Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (27 page)

“Just pull over if I start making puke noises,” Alan said.

Jack’s lips twitched. Max would smack the guy if he laughed. Alan was dead serious.

Kenna looked twitchy and pale, but that was to be expected—they were minutes from implementing her mom’s rescue plan. Walter and Angela looked surprisingly calm. Alan just looked green, even in the fading light. Harry looked like himself: comfortable, in control, not stressed out. Good thing he’d gotten over whatever had been eating him when he’d arrived with Jack.

“Clark was kidding about the big explosion thing, right?” Kenna fidgeted in her seat. “That seems extreme.”

“I wouldn’t say that he was kidding.” Jack turned up the drive to the farmhouse, complete with falling-down barn. “Maybe more like wishful thinking. Besides, sometimes if you throw out an idea into the universe, it actually happens.”

“Great, Jack. Now you get all karmic and spiritual. We do not need thoughts of explosions out there in the ether today.” Kenna frowned then chugged some tea out of her Nalgene bottle. She’d grabbed that and her gun before they’d left the plane.

Kenna had her priorities straight. Max smiled then quickly wiped his face clean of all expression. Jack had already parked the van in the tumbledown barn, and the sun was setting. Time for their little troupe to head out.

Chapter 22

Kenna stumbled over uneven ground padded with a soft cushion of pine needles. She tried to dodge the dead branches that littered the ground, but the light had faded and she couldn’t see them well. How could something as soft as pine needles still be so loud when trodden upon? And the breaking branches—dammit. If she wasn’t careful, she’d twist an ankle. At least she could still see the trees. It wasn’t that dark.

“Not much farther.” Even though he spoke quietly, Jack’s voice carried in the stillness of the woods. “I can see the clearing.”

Thank God. If they were almost to the clearing, then they’d basically arrived at the compound.

“I’m not sure why you’re speaking so quietly,” Max grumbled, but softly. “You guys sound like a herd of elephants. How you all managed to be twice as loud as Jack and I when we’re the ones carrying the heavy equipment—” Max grunted and shifted the bag on his shoulder instead of finishing his sentence. As grumbly as he sounded, Kenna knew he was just worried for all of them. Usually, he was unflappable—but his pregnant ex-girlfriend wasn’t typically involved in his exploits.

“I’m still not picking up any wards or people in close proximity.” The tightness in Harry’s voice reflected his lack of confidence. He’d tried to explain that it was possible there was some witch version of a security ward. The witch crew assured him they weren’t aware of an equivalent, but Harry hadn’t been convinced. “I need to learn more about witch magic.”

“Shut up.” Jack didn’t need to repeat himself. The entire group came to a quiet stop.

They’d reached the edge of the woods and the clearing stretched out in front of them. There was a sliver of moonlight. Too little light to discern small, dead sticks underfoot, but bright enough to make out the clearing. And beyond the field, electric lights twinkled in the windows of the compound homes.

This was it. Max and Jack would go one way, the rest of them another. Splitting apart was the last thing Kenna wanted to do, but that was the plan.

Kenna turned to Jack and Max. “Good luck.”

Jack nodded.

“Be careful,” Max replied.

And then the two men were gone.

At the edge of the clearing, the crew settled in close to the ground, hidden—they hoped—by the brush, trees, and darkness around them.

After several minutes of silence, Angela whispered, “Does it make anyone else nervous that our two decoys have no magic whatsoever?”

“I’m pretty sure they have some explosive devices in their bags.” Alan had puked his guts up about fifteen minutes ago—several minutes before they’d arrived at their hiding spot—and ever since his nerves had been vastly improved. He sounded almost cheerful now.

Kenna wondered if she’d have any luck with hurling. She curled her lip. No way in hell was she making herself puke. Even if it steadied her nerves—which she doubted—it wasn’t worth it. She took another swig of tea, hoping that would settle her stomach and her nerves. But even her tea might not be able to cope with the picture that Max, Jack, and explosives were conjuring in her head.

“How close do we have to get in order for you to give us a head count, Harry?” Kenna murmured, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. Hiding her terror seemed like a good plan. She didn’t need to amplify everyone else’s fears.

