Omens Bite, page 18
Being a leader was tough. Being team captain was even tougher. Everyone wanted to be Kirk Whitfield—star quarterback on his way to a Big Ten university, a fraternity where he’d make friends who would have his back for decades, and then a cushy white-collar job in Chicago where he’d get himself a wife as hot as she was brainless. But he’d lose his position as team leader, his free ride to college, his entire future if he listened to the assholes. No damn way was he going to let this injury stop him from the life he was entitled to. With his good hand he smashed the empty can against the side of his Jeep and then tossed it into the lake.
A little unsteadily he slid off the hood of the Jeep and got behind the wheel. The fucking Goode sisters—they were responsible for all of his problems. Hell, they were probably responsible for all of the town’s problems.
“I shoulda never even looked at Mercy Goode.” Kirk burped loud and long. He’d killed the six-pack of PBR trying to get himself together—trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. He put the SUV in gear and threw gravel as he headed away from the lake and continued to talk to himself. “Good thing beer makes me think better—and drive better. Add Percocet and I’m golden!”
Kirk’s one-handed grip on the steering wheel left greasy marks on the leather wrapping, and he automatically drove with his knee so he could rub his palm on his jeans. Just thinking about losing football and his future had him sweating. “Gotta stop it. I’m not some nervous pussy. Those Goode bitches caused this. The little sluts aren’t gonna get away with it.”
Kirk turned onto Main Street, surprised that the streetlights were on. He hadn’t realized he’d spent so long at the lake, but it’d been worth it. His head was clear now. He was only a junior. The season was over and he had all summer to bulk up. When school started in the fall he’d be ready. He’d impress the hell outta those scouts and get his scholarship. Kirk braked at one of the two stoplights in town. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as his mind worked. Jarod and Dillon had said that Hunter had basically told Mercy to fuck off at the Parrott funeral, so they weren’t just pretending like they were pissed at each other. “Too damn bad they hadn’t been fighting when the slut and I were dating. I definitely could’ve gotten more than just a bj from her without Hunter around. But it’s perfect that they’re fighting now. Bitches don’t know about divide and conquer, but I do!”
Kirk had to stop himself from gunning the Jeep’s engine as the light turned green. He definitely wasn’t drunk—he was thinking way too clearly for that—but Goodeville cops weren’t exactly known for their smarts and the last thing he needed was to have one pull him over and smell beer on his breath.
“Fucking small-town pigs,” Kirk grumbled. “It’d be just like one of them to hassle me when they should be hauling in those witches and grilling them about the murders that just happened to start the day their mom burned up.” He drove slowly down the heart of Main Street as he continued to talk to himself. “But the cops don’t see the truth—just like Coach and my dad and the docs. Because they’re not smart like me! They’re clueless old assholes. I need to make them see. I gotta make them see.” Kirk braked at the second stoplight on Main Street and glanced in his rearview mirror at the sound of squealing tires.
A girl was waving an apology at someone in a truck who had almost hit her as she sprinted across the street, clutching something in her arms. Kirk instantly recognized her. He kept watching in the mirror. Yeah, she was definitely alone.
“Divide and conquer, just like a general—or better, a Navy SEAL. Yeah, that’s me, a Navy SEAL,” Kirk muttered to himself. “Mercy has no damn backbone anyway. Hunter is just a freak—a mean dyke witch. Now that I get what she can do I’m ready for her.” He flexed his uninjured hand so hard his knuckles cracked. “Dad gets some things right, and one thing he’s for sure right about is that bitches need to know their place.”
The light changed to green and Kirk took a right so that he could go around the block and park down the street where she wouldn’t be able to see him until it was too late.
Kirk pulled his Jeep into a parking space a block or so away from where he’d seen her cross the street. He grabbed his Mustangs ball cap from the backseat and pulled it down low and kept to the shadows as he made his way slowly along the sleepy stores. It was almost nine o’clock and fully dark. Most of the Main Street stores closed up at nine or before. Kirk glanced up and down the street. The wine bar at the other end of Main was pretty busy and, of course, Kingpin Lanes had the usual geriatric crowd of retired losers filing in and out with their ugly league shirts on and their bowling shoes over their shoulders. Other than that hardly anyone was around, which was very good for Kirk—and very bad for the witch.
