Witch Way: The New Ashton Chronicles Read online

  Concern washed out the color from Vinnie’s face. She wiped her hand on her jeans as she stood. “We should get Mom. Or Andy.”

  “I don’t know nothing about vibes or whatever but people feeling ‘weird’ ain’t a good thing.”

  “No, it’s not,” Neoma murmured. She faced them. “I didn’t want to bother them yet. I can talk to him. Maybe I can pick up something else from him. If it’s dire, we get Mara. If it’s not, he can come back later.” She sounded confident and certain.

  As Neoma headed back through the swinging door, Vinnie followed, chewing at her lip.

  Casey slid off of her stool and slipped her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. As they crossed through the dining room and back into the foyer, Vinnie glanced back to her. “Now I’m getting bad vibes from Neoma’s bad vibes.”

  Casey didn’t doubt it, but she’d had bad vibes since the start.

  Neoma opened the door cautiously to greet the man. Casey couldn’t see him, not right away, not until she drew her gaze from Vinnie and focused.

  Her breath caught. There was only the thump-thump of her heart in her ears. She didn’t even hear her own voice, so tiny and far away.

  “Dad?”

  He seemed to have aged twenty years. He was thinner, cheekbones more pronounced, eyes sunken into dark hollows. His blond hair was as long as ever, longer even, and hung lank and dirty against bony shoulders. His beard had grown too and now sprinkled with gray. But it was him. It was her father.

  The smile started over her face before she could stop it, relief and joy all at once. Caution fled. She moved past Vinnie and Neoma.

  “Dad. I knew I’d find you here. I’ve been looking—” But Casey cut herself off. Confusion sliced through her joy. Her smile dropped. She froze there in the doorway, hand on the door jamb.

  Something wasn’t right.

  He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even acknowledged her. His blue eyes—duller now than she remembered—stayed on her face. There was apathy in them she didn’t expect. Emptiness. Her dad had never looked at her like that before, not even when drunk off his ass.

  “Dad? It’s me. It’s Casey.” Her vision blurred when she stepped forward.

  And he welcomed her by wrapping his hands around her throat.

  Patrick

  When Casey had been nothing more than a twinkle in his eye, with their marriage fresh and new, he’d taken Amelia on a road trip. They weren’t on a hunt or trailing halfway across the country to meet up with other hunters. It was an honest to God vacation—their first and their last. They called it a honeymoon, though they did little more than drive and see the sights and enjoy each other’s company. They didn’t need much.

  Amie complained whenever they headed onto an interstate or a busy toll road. She hated being boxed in. The semi-trucks on all sides of them as their car zoomed along gave her intense anxiety. Even worse were the tunnels. They were dark and encompassing. Stifling. She hated the noise—the hum of wheels on pavement, echoing around the walls. Claustrophobia at its worst. She gripped the seat tightly and kept her eyes forward, praying for a hint of light to tell her it would be over soon.

  That’s what it was like now, how he’d imagined and understood his wife’s anguish. The hum around him, the tightness. Trapped. Surrounded. He could do nothing but hold on tight and wait for the light at the end of the tunnel. No matter if it meant his end.

  Maybe there was no light. Maybe this was it, all there was. Darkness.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Casey’s face swam into his vision. Her mouth opened in surprise, her eyes bulged. She clawed at his arms, wheezing and grunting and gasping for breath. His hands squeezed tighter.

  He couldn’t let go. He wanted to let go, but he couldn’t.

  They were back, his will no longer his own. They still had the power. They would have him kill his daughter and he couldn’t stop or fight.

  The voice that came out of his mouth did not belong to him. Husky and low, with a twinge of an accent he couldn’t place. He never could place it. His Midwestern drawl became lost in the droning Latin. The words resonated with a power that wasn’t his.

  The hum in his head grew louder. Something—someone—moved in his peripheral vision. The young woman, the brunette, took hold of his arm. She yanked him with incredible strength and his fingers loosened from Casey’s neck. Maybe she could stop him. Maybe Casey would live.

