Witch Hunt, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy (The Maurin Kincaide Series) (6 page)

“This could all end, Maurin.
We’re here for the coven. No one else has to get hurt,” Ringleader said to my back.

I wasn’t taking my eyes off of the ma
ssive shadowy shape looming in front of me to tell the Ringleader that I thought he was full of it.

“That’s like textbook bad guy speech.
Next you’ll tell me that you’ll call off the Butcher over here if I tell you what you want to know. He’ll stop hurting me and you’ll let me go if I just tell you everything,” I said.

“Well, something like that,” he replied. He laughed with that same annoying cock
iness.

“Go to hell, I’m not telling you shit.”
The last bit came out in a rush with the wind that had been knocked out of me by the Butcher’s blocky hand to my stomach.

He was still close enough to get a shot in.
As the Butcher pulled back, I let loose a haymaker, connecting with the side of his head. I wiped the blood from my eye in time to see him stumble backwards a little bit.

I was only able to heal myself enough at this point to remain standing. I was too exhausted to do much else.
My face was swollen and bleeding. The left side of my face hadn’t taken as much damage as my right. Only a few of the stitches had come lose in the left eye. I needed both eyes. I took a breath and pulled down on my left lower eye lid until I felt the rest of the stitching give. The Butcher came back and finished the job with a stiff jab to my left eye.

“Thanks,” I growled, as I pawed at my eye.

He was shuffling back and forth on his feet, ready for another round. I was ready to get the hell out of here.

“Come on, Maurin, let’s stop all of this.
Tell me what you know of the coven’s hierarchy. Things have changed since the last time I came up against Mahalia Amarelle. There are new faces within the coven. I would very much like to confirm the information that we have gathered,” the Ringleader said sweetly, as if I wasn’t being beaten within an inch of my life at his command.

“You should have asked one of the witc
hes before you let him cut their tongues out and kill them,” I said, as I feinted left. I should have moved right, all I did was close the distance between his fist and my face.

“That’s the tricky part, isn’t it, Miss Kincaide - how to get the information out of a witch before she curses you.
No, they fulfilled their purpose. And you will fulfill yours by telling me what you know about the coven,” he declared.

I spit out the blood that had pooled in my mouth.
“If you had reliable information, then you wouldn’t have wasted all of this time with me,” I panted.

Whenever the man in charge was talking, the Butcher stopped pummeling my face and ribs.
If I could keep him talking for a few more minutes, then I might actually be able to catch my second wind and give the Butcher a taste of his own medicine.

“There are still a few unknowns.
You were not one of them, however. It was easy to get to you, what with the mile-long paper trail from SPTF leading right to your apartment door. You probably should have moved. Now, the fiery sisters, on the other hand, are quite the mystery. Or how about the tattooed man that you seem to have taken an interest in? Perhaps you’d like to tell me more about them,” he said, his tone darkening.

“I’m just the help.
They don’t tell me shit,” I replied.

“That’s too bad.
If you truly don’t know anything, then you are unfortunately of no use to us after all,” the Ringleader said, sealing my fate.

“You said that I could keep her! She likes to play my games,” the butcher said as he grabbed my throat and squeezed.

He backed me up against a wall until I was almost a part of it.
I felt my feet leave the ground as he pushed me farther up the wall, bringing me almost to eye-level with him. I struggled to break his grip on my neck before he crushed my windpipe, but his massive fingers were deeply embedded in my throat.

Between the spots forming in my eyes from the lack of oxygen, I saw him pull back with his free hand. With alarm, I realized that he was preparing to drive his knife into my chest.
I had a choice to make. I could either continue to struggle to free my neck or I could try to stop him from stabbing me to death. I was pretty sure that I could heal whatever damage he did with the knife. I didn’t know if I could survive the continued lack of air. Maybe if I fought him for the knife, then he’d have to loosen his grip on my neck. I was as good as dead if my plan didn’t work.

I grabbed his wrist, pushing it away from me with everything that I had.
My gamble paid off. I could feel his fingers loosening as I slid down the wall. He hadn’t completely let go of my neck yet, but as soon as my feet hit the floor I pushed my body weight forward, catching him off guard. That little bit of momentum was all that I needed to turn his hand and drive the knife straight into his gut, all the way to the hilt. With both hands and every bit of strength that I had remaining, I forced the blade sideways through the Butcher’s fatty tissue, muscle and probably intestines, until the knife ripped through his side completely.

The Ringleader wanted me dead, but the Butcher had just wanted to keep me, like a cruel cat with an injured
mouse. I was pretty sure that I’d rather be dead than become his plaything. The Butcher fell to his knees, and then finally slumped over. I heard the creak of the door and realized that the Ringleader and his minions were escaping. I started to run after them, but stopped when I remembered Matthison. He hadn’t moved or made a sound in what seemed like an eternity. I needed to check on him before I ran after the Inquisitors.

I took a step, stumbling as the Butcher grabbed my ankle.
I looked down at him, meeting his eyes. As long as there was breath in his body, he wasn’t going to stop. I saw it in his cold expression. If by some miracle he survived being gutted, he would still come looking for me. Not to serve The Inquisitors, but to satisfy his own sadistic hunger. The knife was still in my hand. Switching my grip on the handle, I drove it deep into his chest, aiming for his heart. His hand fell away from my ankle. I pulled the knife out, wiping the blade on my jeans, and watched as the life finally slipped out of his body.

Matthison was a crumpled, beaten mess when I got to him.
His pulse was weak and he was bleeding pretty badly from a gash on his head. I found the coat I was wearing before the van ride on the floor and cut it into strips with the knife. I folded a couple of strips into a makeshift compress, and then used the rest to make a tie to hold it in place. I tried to assess the rest of his injuries, but I was far from qualified to do so. Broken bones, internal bleeding? I was guessing both. I needed to figure out a way to get him out of here. He needed real medical attention as soon as possible.

