All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A Lying Witch
Book Four
Copyright © 2016 Odette C Bell
Cover art stock photos licensed from Depositphotos.
www.odettecbell.com
A Lying Witch
Book Four
This is it. Now it has to end….
McCain has pushed through from the past, and he’s determined to hunt Chi down. She has to draw on every friend she’s made, every scrap of knowledge she’s learned, and every lie she can muster to fight him.
If she can’t, she won’t just lose her life to McCain’s future, but she’ll lose Max, too.
….
A Lying Witch Book Four is the thrilling conclusion to the A Lying Witch series. An urban fantasy cram-packed with action, it’s sure to please fans of Odette C. Bell’s A Frozen Witch.
Chapter 1
Max McCain
He had to get the book.
The contract of the so-called McLane curse. Without it, she’d have a chance. And he hadn’t come this far, waited this long to let her have a chance.
McCain strode forward, boots slapping against the uneven bitumen.
As he twisted his head from side-to-side, he noted the city around him. Words sprang to mind, and he subvocalized them under his breath. Street. Car. Building. Taxi. All words he’d learned from Max – his other side, his broken half.
McCain grinned to himself, a wide smile spreading quickly across his lips as he tipped his head back and considered the sky above. Only moments before it had been roiling as a great storm cast the entire city into shadow. Now, the wind had abated, the rain turning into nothing more than a fine mist that left a smattering of water across his tanned hides and hessian shirt.
According to common vernacular, he would have to ditch the costume.
As he strode down the street, his sword shifting at his side and jostling against his leg, several cars slowed down, the drivers staring at him agape.
He glared at them, his piercing gaze burrowing into theirs.
Cattle. The lot of them. Nothing but a soulless, mindless herd. One ripe for controlling.
For controlled they would become. But first things first, it was time to trap the seer.
As he strode down the winding street, he saw an establishment to his left. Inclining his head to the side, he quickly realized the male garb modeled in the window by plastic humans would be appropriate.
The store was closed, yet the lights were on. He flicked his gaze up to a small electronic box above the door, using his knowledge of the future to appreciate it was an alarm.
It didn’t matter.
He clutched a hand to the hilt of his sword, pulled it out in a strong move, and charged the blade. All it took was a single word muttered underneath his breath – a sharp, cold exhalation of air. Then the blade glowed with magic. Sparks poured down the metal, pushing through channels in the steel until the entire thing lit up like a line of pure fire.
He thrust forward, slamming the sword against the glass, and the stuff melted. It splashed around his strong, sturdy boots in hot molten hisses.
He ignored it as he pushed up and strode through the window.
He considered the plastic human modeling male attire. It would do.
McCain punched out a hand, wrenching the plastic human’s head off. He tore off its limbs, too, until the clothes it wore fell by his feet.
He reached down, plucked them up, and considered them as the alarm blared through the shop. A red light flashed in the little electronic box above the door and passing cars sped up.
McCain leaned down, plucked up the clothes, tucked them under his arm, and continued through the store.
With a cursory glance at the racks, he wondered whether he would find any kind of tanned hide or the like.
He didn’t. However, in the shop window beneath the counter, he spied several gold, glittering watches and something he had to search his memory before he identified – cufflinks.
He walked up to the counter, spun his sword around in his hand, and slammed it down. The wood and glass shattered, melting into a pile of hot bubbly flame that splashed onto the carpet and instantly singed it to ash. The fire didn’t spread. Not without his command.
He reached forward, considered the watches and cufflinks, and quickly grabbed up the most expensive.
By now, the blaring alarm had increased pitch until it sounded like a new child.
“Shut up,” he spat violently. Then, equally violently, he spun his sword around, twisting it in an arc. It sent a shot of red-hot flame blasting toward the door. Though the little electronic box that produced the alarm was outside, it didn’t matter. For, in one devastating blow, McCain destroyed the doorway, the wall around it, and the window on the other side.
The alarm cut out and gave way to silence.
Silence wouldn’t last.
McCain sensed danger approaching. Or at least the little danger this modern city could provide. Its battles were banal, sedate, magicless.
He searched his memory, a smile spreading across his lips. Something called the police would be coming – a weak, underequipped force ordained to protect the city.
They would be no match for him.
Let them come.
Though McCain technically had time to walk from the store, instead he stopped, undressed and dressed in his new garb. Soon, he was standing before a tall mirror. On his sturdy legs, he wore a pair of pale brown, tailored trousers. On his torso, he wore a white polo shirt. He pulled the glittering, gold watch over his wrist and closed it with a snap.
He stood back and considered his appearance. It would do.
He had placed his sword on the ground by his feet, and now he leaned down and plucked it up.
