Hearing footsteps racing my way, I didn’t look back and quickly opened the door. It swung open and a blast of cold winter air blew against my face and body, making me shiver. Tiny flakes of snow drifted through the doorway to instantly melt against the heat of the beach. Through the open doorway it was night, the full moon shining down on a ton of trees, the forest’s floor covered in snow. Directly in the center of it, almost fifty yards away, was a log home, two stories tall with a wraparound porch, snow covering its overhang and roof, smoke billowing from its chimney and its windows lit merrily.
It looked like a Christmas card, it was so picturesque, but I could feel the taint of black magic surrounding it, ruining its beautiful effect. But that didn’t matter because I needed to get through the door before whoever was almost on me stopped me from doing this. So I stepped through, my feet crunching and falling down into six inches of snow, Bonnie following dutifully even as she hissed.
Instantly, the door disappeared, only the forest behind us. It was eerily silent. Unlike the normal sounds you would hear in a location such as this. Even the wind made no noise through the trees as it blew snow down on me.
The feeling now surrounding me was reminiscent to what Southern Coms called bad juju.
Flatly, it felt wrong.
I shivered, not from the cold, and started trekking toward the log home. Bonnie moved with me, growling softly and scanning the area. It was my destination and I wasn’t about to stop now. My husband would live. No matter the cost to myself.
Getting to the cabin was harder than originally appeared. Minutes stretched into an hour. Every foot I put forward seemed to make the cabin that much farther. Some type of spell to keep others away. Eventually I began to tire, but I pushed onward and began to run.
I needed in there.
Now.
And abruptly — unexpectedly — Bonnie and I were on the front porch. Still running. I skidded to a stop on the slick snow and banged into the front door, Bonnie having less trouble.
As I cursed, rubbing my shoulder, I heard a cackle from inside. Someone thought they were damn funny. But I straightened and didn’t growl in anger when the door opened only moments later. A Mage woman, appearing eighty Com-years old, stood inside the lit entry.
Her clothes looked like a gypsy’s. Her shirt was made of cotton, gold and flared at the cuffs. Her ankle-length skirt was also cotton, black and ruffled. Her wrists were adorned with gold bracelets. And her gnarled, wrinkly feet were bare. Tipping her head to the side and peering down at me, her waist-length golden hair fell over her shoulder.
I barely kept from staring. But not because she was dressed for balmy weather while there were the makings of a blizzard outside. I had to avert my eyes because her own eyes were black. This was odd because all Mages had a variation of golden eyes, but hers were completely black. As in, not even white showed. I knew instantly — her scent surrounding me — it was because she had been practicing dark magic for a very long time.
She stiffened and whispered, “Not yet.”
I peered up at her, staring at her forehead. “Yes, now. I need to speak with you.”
She was still for so long that I wasn’t sure she would allow me access, but eventually she moved aside, whispering, “Justice.”
Carefully, I toed the entrance. I felt nothing awful, so I stepped through, Bonnie pretty much imitating me. The place was just so wrong, it was throwing my senses out of whack. Although, at first glance, it was like any other Mage home. Gold galore in the entry, in the living room to the left, in the dining room to the right, and in a long hallway and wooden staircase straight ahead.
Except for, at a closer inspection, the tiny jars on the shelves lining the walls. The glasses were golden and inside each of them were items I hastily averted my gaze from. I was pretty sure inside the first ones I had seen there were fingers, small animals, and a shitload of eyeballs. I didn’t look again.
She shut the door behind me. There was no lock. I didn’t expect it. She didn’t need it.
She crossed her arms. “How did you get here, Queen Ruckler?”
My lips thinned at hearing a creak upstairs, like someone was walking around. “I used a knocker.” She knew who I was. “Who else is in the house?”
“No one who will harm you right now,” she mumbled absently, holding out her hand. “Return.” I blinked and stared at her bony hand, and quickly patted my pocket. The knocker was gone from me. Now in her fisted palm.
Fuck, I’ll just have to worry about getting back later.
Absently, she shook the knocker then stopped, and started cackling. “Ah, now…now…” She waggled the knocker. “I had wondered who stole this so long ago.” She chuckled deeply. “He thinks he’s so pure, going along with the universe’s master plan.” She spat to the side, her spit sizzling on the hardwood floor at her feet. “A bona-fide thief, he is, sneaking in here without me knowing.”
Ignoring her rant, I cleared my throat. “I’ve come because—”
She waved the hand with the knocker, shushing me. “I know why you’ve come. The question is, how far will you go to make it happen?” She didn’t wait for my answer, turning and walking into the living room on the left.