water bottle. He opens his mouth, his lips wagging as if to speak, but it sounds like a child trying to form its first words. “Eh ooh.”
I shrink back in horror, shocked at the dark hole within his mouth. For where a full, pink tongue should be there’s a severed stump, wriggling like a worm on a hook.
His chin dips, as if he’s ashamed, and he wheels around and runs off into the woods, surprisingly agile and quick considering his bedraggled appearance.
Creepy , I think.
Hex looks at me and chuffs, begins pacing back and forth. Runs toward the spot where the man exited the clearing, and then runs back. Barks.
“Shhh,” I say, extending a hand. Hex lets me pet his head and back. Although we take a moment to eat an unsatisfying breakfast of jerky and water, I can’t shake the feeling that Hex wanted me to follow the homeless guy.
Chapter Fourteen
W hen I reach Morgantown, the streets of the once-bustling college town are quiet. Far too quiet. Students should be walking and laughing, hauling book-filled backpacks and flirting, sitting on the lawn and reading thick textbooks. Instead it’s a ghost town, an empty shell, like so many other towns I’ve passed through.
But that’s a mirage, as I’ve learned the hard way before. The places that look the emptiest are usually the most dangerous.
We desperately need to find a place to hole up. Tired from the long walk from the mountains, if I run into a witch gang now…
I don’t want to think about what would happen.
Next to the parking lot, a dormitory rises up, constructed of red brick and neat rows of small, identical windows. It’s the type of place I was hoping to be living in a year from now, back when there was college and football scholarships and NO WITCHES.
A noise stops me. It’s a clatter and a thud and the rumble of low voices.
Crap. Someone’s coming. And anyone who’d be making that much noise can’t possibly be human.
Hex and I race for the entrance door, desperate to get inside the dorm before the witches arrive. I try the handle.
Locked. I curse under my breath, hearing the voices get closer and closer. Another thud. A laugh.
“C’mon,” I hiss, urging Hex to follow me around the dorm, which is directly across from a commercial area with shops and restaurants. He bounds out in front of me, his feet lifting off the ground. He’s flying, something I’ve never seen him do before. But I don’t have time to dwell on it as I sprint after him.
Someone shouts behind us. The witches have spotted us. I risk a glance back, my heart skipping a beat when I see the fleet of pickup trucks in pursuit. Riding in the truck beds are black-cloaked witches and warlocks, sitting amongst piles of corpses.
Necros.
A few jump down and start chasing me across the lawn.
A burning hot flame erupts in my veins and I have the urge to stop, to turn, to fight them. All I want to do is kill as many of them as possible before they kill me. But no. That would be a mistake. My revenge must be complete. Killing a few of the witches who took my friends from me is not enough. I have to kill them all.
So I race onward, crossing the street and turning down the main stretch of road. A shattered-window drugstore flashes by on the right, and I cut hard to the left, following Hex down a smaller cross street. His feet return to the ground, his claws scraping on the pavement.
He veers right into an alleyway, leaping over something bundled on the ground. I try to do the same, but my exhausted legs are like lead, my feet clipping the top of the low barrier. My stomach drops and I go down, skidding at first, and then rolling on the hard brick, collecting filth and garbage around my flailing arms and legs.
“Ahh!” I yell, stopping when my head clangs off the side of a Dumpster. Not my most graceful landing. Head throbbing, I gaze down the alley. Hex waits impatiently, his tongue wagging, his head gesturing for me to keep going.
As I drag to my feet, I spot movement
I shrink back in horror, shocked at the dark hole within his mouth. For where a full, pink tongue should be there’s a severed stump, wriggling like a worm on a hook.
His chin dips, as if he’s ashamed, and he wheels around and runs off into the woods, surprisingly agile and quick considering his bedraggled appearance.
Creepy , I think.
Hex looks at me and chuffs, begins pacing back and forth. Runs toward the spot where the man exited the clearing, and then runs back. Barks.
“Shhh,” I say, extending a hand. Hex lets me pet his head and back. Although we take a moment to eat an unsatisfying breakfast of jerky and water, I can’t shake the feeling that Hex wanted me to follow the homeless guy.
Chapter Fourteen
W hen I reach Morgantown, the streets of the once-bustling college town are quiet. Far too quiet. Students should be walking and laughing, hauling book-filled backpacks and flirting, sitting on the lawn and reading thick textbooks. Instead it’s a ghost town, an empty shell, like so many other towns I’ve passed through.
But that’s a mirage, as I’ve learned the hard way before. The places that look the emptiest are usually the most dangerous.
We desperately need to find a place to hole up. Tired from the long walk from the mountains, if I run into a witch gang now…
I don’t want to think about what would happen.
Next to the parking lot, a dormitory rises up, constructed of red brick and neat rows of small, identical windows. It’s the type of place I was hoping to be living in a year from now, back when there was college and football scholarships and NO WITCHES.
A noise stops me. It’s a clatter and a thud and the rumble of low voices.
Crap. Someone’s coming. And anyone who’d be making that much noise can’t possibly be human.
Hex and I race for the entrance door, desperate to get inside the dorm before the witches arrive. I try the handle.
Locked. I curse under my breath, hearing the voices get closer and closer. Another thud. A laugh.
“C’mon,” I hiss, urging Hex to follow me around the dorm, which is directly across from a commercial area with shops and restaurants. He bounds out in front of me, his feet lifting off the ground. He’s flying, something I’ve never seen him do before. But I don’t have time to dwell on it as I sprint after him.
Someone shouts behind us. The witches have spotted us. I risk a glance back, my heart skipping a beat when I see the fleet of pickup trucks in pursuit. Riding in the truck beds are black-cloaked witches and warlocks, sitting amongst piles of corpses.
Necros.
A few jump down and start chasing me across the lawn.
A burning hot flame erupts in my veins and I have the urge to stop, to turn, to fight them. All I want to do is kill as many of them as possible before they kill me. But no. That would be a mistake. My revenge must be complete. Killing a few of the witches who took my friends from me is not enough. I have to kill them all.
So I race onward, crossing the street and turning down the main stretch of road. A shattered-window drugstore flashes by on the right, and I cut hard to the left, following Hex down a smaller cross street. His feet return to the ground, his claws scraping on the pavement.
He veers right into an alleyway, leaping over something bundled on the ground. I try to do the same, but my exhausted legs are like lead, my feet clipping the top of the low barrier. My stomach drops and I go down, skidding at first, and then rolling on the hard brick, collecting filth and garbage around my flailing arms and legs.
“Ahh!” I yell, stopping when my head clangs off the side of a Dumpster. Not my most graceful landing. Head throbbing, I gaze down the alley. Hex waits impatiently, his tongue wagging, his head gesturing for me to keep going.
As I drag to my feet, I spot movement
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