Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)(2)

if she’d not only stopped caring, but stopped eating. Her skin, a map of wrinkles, clung to her skull.

She looked … older than dirt. Dirty. Dead tired. Ready to leave this world that apparently hadn’t been kind to her. The question was: was she

a victim or a culprit in her own demise?

“You…” The witch’s scratchy voice clawed at the air. “You go first.” Her faded gray gaze eased away from her crystal ball and stalled on

Miranda.

Stalled.

Stared.

Stayed on her in a way that made Miranda’s breath catch. Warning chills slithered up and down her spine and she cupped her hand to keep from

sending the woman the finger. Not the middle one, where insults arose, but her pinky, from where magic and forewarnings ensued.

“Me?

“First?

“Why?”

She almost choked on the smoky air as the shadows in the room inched closer, ready to pounce.

Miranda moved a cautionary gaze left then right. Everything felt haunted—possessed.

Heavy drapes, blood-red in color, clung to the entire back wall as if a living, breathing entity. The thick claustrophobic fabric blocked the

sunlight from entering while trapping the shadowy darkness within. The room felt like a …

No, not just the room—the entire house—felt like a prison.

But whose?

The ambience and sinister décor was not the norm for a witch who followed the do-no-harm policy. Then again, all of this could simply be for

show to entertain her human clients—clients who without eerie ambience didn’t believe in magic. Still, the woman could have at least combed

her hair.

Maybe even used a little moisturizer on her face.

Why in Hades had Miranda allowed Tabitha to talk her into this?

It was nuts.

Crazy.

Absurd.

“Why not you?” the old witch taunted.

Miranda stiffened her spine with false bravado. “My sister’s the high priestess. She should go first.” She gave Tabitha a nudge. And as soon

as the fortune spilled from the old woman’s lips, Miranda planned to get the hell out of here. She’d agreed to accompany her sister, not to

participate.

“I know who she is,” the old witch said. “I do not know who you are. And your fear feeds my curiosity.” She cocked her head and continued

to stare. “It isn’t me you fear, is it? Are you frightened of what you will learn? Afraid my words will break your heart?”

Afraid? Hell yeah! Was Miranda the only one who understood the ol’ adage: ignorance is bliss? Especially when it comes to love. And that was

this witch’s specialty. Supposedly humans paid big bucks for her to forecast their love lives and expose unfaithful lovers. For her fellow

witches, she gave discounts. She was dubbed the reader of love, lust, and longings.

Right now, all Miranda longed to do was to get the hell out of here.

“Should I be afraid?” Miranda asked, hoping the fear rattling her soul didn’t sound in her voice. But right then Miranda felt it. A new kind

of fear. Her skin began to crawl, her heart felt overly heavy. This was not just fear, but a forewarning of impending doom. Was the witch

causing it? This place? Or something altogether different?

Maybe the latter, since this feeling had hit yesterday as well. Impending doom didn’t always mean immediate.

Miranda glanced at Tabitha. Was she feeling it, too? Was something terrible about to happen? In spite of being only half sisters, they shared

the talent of premonition. Not of good things to come, mind you, just crappy stuff.

To Miranda’s relief, Tabitha didn’t look concerned. Which could mean that the foreboding might just be an overreaction on Miranda’s part. Or

was her sister not reacting because her heart remained preoccupied with Anthony Bastin?

“This was a silly idea,” Miranda spoke up. They were witches for Goddess’ sake. They sure as heck didn’t need another witch, one who mostly

did theatrical tricks for humans, to give them a look-see into their so-called love lives. Besides, she had Ernie, her real magic eight ball,

to offer advice. Not that he was always reliable, but again, maybe she didn’t need to know everything.

“Not silly,” Tabitha said. “If she wants you to go first, just do it. Pleeeease.” The last word came out soft and pulled on Miranda’s

heartstrings. And with that tug, the foreboding faded.

Shifting her focus away from her sister’s imploring expression, Miranda caught two gold eyes staring at her—with the same look—from the

shadows in the corner of the room. She wasn’t sure, but those piercing eyes appeared to belong to an armadillo. Did the scaly creature live

here? Was it the woman’s pet? Or worse? Her prisoner? Maybe even a human turned into a rodent-like beast?

And if the latter, that could be bad. Good witches knew the penalties for imprisoning a soul. To not heed the rules could lead to dire

consequences.

The animal shifted back and the slightest sound of metal on metal rattled. Blinking, Miranda spotted the small chain around the ugly creature’

s leg. Her breath caught. This was so not good.

She cut her eyes to her sister. “I really think we should just—”