any number of rooms on the second floor, I swung around and headed up to the third floor instead.

  Only one thing was going through my mind – get to the attic.

  If I were fast enough, I’d be able to retract the stairs and lock them somehow.

  I could almost see myself reaching the attic. I could almost hear my feet pounding up the steps. I could even smell the slightly musty scent of the air up there….

  “Stop,” the guy bellowed from behind.

  I screamed in reply.

  Finally, finally I reached the third floor. I threw myself at the open attic steps with all my strength. I stumbled but managed to right myself as I reached the bottom step.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” the guy snapped.

  Maybe he could sense what I was about to do, because I heard him put on a burst of speed.

  Desperate – the kind of desperate that scours your chest and leaves you as nothing more than a hollow pulsing ball of adrenaline – I shunted out a hand and snatched a few trinkets off the sideboard beside me. I lobbed them over my shoulder at him.

  I heard a few strike him with satisfying thumps, but he did not slow down.

  Reaching the stairs, I threw myself up, the old wood creaking as if it was being beaten by an avalanche.

  ….

  I did it. I reached the top.

  I fell to the side, sweat-slicked fingers hooking over the lever beside the stairs that would retract them.

  I pulled it. I yanked it with all my might.

  But he reached the base of the stairs.

  And he was stronger than me.

  I kicked around on my back, tugging on the lever as hard as I could, muscles straining deep into my chest and down my legs.

  With an echoing twang, the mechanism that retracted the stairs broke.

  I had seconds to roll over and push to my feet.

  He threw himself into the attic, those camel-colored boots kicking up the dust.

  I stumbled over the chair, slammed into the table, and grabbed the only thing I could – the book.

  I jerked around and brandished the extraordinarily light book.

  Despite the fact my mind was exploding in fear, I noticed the book weighed nothing more than a feather.

  It looked heavier than a cast-iron pot. And yet, I brandished it with the ease of a pen.

  The guy’s eyes bulged as they locked on the book. “What the hell? How can you pick that up? That’s the family contract – only a seer can pick that up.”

  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. My throat was filled with the metallic taste of fear. I still managed to jerk my lips open. “Get back. Get back or I’ll—”

  I couldn’t finish my sentence.

  I had no weapon other than this deceptively light tome.

  I was dead.

  Just as true excruciating terror punched through my heart and echoed like a scream in my mind, he put his hands up.

  Gone was the anger and hatred from his crystalline brown eyes. His angular jaw wasn’t locked with terrifying tension anymore.

  He looked completely thrown. He kept staring from me to the book. “Only Joan could pick that book up—”

  “I said get back,” I shrieked, voice so cracked and broken I could barely understand myself.

  He put his hands up. “Whoa, calm down.”

  “Calm down?!” I screamed, words all cracked and hissing. “You attacked me. Now get out, get out, get out!”

  He kept his hands up, his fingers spread wide as his eyes opened to match them.

  Every scrap of anger was gone from his expression. Only complete wonder and confusion remained. “You… you’re the next McLane seer.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Now just get out. Get out!” I continued to hold the book high, fingers so stiff against the leather cover, I could have bored holes through it to the yellowed pages beneath.

  He didn’t shift his hands from the surrender-position. Nor did he tear his eyes off me. “If you can pick up that book, then the curse has transferred to you. So Joan must be….” He didn’t finish. He couldn’t. A wash of genuine sadness fell down his face until his lips drooped, his cheeks slackened, and his eyes were touched with tears.

  Yes, this guy had just chased me around with a knife. Yes, my body was still frazzled by the adrenaline of the fight. But no, I couldn’t stop my usually hardened heart from suddenly softening with compassion.

  Though he kept one hand raised, the other trembled as he locked it against his brow. “I forgot that, too,” he mumbled to himself.

  “What?”

  He shook his head and returned his attention to me. Slowly he let his hands drop. “I’m not here to hurt you, Miss McLane.”

  “Bullshit,” I replied, holding the book even higher.

  But a strange thing was happening. The longer I held that deceptively light tome, the lighter I began to feel. For something invisible and indescribable was shifting through it and into me.

  Magic.

  My destiny, in fact.

  I blinked my eyes as they suddenly felt heavy like someone had tied rocks to my eyelashes.

  Far in the distance, I heard something. It didn’t come from the room. Not from t
he floor below, not from the yard outside.

  No, it came from beyond that.