  His hope dashed when his arm swung back. He struck the woman with his own unnatural brawn. It knocked her back and he gripped Casey’s throat with renewed strength.

  No, no. Please.

  He might not be in control of his body but he was in control of his thoughts. Prayer had never done him any good before, but at the end of his rope, he’d try anything.

  Please don’t let me do this. Anything but this. Don’t let me kill my daughter. Don’t let me. God, please.

  The hum became a roar. It drowned out his thoughts, drowning out the shouts and cries. Casey’s eyes ballooned, her face red. Her knuckles were white where she gripped his wrist. The blues of her eyes brightened with her tears. They locked on him, pleading.

  Please.

  Both of them begging, unable to be heard. Both of them holding on to something, to a hope for salvation.

  Please!

  Silence. His hands were empty. Cold. Discomfort. Limbs heavy. He tried to move—They tried to move—but he could not.

  Across the room, Casey lay on the floor, curled into her side. A red-haired young woman knelt next to her. The brunette he’d knocked aside stood, blue-green eyes blazing with anger, hands clenched into fists. When her gaze shot to the staircase, They made him look too.

  At the top stair, with her feet braced apart and one hand outstretched, stood another redhead. Her thin lips stretched tight over her face. Her eyes burned with determination and fury. Her power—such power—held Them immobile against the wall.

  They fled. They left Patrick’s body so suddenly, releasing all control that it took his breath away—had there been any to take. He went slack with relief, or as slack as he could under the invisible weight that spread his arms wide. His own man again, with his own thoughts, his own fear, his own self.

  For now.

  The redhead took in the scene, her hand still extended. Her power flowed from somewhere deep inside. Even he could see how readily she wielded it. Her brilliant blue eyes locked on his.

  “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

  Andy

  “Take slow, small sips,” she encouraged. Andy moved some of the hair away from Casey’s throat, the better to see the damage. Bruising would start soon. Already it was blotchy and red. She winced, seeing it. “Damn.” A healing potion would fix it right up if she wanted to take it. Somehow, she doubted she would.

  Casey held the bottle of water between her hands but she didn’t drink from it. She stared straight ahead, ignoring Andy and everyone else, save for the man across from them.

  He sat on the floor where Andy had deposited him, with his back to the wall. Trapped within an imprisoning ward of Andy’s design, he wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t hurt anyone again—not on her watch, anyway.

  She stood. Let Mara and Vinnie fuss over Casey now. She had questions. Her gaze shot to the man, holding him with a hard stare. “What happened? Who are you?”

  Neoma spoke, her voice tight. “Her father. She called him ‘Dad’ when he came to the door. He didn’t say anything, just jumped her. He’s strong. Knocked me back with one hit.”

  “You okay?” Concern seeped out some of her anger. Andy looked her over but saw no visible wounds—but with Neoma, the pain was often emotional, not physical.

  “Fine. Bruised arm, but I’m fine.” She tucked said arm against her chest. “He’s not human, Andy. Or not acting human. That strength is… unnatural. Magically imbued? Something. There’s a real internal struggle too. I felt it when I grabbed him. He tried to fight it, tried to fight against it. He didn’t want to do it.” She bit down on her
lip and said no more.

  Andy scrutinized the man more closely. He looked ragged and years older but he still resembled the old photograph Casey had shown them. “Mind control?” she suggested, frowning. “Possession?”

  Neoma shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  ‘Maybe’ wasn’t a lot. ‘Maybe’ was nothing at all. Her eyes narrowed. “Right.”

  If she had been a few seconds too slow in reaching those stairs, Casey would be dead. Her anger, while still present, tapered off into confusion, concern, and weariness. She still hadn’t fully recovered from her visions earlier. The use of her powers had worn her out and exhaustion coursed through her. Her legs trembled.

  “Andy? You have something—just there.”

  “What?” She brought up her hand to where Neoma pointed. The blood was warm on her fingers. The scent of it invaded her senses all at once. “Shit.” She cupped her hand to her nose.

  “Here.” Neoma grabbed a box of tissues from the table, tearing out several for Andy.

