Sword of Justice: book 3

Queen of Skye and Shadow series.

Chapter One part 2

I screamed.

The beast dissolved to smoke, and the stink of sulfur wafted over me before I could even get my hands in front of my face.

I was aware that my breath was coming in gasps. The seat of my pants felt wet and warm.

I didn’t give a flying fuck. I was alive.

For the moment.

The black, brackish wind curled around me, wrapping me like a satin gown. It lifted ceiling-ward, pulling my hair up with it. My chin tilted toward it, unbidden, as though a lover’s fingers urged me in a kiss.

Those eyes were above me. They glowed down at me for several seconds while I struggled to breathe and coughed and wheezed as the smoke moved as though a gentle breeze played with it.

It released me with a playful tug of my hair and re-assembled in the middle of my kitchen. The coal fire burn of its gaze never left my face.

I side-stepped, slowly, methodically, toward the door.

The door slammed shut behind me, trapping me inside with the thing.

Magic. Black as hell magic and just as frightening.

“No offense, you fucken,” I said with as little inflection or tone as I could manage, “but I don’t feel like playing fetch.”

It cocked its head at me the way a dog might.

“You can have the house,” I said. “I’m done with it.” I held up my hands as though to surrender.

It bared its teeth at me. Long, razor sharp teeth that I immediately envisioned tearing into the feral pig I’d dragged and buried in a cairn a few hundred yards from my property.

I near fainted as the image came alive in seething, bloody color.

Could I yank open the door without pissing it off? Could I manage to bolt out and slam it before it leapt at me again, this time, embedding those claws and teeth in my back?

I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty certain that if I stayed where I was, I increased the odds of it happening anyway.

I blew air from pursed lips, bracing myself. I had one chance and I had to make it good.

Never losing sight of the beast, I reached behind my back and felt around until my fingers met the knob. My fist clenched around the handle.

I twisted. The mechanism inside the lock clicked.

I almost sobbed in relief but I bit it off by clamping my lips shut tight.

I eased the door open, slowly, no sudden movements, praying it would find no resistance, that the magic the beast had sent into the door would release it.

It swung open. Thank God, it swung into the house and it wasn’t at full swing before I lunged for the porch with every ounce of energy I had left.

When I pulled the door shut behind me, it was with a yank so hard the windows shook.

Once outside, I took one second to orient myself. I was safe. Nothing broken. No searing pain in my back to indicate it had swiped those jagged claws into my skin as I’d fled.

I felt nothing but the coolness of the air as it raised goose pimples on my neck.

For now. Best I not dally.

In fact, best I get the hell out of there. Like yesterday.

The wagon waited exactly where I’d left it. The makeshift ramp still hung from the back, propped against the turf at the bottom and jutting out above the boards at the top. I knew the bow and arrow Lance had made for me was lying on the seat and somewhere beneath a bunch of blankets Excalibur rested in its scabbard.

I needed them. At least one of them. If that thing came through the door at me…

I had to get to the wagon.

My legs felt like they had been just sewn on that morning. I moved awkwardly at first, forcing one foot in front of the other, then they came to life so fast, I skidded to the back of the wagon. I pushed aside the ramp and it fell free with a thud to the ground. The recliner chair lay on its side in the wagon bed. I could make out the worn spot where my nan had patched it. I thought of Lance sitting in it, pulling the lever and startling himself when the noise sounded like the chair was breaking from beneath him.

Good memories, those. And I’d think of them fondly as I rocked in that recliner if I ever got my ass out of there in one piece. I’d got what I came for and I didn’t think I’d ever need to come back.

Except my grandmother’s table was still inside.

I wanted that as much as I wanted the chair. I’d gone back for it, I wanted it that much.

But the monster. I’d be a fool to face it again.

Right?

“Fuck it,” I said.