A Lying Witch Book Four Page 9

  “Aye, my Max, I’ve got your precious diary.”

  … Wait. Diary?

  It was a contract, right?

  “How, how did you get that?” His voice was raspy, broken.

  Mary kept a hand flat on the book. She stood several steps before McCain and didn’t seem bothered by the dying flames and smoke.

  “Come now, McCain, haven’t you seen her?”

  McCain’s eyes suddenly drew wide, practically exploding from his face as he stared around the room.

  His gaze cut right over me. Though I was small and the smoke was still thick, I wasn’t invisible.

  No, McCain just couldn’t see me.

  “That’s your problem, McCain. You’ve used too much power, my dear. You may not think it affects you, but it does. Oh, Max, it does.”

  “Where is she?” McCain roared as he continued to search through the room with his roving, desperate gaze.

  Mary chuckled. It wasn’t a nasty move. Just a tight breath of air. “You can’t see her, because you’ve used too much magic. It’s narrowed your world, my love. Just like I said it would. Soon, if you keep going the way you are, your world will become so small, it’ll blow away in the wind.”

  McCain roared, but there was a scared edge to it. He shook forward and reached a hand toward Mary, his large fingers splaying wide, but he didn’t dare spring to his feet.

  Mary, it seemed, had him right where she wanted him.

  I, of course, had no friggin’ clue what was going on.

  Mary, her hand pressing so hard against the cover I thought she was trying to crush it into dust, half turned her attention to me. “It’s the cost of his magic, my child. The cost of too much power.”

  Though I didn’t think it was a great idea to chat while McCain the evil sorcerer king was right there, unrestrained, I figured Mary knew what she was doing. “What are you talking about?”

  “You must know magic costs, child.”

  I nodded.

  “And you must realize that strong magic costs you more.”

  “But he’s no ordinary practitioner. He’s a sorcerer king.”

  “Aye, that’s the point. All sorcerer kings give up the same thing – their world.”

  I stared at McCain. He was staring around wildly, his thick neck muscles like rope as he searched for me. “Who are you talking to, witch? There’s no one here. She can’t be here. You’re lying,” he concluded, that familiar wild rage crumpling his brow like crushed paper.

  Mary stood straighter at that claim. “No, my Max. This time I’m not. You can’t see her, because you’ve completely lost sight of your future. Your quest for power at any costs has cost you everything but power.”

  “You lie.”

  “No. You just can’t see anything anymore. She’s right before you, my Max. But you can no longer see your future.”

  My stomach twisted, spun like a tire that had broken off a speeding car. I jerked back and slammed a hand on my belly. “What are you talking about? I’m not his future.”

  Mary returned her attention to me again, but only part of it. She obviously couldn’t afford to pull her focus completely off Max. Though he looked controlled for now, that could all change in a heartbeat.

  “My child, you’re the seer we’ve all been waiting for.”

  “What… what do you mean? How do you even know about the future?” As soon as I said it, I winced as I realized it was a stupid question.

  She smiled, her plump cheeks pushing high into her blue eyes. “Because I’m a seer.”

  “… You’ve seen all the way into modern times? More than 400 years from now?”

  “Aye. I saw you, felt you in my head. But more than that, you were the last true vision I had.”

  I shook my head, complete confusion swelling through my mind like water breaking from a dam. “But I saw you before – saw the sparks in your eyes. That was you using your powers.”

  “Not like this. That was just a wee dose of power. No. The last time I really looked into the future – when I decided never to truly use my powers again – I saw you. Saw this. Saw when you’d finally come back and save us McLanes. And,” she turned her attention back to McCain, a soft, loving smile crumpling her parched red lips, “save my Max.”

  “You can’t save me, witch. I’m not broken. You – you’re the wench who needs saving. And mark my words, there won’t be no one to save you now.” McCain’s words were ugly, spitting hisses like a snake who’d had its tail stepped on.

  I don’t know how Mary did it, but rather than shift back in horror, she kept that loving smile spread wide and firm over her lips. “Aye, my Max. You will be saved. And this, this will do the saving.” She brought the book up a little higher.

  She’d called it McCain’s diary. I doubted it was his day-to-day musings or a list of his regrets and inadequacies.

  It had to be something truly important to his power. And somehow, the mere fact it was now in Mary’s hands was enough to keep Max on his knees.

  It was also having a slow but measurable effect on him. With each second, he looked as if he was falling asleep.

  “How can you see me?” I asked Mary. “The last time I was here, I was in your head. The time before that, I was somehow myself as I witnessed McCain casting the curse.”

  “It’s your power, Chi. All seers are different. You – you can see into the past.”

  It was true. My ability to see the past had allowed me to solve those murders and defeat Fagan and his goons. Still, there was a heck of a difference between seeing the past and traveling here.

  “Each time you come here, your ability to interact with and affect things increases. But the longer you stay, the harder it is to leave as your soul becomes grounded to this timeline.”

  I blinked. It was all I could do. I was in no frame of mind to understand magical temporal dynamics.

  McCain no longer interrupted us as he rested back on the floor, almost completely unconscious now.

