Bitter Night by Diana Pharaoh Francis
Authors: Diana Pharaoh Francis
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Fantasy - Contemporary, Contemporary, Magic, Witches, Occult fiction, supernatural, Science Fiction And Fantasy, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Good and Evil, Soldiers
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“This is no mean magic, Alexander. The Cailleach Bheur are old creatures and their magic is very powerful. With the hailstone and staff, I may be able to keep us free of entanglements.”
“Entanglements?” Alexander repeated warily, holding himself tightly reined. He wanted straight answers. He wanted to know just what exactly the angel’s message had contained and who had sent it.
“If you prefer, you can call it...indentured servitude,” Selange clarified softly. Then she stood. “Come now. We don’t want to be late.”
3
MAX DROVE INTO SAN DIEGO BEFORE SUNRISE, but she did not try to find the warehouse where Giselle was waiting with her mobile village of light and dark sealed RVs, cars, and tractor trailers. The witch had come fully prepared for things to go south. Even at a Conclave where everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior, trouble could swiftly erupt. And it often did. If any of Giselle’s people were injured, if they had to run, they had everything on hand they’d need’a doctor and two nurses, a hospital truck, a fully stocked restaurant truck, and motels on wheels.
Max pulled off into a strip mall housing Mysterious Galaxy Books, a Starbucks, a chiropractor, and a McDonald’s. The sky was already starting to turn pink. Her stomach growled as she pushed open the door of the Tahoe, and she eyed the Starbucks longingly, then gave a reluctant shake of her head. Even a flicker of sun and she’d be charcoal. Maybe she should have gone to the warehouse. But she needed to think before she came face-to-face with Giselle. The cold of the hailstone burned through her pocket into her thigh. Freedom.
Mechanically, she went to the rear of her vehicle and popped open the door. Filling the cargo area was a light-sealed steel box about four feet deep, five feet wide and a little over four feet tall. Inside was a memory foam cushion, a stash of powerbars, beef jerky, Gatorade and water, an iPod, a couple of pillows, a copy of a David Sedaris book, and a change of clothes. The back panel slid up about eighteen inches, and Max wedged herself underneath, pulling shut the Tahoe’s rear door with her foot as she did. Then she let the box door slide down and flipped the latches that kept anyone from the outside from opening it.
She squirmed around in the narrow space, ripping open a powerbar and devouring it before guzzling an orange Gatorade. Three more bars quickly followed. Once the edge was off her hunger, she dug in her pocket for her cell phone. She hadn’t turned it on since Julian. She stared at it a moment, then hit the power button and punched in Giselle’s speed dial.
The witch picked up on the first ring. “Where are you? What happened?” she demanded.
“San Diego somewhere. I was seen.”
Giselle’s silence was livid. “Are you all right?”
The question was sharp. Max’s mouth twisted. It wasn’t personal. Giselle didn’t want her prizewinning pit bull getting hurt right before the Conclave.
“Fine.”
“What happened there?”
Max sketched out the events of the night, leaving out the part where she fed the Hag and where she didn’t kill Alexander and get away clean.
For long moments, Giselle said nothing. Then: “I’ll have Oz send someone to pick you up. Where are you?”
Max was tempted to just let them find her by the tracking GPS in her phone and Tahoe, but she swallowed her defiance. There wasn’t anything to win at the moment, and her compulsion spells spiked her hard, demanding she return to Giselle’s side as quickly as possible. “Off the 805 on Claremont. A strip mall.”
Before Giselle could say anything else, Max flipped her phone shut. She drew a breath, smelling the lovely greasy smells of McDonald’s sausage-and-egg McMuffins overlaid with coffee from Starbucks. Her mouth watered. She tore open another powerbar and chewed it mechanically.
It took her another ten minutes to will herself to pull the hailstone from her pocket. It
“Entanglements?” Alexander repeated warily, holding himself tightly reined. He wanted straight answers. He wanted to know just what exactly the angel’s message had contained and who had sent it.
“If you prefer, you can call it...indentured servitude,” Selange clarified softly. Then she stood. “Come now. We don’t want to be late.”
3
MAX DROVE INTO SAN DIEGO BEFORE SUNRISE, but she did not try to find the warehouse where Giselle was waiting with her mobile village of light and dark sealed RVs, cars, and tractor trailers. The witch had come fully prepared for things to go south. Even at a Conclave where everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior, trouble could swiftly erupt. And it often did. If any of Giselle’s people were injured, if they had to run, they had everything on hand they’d need’a doctor and two nurses, a hospital truck, a fully stocked restaurant truck, and motels on wheels.
Max pulled off into a strip mall housing Mysterious Galaxy Books, a Starbucks, a chiropractor, and a McDonald’s. The sky was already starting to turn pink. Her stomach growled as she pushed open the door of the Tahoe, and she eyed the Starbucks longingly, then gave a reluctant shake of her head. Even a flicker of sun and she’d be charcoal. Maybe she should have gone to the warehouse. But she needed to think before she came face-to-face with Giselle. The cold of the hailstone burned through her pocket into her thigh. Freedom.
Mechanically, she went to the rear of her vehicle and popped open the door. Filling the cargo area was a light-sealed steel box about four feet deep, five feet wide and a little over four feet tall. Inside was a memory foam cushion, a stash of powerbars, beef jerky, Gatorade and water, an iPod, a couple of pillows, a copy of a David Sedaris book, and a change of clothes. The back panel slid up about eighteen inches, and Max wedged herself underneath, pulling shut the Tahoe’s rear door with her foot as she did. Then she let the box door slide down and flipped the latches that kept anyone from the outside from opening it.
She squirmed around in the narrow space, ripping open a powerbar and devouring it before guzzling an orange Gatorade. Three more bars quickly followed. Once the edge was off her hunger, she dug in her pocket for her cell phone. She hadn’t turned it on since Julian. She stared at it a moment, then hit the power button and punched in Giselle’s speed dial.
The witch picked up on the first ring. “Where are you? What happened?” she demanded.
“San Diego somewhere. I was seen.”
Giselle’s silence was livid. “Are you all right?”
The question was sharp. Max’s mouth twisted. It wasn’t personal. Giselle didn’t want her prizewinning pit bull getting hurt right before the Conclave.
“Fine.”
“What happened there?”
Max sketched out the events of the night, leaving out the part where she fed the Hag and where she didn’t kill Alexander and get away clean.
For long moments, Giselle said nothing. Then: “I’ll have Oz send someone to pick you up. Where are you?”
Max was tempted to just let them find her by the tracking GPS in her phone and Tahoe, but she swallowed her defiance. There wasn’t anything to win at the moment, and her compulsion spells spiked her hard, demanding she return to Giselle’s side as quickly as possible. “Off the 805 on Claremont. A strip mall.”
Before Giselle could say anything else, Max flipped her phone shut. She drew a breath, smelling the lovely greasy smells of McDonald’s sausage-and-egg McMuffins overlaid with coffee from Starbucks. Her mouth watered. She tore open another powerbar and chewed it mechanically.
It took her another ten minutes to will herself to pull the hailstone from her pocket. It
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