Last Grave (9781101593172) (15 page)

“No time to get sentimental, Samantha,” she told herself.

She kept walking and passed the Haunted Castle, a spooky ride. She knew that a little farther up the boardwalk was the Fright Walk, a walk-through haunted-house type attraction. She shook her head. One of the memories she had recovered from her seven-year-old self had involved a haunted-house-like experience set up by members of her coven. It was used as a teaching tool, a training ground. Young witches were sent through with instructions that they must only react to things that were real threats. Things that were fake must be ignored at all costs.

Samantha remembered being frightened and knowing that terrible things waited, lurking in the darkness just beyond the door, ready to kill her. She had also known that the punishment for failure would be severe. So into the darkness she had gone. Inside she had encountered ghosts, both real and created special effects, real witches and costumed witches, things with eyes that glowed red in the dark and skeletons that would spring out of nowhere. She had hesitated before each new nightmare, wanting to be sure it was a real threat and not a staged one.

At the end, she had been scolded for hesitating more than once, but she had passed the test because she hadn't used her powers on anything that didn't merit them. Too bad she hadn't shown the same restraint a year later, when she'd blinded the school bully.

She kept walking and came to the carousel, a genuine antique with beautiful hand-carved horses. The creatures stood frozen, still, eyes and mouths gaping open as lights glinted off them, making them seem almost alive. She was early. She got up on the platform and began to walk among them, trailing a hand along their smooth sides, feeling the wood and the years of joy that had been captured in the creatures.

She kept moving forward. Ahead of her, a particularly striking white horse drew her attention. The creature's head was down, neck arched as though it were fighting the pull of an invisible rider on the reins. She moved forward, eyes fixed on it.

And then at last her fingers touched it, and she jumped back with a startled cry. The wood of that particular horse felt more like the petrified flesh of Winona Lightfoot. She reached out and touched it again and there, deep down, she felt the echo of life. This was not a horse carved out of wood. This was a horse who had been turned to wood.

She ran her hands over the creature, feeling, listening, trying to understand what had happened.
Why would someone do this to any living creature, particularly a horse?

“It's faster than carving one,” a voice whispered behind her.

Samantha twisted around, lifting her hands defensively. So intent had she been on the horse that she hadn't noticed the approach of the witch who had summoned her.

Trina was standing there, her blond hair back in a ponytail. She too was dressed all in black. She crossed her arms and gazed defiantly at Samantha, as though daring her to strike first.

Slowly Samantha lowered her hands. She let them hang loosely at her sides, though, ready to move at a moment's notice.

“Trina,” she acknowledged.

“Samantha.”

“Well, you called this meeting. What do you want?”

“To warn you to back off.”

Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Or what, you'll try to kill me again?”

“That wasn't me. I saved your life, remember? Kept your partner from shooting you.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Let's call it professional courtesy.”

“I'm not a witch,” Samantha snapped, although the denial sounded hollow even to her own ears.

“I didn't say you were.”

There was something Trina wasn't telling her. She could see it in the other woman's eyes, feel her hesitation. The circle had named her as one of the two most powerful witches in the coven. What was it, exactly, that she was afraid of? And if she hadn't been trying to kill her that night, had everything been the doing of the black-haired witch, high priestess of the coven?

“What is it you aren't telling me?”

Trina looked away. “Randy was . . . a colleague.”

Samantha gaped at her. Randy Turner had been an undercover FBI agent who had gotten killed in the final showdown in Salem. They hadn't realized until the end that they were fighting on the same side, and he had given his life to help her defeat Abigail, the resurrected high priestess of her old coven, and destroy the new coven that had been operating in Salem and had dared to bring back the dead. Randy had warned her that Salem was one of just many front lines in an ongoing battle and that he was not the only one fighting it.

She stared at Trina, understanding at last the other's reluctance to come right out and say anything. “So, you and Randy worked together?”

“Sometimes we were even partnered up. Not this time though. He went there and I came here. I was about to join him because things out here were relatively harmless . . . by comparison.”

“But then he got killed.”