He heard a weird sound somewhere behind him—maybe coming from one of the alleys that held big blue trash bins and designated smoking areas for Main Street shop employees.
What the hell kinda noise was that?
Kirk stopped and listened hard for another few moments, but didn’t hear anything else. “Probably a fucking cat,” he said under his breath, which gave him another excellent idea. I should take out that evil damn Goode cat—that’d show those two bitches. The thought made Kirk grin and when he turned his attention back to the street in front of him he saw her! She was on the sidewalk and had paused to pull out her phone and text something.
Still hugging the shadows, Kirk moved with athletic quickness so that as she sprinted across the street he followed her and caught her at the door of her car. Too damn bad for the witch that she hadn’t parked under a streetlight, so her car was in a pool of shadow. Kirk didn’t hesitate. He shoved her from behind so that she tripped and fell heavily into the silver Camry. He put his good hand on one side of Mercy and pushed his forearm against her neck, trapping her. Then he shifted and pressed his body into her so he could push her harder against the car.
“Ouch! What the bloody hell?” Mercy regained her balance and pressed the hand that wasn’t holding her to-go bag against the side of her car so she could push back against him.
“You’re not going anywhere, bitch.” He breathed the words into her ear. Her body felt good against him and he loved how she tensed when she realized it was him.
“Kirk? Get off me!” She shoved against him again.
“What’ll you do if I don’t? Zap me like your fucking sister did and break my other hand? Good thing I’m onto you two now so you won’t get the chance, you whore.” He still spoke low and into her ear. Her long, dark hair tickled his nose, but he ignored it—though it was more difficult to ignore the hardness between his legs that pressed against her tight ass.
“Break your hand? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get off me!” She struggled against him again.
“Keep wiggling that ass. Feels real good.” He panted in her ear.
Mercy froze. “What do you want?”
The second she asked him the question he knew his answer—his real answer. The one that would solve all of his problems. “I want you to tell that fucking sister of yours if she doesn’t fix what she did to me that I’m coming after both of you. I’m gonna tell everyone about the shit I watched Hunter do that night at your house. About the spell you did at the football field to make me look like a fool. About the freaky fucking trees that shouldn’t exist in Illinois and what they do. And especially about the murders—the eyeless murders I know you two witches are behind.”
Mercy remained frozen, but her words were filled with heat. “You’ve lost your bloody buggering mind—what’s left of it. Hunter hasn’t done shit to you. We literally want nothing to do with you.”
“Riiiiight.” He drew the whispered word out in her ear. “Your bitch of a sister did this to me!” He pressed his body even harder against her so that he could shift his arm from her neck and she could see his splinted hand. He felt the jolt of shock that went through her. “That’s right! She broke all five of my fingers with that blue witch light shit!”
Mercy was completely still against his body. Then she drew a breath and hurled her words at him.
“Okay, so you are crazy. The first rule of being a witch is that we are to harm no one. Hunter wouldn’t break your hand. Now, get the fuck off me you drunk moron!” Before Kirk knew what she was doing, Mercy stomped on one of his feet. She wore a pair of wooden wedges, which totally smashed through his Nikes.
Kirk staggered back. “You bitch! You could’ve broken my foot!”
Mercy didn’t so much as glance back at him. She grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open, but Kirk hurled himself forward so that he body slammed the door shut before she could sneak away. He raised his good hand to knock some sense into the bitch when a car pulled up beside them.
“Everything okay here?” asked Deputy Carter as he rolled down his window.
“No!”
“Yes!”
Kirk and Mercy spoke at the same time. Then Mercy’s shoulder rammed into him and she dodged past him to the deputy’s car.
“He attacked me!” Mercy told Deputy Carter.