  I heard wind rustling through leaves, felt someone standing beside me. They reached out a hand, and I saw a flash of their palm – bloodied, carved with an eye in the middle.

  They pressed it against my forehead.

  And I, Chi McLane, blacked out.

  Just as my body crumpled, and I fell backward towards the desk, the man moved.

  I felt him wrap his arms around me, felt him yank me back before I could hit my head on the corner of the desk.

  I had just one second to realize one fact – the man’s arms were reassuringly warm and strong as they closed around me.

  Then?

  I lost consciousness.

  I would be a different person when I awoke. For this was the moment when I, Chi McLane, serial liar and fake fortune-teller, would change forever.

  Chapter 3

  I awoke on the couch in the lounge room. There was a thick crochet blanket on me, and as I swiveled my sleepy gaze to the side, I saw a roaring fire crackling in the hearth.

  I heard footsteps from the other room.

  My memories came back to me with a crash and a bang.

  The knife. The man. The gaffer tape. The book in the attic.

  I jerked up, the blanket tumbling off my prone body and crumpling into a pile on the floor. My pillow sailed out from underneath me, and I tripped on it as I jumped off the couch.

  I straightened, locked a hand on the armrest of the sofa, and used it for stability as I propelled myself towards the door that led into the hallway.

  I had to get to my car. Had to get to the police.

  “You’re up, then?” the guy said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the door.

  As my eyes pulsed wide, I lurched back, scanning the room for escape.

  The guy simply continued to lean against the wall, looking as casual as it was possible to be. “The front door is locked, so is the back. You could try one of the upstairs windows.” His gaze flicked down my body, his expression totally unmoved. “Somehow I doubt you’d be limber enough to open a window, let alone climb out without killing yourself. Why don’t you just sit back down and rest on the couch, love?”

  Though there was something electric about the way he said love, I couldn’t exactly ignore the disdainful look in his eyes.

  Still facing him, I began to back away. I couldn’t even begin to describe how hard my heart hammered in my chest. My whole body shuddered from it.

  He never shifted his gaze off me, his cheeks smooth and relaxed, his lips thin.

  I kept backing off.

  “Keep doing that,” he began.

  I struck something.

  “And you’ll trip over,” he finished.

  I tumbled over, collecting the edge of a coffee table. I fell against the usually soft, plush carpet, my back cracking. “Ah!” I screamed.

  I heard him let out a disdainful sigh. Then he shifted. The sound of his muscles creaking, of his jeans and shirt rumpling – it was like a gun cocking by my head.

  I screamed, this time putting my whole throat into it. I swore my lungs rattled as I gasped for air.

  Though I’d collected the coffee table and it had tumbled over beside me, I now crawled over it in my haste to get the hell away. The legs of the table dug into my ribs and thighs, but I didn’t care.

  God, I had to get away.

  I finally freed myself from the table and punched to my feet. Fortunately, this lounge room had another entry, a door which led to the kitchen. I threw myself towards it with every ounce of energy I had.

  Just when I locked the open doorway in my sights, he appeared. Don’t ask me how, but he took one slow step in front of me, blocking the doorway. He’d been behind me half a second ago – several meters behind me. Yet in the blink of an eye, he was right there.

  I didn’t have time to stop. He, however, had time to cross his arms.

  I slammed into his hard, unyielding chest. He had time to catch me, but instead he snorted as I bounced right off that rock-solid chest and slammed into the floor. Again.

  “There’s nowhere to run, love. So why don’t you sit back down before you fall down?”

  “Get the hell away from me!” I spat, turning on my foot and running for the other door.

  Again, I didn’t make it. Because again he suddenly appeared right in front of me.

  I took a staggering step back, eyes bulging wide. I hadn’t heard him sprint up behind me, nor had I felt him brush past. Nope. He’d simply gone from being behind me to blocking my path in the blink of an eye.

  “H-how are you doing that?”

  He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms again. He’d looked disdainful before, but now he appeared to be putting more effort into the move. “I still can’t believe you’re Joan’s granddaughter,” he said offhand. “I can’t believe her powers have transferred to you.”

  “Just let me leave, please.”

  “That would be a very bad idea. Trust me, love, you’re better off in here with me than out there on your own. Especially considering your predilection for lying.”

  I blinked, kind of like I’d just been slapped. Was that just an offhand comment, or had this Scottish home invader been talking to my grandmother? My dead grandmother.

