The last witch volume th.., p.1
The Last Witch: Volume Three, page 1
part #3 of The Last Witch Series
The Last Witch
Volume Three
M. J. Lawrie
Copyright © 2020 Melissa J Lawrie
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental. Copyright © December 2020 by Melissa J Lawrie. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission from the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: hellomjlawrie@gmail.com
You!
Yeah, you!
The person reading this. You are who this book is for.
The Last Witch: Volume Three is dedicated to you.
Thank you for joining Lilly Hooper on this epic journey.
Thank you for supporting this author!
Thank you for being you.
Happy reading xx
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
1
Three spells.
Three Bloodstones.
Three keys.
Only she, who is able to manipulate all realms of power, can unite them.
And save us all.
A ring, close to my heart.
An heirloom handed down from mother to child.
And finally, the heart of all power.
‘HELP ME! PLEASE, SOMEONE! ANYONE? I'M BURNING… OH GOD! MY LEGS! THEY'RE ON FIRE!’
The woman's desperate and agony-filled voice pierces the night's air, but I fail to see her through the thick smoke. She coughs and chokes on it as it billows out in all directions. The jet fuel is spreading the flames fast and creating a toxic smog in its wake.
As I stroll through the plane wreckage, past the severed wings and the twisted metal, her shrieking gets lost amongst the countless others. The passengers of this fateful flight are all screaming, sobbing and pleading like children. Their hands reach out for anyone who may help, but everyone is just as mangled as they are.
There is no one to help.
No one except me.
The din of the still roaring engine and the fierce flames setting off explosion after explosion make my ears ring and the heat causes my eyes to stream. The emergency air masks sway uselessly in the breeze, splattered with soot and blood. And I feel sick as I see several bodies danging from their seats, still buckled in and limp, all torn up or half burnt away.
That doesn't mean they're dead though.
A few have crawled free from their seats and they roll themselves on the floor in a desperate attempt to douse the flames smothering their bodies. But the ground is steeped in fuel. It's pouring out from the plane and only increases their torment and makes their screams more shrill.
Some have managed to get to their feet. They run around, hollering and choking on the smell of their cooking flesh, the scent of which does nothing to help my nausea.
A man stumbles towards me, his back covered in fire and his face slack. As he reaches me, his injuries claim his life and he falls dead at my feet.
I simply step over him and carry on.
Towards the cries of a man who sounds both enraged and in agony.
‘There you are!’ I call out, my arms wide and a relieved smile on my face as I head towards the rear end of the plane. ‘I was worried for a minute there. Thought maybe you hadn’t survived.’ I step over more bodies and pieces of wreckage as I make my way closer, dodging the odd hand that reaches out for me and the many puddles of blood. I stop and rest my hands on my hips with a long sigh. ‘That was close, huh? You easily could have died.’
‘Goddammit… Lilly?’ Collins whines as he pulls against the strap pinning him in place in his seat. He dangles upside down, blood spilling from his nose, his mouth and a rather hideous gash on his cheek. His right arm has been badly burnt and his left leg is so broken, I can see bones protruding from his ripped jeans. His blonde hair is a lot longer than it was the last time I saw him. It’s also disgustingly unkempt and greasy. There’s stubble on his jaw. His clothes, which are covered in food stains and dirt, hang off his thin frame. His lips are dry and cracked from dehydration, and his face is grey and hollow. There’s a strong smell of stale whiskey and sweat coming from his pores, strong enough to unsettle my stomach.
‘Jesus,’ I scoff. ‘Collins. You look like shit. Even without the whole… bone poking through your skin thing going on.’
‘W-what happened? Where am I?’
‘You’ve been in a plane crash, Collins!’ I reply, rather obviously. ‘Your plane has just been shot out of the sky! You, my friend, are lucky I was here. I managed to slow its descent, but I couldn’t stop it completely. It landed rather badly, I’m afraid.’
As he moves, the protruding bone shifts. A wet squelch accompanies a long and agonising groan from him and I recoil at the gross injury.
‘I’m really hurt, Lilly…’ he gasps, almost sobbing. ‘I need your help.’
‘Well, why do you think I’m here, silly?’ I scoff. ‘Now calm down, will you? I’ll get you down in a jiff-’
‘FREEZE!’ A male voice calls out from behind me, failing to hide the tremble within it or the terrified and quickened breaths he takes. I hear the click of a gun and can’t help but smile as I turn to face him. The human police officer looks petrified. There’s blood smeared on his cheek and a little burn on his left hand where I am assuming he has tried to extinguish some of the fire burning around us.
But the fire, the bodies and the plane wreckage are not what causes his nervous disposition.
It’s me. The small young woman standing before him. That’s what has him shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane.
‘P-put your h-hands up!’ he stammers, fumbling as he cocks his gun.
‘Look. I’m just here to fetch my friend.’ I nod to Collins, who is still desperately trying to get out of his upturned seat and struggling to cope with his pain. ‘As you can see, he’s badly hurt and-’
‘I SAID P-PUT Y-YOUR HANDS UP!’ he repeats in a fretful panic, spit flying from his lips and the gun waving wildly as he tries to keep his aim.