Trina nodded. “And things changed here.”

“What happened?” Samantha asked.

“I still haven't figured out what the catalyst was, but things took a turn for the darker . . .
much
darker. Active recruiting increased. Spellcasting became much more ambitious. And then a few weeks back, something happened to Giselle.”

“Giselle?”

“The one who's been trying to kill you.”

“Long black hair, likes to channel lightning?”

“That would be the one. She got a power boost the likes of which I've never seen before. It was uncanny. And then we started doing the rituals to cause the quakes.”

“You guys are causing them?”

Trina nodded. “I've done what I can to minimize them, soften the impact. But the coven is definitely behind it.”

“But why?”

“I don't know. Giselle's been keeping her own counsel on that. There's something about them, though, that's different. These are not just your standard earthquakes.”

“What are they?”

“Not a clue. I just know that things seem different after each one. I can't explain it. I'm still trying to figure out what she possibly hopes to accomplish.”

“Mass destruction via natural disaster?”

“No, that's what I thought at first, but then I realized she didn't seem to care about that. There's something else she's after.”

“Does anyone else in the coven know what's going on?” Samantha asked.

“I can't tell for sure. I have my suspicions, but no confirmation as of yet.”

“I guess the question is, what could she really hope to gain from causing earthquakes if not destruction?”

“Well, I told you it's not a natural disaster kind of thing she's after. She seems very focused on one specific thing. I just don't know what it is. All I know is that it has something to do with the mountains around here.”

“Are there a lot of local legends about these mountains, something that might give you a clue?”

“No. I mean, the entire area is a convergence of energies, so magic done here tends to be more powerful. There's one of those mystery spots, you know, where gravity seems to work slightly differently, but as a coven we've never been there. I mean, I can't figure what she's after. If we were talking some of the mountains farther north—like Mount Shasta, which has been a hotbed of weirdness for decades—then, yeah, sure, we would have somewhere to start. But whatever it is, it's situated right around here.”

“Winona Lightfoot must have held some key to the puzzle. Why else kill her?”

“Not a clue. That wasn't your everyday killing either. You don't see petrification every day, no offense to the horse,” Trina said, reaching out to touch the animal's flanks. “It takes an insane amount of energy.”

“Well, Giselle has got to be one of the most powerful witches I've ever encountered.”

“But she wasn't, not until recently. The whole thing makes no sense.”

Samantha flexed her fingers, the knuckles cracking. “Maybe it's time you bring me inside. I've got some experience with this sort of thing. And two heads are better than one. Why don't you recruit me? I can help you if I'm on the inside.”

“No, it's too dangerous. Someone wants you dead.”

“I think it's your high priestess.”

“She's not my high priestess,” Trina snapped, glancing over her shoulder.

Guess I'm not the only sensitive one who's hiding behind semantics,
Samantha realized.

“At any rate, I don't think it has anything to do with her. I don't think she even knows who you are. I can't explain it exactly, but I get the impression that it's someone else who wants you dead and Giselle's somehow pledged to do it. So, got any enemies who want to see you in the grave?”

“All my enemies are dead,” Samantha said.

“Yeah, that's what I heard.”

“There has to be some way we can work together.”

Trina shook her head. “I've been doing this job for a lot of years now, and partnering with someone who isn't undercover never works.”

“Then why are we here?” Samantha asked.

“So you know not to try to investigate me or arrest me or kill me or whatever it was you were thinking. I'm giving you a heads-up. When and if this all comes to a showdown, we both need to know we're on the same team.”

“If I'd known who Randy was, it might have made all of the difference,” Samantha said bitterly. The man had died in her arms.

“Maybe, but maybe not. When things go really bad in a coven, it gets messy. Lots of people die. But then, I don't need to tell you that.” Trina half turned, surveying the area behind her before she turned back.

“I'm not going to back off on the investigation,” Samantha said.

“I wouldn't ask you to,” Trina said. “Matter of fact, with people busy looking at you, no one's paying the slightest bit of attention to what I do or do not do. Having you running around out there causing chaos and making things difficult for the coven is actually a huge help to me. But I have to warn you, I'm not going to be there to protect you all the time.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Samantha said, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Yeah, no problem,” Trina said as she twisted her head around again.

