The Emerald Key by Vicky Burkholder Page A

Sheila was the last of her line. Rich and spoiled, she knew nothing of magic beyond her silly schoolgirl experiments. In all his travels, she’d been one of the few people he’d found on this ball of dirt who had true power. Not as much as his Cassandra, but she did have some. The sex with her gave him enough energy to keep going. Once he had his Cassandra, the slut would be the first to feel his wrath.
    Patience. He needed patience. He pulled it from the depths of his soul. “Fine. We’ll eat. Then we need to get moving. The time of opening is soon.”
    “Yeah, whatever. Just remember what you promised me.” She opened the large container of fried chicken and dumped the contents onto a paper plate. “I’m not in this for your pleasure. I want money—and a lot of it. That bitch who married Dad is going through it like water. I want what’s due me.”
    “You shall have everything you deserve, my dear. I promise you. We both shall.”

Chapter 8
    After Nic left Cass and Minerva in the bathroom, he went to the hall closet to get a broom and dustpan and saw the dresser sitting there at the end. He studied it closely. No one could move that thing. He squatted down. “If I had an airbag and inflated it enough to raise it, I’d be able to move this sucker. And it wouldn’t show any marks.”
    He thought about that and other ways to move the piece, then went back to the living room and got to work sweeping up the glass. He didn’t understand what had happened to him. One minute, he’d been talking with Minerva and Cass, the next, running, barefoot, from the bedroom into chaos. Obviously, something had happened to him. A drug in his drink? But if so, he should still be under the influence. Still be groggy. Magic? “No. Not possible. I don’t believe in magic.”
    Could this get any stranger?
    As he bent over to pick up the glass, a bottle crashed through the already broken window, shattering on the floor near him, splattering him with an oily liquid that smelled a lot like kerosene. Flames from a lit rag crawled across the floor, following the line of fuel. He stepped away as two more bottles followed the first one. He dashed for the kitchen, yelling for Cass and Minerva.
    “We’re coming!” he heard Cass call.
    She followed Minerva out, coughing at the smoke filling the room.
    “What happened?” Cass asked as Nic dumped baking soda over the flames on the floor.
    Nic handed her and Minerva damp dish towels. “Molotov. Put those over your mouth and nose. Stay away from windows. No lights. We’re getting out of here.”
    Nic carefully surveyed their options. They weren’t good. He felt pretty certain whoever pulled the strings on this show probably had watchers at both the door and the fire escape. That left the door behind the dresser. But even if they could move the huge piece, that way only offered access to the store.
    “I thought you took care of the thugs—that you called the police,” Nic said to Minerva.
    “I took care of the youngsters who came here first. This is the second wave. One I didn’t see.” She tied the towel around her head, looking as regal as possible in the strange outfit.
    “Are there any ways out of your store besides the front door?” Nic asked.
    “No,” Cass said.
    “Yes,” Minerva said at nearly the same time. Cass and Nic stared at her.
    “You get us to the store, I’ll get you from there,” Minerva said. She grabbed a fire extinguisher from the kitchen and aimed the nozzle at the curtains.
    “Aunt Minerva? Can’t you do something?” Cass took over the extinguisher.
    Minerva shook her head. “There are shades around this person I can’t penetrate. I can lop off the arms, but for every one we take out, two more rise up.”
    “What about the fire?” Cass asked. “You can take care of that.”
    “Nicodemus has that under control.”
    Nic shook his head. These had to be two of the strangest women he’d ever met. Most people—man or woman—would be shaking with