All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A Lying Witch
Book One
Copyright © 2016 Odette C Bell
Cover art stock photos licensed from Depositphotos.
www.odettecbell.com
A Lying Witch
Book One
Chi McLane likes to lie. It's part of her job. She's a fortuneteller and will happily lie about your future for a fee.
Then she encounters a problem. She's just inherited her grandmother's house. That's not so bad, right? Wrong. Because the house comes with a book, and the book comes with a curse.
Suddenly Chi finds herself thrust into the gritty world of a seer. Yeah, because magic exists, and it ain't pretty.
Oh, and there's another problem. One with broad shoulders, a deep Scottish accent, and a killer smile. Turns out he's her magical bodyguard, and he's here to stay.
Chi is pushed into a realm of violent magic, petty lies, and a curse that will haunt her until the day she dies.
Prologue
The storm raged overhead, pounding through the yard, shaking the trees that stood sentinel by the house, and rattling the windows.
Joan sat at her kitchen table facing Max. She stared down the barrel of his gun and didn't flinch.
Max sneered, his lips curling up hard, accentuating his strong jaw. “It’s time to pay your dues. Joan, you turned from your power. For that, you will die.”
Joan didn't react as the man lifted the gun, as a massive bolt of lightning struck the street outside and lit up the kitchen in a blast of iridescent light. As it spilled through the room, it lit up the man’s massive form. Just as the light receded, it highlighted the shadow behind his left shoulder. A shadow from the past.
She shifted her gaze from Max and locked it on his shadow. As her eyes readjusted to the gloom, she picked out the long broadsword slung at the shadow’s side, the tanned leather hides strung across his back, the glint of power and domination in his eyes.
“Yes, I turned from the future,” she replied. “But only so I could create a better one. You cannot understand that, McCane, but trust me – it’s far more important.”
The real man – Max – stood, pushing up from his chair, his perfectly formed shadow following him – pulling him up, in fact, as it kept a dark hand locked against Max’s shoulder.
Max’s camel-colored leather boots ground into the polished floorboards, his bones creaking with a sound no normal human would make, as his shadow – McCane – smiled mirthlessly.
Joan stared from McCane’s enraged gaze to the muzzle of the gun.
“I'll come for your granddaughter. And mark my words,” McCane controlled Max’s mouth, “she will fall to me.”
“And mark my words,” Joan pressed her old, stiff hands into the edge of her table and rose, “she will not. She will realize what you are. She'll realize what these powers cost. She won't allow you to turn her into a husk so you can finally end your loneliness, McCane. Not my granddaughter. She will not see your future – she will create her own.”
“No. She’ll be mine. I will finally have my perfect seer. I will force her to use her powers until they consume her.”
“No,” Joan’s voice punched high and rattled with a blast. “She will break your curse and save what’s left of you.” Joan’s eyes shifted off the shadow and locked on the real man as he stood opposite her.
And that real man? He fired.
The bullet ripped from the gun and plunged through the center of her chest, disappearing in a flash of light.
Joan was dead before her lifeless old body struck the polished floorboards of her kitchen.
The shadow remained for several seconds, sneering at the old woman’s lifeless, dead body. But McCane could not remain forever. The past would call him back. He would not be capable of remaining in this time until she opened his door.
In the time that remained, he turned and stared upon his other self. Max. The scrap of McCane’s soul that was not locked in the past – his only hope that the future would finally be his.
In a flash of light, McCane disappeared, his shadow shattering apart like a mirror dropping onto flagstones.
Max rocked back on his feet, confusion swamping his body, tearing at his fragile memories like wild animals to flesh.
He dropped the gun as a haze flooded through his mind. The gun struck the polished, blood-stained black and white tile with a clatter, immediately disappearing in a curling wisp of black smoke.
He staggered towards the open French doors and fled into the night.
He would return, for McCane was not done using him yet.