A Little Wicked (The Bewitching Hour Book #4)(27)

Not able to say the words, Sam just looked behind her at the darkness of the bowels of her old home.

“No,” said Derek.

She took a deep breath and tried to keep her composure. She might be terrified, but she didn’t want Derek to see. “I got this. It will be easy,” she lied.

“You don’t even have a flashlight,” said Angela, which really wasn’t helping.

“Don’t worry,” said a sickeningly familiar voice.

All three of them tensed as Abigail stepped out from behind one of the walls. “Hello, Samantha. I’m very happy you could join me.”

“No.” Derek pounded on the wall. “You said you’d leave us alone!” he screamed.

Sam had no idea what he was talking about. When had he talked to Abigail? She fell back a step as the thing inside her mother stared at her. “Stay away from me,” she warned.

“Detective Pierce,” said Abigail, “I don’t remember you agreeing to my offer of peace. Besides, this isn’t about you. I just need to borrow your girlfriend. You’ll get her back soon.” Abigail looked to Derek and winked. “Promise.”

“No!” Derek pounded on the invisible wall with so much force she was sure he was breaking his bones.

She might not have a gun, but she wasn’t exactly defenseless. Sam fell back a few more steps, and after taking a deep breath, she exhaled and felt the flames pop up around her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angela fall back at the sight, but she couldn’t reassure the woman at that moment.

The glow of the flames dancing around Sam’s hands illuminated Abigail’s face. But she didn’t look intimidated by the fire. She looked happy.

“Let me go,” ordered Sam, making sure the fear that raced through her with every heartbeat didn’t cause her voice to tremble.

“I need something from you first.”

“Too bad.” Sam threw the fire at Abigail with everything she had. Except the fire never even singed Abigail. It bounced around her, about a foot away, and arced around the witch, who stood there with that stupid, serene smile on her face.

Sam took a deep breath, focusing herself before she shot the fire at Abigail once more, but the results were the same. The flames never even came close to Abigail. Sam was giving this everything she had and the darkness wasn’t even fighting back.

The flames sputtered out as Sam ran out of energy and her hands fell down. But when the flames angled down and hit the dust and dirt on the ground, it took on a life of its own and started to move around the room in an intricate pattern. Sam twisted around as she followed its progression.

“What are you doing?” called Derek from where he stood.

“I’m not doing this....” She wasn’t sure whether it was loud enough to hear, but all she could do was stand there and watch in horror as she understood exactly what Abigail had been smiling about. “You wanted this.” She stared in horror at the woman who used to be her mother. “You’re not here to turn me. You needed my magic.”

Abigail stepped over some of the flames until she stood in the center of the mandala-like creation she’d prepped long before Sam had ever gotten there. This was a spell and Sam had been the missing ingredient.

But if Sam was needed, that meant whatever Abigail was trying to do had something to do with Sam. But what the hell was her goal? Everything in the ritual had meaning. Sam couldn’t decipher the symbol created with the fire, but the location was important too. This was her mother’s old home, where Sam had murdered people, but the spot Abigail was standing, that exact spot, was where Heather had taken Claire.

Claire.

“No,” breathed Sam.

But it was too late. Abigail chanted in a low, barely audible voice, but the flames shot up around them. Sam tried to run to Abigail, but the flames, her own damn magic, was hot and singed the edge of her shirt. She patted where the material had almost caught on fire and looked up to see a giant stack of smoke emerge from right in front of Abigail. As the smoke rose, the very earth beneath it started to writhe and roll, as though it were a living thing. Then the earth started to push up, a strange mix of ash and dirt rising higher and higher until it was at waist height.

Then with a fierce shake, whatever Abigail had raised from the depths revealed itself.

Two hellhounds.

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Derek had no feeling in his fists, but he kept on hitting the invisible wall in front of him. He couldn’t just stand there and watch this. There had to be something he could do. Some way he could help. He couldn’t just stand there and watch as his world divided.

He knew Sam. She was strong, confident, and fearless when the times called for it. And because she had stood in place this entire time, Derek knew things were very, very wrong. “Abigail!” he called. “I’ll give you whatever you want! Just stop it.”

Abigail didn’t even look at him, instead focusing intently on the two dogs that had emerged out of the ground.

Dogs wasn’t the right word. They were big, probably bigger than any dog or wolf he’d ever seen, each well over a hundred pounds, with scraggily dark fur. The eyes glowed orange as they reflected the fire around them. Abigail bent forward and grabbed each of the dogs by the bottom of the muzzle. They let out a mix between a growl and a whine as Abigail’s black, sharp nails bit into their jaw.