I never should have let him come to Toil and Trouble in the first place!
I shouldn’t have let him get out of the car, and I definitely should have stopped him when the Inquisitors gave him a chance to walk away. No matter how smart or tough he is, or what kind of badge or weapons he carried, he’d always be a Norm. He wasn’t an Other and he had no business in all this. How the hell was I going to tell his wife if he didn’t make it?

I tried to remember the spell that I had used to transport myself back to Baylen
Knightley’s house when Morrigan had left me to die in an old burial mound, but the words wouldn’t come. I didn’t think that I had the strength or the magical know-how right now to move both of us anyway. I wasn’t feeling so supernatural at the moment.

After coming to the conclusion that I’d have to get us out of here the old-fashioned way; I went outside to see where we were and what resources, if any, were available to me.
The Ringleader had taken off in the van, so that was not an option. If they were using this place as their torture chamber, then there had to be supplies stored somewhere. I looked around, shocked when I realized where I was.

Winter Island.
I guess it made sense. It was close to Salem, but far enough away to mutilate and murder innocent people undisturbed. Especially this time of year when the camping season was over and the maritime park was closed. The island was basically deserted until the spring.

They were keeping us in the old Coast Guard hangar, leftover from when the island had served as an air and sea rescue st
ation. There had to be something here that I could use to get Matthison back to town. If I could make a sled, then I might be able to drag him out. My fear was that by the time I reached town I’d be dragging a corpse behind me. No, I had to come up with a faster way if I wanted my friend to live.

I scoured around the immediate area and came up with nothing.
Moving a little closer to the shore, I caught sight of a small boat anchored in the shallows. The lighthouse flashed bright white again, giving me a better look at the distance between the boat and me. I’d have to swim out to it, but if I could get it started Matthison could be back in Salem and checked into a hospital within the hour.

I went back inside to check on Matthison one more time. I also wanted to see if there was anything that I could put my clothes in to keep them dry.
If I was going swimming in the Atlantic in the winter, then I wanted my clothes to be dry when I got out. Well, what was left of them anyway. My hoodie and T-shirt were trashed, but at least my jeans had survived intact. I was going to have to ask the Council for a clothing allowance if this kept up. I found a grocery store bag balled up on the floor. If there were no holes in the bag, then it just might do the trick.

I walked back outside and started stri
pping down. I threw my hoodie and shirt in the bag. Rags or not, I’d be happy to have those when I got out of the ocean. I kicked off my docs and slid out of my jeans and put them in the bag. I stood there shivering in my socks and flannel bra and panties. I needed a second to psych myself up to take the socks off. I had bent over to take them off when I heard something. I clenched my teeth together to slow the chattering so that I could hear better. There it was again. My heart was pumping so fast; my adrenaline alone could take the edge off of this brisk air. I didn’t move; there was nowhere to take cover out here anyway. Maybe it was just a bird or something on the rocks. Even in the dark, it was pretty obvious that animals used Winter Island more than people did at this time of year. Then I heard the distinctive sound of a boot crunching on the pebbly shore. That was no bird. I slowly stood without making a sound. I could only assume at this point that the person who was approaching the lighthouse was not a friendly.

“I’d say that I was getting tired of saving your ass if I didn’t like looking at it so much.
Is that flannel?” A voice I knew but couldn’t immediately place called out.

I turned around to face my rescuer. I was shocked by the
face that I saw staring back at me.

“I’d say ‘thank you’ if I could get past the nauseous feeling that I get every time I see you,” I said.

“Aww, come on, Maurin, is that anyway to greet an old friend?” he chided.

“You must not have a lot of friends.
How the hell did you know where to find me anyway?” I really wanted to know the answer to that question. Despite our history, or maybe because of it, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could trust him.

“Seriously, you look like shit.
Where’s your friend, the Norm? What the hell are you doing out here in your underwear anyway? Holy shit, were you going to swim?” He almost laughed.

“Fuck you, Cash.”
It was the only thing that I could come up with. “Matthison’s in the old hangar. He needs to get off this island and get to a hospital stat. The only way that I could see that happening was if I somehow got to that boat out there,” I said, shivering. Despite all of my new abilities, I was not impervious to the cold.

“Get dressed.
You standing there practically naked and shivering is a little distracting.” He was already headed for the lighthouse.

I threw everything back on as quickly as I could.
I wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of Cash being alone with Matthison. The fact that I didn’t see anyone from the Council, or anyone else for that matter, had me on edge. He ignored my question about how he had found me and I wasn’t putting anything past Cash. He was a mercenary, a hired gun. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for Cash to be working with The Inquisitors. He had a lot to gain if the Council was under threat and Roul was distracted by their challenge. I was on edge as I walked in to the hangar. Cash was already bent over Matthison, talking to someone while he looked him over. The conversation was short; he clicked a little button on his earpiece, ending the call.

“My guys are moving in.
It looks like most of the damage is internal. It doesn’t look good, but we’ll get him out of here. Is that what’s left of the guy that did this?” he asked, looking over at the Butcher lying dead on the floor.

“Yeah.
The two who were giving orders got away. He was just the muscle. You didn’t answer my question, by the way. How did you, of all people, know where to look for me?” I asked.

“You’re just lucky, I guess.
I was meeting with Roul to finalize the rules and terms of the challenge when Mahalia came by. She wanted a tracker, which seemed like an odd request for a witch who should’ve been able to wave her magic wand and find you. Except she couldn’t; she went and cast a major spell that left her people weak and defenseless. So she had to come begging for help from the wolves,” Cash said snidely.