“What do you keep looking at?” Samantha asked.

“Nothing, I guess. I just keep feeling like we're being watched.”

“Maybe you're just paranoid,” Samantha said, though a shiver crawled its way up her spine and she found herself glancing around, probing the shadows with her eyes. “Did one of the shadows move?” She blinked hard, straining.

“Maybe. That's what this line of work will do to you,” Trina said. She paused. “You know what? I'm out of here.” The witch turned and started walking away quickly.

Samantha glanced around once more. She took a step forward, and the carousel horse she was standing next to swiveled its head and bit her arm. Samantha shouted, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trina take off at a dead run.

14

Samantha turned to the horse. Its eyes were now glowing red. It shook itself, and wood turned to flesh. She could feel its teeth champing down hard, breaking bone and tearing sinew.

She yanked her arm free and turned to run. The animal kicked her hard in the ribs and sent her flying into the horse behind. She smacked her head on the pole and struggled to retain consciousness.

She pushed herself to her feet, knowing if she couldn't stand she was dead. She took a step and then the entire carousel lurched as it began to turn. In the dim light, the horses rising up and down looked demonic, their eyes glowing red, their teeth baring at her.

It's not real,
she told herself. But she wasn't so sure as the creatures writhed, struggling to reach her, held in position by the poles that anchored them to the floor. Their screams of rage and fear pierced the night, drowning out the tinny sounds of the music that had begun playing. She was trapped in the inner ring.

She made a dash for it and grunted as hooves kicked her. She felt teeth snapping at the nape of her neck and then the scream of frustration from the horse as it was lifted up and away from her. She jumped off the carousel, landing hard on the ground.

She heard laughter as she staggered to her feet. A fireball left her fingertips, smashing into the side of the building next door.

Steady,
she told herself. She hadn't even intended to conjure the fire. She had to calm herself down before she accidentally set the entire place ablaze.

“Looks like someone doesn't have as much control as she should,” a familiar voice taunted.

Samantha stepped into the open, away from the distraction of the carousel, and braced herself.

“Who was your little friend? Didn't want to stick around for all the fun, huh? Oh, well, at least you and I can play.”

“If you want to fight, come out here and face me,” Samantha shouted.

“You want to stand and fight instead of run and hide. Are you sure?”

“I'm positive,” Samantha said, raising her chin. She refused to let the witch hear in her voice the fear she felt in her heart.

“Your choice. But one way or another, you're going to die tonight.”

“Is that right?” Samantha asked, searching the shadows.

“Yes,” a different voice answered from behind her.

Samantha jumped to the side as an athame cut through the air where she'd been standing. She spun around and came face-to-face with an older man, his lips twisted in a snarl, his eyes glowing a hellish yellow color.

Samantha sent a pulse of energy toward him, and he flew backward, crashing into a trash can. Giselle stepped out from the shadows nearby, her face twisted like an insane comedy mask.

She was outnumbered. Samantha turned and ran.

“Knew you'd run!” she heard Giselle cackle behind her.

A bolt of lightning hit the ground a foot in front of her, causing her to shy to the side. Another hit and another.

She's herding me, sending me in the direction she wants me to go,
Samantha realized.

Stand and fight,
a voice seemed to hiss in her ear.

Another lightning bolt whizzed by, and Samantha spun and planted her feet. She sent a shower of fireballs at Giselle and the other witch. Unbelievably, Giselle caught them and began to juggle them, laughing as she came closer.

“Fire only burns if you let it,” she taunted.

“What do you want from me?” Samantha screamed.

“Not me, dear. Her. She wants you dead,” the male witch said.

Samantha didn't know if he was talking about Giselle or if he was referencing the fact that someone else wanted her dead, just as Trina had suggested.

Giselle lobbed the fireballs high into the air and let them rain down on her as she laughed. In a moment, her hair and clothes were on fire. Samantha could see smoke rising from her skin, but the witch either didn't notice or didn't care.

