Warlock's Angel - Marly Mathews Page 0,3
lost girl staring out the window night after night, praying she’d see a familiar figure walking up the lane. There was only one problem, she had to live long enough and keep her feet planted firmly on Earth’s soil to have that possible future come to pass. If they took her off Earth, she’d be doomed.
“From the magical surveillance I have on the house, Nicholas, Marion and Finley are right outside your front door—they must have used magic to cut the transportation time down a bit. It’s not surprising, given how important you are.”
For being such an important asset, she wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. Ruefully, she glanced down at the old T-shirt-style nightgown she wore. She didn’t have the time to run upstairs for a housecoat to cover the faded material. She probably looked like hell with absolutely no makeup and her hair messily pinned up with a barrette, not to mention the fact that she’d felt like death warmed over all damn day. For added entertainment value, she had bunny slippers on her feet.
She moved toward the front door, but stopped just shy of unlocking it and letting her friends in. It was as if something inside the house kept her rooted to the spot.
Clifton’s hologram shadowed her and he stood directly beside her, staring at her in expectation. “Well, the door isn’t going to open itself, Dallas.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she asked tiredly. It was true, while some witches could open doors with a simple spell or even with the power of their mind, she could do neither. The running joke within the coven was that she could barely spark a flame with her mind, let alone move anything. She had to do many things the way normal humans had to live their lives. Sometimes it was a bad thing, but then again, sometimes it was a good thing. Like now, she felt certain it was a good thing. “You don’t understand, Clifton, something doesn’t feel right. I’m getting hellish weird vibes. I can’t put my finger on it, but I have that funny feeling in my gut that tells me I should not open the door.”
“Oh, now you’re letting your dreadful paranoia get the better of you, Dallas. Which, I can totally understand given your aunt’s past experience with witch hunters, but trust me, it’s them. I can see them with my own eyes. It’s a good thing the Magical Authority has lookout crystals placed near every witch’s and warlock’s house or we’d have to use human technology to watch you with and it can be so untrustworthy. I know you’re absolutely distraught about what might come to pass tonight but just put your faith in me. I’ve never led you astray before.”
She stared for a few moments more at the front door, her insides twisted. She did trust Clifton. She’d never had any reason to distrust him and yet, she had to listen to what her gut was telling her and right now it advised her to proceed with caution. If only she could have a vision that would confirm her hunch. She couldn’t hope to stand against the witch hunters without her friends’ help, so why was something making her hold off?
“It’s now or never, Dallas. It’s a damp autumn night outside. Don’t make them attempt to breach the magical protection spells that were put on Redgrave House. Just let them in so they can get out of the cold night air and have a cup of tea or coffee before all hell breaks loose. They might even want to warm themselves by the fire.” He talked so calmly and made everything sound so bloody simple yet he wasn’t the one who would have to deal with the consequences should anything go terribly awry.
Her heart continued to pound as she slowly unlocked the two dead bolts on her door and removed the chain. When she opened the heavy wooden door, she stared through the locked storm door to assess the situation. They sure did look like Marion, Finley and Nicholas. Marion was dressed smartly in a vibrant-blue tweed suit with her heavily rimmed glasses and her short gray hair, while Nicholas and Finley looked as if they just rolled out of bed.
“Good evening, Dallas, may we come in?” Marion asked, in her prim, no-nonsense tone. She was a birdlike woman but her diminutive size belied the steel running through her veins. She was known as the Grumpy Witch of Gerrans when