“We’re close enough. I’ve been working on it.” He pointed to a small house, the one Clark had thought most likely to hold Kenna’s mom. “That’s where Gwen’s being held.”

“How do you know?” Kenna asked.

“That building houses the holding cell. The magical output coming from that house is massive, significantly more than anything else in the compound. It’s got to be the cell.” Harry lowered his voice even more. “And the magic has a nasty flavor.”

“I was hoping we were wrong about that,” Angela said sadly. “I can’t tell from here, but I assume it’s death magic.”

“I’ve never encountered it before, but I’d guess yes,” Harry said. “It’s pretty damn bad.”

“How are there no guards?” Walter asked.

One huge advantage to their plan had been the surprise aspect. There shouldn’t have been a way for them to find Gwen’s location. But for Harrington’s dummy site and Clifford’s geo-location virus, they wouldn’t have.

“Why would there be? It was incredibly improbable we’d find her. They’ve concentrated their efforts on keeping her in.” Kenna yanked her vibrating cell from her pocket and read the text from Jack. “And apparently their surveillance cameras on the road up to the compound offer some security. Jack says they ran into cameras on the entrance road. He didn’t see any when they skirted the perimeter, but keep an eye out. And they’re changing their decoy strategy—whatever that means.”

“Hopefully that means there won’t be any explosions.” Walter sounded relieved. It seemed Kenna wasn’t the only one imagining what Jack and Max would do with explosives.

“As for security,” Angela said, “this place isn’t really a compound. More a small, rural neighborhood. If I saw this place, I wouldn’t think a cult of crazy witches lived here.”

Kenna twisted around to her right so she could see Harry’s outline in the near dark. “What other magic could you see? And what about your healer senses? I’m guessing you can give us a head count and some idea if anyone here isn’t a witch.”

“I saw Max and Jack moving around the perimeter earlier, then change direction. Now they’re stationary. That, combined with the text Kenna received, leads me to believe our guys have probably made it to the entrance of the compound.”

“Probably?” Alan asked.

“Healers can detect the presence of a human and what their magical type is, not the surrounding geography,” Harry said. “‘Probably’ is as good as you’re getting.”

Kenna had forgotten until this moment what a conflict it was for Harry to be reading the magical signatures of every person in the compound. Healers had an unwritten ethical code that prohibited them from reading a person without their knowledge and consent. In rare circumstances, a healer could assert his own judgment and work without consent—but that was typically in the case of an unconscious patient.

Kenna reached out her hand, and scooting a few inches to the right, she could just touch Harry. She gripped his shoulder and gently squeezed. “Thank you.”

Kenna could just make out his quick nod in the darkness.

Harry said, “There’s one person visible in the house with the holding cell, but outside of the cell. I can’t see anything inside the cell; the magic is masking whatever, whoever, is inside. The cell is located in the front corner room.”

“Did your sensing wards pick up any magic besides the cell?” Kenna could just barely hear Walter’s whispered question. Walter was settled behind a bush to Harry’s right and slightly behind them both.

“No, but remember, I’ve got limited experience with witch magic,” Harry said. “My wards picked up your magic back in Austin during our trial runs, but if there’s a way to mask witch magic or if there’s some type I haven’t seen yet…I just can’t categorically say there’s nothing here. We need to be cautious.”

The mild breeze caught on the damp of Kenna’s nervous sweat, and she shivered. She felt Harry’s warm hand encircle her damp one and squeeze reassuringly.

Kenna needed to stay focused. She was technically in charge—she needed to act like it. “What’s the head count?”

“Twenty-two? Most are clustered together in the multi-family houses. Hang on.” Harry had been lying flat on the ground, but he carefully lifted himself into a crouch. “I’m seeing significant movement toward the front of the property. We’ve got our distraction.”

Kenna stood up and swayed.

Harry stood up and grabbed her elbow, steadying her. “You can do this.” Not a question, a statement. Because he was certain. Or faking it really well.

“I know.” Kenna could fake it, too. ”Walter? Ready with our cover?”

Walter replied, “I’m ready.” Immediately, a fine, misty vapor gathered and spread, first across the ground. Then it thickened and started to rise.

“You’ve got a bead on our target, Harry?” Kenna grabbed a handful of Harry’s shirt.