Giselle lunged forward suddenly, reaching for Samantha. Samantha jumped out of the way, the heat from the fire singeing her eyebrows.

“You're insane!”

“It has been said,” Giselle chuckled, still smiling even though her hair was a halo of fire now.

The two witches approached and Samantha backpedaled, furiously trying to think of what she could do. It felt like every bit of magic she had ever known was leaving her.

Behind Giselle she could see the carousel. The petrified horse was still struggling, and suddenly he bounded off the whirling platform. He turned and galloped over to them, eyes blazing with red fire.

Samantha reached out toward the animal and grabbed what little of a mind there was left. She made a twisting motion with her hand, followed by several quick flicks of her fingers.

Before they knew what hit them, the horse had kicked both Giselle and the other witch hard enough to break bones and send them flying.

Giselle landed on her back. The horse charged her again and reared up, preparing to plunge its front legs down on her. With a cry of rage, Giselle slammed her hand into the ground. The horse became an inanimate thing once more, perched precariously on its two hind legs.

Samantha turned and ran. She ducked into the arcade, looking for a place to hide. Before she could move farther into the building, though, all the games came to life. Sirens and sound effects of every kind blared forth. The cacophony of noise startled her, and she clapped her hands over her ears.

There was nowhere she was going to be able to hide from the two witches, she realized. She was going to have to fight her way out of there.

You can do this. Magic is simple,
she tried to remind herself. She turned. Giselle and the man were standing just inside the door.

“She's going to free it, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop her!” Giselle shrieked, making herself heard even above all the noise.

“Who are you talking about? What's she going to free?” Samantha demanded.

“It doesn't matter. You won't live to see it.”

The windows and glass screens around her exploded inward.

“What are you doing?” the man shouted as he tried to shield himself from the flying missiles. As glass shredded her clothes and cut through her skin, Samantha fell. Everything went black.

She was trapped in her own mind. She could see the hallway of doors and several of her younger selves staring at her with frightened faces. The ten-year-old version was standing over her, shaking her head and looking thoroughly disgusted. “What is the use of us teaching you if you refuse to learn?”

“She's stronger than I am,” Samantha gasped.

“No, but she risks more and with reason. The one who controls does not care if the vessel perishes.”

“What does that mean?” Samantha asked. “What are you talking about?”

“You have eyes to see. Why do you not use them? Magic is simple. Magic costs.”

“I have nothing left to give,” Samantha sobbed.

“That's where you are wrong,” Ten said with a sigh. “But you refuse to use your gifts, your knowledge. You refuse to do what must be done.”

“I'm doing my best.”

“Maybe. But you're not doing
our
best. That's why I'm going to help you.”

“What are you going to do?”

Ten shook her head and turned to the door marked with an eleven. She reached out and opened the door, and a slightly older version of herself stepped out. Her eleven-year-old self didn't smile, didn't blink. She carried an athame in her right hand and it was dripping with blood.

And Samantha didn't want to know what or who that blood belonged to. She felt her stomach twist, and she began to convulse. Fear and revulsion filled her, and she struggled to wake up, to leave the hall of doorways. But Ten grabbed her arm, gripping it tight.

“You're not going back out there,” Ten said. “She is.”

And Eleven vanished in front of her eyes. Samantha felt sick and dizzy. She screamed, but Ten just kept holding her in a viselike grip.

“She can do what must be done even if you are not ready to,” Ten said.

“What's happening? Where is she? What's she doing?”

“Your job,” Ten said.

Samantha screamed, kicking out at Ten, but she couldn't shake the girl's grip on her.

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
she commanded herself, but it was to no avail.

She stared up at the ceiling and realized that it was translucent. She could see lights through it, flashing and exploding. Her mind at work. Her mind controlled by a self other than her. An impact tremor made the ground beneath her shudder.

“What's happening?” she screamed, but none of the children would answer her. Instead they all stood, listening, watching something she could not see.