The deputy instantly got out of the car and Mercy moved so that she stood beside him. “He did what?”
Kirk slouched against the Camry and shrugged. “I didn’t do shit. I was just playing. Not my fault if she can’t take a joke.”
Mercy turned to the deputy. Her face was flushed. Tears and snot tracked down her face, but her voice was strong and clear. “Kirk Whitfield is a liar. He pushed me against the car and threatened me. If you hadn’t stopped he was going to hit me.”
“Tell him why!” The words exploded from Kirk. “Because your sister did this to me!” He pointed to the ten stitches that held the gash in his cheek together as he lifted his splinted hand. “And worse than that—they have something to do with the murders. You want to figure out who’s doing all the killing in town? Lock up the Goode witches and I’ll bet it stops.”
Deputy Carter shook his head. “What are you talking about, Whitfield? And what the hell happened to your face and hand? Football accident?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Kirk’s finger pointed at Mercy like it was an aimed gun. “Her sister did this to me. She’s a witch. They both are. I’ve seen them cast spells. The murders started the night their witch of a mom died. They had something to do with it—I know it!”
Deputy Carter’s gaze went from the six-two, almost two-hundred-pound football player to Mercy—who was almost a foot shorter and half a person lighter. His brows lifted sardonically. “So, a girl—exactly Mercy’s size—beat your face and broke your hand.”
“Yes! Because she’s a fucking witch!”
“He’s such a liar and almost as disgusting as he is drunk,” Mercy said. “I’ll bet he’s driving, too.”
“You fucking whore!” Kirk started forward but Deputy Carter blocked him from getting to Mercy.
“You need to calm down. Now!” Carter said. He sniffed at Kirk. “You stink like a bar. Looks like I’ll be giving you a Breathalyzer and calling your dad.” He grabbed Kirk firmly by his arm. “Get in the cruiser.”
Deputy Carter ducked Kirk into the rear of the sheriff’s car and slammed the door firmly behind him. Kirk was too shocked to say anything. No cop had ever manhandled him before—no cop had ever called his dad. He was the captain of a victorious football team—Goodeville’s hero! He’d never even gotten a speeding ticket! His thoughts were suddenly jumbled and his palm was sweating again. He wiped it on his jeans and listened incredulously through the open window as Mercy got away with every fucking thing she’d done.
“You okay, Miss Goode?”
Mercy nodded, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and shifted the sandwich shop to-go bag to her other arm. “Yeah, now I am. Thank you so much, Deputy Carter.”
“Can you drive home, or do you want to call your aunt?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. Really. You saved the day.” Mercy glanced at the cruiser, but didn’t look at Kirk. “What’s gonna happen to him?”
“Don’t worry about that,” said the deputy.
“Oh, I’m not worried at all. Nothing that jerk does could worry me. But I do want you to know that if Kirk Whitfield doesn’t stay away from my family we’re going to get a restraining order against him.”
“Fuck you, you bitch!” Kirk shouted.
“That’s enough from you, Whitfield!” barked the deputy before he turned back to Mercy. “There’ll be a record of this, so you won’t have trouble getting that restraining order, but I’ll talk with his dad. I doubt Kirk will bother you again.”
“Thanks, Deputy Carter. I appreciate you.” Mercy got in the car, put on her seat belt, and then drove away.
Kirk stared at her from the backseat of the cruiser. This isn’t over, you witch. I promise you that. This is not over.
Twenty
Hunter’s swollen spellbook purred against her arms as she carried it down the gravel road toward the olive tree. She’d been walking for more than an hour. Her arms ached under the weight of the blood-filled book and her legs felt like bags of mashed potatoes, but she would’ve kept walking right out of Goodeville if it meant freedom.
“After tonight…” She nodded to herself. Soon, freedom. First, she had to go to each gate and perform the spell that Amphitrite had told her would seal the realms and fix things for good. It would work, and the last few hours would have been worth it.
