Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)

Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)

C.C. Hunter




To all my Shadow Falls fans who have embraced my characters as much as I have, who have loved, laughed, and cried as they read Kylie’s, Della

’s, and Miranda’s journey. To those readers who have written to tell me how these characters have touched their lives and inspired them. To

those who understand, I have tears in my eyes as I write this dedication because I’m seriously going to miss these magical fictional people

who have filled my imagination, my dreams, and my computer for the last six years. Thank you to all my fans and street team members who have

joined me on this ride. May the spirit of Shadow Falls forever be with you.





Acknowledgments

Thank you to my editor, Rose Hilliard, and my agent, Kim Lionetti, for taking the Shadow Falls journey with me. Thank you to my friends for

adding awesome craziness to my life: Lori Wilde, Susan Muller, Diane Kelly, Kathleen Adey, Jody Payne, and Tracy Goodwin. To my hubby, who

reads every book I write and laughs and cries in all the right places. To my family for being the threads in the crazy tapestry that is my

wacky world: To my son, Steven Craig, and Sarah Skuchko, the new, wonderful, and funny woman in his life. (You do realize when you make it into

a book, you can’t ever leave.) To my daughter, Nina Craig Makepeace, her husband, Jason, and that smart and beautiful little girl who

completes my life when she calls me Ma Maw. Without the people in my circle, I wouldn’t be who I am; I couldn’t create the stories or the

madcap characters who dance on the pages of my novels. So here’s to all of you who have laughed with me, cried with me, given me a hand up,

kicked my butt when I needed it, and added color to my world when it might have been black and white without you.





Chapter One

No sooner than the heavy door closed—cla-thump—did the world go vacant and black. No light. No color. No sound.

No shit! “I don’t like this,” Miranda Kane whispered to her sister, Tabitha, who clutched her hand. She took one small step back.

“But you’re here because you love me. And you were just going to be studying.”

Tabitha said it as if studying wasn’t all that important. Easy for her to say. She’d already scored high enough on the SAT and she wasn’t

the one who was dyslexic …

“Please,” Tabitha whispered. “I’d do this for you.”

So true. “I do love you, but I—”

“Shh, she might hear you.” Tabitha’s shaky voice came out so low it faded into the shadows. She took a step, drawing Miranda closer. “I

think we go this way.”

“Think?” Miranda’s heart slowed down to the eerie beat of music in a scary movie. “I thought you’d done this before?”

“I did. But for some reason it’s darker in here this time.” Tabitha’s grip tightened with confidence, but her palm, slick with fear, told a

different story. Still, she pulled Miranda into a tomb-like obscurity, a hallway perhaps, leading her to the place where an old fortune-teller

waited.

Tabitha must have stopped walking, because Miranda bumped right into her. “Let’s just leave.” She gave Tabitha’s hand a come-on tug.

Her sister tugged back. “No. I really need this.”

Those words brushed against the side of Miranda’s cheek. They stood that close, but her eyes hadn’t adjusted and only blackness filled her

vision. She blinked and finally made out her sister’s silhouette. They stood at the same height. Same weight. Looked enough alike to be twins,

but Tabitha, five months older, was only her half sister.

Yup, that meant their father had been a bad boy. The dirty little secret had remained buried until nine months ago. Growing up an only child

had been lonely for both of them. Neither Miranda nor Tabitha had stopped resenting the missed time.

“There.” Tabitha’s one word tiptoed through the darkness.

Miranda blinked and saw the fire-like radiance that called them forward.

“Okay, we do this and leave. Fast.” Her last word came out laced with determination. Being here felt like a bad idea. And it wasn’t because

they were going to be late to their dinner date.

The soft clip clop of their footsteps was swallowed by blackness as they inched down the hall. Soon they moved through a doorway into a glow.

The air thickened with the scent of burnt herbs. Through flickering light Miranda saw the old woman, sitting at a scarred wooden table that

held eight candles and one crystal ball.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Did her heart even beat?

Miranda held what little oxygen she had in her lungs. Unfocusing her gaze, she studied the woman’s forehead, where patterns told one’s

species but were readable only by other supernaturals. Was the woman even Wiccan? Her scroll-like markings labeled her as a witch like Miranda

and Tabitha. The lack of color in that design characterized her as one with questionable morals. And her overall appearance portrayed her as

battier than bat shit.

Her thick gray hair stood up in knots, as if a rat had taken up residence in the unkempt mess. Her clothes, all black, hung loose and ragged as