She kicked and screamed, but it was no use. And through it all, she felt sick to the depths of her soul. It wasn't right. Terrible things were happening, she knew. She could feel them even if she couldn't articulate exactly what they were.

And then suddenly Eleven reappeared. There was even more blood dripping from her athame, and her dress had splatters of blood on it as well.

“What did you do?” Samantha whispered.

“Don't you mean ‘what did
we
do'?” Eleven asked.

“No. No! I'm not you. I didn't do whatever you just did.”

“You'll have a hard time proving that to anyone, including yourself,” Ten said.

“We warned you,” Five said.

“We tried to stop you,” Six added.

“You've gone too far,” Seven accused.

“What's happening?” Samantha demanded.

And then Samantha was opening her eyes. It was still night outside. She could see the moon from where she was lying. The witches were gone. She couldn't feel their presence anymore.

She blinked slowly as she sat up. She could hear the crunching of glass all around her, and her hands where they pressed against the ground were being gouged by a dozen tiny shards. She struggled to her feet, broken glass falling to the ground around her. She cautiously shook out her clothes.

She could feel dozens of pieces of glass embedded in her skin. She passed her hands slowly over each arm, willing the glass to the surface. She stepped forward, more glass crunching under her feet.

She should get out of there. With the witches gone, she was free to leave. She walked half a dozen more steps and then stopped abruptly as she saw a figure slumped on the ground to her right.

Her heart began to pound. She crept forward cautiously, wondering if a poor security guard had gotten caught in the crossfire. At last she could clearly see the body, and her heart stopped for a moment.

It was the second witch who had been stalking her. The man lay dead, eyes frozen in a blank look of terror. There was blood everywhere, and it took her a moment to realize that the man's chest looked like it had exploded outward. His intestines were all around him on the floor. Someone had literally caused his internal organs to explode out of his body.

No, not someone,
me
. I did this,
she realized. And there, on the wall behind the body was the proof. She had burned her coven's symbol into the wall above the body.

I am as God
. That was what the ancient lettering meant.

She fell to her knees and vomited. This had been Eleven's doing, and it was all her fault. She should have listened to the younger girls. They had warned her not to open more doors. But she had ignored them and had let the monsters walk free, and one of them had taken over her mind, done all this carnage while she was unconscious.

She forced herself to get up. She had to see if she had killed Giselle as well. If she had, maybe all of this could be over.

They both deserve to die,
a voice inside her head whispered.
It's no different from the witches you killed in Salem. You have to take care of this coven like you took care of that one.

She had no proof that the entire coven was engaged in whatever evil Giselle was doing, at least of their own knowledge and free will. There had been one murder, not several with the promise of more. It wasn't like Salem.

But they're causing the earthquakes and risking the lives of countless people in doing so,
she argued with herself.

She hunted for a few minutes but couldn't find another body. Giselle must have escaped.

She returned to the first body. She very carefully scorched the wall to obliterate her coven's symbol. Finished, she headed for the parking lot, determined to get out of there as fast as she could.

Once on the road, the full impact of what had happened hit her and she shivered with anguish. There was still glass in her legs and torso. She even felt a few pieces in her face. She didn't take the time to stop and remove them. She just wanted to get home as fast as she could so she could get into a hot shower and try to wash off the horrors of the night.

She reached for her phone. She wanted to talk to Anthony, needed to talk to him. He would understand. He would help her. Her hand froze, though, before she could call him.

Her eleven-year-old self had had blood on her athame when she first came out of her door. Given what she had accomplished while in control of Samantha's body, she was now convinced it had been human blood. Had her eleven-year-old self been involved with the human sacrifices her old coven had performed?

A sob escaped her. Was it possible in some cruel trick of fate that she might even be the witch who killed Anthony's mother?

She started screaming at the top of her lungs and punching the steering wheel. It couldn't be true. It mustn't be true. But even if she hadn't done it, she'd clearly been capable of it. She'd probably been there when it happened.

She could feel memories beginning to wake in her mind, crowding forward. “No!” she screamed, rejecting them. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to remember. For her own sanity, she couldn't.