“Like I said before—lit up like an explosive Christmas tree.” When Kenna yanked hard on his shirt, he revised his answer: “Yes, I’ve got the cell in my sights.”

Before the mist and darkness could completely obscure their vision, each member of the party grabbed on to the person directly in front of him or her.

Alan, at the end of the line, said, “Ready.”

Harry headed out into the camouflaging mist, thickened now to the point that Kenna could make out Harry’s tall form in front of her, but not much else.

When they’d discussed the camo-mist earlier in the woods, shortly after leaving the van, Walter had expressed the hope that his small water magic wouldn’t be noticeable in such close proximity to the massive magical buzz of the cell. There was no way for them to know with certainty whether Walter’s magic would give them away. The closer Kenna approached the cell, the less she thought that would be a problem. The massive mist cloud…that was something else.

A nasty feeling was crawling up Kenna’s spine—and it wasn’t her fear. A few steps more and the magic of the cell became tangible, a pulsating, sticky magic. A stomach-turning wrongness permeated the air, crawling across her skin. Her mom had been surrounded by this filth for days. She tripped, catching herself before she fell. Her breath caught and that small sound seemed to echo in the stillness.

Harry paused, but she pushed on his back to continue. He shifted and then moved ahead, apparently convinced she was okay.

Suddenly, Harry stopped and dropped silently to the ground, into the thicker mist circling there. Kenna followed suit, and she could feel Angela do the same directly behind her. Any noise they might have made was muffled by the sound of running feet and murmuring voices. Close. Maybe ten feet away. Kenna’s heart lodged in her throat.

Several seconds of silence passed, and still Harry crouched low. Angela’s hand was balled up in Kenna’s fleece jacket, just inches above her gun, and she could feel Angela flexing her fingers intermittently. What the hell was happening? The mist seemed to amplify close sounds and muffled noises that were farther away, which proved disorienting. Once the pounding feet had faded and time stretched on without sound, the silence became a weight, pushing in on her. And her fucking legs were cramping. She pulled hard on Harry’s T-shirt, but he remained firmly unmoving.

Finally, her legs numb, her knees aching, she could feel Harry move. Shit, shit, shit. She clung to his T-shirt as he stood, letting him pull her up, because her numb-ass legs weren’t making it otherwise. She’d bet crack commando teams didn’t have to deal with shit like this. She cringed as blood rushed back into her legs. Maybe those guys were in better shape, she admitted. And then Harry moved their little line forward.

Kenna felt like a drunk desperately trying to pass a sobriety test. The pins and needles in her feet and calves made each step a deliberate and careful one, lest she trip and yank them all to the ground. The activity kept her mind occupied as they neared the house containing the cell.

When they reached the house, Harry reeled her in closer, and Kenna did the same with Angela. When their human chain was gathered in close, Walter let the mist fade so that only patches hung around. They stood in a line, hugging the wall of the house near the back door.

Harry signaled her, but she had no idea what he was trying to say. Kenna lifted her hands in a universal what-the-hell-are-you-saying gesture. Her brain raced. Why hadn’t they practiced hand signals? What did he want? Were they all about to die? Before an end-of-the-world scenario played out in her head, Walter nodded to Harry and gave Kenna a signal that clearly meant wait. Then Walter joined Harry near the door.

Harry carefully turned the doorknob. With a quiet snick, the door opened. Harry and Walter were obviously going in. Again, Walter gave her and the other guys a wait signal.

Harry and Walter went in on a finger count of three.

Chapter 23

Once Max and Jack discovered the surveillance cameras on the main drive leading to the compound, they decided they could use them to their advantage. Jack and Max agreed they’d pose as wolf hunters. The details weren’t particularly important, because they weren’t posing as sober, law-abiding wolf hunters. They didn’t have to be that convincing as hunters; they had to be convincing as idiots. Max wasn’t entirely sure that would be easier, but they only had to pull it off long enough to give Harry, Kenna, and her witchy crew time to break the cell open and hustle Gwen back into the nearby forest.

They ditched most of their gear except for two rifles, a flask of whiskey, orange hunting vests, and some eyeglasses. Splashing whiskey on his collar, Max wasn’t entirely sure this was better than blowing up a car or two. The original plan had held a certain destructive appeal.