  She muttered her thanks before pressing the tissues to her nose. It must’ve taken more out of her than she’d thought. Her head ached now—another sign that she’d overused her powers.

  “You should sit down.”

  Neoma was right, but she had no time for it now. “Later. I’ll sit down later.” There was too much happening for Andy to rest for even a second. Her stubbornness held tight to her and she made sure Neoma felt it too. She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting how right she was.

  Neoma sighed and didn’t argue. Instead, she folded her arms over her chest and fixed Andy with a disapproving glare. “Suit yourself.”

  Andy dabbed at her bloody nose. “We need answers.”

  “You need rest.”

  “Shut it, both of you,” Mara snapped. Her vehemence silenced them both and left Andy properly chastised. She lowered her gaze, with an apology right on the tip of her tongue.

  “Shh,” Mara admonished again, though not one of them had spoken. Vinnie passed a confused glance to Andy, just a scant millisecond before Andy sensed it too.

  Mason.

  He appeared before them from thin air, the scent of amber wafting through the room. Magic hummed around him. Immediately, his gaze settled on Casey’s father. He showed no surprise, already seemingly aware of the situation. Andy didn’t question it. She learned long ago not to question things the half-demon knew.

  Concern briefly shone when he turned and took in Andy with the bloodied tissue. “Rest, Andy.” His tone suggested no argument and her protest silenced before she could even think it. Mason was one of the few people Andy would follow without much opposition. He’d earned that but it didn’t make her at all happy about it.

  She marched by Neoma without a word, ignoring her semi-smug smile. Andy settled herself on the second-to-the-bottom step. It wasn’t exactly the rest Mason ordered. The second she sat, though, all the strength left her body. She slumped over, letting her head rest against the banister.

  Neoma joined her on the steps and sat close. Andy shifted so her head rested on Neoma’s shoulder instead of the cold, hard rail. They watched Mason, still as a statue in the middle of the room as he took in and evaluated the situation further. Casey sat on the floor with Mara and Vinnie nearby. Casey’s father sat against the wall with his head bowed and arms bound in invisible imprisonment.

  “We don’t know—I mean, he attacked. Unprovoked,” Vinnie began. “It’s like he was—”

  “Possessed,” Mara murmured, sweeping the hair out of her face.

  “He is not possessed.” One by one, Mason searched their faces until he rested on Casey.

  The color drained from her face, which made the purpling marks on her neck stand out. Her chest rose and fell with her quick, ragged breaths. Crushing dread flooded the room. Stifling. Thick. Andy couldn’t breathe either. No one could.

  Then it came with Mason’s carefully weighted words. “I have learned he is a revenant.”

  The last word hung heavy in the air. Andy closed her eyes. Of course. A revenant. How hadn’t she seen it before? With his pallid skin, dull eyes, the way his aura and energy were spotty at best. Clearly dead and brought back by a witch or necromancer with powerful magic, only two steps away from being a zombie. And yet, it didn’t sink in for Andy, not until she heard Mason say it again. “He is dead.”

  She opened her eyes and looked beyond him, to Casey.

  The girl’s eyes went wide, shell-shocked. She moved her colorless lips. “Dead?” The word barely came out, Casey’s voice hoarse. Even so, they could hear her in the heavy silence. “How can he be dead?”

  Vinnie, looking stricken as well, placed a sympathetic hand on Casey’s shoulder.

  She shrugged it off. “How?” It came louder, voice cracked with effort and emotion. “How is he dead? He’s right there.”

  It hadn’t sunk in for her either, not that Andy expected it. How devastating a blow for a young girl who’d pinned all her hopes on finding her father alive. Not that denial wasn’t a hell of a thing, but Casey didn’t understand. Someone needed to explain it to her.

  Mason would tell her in the most basic of terms, with little sympathy or emotion. This girl needed reassurance, a softness to the blow. Beside her, Neoma turned her head and exhaled shakily.

  She waited for someone to take the reins, for her mother to step in. She knew how to approach such situations with calm and poise, and could help Casey come to terms. But neither she nor Mason, with his taciturn approach, dared speak. The silence grew. Tension rose. Seconds ticked by in dreaded anticipation.