Hunter focused on grounding herself, and channeled what was left of her energy up, up, up, until it bathed in the light of the moon.
A chorus of croaking screeches bellowed overhead—the same as the alley—as Hunter clicked on her phone’s flashlight and swept the beam of light toward the sky.
Ravens. We don’t have ravens in Illinois …
Magic had taught her many things, and one of them was that coincidence was rarely ever by chance. This was an omen. It had to be. But of what?
Bile burned the back of Hunter’s throat and she forced it down with a tight swallow as she waded into the tall grass that surrounded the ancient olive tree. She was tired of seeing flames and blood when she closed her eyes, and now the hot slick of blood had branded her fingers with the memory of Chuck. Tonight, more than ever, she didn’t want to feel anything. She wanted to ignore this omen and what had happened in the alley and be devoid of all emotion. She could live her life like that, hollow and empty. This world, her magic, they weren’t made for people like Hunter, people who felt too much.
I sense your guilt … your pain. Amphitrite slipped into Hunter’s thoughts with the ease of a shark through water. It wasn’t your fault, Witch. That mortal was unhinged, demented. No mortal can hear any god. Laughter punctuated her words. But not the usual shriek that set Hunter’s teeth on edge. This was a barren chortle that itched the inside of Hunter’s ears.
She adjusted the book in her arms and followed the path she’d worn into the tall grass only days before. “Chuck killed that man. And now he’s dead, too.” She shuddered under the memory of his dying body sagging against hers. She wiped her hand over her ear, trying to scrape away the wet pop of liquid skin that had turned him into water that had rushed over Hunter’s boots and down the drain without a sound.
Better him than you.
Hunter’s hand tightened around her phone. “You pushed me!”
I tried to lend you my power!
“I killed him!” Hunter’s hands shook and sent the beam of light swaying against the grass.
A hard lump cracked beneath Hunter’s boot. She guided the light to the ground and set her book in the grass as the T-shaped pendant glinted in the beam. Her heart stilled inside her chest as she picked up Tyr’s pendant that she’d ripped off her necklace when she forsook her god and called upon Amphitrite. It had been days since she’d last worn it or felt the presence of her former god. Hunter’s knees buckled and hit the ground with a thump. Tyr …
I have guided and aided you more than Tyr ever did.
“Shut up.” Hunter spat. She ran her finger over the opalescent stone that had once swirled purple and pink beneath her touch. Her throat tightened with a sob as it swirled for a moment before turning black.
Your emotions are high—
“Get out of my head, Amphitrite!” Hunter shrieked, her eyes blurry with tears.
Gather your wits and return to me. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.
Leaves rained down as black birds restlessly hopped from branch to branch, their yaps and caws scraping against Hunter’s frayed nerves.
“Go away!” she screamed.
The ravens let out a final screech as they fled the tree and disappeared into the night.
Hunter clutched the pendant to her chest. “Tyr!” she choked out between sobs. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I never should have cast you aside. I never should have listened to Mercy.” She wiped away her tears with the bottom of her shirt. “Amphitrite … she scares me. There’s something wrong. I just—” She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is.” She pressed the pendant against her lips. “I need your guidance. Please, Tyr, talk to me.”
The grass bent and swayed around her as she waited for the god’s response. Silent moments passed and her feet feel asleep and her head ached from sobbing, but Tyr never gave her a sign. When her tears dried and her phone’s battery flashed red, Hunter gathered her spellbook and began her trek back to her apartment. She would close the gates another day when she had more of herself to give away.
Twenty-one
“Witch.”
The word was a cold, damp breath against Hunter’s cheek. She swatted the air in front of her face and rolled over. Her arm draped over the side of the bed and her fingertips dusted the thin beige carpet. “It’s okay.” She ran her jagged nails along the rough fabric and grumbled to the dizzy space between awake and asleep. For the first time in a long time, she dreamt of nothing. “It’s okay…” Drool slipped from her parted lips and soaked into her scratchy pillowcase as her breathing deepened and she surrendered to sleep.
