you?”
“Other than a strong desire to run, no.” But she turned her mind as well as her eyes to the house, because...well, why not?
Sensing nothing, she pointed at the ruined central core.
A giant raven’s-head knocker on the double front doors echoed louder than the storm. Now, there was an inviting sound, Amara reflected, and twisted the brass entry ring. The right door swung inward on eerily silent hinges.
“How is it possible that hinges not creaking is a thousand times creepier than the other way around?” She set her pack on a floor littered with plaster, glass, dust and wood. “Hannah?”
McVey produced two powerful flashlights and shone his up the once-grand staircase to the remnants of a cobwebbed chandelier.
“It’s shaped like a pentagram.” Pulling out her phone, Amara tried Hannah’s number again. “Do you hear a ring?”
“Are you serious?”
But they listened for several seconds.
After turning a circle in place, Amara ended the call and shook her head. “She’s not here, McVey.”
He crossed to a narrow window. “Pick a wing, then, Red.”
“At the risk of sounding like Sarah, I don’t think she’s anywhere in the house. No vibes,” she added when he glanced at her.
McVey returned to his scan of the ceiling. “That probably shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. She might be in one of the outbuildings. Or the cave.”
“There’s a cave?”
“In the woods behind the manor.”
Exasperation mixed with uncertainty. “You’re not on some kind of medication I should know about, are you, McVey? Who told you—?”
With so many dense shadows enfolding them, she didn’t see him move, didn’t realize he was behind her until his hand covered her mouth and his lips moved against her ear.
“Your uncle told me about it. There’s someone outside. He’s circling the manor.”
Amara’s heart shot into her throat. Unable to speak around it, she let him slip his backup gun between her fingers.
Jimmy Sparks’s face darted through her head. Teeth gleamed, and Jimmy morphed into the man with the big knife. Not Willy Sparks, her blipping mind recalled. Not if McVey was to be believed.
A little unsure, she flattened herself against the wall while he watched through the window.
“Whoever it is moves quickly and well,” he remarked.
“I imagine most assassins would.”
“He’s heading for the west wing.” McVey pushed an extra ammo clip into her free hand. “Don’t shoot unless you’re certain of your target.”
“No, wait, McVey, you can’t...”
But he could and did. And left her wishing she really had inherited some of Sarah’s power, enough at least to put a binding spell on him.
Lowering to her knees, she braced her wrists on the sill and ordered herself to listen for sounds within the storm.
She spied an arc of light to her right. It slashed across the clearing and for less than a heartbeat of time revealed a figure dressed in shiny black. The person was bent low and appeared to be running away from the manor.
Amara eased up for a clearer look. But the lightning winked out, the person vanished and only the thunder and pelting rain remained.
Two seconds later a gunshot exploded outside.
* * *
T HE BULLET WAS a rogue, McVey suspected. And it came from a handgun, not a rifle, which tended to be Westor’s weapon of choice. So...probably not him.
Lightning raced through the sky in long, skinny bolts. McVey moved between flashes and kept an eye peeled for any motion that didn’t involve rain, flying objects or swaying trees.
Fifty feet ahead, a leg disappeared around the west side of the manor. Fixing his mind on the spot and keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he ran.
They’d called it foot pursuit back at the academy. Bad guys bolted; cops gave chase. Sometimes the bad guys got cornered and attacked, but in vast, open areas they didn’t tend to launch themselves out of the darkness like human projectiles, roaring and, in the case of this
“Other than a strong desire to run, no.” But she turned her mind as well as her eyes to the house, because...well, why not?
Sensing nothing, she pointed at the ruined central core.
A giant raven’s-head knocker on the double front doors echoed louder than the storm. Now, there was an inviting sound, Amara reflected, and twisted the brass entry ring. The right door swung inward on eerily silent hinges.
“How is it possible that hinges not creaking is a thousand times creepier than the other way around?” She set her pack on a floor littered with plaster, glass, dust and wood. “Hannah?”
McVey produced two powerful flashlights and shone his up the once-grand staircase to the remnants of a cobwebbed chandelier.
“It’s shaped like a pentagram.” Pulling out her phone, Amara tried Hannah’s number again. “Do you hear a ring?”
“Are you serious?”
But they listened for several seconds.
After turning a circle in place, Amara ended the call and shook her head. “She’s not here, McVey.”
He crossed to a narrow window. “Pick a wing, then, Red.”
“At the risk of sounding like Sarah, I don’t think she’s anywhere in the house. No vibes,” she added when he glanced at her.
McVey returned to his scan of the ceiling. “That probably shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. She might be in one of the outbuildings. Or the cave.”
“There’s a cave?”
“In the woods behind the manor.”
Exasperation mixed with uncertainty. “You’re not on some kind of medication I should know about, are you, McVey? Who told you—?”
With so many dense shadows enfolding them, she didn’t see him move, didn’t realize he was behind her until his hand covered her mouth and his lips moved against her ear.
“Your uncle told me about it. There’s someone outside. He’s circling the manor.”
Amara’s heart shot into her throat. Unable to speak around it, she let him slip his backup gun between her fingers.
Jimmy Sparks’s face darted through her head. Teeth gleamed, and Jimmy morphed into the man with the big knife. Not Willy Sparks, her blipping mind recalled. Not if McVey was to be believed.
A little unsure, she flattened herself against the wall while he watched through the window.
“Whoever it is moves quickly and well,” he remarked.
“I imagine most assassins would.”
“He’s heading for the west wing.” McVey pushed an extra ammo clip into her free hand. “Don’t shoot unless you’re certain of your target.”
“No, wait, McVey, you can’t...”
But he could and did. And left her wishing she really had inherited some of Sarah’s power, enough at least to put a binding spell on him.
Lowering to her knees, she braced her wrists on the sill and ordered herself to listen for sounds within the storm.
She spied an arc of light to her right. It slashed across the clearing and for less than a heartbeat of time revealed a figure dressed in shiny black. The person was bent low and appeared to be running away from the manor.
Amara eased up for a clearer look. But the lightning winked out, the person vanished and only the thunder and pelting rain remained.
Two seconds later a gunshot exploded outside.
* * *
T HE BULLET WAS a rogue, McVey suspected. And it came from a handgun, not a rifle, which tended to be Westor’s weapon of choice. So...probably not him.
Lightning raced through the sky in long, skinny bolts. McVey moved between flashes and kept an eye peeled for any motion that didn’t involve rain, flying objects or swaying trees.
Fifty feet ahead, a leg disappeared around the west side of the manor. Fixing his mind on the spot and keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he ran.
They’d called it foot pursuit back at the academy. Bad guys bolted; cops gave chase. Sometimes the bad guys got cornered and attacked, but in vast, open areas they didn’t tend to launch themselves out of the darkness like human projectiles, roaring and, in the case of this
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