  It was up to her. Godsdamn it.

  “Casey.” For the first time, Andy realized how weary she sounded too. All the way down to her bones it went, with her fear and anxiety and weakness all laid bare before them. The darkness from her visions—it seeped in. It might not have been a physical manifestation, but it existed, stifling her.

  The inevitable had come at last.

  Andy took a deep breath, then another. When her chest didn’t feel so tight, she began again. “Casey, he’s a revenant. He died a while ago. Someone—someone brought him back with necromancy. That’s what a revenant is. A dead person brought back with magic. They brought him back and they are using his body. He’s not a zombie, not exactly, but he’s not your dad anymore. Your dad is gone.”

  “No.” Casey’s chin wobbled. She frantically searched back and forth amongst them. “You’re lying. He’s not dead. He’s right there!” Covering her mouth with her hand did nothing to hold back the broken sob.

  Vinnie moved forward, but Casey backed away from her. “No. No! Leave me—leave me alone!” She spun and cut through the dining room. The kitchen door swung wildly in her wake.

  The following silence broke a mere second later when Mason cleared his throat. “Andy. Assist me with him.” It wasn’t a question.

  Mason didn’t need her help. Her weariness had her too depleted to do much good but she stood anyway. Numbness sank into her. It extended beyond her limbs, deep into her chest. Calm overcame her and she breathed out a soft sigh.

  Neoma lightly touched her arm as she passed. Andy would need to thank her, later, for the calming effect. No one could induce calm as Neoma could.

  Andy wiped her hands on her jeans and came to a halt in front of Mason.

  “Mind that he remains bound,” he directed. “I will transport him upstairs for holding.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not going anywhere.” Her magic, at least this spell, wouldn’t falter even in her weakness. She’d made sure of that.

  “We take no chances.”

  Andy nodded and turned to the man. She kept a keen eye on him as Mason stepped forward. There came a tingle of magic and a soft pop. The man vanished, the floor empty where he’d sat seconds before.

  Vinnie cautiously moved to them, glancing over her shoulder at the kitchen door. “So what now?”

  “We question him.”

  Her gaze circled back to Mason.
“I mean, if he’s being controlled, can you even get him to talk?”

  “It’ll be tricky,” Andy said, “but I think we can get some answers from him. If anything, we can try to track the source of power.” Try being the keyword.

  Mason nodded silent agreement.

  Vinnie didn’t look so sure. “And you think that will work?”

  “We have to try,” Mara said softly. She shook her head and leaned against the banister near a quiet, thoughtful Neoma.

  Andy’s gut pulled again. It wouldn’t work, she knew it. And not because it was a hopeless long shot. Somehow, deep down, she knew what—who—was behind his ensorcellment. It made her ill.

  She lifted her eyes. When they met Mason’s, she knew he had the same thought. She wished to the gods her gut was wrong for once.

  “What?” Vinnie asked, catching their shared look. “What is it?”

  Mason said nothing but gave Andy a nod of confirmation. A coldness swept through her. “I think,” she began, “we know who it may be, or at the very least, the organization responsible.” Pinpointing an exact person though…

  “Who?” Vinnie sounded small, far away.

  Now that she considered it, it made all the sense in the world—obvious even, but not to her sister. “Who do we know, besides Mason, who delves deep in necromancy and dark magic? Who likes to manipulate and control other people?”

  Vinnie gave a blank stare. “I don’t—” Then her eyes widened. “You don’t mean Dad’s old coven? But they’ve been quiet for years. Not since—”

  “Not since I betrayed them,” Andy cut her off. A weight pushed down on her shoulders. The air around her turned frigid and a shiver snaked down her spine. She always knew they’d come back. They would never stop, not once they put their minds to something. Biding time, waiting—they had no problems. It had taken them twelve years, but she had no doubt in her mind now.

  “The Hallowed Circle Coven is back.”

  They

  Shadows retreated into the corners when the overhead light came on. Its brilliance burned, but They stared at the figures as they emerged from the doorway with relentlessness.