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Hell, who was she kidding? She knew what that something was and it wasn’t anything good. Not in this part of Salem anyway. It was dark energy. Scratch that. Dark, powerful energy.
Dammit! Fear for her nana pushed Rowan forward and she jogged the last few steps, her out-of-place stilettos clicking across the hardwood in a thin staccato.
“Nana?” she whispered hoarsely as she rushed into the kitchen. Her heels slid across the smooth hardwood floor and she barely avoided a fall as her hands grabbed the edge of the large kitchen table.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She nearly went down again as she struggled to maintain her balance. “Shit!” she hissed, pushing a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear—the wind had pulled it loose from the tight ponytail she sported.
The window above the sink rattled as a wall of rain hit the panes.
She nearly slipped again and her gaze fell to the floor. A large stain marred the golden planks, leaving in its wake a macabre splash of dark art. Nausea roiled in her gut and her eyes widened in horror.
It was blood. There was no mistaking that coppery stench. A lot of blood.
The silence was broken as music erupted from inside her nana’s apartment, “I Fall to Pieces,” a sad lament sung by Patsy Cline. It had always been Nana’s favorite.
Her heart was pounding crazily as she sidestepped the sticky mess and moved toward her nana’s rooms. The door was ajar and soft light fell from inside. She paused, fighting fear and anxiety.
She hated Salem, the memories, the nightmares, the danger—the legacy that had taken many of her ancestors and driven her mother mad. It was the reason she’d left. Her nana wouldn’t have called unless things were bad.
Oh God, things must be bad.
Where was she?
Rowan slipped inside and was careful to keep to the shadows. It was an automatic reaction and one that she welcomed. Old habits might die hard but they sure as hell were there for a reason.
The room appeared empty but she knew in this world she inhabited—one with layers most people were unaware of—looks could be deceiving.
She crept toward Nana’s bed, holding her breath as she did so, eyes moving toward every corner. Her fingers grazed the stereo on the night table beside the bed and Patsy was silenced.
Rowan exhaled and glanced around the room once more, past the heavy crimson coverlet that was turned down. Past the robe flung across the chair at the foot of the bed. Past the book that lay open upon the pillow and the reading glasses that rested alongside it.
Her hand trembled as she picked up the book. A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth as her fingers touched the yellowed pages. To Kill a Mockingbird. How many times had they read the book together?
She held the novel tight against her chest and tried to clamp down the fear that bubbled inside but it was hard. The blood in the kitchen filled her with dread.
“Nana, where are you?” she whispered.
A sound echoed from somewhere in the house and it was one she knew well. It was the loose board near the front stairs—the one that she’d fast learned to avoid as a teenager when sneaking in late at night. She froze and her breath caught at the back of her throat in a painful gasp. When she heard it again sweat broke out on her forehead as a sharp stab of fear punched her in the gut.
She put the book back, just as it was, and reached for her cell phone, cursing beneath her breath when she realized it was in her bag.
Which was in the foyer.
Shit.
Someone was out there—she sensed the energy and knew it was someone powerful. Or rather, something. At this point she had no idea who or what the hell it was but she knew it didn’t belong. Not here in her nana’s bed-and-breakfast.
Rowan blew out a shuddering breath and centered herself. She needed to be calm.
She crossed to the sitting area beside the stone fireplace. An iron poker rested against the hearth and she grabbed it, holding it tight as she melted into the dark corner nearest her. With her back protected she felt more in control and had a clear view of the room.
She closed her eyes for a second, concentrated, and felt the familiar pull of energy sizzle along her fingers. There was no way she could charm or spell because her power was weak—ill used—but it would have to do.
She heard a step echo and then another. Anger washed over her skin in a hot wave that left her teeth clenched, her fingers tight, and her resolve firm. The bastard was playing with her.
Come on, asshole. Let’s do this.
Rowan slipped out of her heels, tossed them aside, and spread her legs slightly as she balanced on the balls of her feet.
