Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1) - P. C. Cast Page 0,23

fiery and otherworldly powers of her goddess, pressed forward toward the ancient apple tree that grew from the magic of the Norse Underworld.

Mercy pulled Hunter to her feet and clenched Hunter’s hand in her own as they crept toward Xena. The cat wound around their ankles, herding them away from their mother and the wolf who’d spilled out of its realm and flickered, unstable, into their own.

Mercy dropped Hunter’s hand, scooped up Xena, and ran. This time, Hunter matched her sister’s stride. Her lungs burned as she sucked in gulps of magic-charged air.

“I banish you back to your Underworld!” Abigail’s voice was thunder. It clapped against Hunter’s back and she whirled around in time to see her mother hurl the spear. It caught the wolf’s shoulder and knocked it back into the tree. Fenrir’s image flickered as it fought to break free. It howled and bucked and clawed the air, but the point of the spear had pierced through the wolf, into the tree’s trunk.

Foreboding gnawed at Hunter’s stomach. She left Mercy and Xena and charged back to the tree. Air fled her lungs as she slowed to a stop near her mother. She could see it now. The gash in Abigail’s temple. The skin hung like wet clothes pinned to a line. Athena fueled her, kept her on her feet, but Hunter’s mother was not long for this world.

“Hunter!” Athena’s voice shadowed Abigail’s, making goose bumps flash across the back of Hunter’s neck. “Something’s wrong with the gates! Don’t wait until Solstice to fix them. Promise me!”

Hunter blinked through a flood of tears. “I promise!”

Abigail looked at the wolf pinned to the apple tree, its form flickering under the promise of death. Then she turned and looked past Hunter to Mercy, who tripped over Xena as the cat struggled to keep the girl at a safe distance. “Take care of your sister,” Abigail said. “You’ll need each other now, more than ever.”

Hunter wailed as Fenrir caught the billowing skirt of Abigail’s dress and pulled her to him. The beast tore through Abigail’s clothes. Its teeth shredded her back and stained the fabric scarlet.

The owl shrieked as Abigail faced Fenrir and pressed her palms against the beast’s matted coat. It lit like dry kindling.

Athena’s war cry muted Abigail’s screams as flames consumed Hunter’s mother and the beast.

Hunter’s knees slammed into the earth as the blaze flashed out and the rip in the sky vanished as quickly as it’d come. Tears burned down Hunter’s cheeks and blood seeped from her torn forearm. She had been tapped, and now she would simply pour into the earth until her time in this realm was over.

Hunter couldn’t make a sound as Xena mewled and circled the charred remains of the woman who’d once brought so much light into the world. Of Fenrir, never fully in this realm, there was not a trace. Mercy threw herself against the tree, which now showed no evidence of their loss. Hunter’s chin quivered as she watched her sister slide down the trunk into the grass next to their mother’s body.

Maybe they’d all stay in the field at the foot of the apple tree and let the gentle Illinois breeze sweep them away.

Six

Sheriff Dearborn lifted his Chicago Bears travel mug to his lips and blew into the round O cut into the burnt orange lid before he took a drink. Hazelnut. Dearborn’s favorite. He smacked his lips, puffed a cooling breath into the navy blue tumbler, and took another sip. Trish had added an extra sugar packet even though she knew he was trying to cut out the sweet stuff.

He set his coffee mug down as he approached Goodeville’s last traffic signal. The red light painted the hood of his white-and-gold cruiser a pale Christmas crimson. His thick, calloused fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn green. Dearborn had only seen a few cars on his final patrol of the night. The passenger and rear seats had all been full of teenagers who’d rolled down their windows and given the sheriff big, goofy, and if he was being honest, fairly tipsy grins and waves as they passed by. The designated drivers had remained focused on the road, and that’s really all he needed to see. The sheriff wasn’t in the habit of busting kids for being kids. He’d leave that to their parents.

The light turned green and Dearborn left the vibrant Main Street in his rearview and slipped under the blanket of