  “I need to defeat McCain. Don’t ask me how, as I really don’t understand how this magical timeline stuff works, but a version of him is in the future, and he’s wreaking havoc. I need some weapon against him, some chance. I know lying is key, but I need more,” I said, finishing with a gulp.

  “Aye, lying affects McCain. He can’t tell the difference between a lie and the truth. It’s the cost of his power. His world is too narrow, and he no longer has the perspective to ascertain if something is right. He only sees what he wants. So you have the power to blind him with lies. But you’re right – you’ll need more if you want to defeat him.”

  I let out a rattling sigh of relief. Finally, I was getting somewhere. But time wasn’t on my side.

  Mary twisted her head to the side, her eyes drawing so wide, it was like they were trying to take over her face.

  “What is it?” I hissed as I took a step toward her, hand outstretched.

  “Something’s happening in the future, your future,” she managed, her lips drawing slack as if she barely had the attention left to remember how to move them.

  My stomach lurched to the side. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “He’s attacking.” Mary turned her attention back to McCain, furling on her foot, her skirts slapping against her legs.

  My breath became stuck in my throat as the full horror of what she was saying hit me.

  That bastard McCain would be attacking. And I was stuck back here.

  “I have to go back and help my friends,” I spat, desperation shaking my every word.

  Mary offered a tight nod that accentuated just how stiff her rope-like neck muscles had become. “Aye, child. You must. For it’s only back there in the future that you can end this. Now go. Go.”

  Though I shifted back, pulled on the wings of my fear for my friends, I stopped. “Wait, hold on – I don’t know how to end this yet. There’s so much more you have to tell me. Please, what do I do next?” I begged.

  “Hand me your knife,” Mary demanded a
s she jolted toward me.

  The knife was in my back pocket. I whirled around, tugged it out, and handed it to her.

  She considered the knife with a tight frown rolling her lips flat. Then? Then she drew it across her palm in a quick, brutal move that saw blood spill over her palm and splash against her boots and the marked floor.

  “What are you doing?” I stuttered.

  “Offering you a chance. Now hold out your hand.”

  I winced but did as I was told.

  I expected her to slice the knife from the tip of my finger down to the base of my palm, just as she’d done to her own hand.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she started to incant something under her breath. Dropping her head low, as if she were in a trance, she finally brought her free hand out and pointed to the contract still pressed so tightly in my shaking arms.

  I wanted to ask what the hell I was meant to do, but I didn’t dare interrupt her attention.

  Though I knew full well that when I pretended to go into a trance, any sane person would be able to tell I was faking it, this was different. From the exact way Mary swayed on her feet, to the exact slurred quality of her words, this wasn’t a friggin’ game.

  It was real.

  Mary spread her fingers wide, and I figured she was asking for the contract.

  Though I was kind of reluctant to give it up, considering what it meant, I pushed past my reluctance and handed it to her.

  She snatched it up and twisted hard on her foot, the heel of her simple shoes grinding against the stone. She tipped forward and fell down to one knee in front of McCain’s comatose body.

  I watched her carefully, and though she was still in a trance, I saw an unmistakable twitch cross through her pale, freckled cheeks.

  I still couldn’t comprehend how she could love this man considering everything he’d done.

  Mary placed the contract down on the floor directly in front of one of McCain’s massive arms, and the pages started to flutter open.

  They settled somewhere in the center of the book. Mary continued to chant, and I swear it was her words alone that were controlling the wind, almost as if it were attracted to her every inhalation and utterance.

  Tight, prickly nerves climbed up and down my back, scattering through my stomach and pulsing through my heart.

  Mary’s words became louder as the wind now raced through the room with such speed, it flattened against my body and started to push me backward. “What’s going on?” I begged.

  Mary didn’t answer. I doubted she could spare the breath.

  Though the wind touched everything else in the room, for some reason, it couldn’t affect McCain. It didn’t scatter his short hair, didn’t tug at his shirt.

  No. He remained perfectly silent and still as if he were cast out of stone.

  As the wind reached its most powerful with a roar that shook the ceiling and rumbled through the floor, Mary plunged forward and brought the knife down, stabbing the contract.

  Instantly, I fell back. It felt as if someone had just slammed a searing hot iron into my head.

  I screamed as I fell against the table, my body losing all control as I tumbled onto the floor.

  Mary, though she rocked back as if someone had struck her, was already down on her knees. She kept pushing the sacred knife into the book with all her might.

  I was way beyond asking what the hell was happening now. For the answer was clear. Mary McLane was trying to destroy the contract. That blinding pain in the center of my head grew worse and worse until I swore someone was trying to sear through my brains with a hot iron. That, however, was absolutely nothing compared to what was happening to Mary. Blood was actually dripping down from the wound in her brow. It looked as if she’d turned the knife on herself and tried to carve her brains out.

  Sarah had told me destroying the contract would probably kill Max, so I hoped like hell Mary knew what she was doing.

  The wind now roared so loudly, I swore it sounded like there was some creature, some awful monster trapped in it. One baying to get out.