His eyes dance around at those still writhing and burning, and I in turn, examine this brave little man standing up to me. His uniform is filthy but not damaged. His eyes are wide and blood stains his skin. But it’s not his own, and I see no injury other than a burnt hand. He must be in his fifties at least, and the size of his belly tells me he’s used to sitting on his arse for large portions of the day.
‘You weren’t on the plane,’ I surmise. ‘No way you would be able to stand as well as you are if you had been. You know, rather than pointing that silly weapon at me, perhaps you should focus on helping the injured.’ I nod my head to the nearest unconscious person. But he doesn’t move from his threatening pose and the barrel of his gun remains pointed straight at my chest.
‘I-I know y-you,’ he stutters. ‘I’ve s-seen your face on the n-news.’
‘Is that so?’ I reply.
‘Y-you are Lilly H-h-h-’
‘Yes. I am.’
‘Y-you, You’re a a a w-w-w-wi-’
‘The word you’re looking for… is Witch.’
‘Murderer!’ he hisses hatefully, despite his fear. ‘Filthy killer. Sadistic child!’
‘Oh. That’s new. I usually get “Devil whore” “Bitch” “Satan’s mistress”. Good for you. Choosing to insult beyond my gender.’
One of the engines explodes and sends chunks of metal in all directions. The police officer throws his hands over his face as an incredibly sharp strip of steel hurtles towards him. It takes a few seconds for him to realise that he hasn’t been hit and he lowers his arms to see a deadly jagged point an inch from his face, floating gracefully in the air, dancing slowly to some unheard melody.
‘Holy-Mary-mother-of-God,’ he whispers, eyeballing it intently and shuffling back a few steps.
‘Are you here alone, Jones?’ I ask.
‘H-how do you k-know my name?’ he replies, his focus still firmly on the debris hovering before him.
‘Well, I can read your mind, you know. But to save time, I just read your badge.’ I step closer, still manipulating the metal in front of him, making it turn menacingly. ‘Now. Tell me. Are you here alone?’
He can’t stop looking at the debris slowly spinning by his head. Perhaps this is the first time he has seen real magic?
‘Why did you save me? That metal should have cut my head clean off.’
‘Why would you assume I wouldn’t save you?’ I shrug.
‘Because you are Lilly Hooper.’ He swallows dryly and finally looks at me. ‘You are a Witch. The A-arcane Witch. I know your face. It’s on the news every day. You have killed hundreds of us these past few months. T-thousands.’ He watches my ashen hair blow across my face before I tuck it behind my ear.
‘Is that right? That’s what I’ve done, is it? Huh. And just to clarify, by us, who do you mean?’ I enquire. ‘Police? Men? Humans? Or do you mean Hunters? I’m going to need you to be a little more specific.’
His brow furrows in disgust before he replies, ‘All of them. You killed all and many more.’
‘Shouldn’t you be helping these people then? If saving others is so important to you, go ahead. I won’t stop you.’
‘Killing you would help them. It would help everyone.’
‘But you’re willing to let them die in the vague hope that you can get a bullet to bury itself in my skull. A very, very, verrrrry vague hope. I’d say non-existent hope myself but you never know. And yet, I’m the monster.’
Collins howls as his chair dislodges and plummets a few feet. I reach out and stop it from falling any further, sparing Collins any more injury.
‘I’m here for my friend. I strongly suggest you don’t get in my way,’ I state clearly.
‘I will kill you where you stand,’ the police officer promises, the hand holding his gun starting to steady. ‘I am a damn good shot.’
‘R-run…’ Collins splutters, still pulling on the belt around his middle. ‘Save yourself!’
‘You should listen to your friend,’ he says darkly, nodding to Collins. ‘Because neither I nor anyone else will show you mercy-’
‘NOT HER!’ Collins bellows. ‘YOU! RUN YOU FUCKING IDIOT! RUUUN!’
Collins’ voice echoes through the wreckage and repeats over and over. Jones blinks at me as I smile and create my black and white lightning on my hands. He listens to it crackle and flinches at the sight of its intensity.
‘Y-you did t-this,’ Jones whispers. ‘The lightning… that lightning.’ He nods to my hands. ‘It grabbed the plane. It pulled it down. W-why?’
I step closer to the man and narrow my eyes.
‘Why what?’ I ask.
‘Look at all these people! They’re in agony! They’re dying or… or dead! Your friend was on this plane.’
‘Exactly. I needed to talk to him and he stopped taking my calls.’ I turn and look at Collins who breathes hard, furious breaths. ‘And then the silly fool tried to leave the country.’ I tut three times at Collins and shake my head. ‘Silly goose. You’re not going anywhere.’
As Jones goes to raise his gun, I release my lightning and smother his body with my black Energy magic. He writhes and judders before falling to his knees, the gun slipping from his hand as he loses control of his faculties.
‘Evil… whore!’ he manages to throw out.
‘Oh, Jones. You were so close to leaving here alive. But then you had to go and call me that. Oh well. Was fun chatting. But I really hate that word so…’ With a twitch of my hand his head spins and a loud click signifies a successfully snapped neck. I watch him slump sideways, the back of his head facing me and the skin on his neck all stretched and wrinkled.
