Page 31 of Magic Pussy

They waited, waited, and waited some more, for hours on end. Rain got up and stretched a couple of times.

The crowd was abuzz with restless energy, growing frustrated and angry.

But no amount of frustration or anger would make Michelle appear.

"Should we get someone else to perform the ritual."

"No. It must be a White. It won't be powerful enough if someone else does it."

The possessed witches plotted and planned; Luke had no problem hearing them with his shifter senses.

"But Rain could perform it, and Sara could anchor it," someone suggested.

That idea seemed to be popular.

Before anyone could voice it out loud for the full crowd, finally, Michelle came out of the crypt in a black robe.

She smiled, seeming quite satisfied with herself. Somehow, arriving a good three hours late had been part of her plan.

The question was, what plan was that? Rain wanted to believe her sister was on her side, but from what he'd observed of their relationship, it wouldn't have surprised him if she'd double-crossed them.

Luke walked a little closer, as close as he could be to Rain with all those witches scattered between tombstones.

Michelle had a chalice in her hand, and she handed it to Rain, who drank from it, before lying down on the altar.

Everything in Luke tensed as she drifted out of consciousness.

Finally, Michelle spoke.

"Let us begin."

It was beautiful, in a way. Hundreds of witches, all performing as one, their movements, their scents, their chants one strong voice in the darkness.

Luke would just have greatly preferred if Rain hadn't been in the middle of it, and out of it, too. He knew she was fine, he felt it, but he still hated seeing her vulnerable like that in front of fanatics.

Suddenly, something changed in the air. Not being a witch didn't stop him from feeling the power around the cemetery. The previous day at noon, he'd been able to tell that there was something eerie about it, a presence he couldn't deny.

This wasn't just a feeling, an impression: he could hear, and see, the ghosts that came from the crypt behind the altar with his own eyes. Shadows dancing in the moonlight, specters rising from the ground.

And the witches danced for them, their song appeasing.

It wasn't working, not really. These weren't the ghosts of nice people. They were vengeful, resenting the living, wanting to come out and take the world.

Mostly. There were a few exceptions. The most notable was the old woman who appeared right in front of him, smiling. She said nothing at first, just watched him closely. Luke might have paid her more attention if he hadn't seen the witches slowly inching toward the altar, approaching Rain.

He ignored the ghost, focused on his mate until the old woman spoke.

"So you can see me now. You ain't as blind as I thought you were, young man."

Luke's mouth gaped open, and he looked behind him to see if the ghost was addressing someone else.

"Yes, I'm talking to you, Luke Hall. We might not have met in the land of the living, but I have a great interest in you, regardless. You're my granddaughter's mate, after all."

Oh shit.

"I won't be able to guide her after tonight. You'll have to take care of her for me, yes?"

He nodded. "Yes, always."

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