Smoke on the Water by Lori Handeland Read Free Book Online

hate.”
    Hate plus witch historically equaled burn. I’d said the same to Peggy, though I had been referring to a bygone century. Who would be hunting witches now?
    No one. I was listening to and believing Crazy Mary, two things I should not do.
    â€œThey want to purify us. But they are the ones who aren’t pure.”
    â€œPurify how?”
    While I shouldn’t be listening, I couldn’t stop, and when she answered me, I knew that I wouldn’t.
    â€œThe brand.”
    My vision rose up—the scent of burning flesh, the sizzle, the smell. I swallowed, and I tasted it too. Who was crazy now?
    â€œWhat brand?” I managed, voice hoarse, as if I’d been breathing in a lot of smoke.
    â€œTheir crest is the snarling wolf.”
    Lightning flashed, so close, so bright, I saw stars. I glanced out the window just as the rain hit, thunking against the glass like a hundred tiny birds.
    A drop ran downward, joined with another and then another, and within them I saw a whole new world.

 
    Chapter 4
    A woman stood in a clearing in the woods. The trees were mammoth—pine, some birch. Looked like Wisconsin, but I couldn’t be sure.
    The moon glinted off the two-edged blade in her hand. Shaped like a Z, it appeared to have carving on the handle, though I couldn’t tell from this distance—both time and space—what it was.
    I’d never seen her before. She was very tall—six feet at least. Her dark hair waved past her butt. Considering her height, that was a lot of hair.
    The undergrowth rustled. Her lips curved. I didn’t like that smile a bit. She had evil things on her mind, and she liked them.
    A big, ugly dude with a shaved head strode out of the trees. Over his shoulder he hauled a woman, bound and gagged and struggling. Didn’t seem like she wanted to be here any more than I did, and she had about as much choice in the matter as I did as well.
    The tall woman pointed with her knife at the large flat stone that shone beneath the moon. It resembled a pagan altar, even before the man laid his burden on top.
    Middle-aged, dark hair, brown eyes—I didn’t know her either. She started to scramble off the stone, but with her ankles and wrists tied, then the big guy guarding one side and the big gal the other, the effort was mostly for show.
    I figured there’d be chanting and other ritualistic oddities. Instead, the man picked up what appeared to be a meat cleaver, lifted it high over his head, then brought it down.
    I tried to scream and couldn’t. My throat worked, yet not a sound emerged. I’m sure we’ve all had dreams like that. We usually wake ourselves up with the strangled noises we make. I didn’t. At least not soon enough. Not before I saw—
    I came out of the vision gasping as if I’d been underwater almost too long. Mary held my hand. The rain still fell. I closed my eyes, turned away.
    There’d been so damn much blood.
    Mary led me to a chair, pushed me into it, went to her knees at my side. “Where was it?”
    â€œWhere was what?”
    â€œThe forest? The altar?”
    My mouth dropped open. “You saw?”
    Maybe she was a witch.
    â€œAs soon as I took your hand.”
    Or maybe I was.
    My laugh sounded slightly hysterical. Not only was Mary starting to share my delusions, I was starting to share hers.
    I didn’t follow the tenets of Wicca, hadn’t even learned them yet, and witchcraft was a skill set I didn’t have. Spells? Rituals? I knew nothing about them. But maybe the man and the woman in my vision had.
    â€œWere those witches?” I asked.
    Though the idea of Mary seeing what I had should freak me out, instead I was kind of glad. I wasn’t alone anymore.
    â€œWitches harm none.”
    â€œI thought that was Wicca.”
    Mary waved her hand as if a fly buzzed around her head. “I think those were witch hunters.”
    â€œVenatores Mali,” I murmured.