Page 64 of The Black Witch

Slowly, it rises and unfurls ragged, black wings. And it’s not alone. To the right of it, I see movement on top of what appears to be a dresser. Another winged figure, also crouching like it’s waiting to attack.

Holy Ancient One, there’s two of them.

“Hello, Elloren Gardner,” the Icaral under the window says in a raspy, malevolent voice. “Welcome to hell.”

CHAPTER SIX

Ariel

A jolt of energy shoots though me, wrenching me out of my crippling haze of fear as the Icaral advances toward me.

Terrified, I find my footing and bolt out of the room, down the short hallway, bumping against the stone bench, taking the spiraled stairs three at a time, almost falling.

When I jump to the bottom, jarring my ankle, a realization dawns on me with nauseating clarity.

Nowhere is safe.

If they’re here, they’re probably everywhere. Probably waiting for me outside, as well.

I throw myself into the cleaning closet, slam the door shut and begin barricading myself in with an old shelf, my travel case and finally my feet as I brace my legs against the barricade for leverage. I’m shaking with terror as I sit in the dark, the cold stone floor beneath me, the only light a faint glow rimming the door from the dimly lit foyer and the slight shimmer of my skin.

It’s quiet.

Deathly quiet.

So quiet that my heavy, panicked breathing sounds obscenely loud, my heart audible as it beats wildly against my chest. But I know they’re out there. Waiting for me.

“I’m not the Black Witch!”I shriek at the door, spittle flying from my mouth.

For a moment there’s no response. Only more quiet. When the reply finally comes, it’s close.

“Oh, yes, you are,” the thing hisses mockingly.

Oh, Holy Ancient One, it’s on the other side of the door.

My trembling intensifies, and I begin to recite a prayer fromThe Book of the Ancientsover and over again in a desperate whisper.

Most Holy Ancient One, In the Heavens Above, Deliver me from the Evil Ones...

As I beg for my life to be spared, the demon begins to scrape its nails down the length of the door. Very slowly. Again and again.

Then more silence.

A hard force slams up against the door, jolting me through the barricade, through my legs. I cry out and begin to sob.

“Iwillkill you,” the voice snarls, “andslowly.”

The scraping begins again, but this time sharper, as if the wooden door is being gouged by a knife.

“You have to sleep sometime, Gardnerian,” the cruel thing sneers. “And when you do, I willcutyou...”

The sound of wood being gouged intensifies, and I can feel the rhythmic pressure through my legs. The thing is dismantling the door, taking as much time doing this as it will when it kills me.

My panicked thoughts run wild in my head, like a crazed stallion. Images of Rafe, Trystan and Gareth arriving at school to find me dead in this closet, torn to shreds by Icarals. Images of my uncle’s heart giving out when he discovers what’s happened to me. Of Fallon Bane being overjoyed at my fate. And Sage’s wand being found...

The wand!

I scramble around in the dark, feeling for the straps on my travel trunk, throwing it open, ripping the fabric liner with wildly shaking hands to get at the wand. Sage said it was powerful—maybe so powerful that it will work even for someone as weak as me.

---