  Suddenly, I remembered the book in the attic.

  I felt pale, so pale it was a surprise my face didn’t drop off from blood loss. “Wh-what happened back there?”

  He tilted his head to the side, his arms still crossed. “You mean up there?” He extended a finger and pointed to the ceiling. “In the attic? When you picked up your family’s contract?”

  “Family’s contract?”

  “Aye. A sanctified magical document documenting the details of your curse.” His brogue became thick and hard on the word curse.

  I blinked. It wasn’t a normal move; it was more like my eyelids were shuddering. “Sorry? Ma-ma-magical contract?” I couldn’t say the word magical. It became stuck in my throat every time I tried.

  He nodded. “Aye, love – magical contract. The hard copy of the McLane curse that has existed for the past, oh, 500 odd years.”

  My head felt as if it were full of fog. No, scratch that. It felt like it was full of wool, crammed right in there until every thought ground to a stop.

  Somehow, I still managed to shake my head.

  So what did he do? He nodded his head slowly. Really slowly. The kind of slow move that showed off his strong neck and chest.

  “Curse. I guess your grandma never told you about it. I guess you don’t know that 500 odd years ago Mary McLane, your forbear, lied and turned from her powers,” his tone changed on that word. It became punchy, like a burst of air or a slice of a sword.

  I shuddered back.

  “Mary McLane refused to use her powers to read the future and lied, that she did. And in doing so, hundreds of people lost their lives. For that, she was cursed. And that curse,” he unlocked his arms then stretched a hand, index finger jutting towards me, “has now transferred to you.”

  I shook my head again. It was all I could do.

  He just nodded. “Aye. Now Joan has succumbed to it, you, Chi McLane, will shoulder the burden.”

  “This is mad. Stupid,” I spat, “totally frigging impossible. Now get the hell out—”

  He snorted softly, reached up a hand, and scratched behind his ear. He looked thoughtfully around the room before crossing his arms again.

  “… What are you doing?” I asked after he descended into protracted silence.

  “I’m looking for something to convince you that this ain’t mad and this ain’t stupid.”

  I didn’t have a chance to tell the creep not to bother.

  Oh no.

  Because a second later he shrugged, unhooked an arm, brought it up, spread his hand, and then….

  I jerked back as light spread over his fingers, down his wrist, and along his arm. It looked like those luminous blue fl
ames you get with a blow torch. The only problem was, this guy’s fingers weren’t superheated jets of flame.

  “Oh god. Oh god!” I gasped as I jerked all the way back. My knees banged against the couch, and I unceremoniously fell on top of it.

  The guy stood there for several seconds, inspecting the flame like you might a nifty drawing you’d just done.

  When he shot his piercing gaze back to me and appeared satisfied with my reaction, he smiled, clicked his fingers, and shrugged. “That’s magic, love,” he pointed out as he scratched at the ray of stubble covering his jaw.

  I shook my head. Boy did I shake it. It felt like it would fall off and tumble into my lap. “No, no, no. This isn’t possible. It isn’t possible!”

  The guy just rolled his eyes at my hysterics. “Calm down, Chi. If you act like this at finding out magic’s real, I hate to imagine what you’ll do when you find out what the curse is. And,” he took a rather ominous step forward, his large, broad back somehow blocking most of the light streaming in from the equally large and broad bay window, “more importantly,” he continued, voice dropping even lower, “what the curse will do to you if you break the contract.”

  I was frozen to the spot. Absolutely 150% frozen. I simply couldn’t move a muscle, let alone call the police and try to defend myself from this madman.

  … A madman who could produce blue flame and make it dance over his arm as if it were nothing more than playful light.

  I swallowed. Or at least I tried to. My throat simply wouldn’t comply – it was too dry, too contracted.

  The guy must have taken my silence as interest, because he cleared his throat. “You come from a long line of seers, Chi. Your grandmother Joan was one, as was her grandmother, and her grandmother before that. Only the female line of the McLanes possess true second sight. And only they have a history of abusing it,” his voice bottomed out so low it could have punched through the floor, shattered the house’s foundations, and buried me alive.

  Seriously incapable of doing anything else, I just sat there and shook my head. It was almost as if my addled mind thought I was in a dream, and if I only shook my head hard enough, I’d wake up to reality. Trouble was, this reality took another ominous step towards me as the guy now loomed a few steps before the couch. “Wh-what are you doing?”