  For the first time since Mary had stabbed the contract, McCain began to move. The movements weren’t conscious, however. Hell no. Instead, in a gruesome display like a puppet being jerked around by a frantic hand, his body began to convulse. First, it was his arms, then his legs, then his torso. Soon it looked as if somebody was driving a thousand volts of electricity through his prone form.

  Somehow, above the roar of the wind and the thump, thump thump of Max’s body hitting the floor, I began to hear a light whistling, hissing sound, almost as if somebody had stabbed a pipe. As the sound grew and grew, I thought my ears would burst. Just before the drums could split and my head could pop, it stopped.

  Silence. A strange, floating sensation began to pick up through the center of my chest. It was one of the lightest, most memorable sensations I’d ever felt. It spread and spread until the room gave one more convulsion, almost like a hiccup. And then? Silence.

  I looked down to see the book still resting before Max. Out of everything in the room, it was the only thing that hadn’t shaken.

  In fact, now it was so exquisitely still it barely looked real.

  That floating sensation that had drifted through me began to build until it took control of my body. My top started to flap about me, my hair becoming so light it felt like clouds drifting around my face. I looked over to see the same thing was happening to Mary. Her crinkly red hair trickled around her face in waves.

  Max’s prone form gave one more almighty convulsion until he lay still.

  Then?

  The book disappeared. First, the writing drifted off the page, one word after another, the characters swimming through the air like motes of dust on the wind. As the words circled around the room, they were caught by the almighty wind, and with a gust, they were pushed back into McCain. With one more violent seizure, suddenly, he lay completely still. Before my confused heart could give a violent thump at the possibility he was dead, his lips parted open, and his comatose body let out a rattling gasp.

  Once the words had pulled themselves off the page, the pages themselves started to pull apart from the book until it tore itself completely in two. The pages and binding didn’t drift back into McCain. They seemed to concentrate against the point of the knife until they were sucked up into it as if it were a vacuum cleaner.

  There was one more rattling thump, another echoing hiss, and then everything turned back to normal.

  Abruptly, the floating spell that had caught hold of my hair and the flaps of my shirt ended. I stumbled forward in time to see Mary turn to me.

  The blade was still crackling in her hand, engorged on so much magic it looked as if the metal would soon melt in a sea of sparks.

  I gulped. I felt as if I would swallow the lining of my throat. “What just happened?” My voice shook.

  “I have pulled your Max’s soul from the contract and put it in here.” She gestured with the knife.

  I shook with relief.

  “Now take this. You have to hurry, child. You have to hurry.” Her voice was a stuttering mess as she handed me the knife.

  Considering what I’d seen, I paused before accepting it. But finally, I pushed out a shaking hand. As Mary pressed the still crackling blade into my palm, a jolt of nerves traveled hard down my back, telling me the blade was about to fry my hand.

  … It didn’t. And yet, the power sparking off it was completely undeniable. I’d never held anything with more sheer potential. I stared down at it for a lingering moment until I tugged my head back and stared at her with wide-open, shaking eyes. “What happened?” I pulled my attention off the blade and turned my face to the still comatose McCain. His limbs were a mess about him, his head lolled hard to the side from where the spell had shaken him.

  I looked back to see a truly sad smile press across Mary’s lips. “I’ve managed to destroy the contract – the contract you brought from the future. The magic McCain invested in it
has returned to him.”

  “You called it a diary before,” I stuttered.

  “Aye,” she said as she looked me directly in the eye. “It is his diary. For McCain wrapped up more than the McLane’s in this curse. In order to track us through time and history, he placed a fragment of his soul – other than your Max – within this contract, tying it to his every moment.”

  That was kind of a loose definition of a diary, but I didn’t point that out. Quite rightly, I had other things to concentrate on right now.

  I returned my attention to the still crackling knife, my eyes growing truly wide as the sparks crackling over the tip looked strong enough to burn my hand into a cinder.

  I took another rattling swallow. “What happens now?”

  “Now, you return home to the future. You take that knife, and you use it to destroy the final contract.”

  “Final contract?” I pointedly looked down at the spot where the contract had rested before Mary had dramatically destroyed it. “Haven’t you already dealt with that?”

  “Only one of them. For another exists. The one McCain took from the past to the future.”

  I shook my head. This time travel stuff could get mightily confusing.

  “You must destroy it with that knife.”

  “Hold on, I’ve seen McCain in the future, and he sure as hell isn’t carrying around a great big book.”

  “It is likely that he has transmuted the book into another form. An object he is always keeping with him.”

  I opened my mouth to object but stopped as an image slammed into my mind.

  I offered a tight nod. “I think I know what the contract is. It’s his sword.”

  Mary let out a wry chuckle. “Aye, that’s his style. Now, child,” she pressed forward, plucked up my hands, and wrapped them tightly in her own, “you must destroy that sword.”

  I took a rattling gulp. “To do that, I have to get it from him first, and that’s going to be impossible.”

  “It won’t be impossible, for you will find a way. Once you have destroyed the sword, turn on McCain.” As she spoke, her gaze became immeasurably darker, as if her eyeballs had been transported into deep space.