Letting out a sigh, I turn to face Collins.
‘Now. Collins, my dear fellow.’ I walk towards him and rest my hand on his cheek, ignoring how he thrashes and hollers at me. I simply smile. ‘I think it’s time you and I had a little conversation. Don’t you?’
‘Lilly, please. Please don’t do this! You can fight your Break. Think about your family. Think of-’
With a flick of my wrist, the belt locking him into his seat opens up and Collins lands in a heap by my feet, screaming in pain and bleeding absolutely everywhere. Another flick and he quickly spins so he is on his back. My foot slams onto his neck and I push down, cutting off his air. My Physical magic makes me strong. Stronger than even him and after a moment of thrashing and gasping, Collins falls unconscious.
‘You didn’t need to kill him, you know,’ a familiar timid little voice comments off to the side. Followed by some shuffling sounds as he moves his feet.
‘He’s just unconscious,’ I reply. ‘And incredibly drunk, might I add.’
‘Not Collins. I meant the police officer. He wasn’t affected by the Hunter’s mark. If he were, he would have just tried to shoot you. Not speak to you.’
‘Think I care? The man pointed a gun at me and called me a whore.’
‘And for that, he deserved to die? You can stop a bullet easily. You knew you were in no danger, but you killed him anyway-’
I use my Telekenesis to yank at his arm. A satisfying pop echoes around me as his joint dislocates and an even more satisfying cry of pain follows it. When I turn, Tobias Kendryk, formerly Toby Smith – my psychotic Unbroken ex-lover – is on his knees and cradling his left arm. He never looks away from me or lowers his eyes. Fear prevents him from turning away. He’s a little rabbit caught in my headlights.
Wonderful.
His ragged and worn clothes hang off his thin frame. His eyes are encircled with dark shadows, his skin is pale and grubby. The side of his face is still heavily scarred from my attack back at the traitor camp over six months ago, when I pressed my palm and my fire hard into his skin. But the bruises, cuts and scrapes that mark his body now, they’re all new. Well, he does irritate me so, and his constant sobbing at night annoys the hell out of me.
Even now, I can’t get used to the hazel colour of his eyes. Nor the dark brown of his hair. Sometimes, I miss the lilac sparkle I would see when he looked at me. And the way he ran his fingers through his stark white hair. I wonder, occasionally, if I should re-Break him. Might be fun. But probably a bad idea. Toby Smith was nothing if not trouble and I have currently got my fill of that. Besides, his suffering at living with his soul and the memories of all the evil he has done brings me endless joy—no way I’ll give that up.
I walk towards him and crouch down, so I’m level with his terrified face.
‘You seem to be under the illusion that I care, even a little bit, that I just killed that man. I don’t, Mutt. I really don’t. And I don’t care that this plane lies in pieces, along with the people inside it. It’s like I just swatted a fly. I don’t care.’
‘I know,’ he says sadly, still clutching his arm. ‘It breaks my heart. What you’re doing now… helping that monster, you’re breaking my heart-’
My fingers are wrapped around his neck so fast; he fails to finish his sentence before I grind his bones together and cut off his air.
‘You don’t have a heart,’ I tell him. ‘I know that because if you did, I would have taken great pleasure in tearing it to fucking pieces!’
I narrow my eyes on my little Mutt. I’m ready to cause some more pain. To vent my temper onto him as I have done so many times before, but instead, I scream and grab my head. Searing hot pain shoots through my temple and I’m unable to keep myself upright.
In the quickest move, Tobias pops back his shoulder with a grunt and leaps into action, catching me in his arms and stopping me from falling to the ground.
All I can do is tear at my hair and cry my pain out into the world.
‘LILLY! LILLY, WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT’S HAPPENING?’ He takes my face in his hands and looks into my eyes which I know have gone ghostly white. They always do when this happens. ‘Oh shit… you’re having a vision! It’s okay. The pain will pass.’
Tobias Kendryk fades from my sight, and I’m hurled instead into a dark woods to watch a most unwelcome scene play out before me.
One that really, really pisses me off.
∞∞∞
It’s dark and stormy. Must be the middle of the night. I’m ankle-deep in mud with the rain ferociously hammering down on my skin. I can feel it. Like I’m really here. It’s cold. The wind howls around my body and soon my clothes are soaked. I wrap my arms around my waist in a weak attempt to keep myself from shivering. When the sound of snapping twigs echoes behind me, I spin. A hooded figure stalks past me. Their large frame is hunched over and tired as they trudge through the dense woodland and thickening soil. As they pass, a male voice travels out from beneath the hood. He grunts and groans, limping badly and stinking to high heaven of old sweat.
‘Who the hell are you?’ I demand, but my voice carries like a hushed whisper and he fails to acknowledge me in the slightest. As he passes, I go to grab his arm. My hand slips through his form and I see that I am nothing more than a shimmer. A ghost, stalking the mysterious and pungent unfortunate before me. He carries on, ducking beneath branches and dragging his leg behind him.
