Chapter 6 #2
Bran scrambled out of bed as quietly as he could and grabbed his jeans off the floor, yanking them on in a matter of seconds.
He shoved his feet into his sneakers and hastily tied them, glancing at Aisling, glad to see she wore a pair of sneakers as well, even if she was only wearing shorts and a tank top.
The air-conditioning units weren’t the best, and it was still warm in the apartment despite the early morning hour.
Bran reached for his awareness of Jupiter and couldn’t sense his familiar anywhere nearby.
He still tugged on their bond, sending a burst of desperate emotion best translated as help down that magical connection.
He crept toward the window, ignoring the frantic tugging on his shirt and arm by Aisling.
He made a shushing gesture at her, stayed low, and put his back up against the wall.
The bedroom looked out onto the back of the property, facing the forest instead of the local road.
He angled his head to look out the glass, and in the moonlit forest, floating gently through the trees and coming closer, were small glowing lights.
Bran jerked back, horror washing through him like ice water, making his skin prickle.
He reached for Aisling without looking, her hand sliding into his as she pressed close.
Whatever was out there, he knew why they had come—they wanted Aisling.
He leaned down and whispered into her ear so softly it was barely sound. “We need to get into the circle.”
The Shoppe was surrounded by witchmarks, the same way their other home had been.
The magic embedded in the walls should have been enough to keep out what was hunting them, but the nightmare outside had broken through their mother’s defenses.
Whatever was out there was more powerful than what typically haunted the forest.
Witchmarks should have been enough to keep them safe.
That they hadn’t been meant the only thing Bran trusted right then was the coven’s circle, a barrier of magic stronger than any combination of witchmarks. Reaching it meant getting downstairs on creaking steps and into the basement, all while something hunted them from outside.
Aisling nodded agreement, her breathing ragged.
Bran tugged on her ponytail, wishing he had time to comfort her, but they had to survive this night first. He gripped her hand tight in his and bent low, pulling her with him as they passed the window, hoping nothing outside would see them.
Bran led her out of the bedroom and down the hallway, heartbeat thrumming in his ears like a drum.
Panic was a band around his ribs, making it difficult to breathe, and the only thing that quieted it was the memory of his mother’s voice.
Never let them see fear. Your magic can hurt them just as surely as iron can.
Bran had walked the forest plenty of times before and set witchmarks into the trees to guard the paths that led to the cabins made of ash wood.
He’d only seen the lights a handful of times over the years, the first when he was newly thirteen and foraging during the light of the harvest moon with his mother.
He’d frozen back then, fear anchoring his body to the earth, and Bran knew he couldn’t freeze now. Aisling would die if he did.
He led her to the stairs and gestured at her to look at where he stepped, a lifetime of knowing where the steps creaked from pressure enabling him to descend without making a sound.
Aisling literally followed in his footsteps, fingers of her other hand clenched tightly around the fabric of his T-shirt.
They reached the bottom landing, and Bran wrapped his free hand around the doorknob, turning it slowly.
He held his breath at the faint squeak of metal as the latch retracted and carefully pushed it open.
Through the crack, he could see the Shoppe was dark, nothing seemingly out of place. But the urgent need to run still clawed at the back of his mind, and for all that the Shoppe appeared safe, he couldn’t trust the emptiness, not when he knew what hunted beyond the walls.
He flexed his fingers around Aisling’s hand and carefully pushed the door open wider.
The hinges squeaked from the motion, and he froze, Aisling whimpering at his back.
Bran gritted his teeth and opened the door wider, stepping into the Shoppe and tugging Aisling along with him.
He didn’t turn on the lights because they couldn’t risk whatever was outside knowing they were awake.
But then a shadow blocked the moonlight streaming through the trifecta stained-glass window, and Bran knew he shouldn’t look—he knew—but he did so anyway.
What stared back was a horror from the depths of a hellish nightmare.
The gray face was eyeless, mouth a slit full of teeth in a Cheshire cat grin.
Large horns grew from its skull on either side, arcing overhead into tapering points that almost touched, giving the illusion of a crescent moon crown.
Narrow palms with elongated fingers were splayed against the stained-glass window.
When it curled its fingers, the claws at the tips made a terrible sound against the glass.
Then it opened its mouth, its head nearly splitting in two, and the animalistic scream it let out was a sound Bran would never be able to forget.
It slammed its horned head against the window, the blow rattling the stained-glass in the frame but not breaking it.
The creature screamed again, and when it lifted its head, Bran saw burns on its face from the welded iron connecting the stained-glass panels to each other and the frame. Witchmarks sizzled into being across every stained-glass panel, magic keeping what had come from the forest at bay.
For now.
Aisling crashed into him, arms wrapping around his body as she buried her face against his back while hyperventilating. The creature screamed again, and all the witchmarks their coven had etched into the wood of the walls and floor and ceiling of the Shoppe burned to life in the wake of that sound.
“There goes our chance at hiding,” Bran said. “Hurry! Get to the basement!”
He twisted around, herding Aisling toward the space behind the register, keeping his eyes on the creature through the window.
Movement out of the corner of his eyes made his head jerk a little to the left.
Another horrible face pressed itself against the glass of the front window that looked out on the road.
Lights floated in the distance beyond it, drawing closer, bringing with them shadows of things that shouldn’t exist but did.
We’re surrounded.
The thought made his stomach sink, but despair wasn’t going to save them.
Bran raised his right hand and called up his magic.
It burned through him, coalescing against his palm in a brilliant golden light because he had nothing to hide here.
With his other hand, he drew a witchmark in the air, holding his fingers against the last two points of the glittering lines that meant shield, readying it for any attack.
Both creatures at the windows kept banging their clawed hands and strangely shaped heads against glass that wouldn’t break because of the magic that anchored the foundation of his coven’s home.
Then something slammed against the front door, rattling the hinges and making the wood creak badly.
The heavy breathing he’d heard while upstairs grew louder, as if whatever had been circling the Shoppe was now on the other side of the door, wanting to get in.
He swallowed hard, attention torn between the windows and the door.
The creatures had broken through their mother’s witchmarks at the house.
Bran knew he had to expect the same here.
A loud thud from behind him made Bran jump. He looked over his shoulder at the register area where Aisling had gone. The door to the basement had been flung open, and she smacked her hand a couple of times against the top of the glass display case, trying to get his attention.
“Get—”
Bran never finished the sentence.
The door bowed in the frame before exploding inward, hinges shattering and the witchmarks with it in a glittering spray of damaged magic that filled the Shoppe.
Something large hunkered down in the doorway and began forcing its way inside.
The way it crouched spoke of it being tall, cloven feet visible in the glow of approaching lights.
Its thick fingers gripped the doorframe and shoved, cracking the wood there as it made space to enter.
Glowing threads of green magic crawled away from its fingers, carving through the witchmarks in the wall and strangling the magic there.
Its deer-shaped head came through, followed by broad, furred shoulders, looking nothing like any deer that roamed the forest. The creature’s head tapered outward from the elongated nose into a broad shape, three glowing eyes lined up across its face.
Antlers with leaves sprouting from it like branches protruded from its skull, bits of them scraping over the ceiling as it clawed its way into the Shoppe.
It opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth that would never be found on any deer, and roared.
The sound ripped through the air with a ferocity that probably echoed for miles.
If anyone heard it, Bran doubted they would come looking for the noise or to help.
That’s not what people did in Pelham when they knew the lights were out hunting.
“Get down to the basement!” Bran yelled.