Page 66 of Sweetwater and the Witch

“Clark, you’re hallucinating,” she said. “Listen to me. You need to put down the gun.”

“I have to kill you or I’ll never be able to write again.”

Harriet launched herself off the bed and streaked across the room. She vaulted up Clark’s leg, going for the hand that held the gun.

Clark shrieked and stumbled back, swiping frantically at Harriet, who had her teeth sunk into Clark’s forearm.

“Get it off.” He dropped the pistol and shook his arm in a desperate attempt to dislodge Harriet. “Make it stop.”

He flung his hand to one side. Harriet lost her grip and sailed across the room. She landed on the bed. Clark lunged for the gun. Ravenna kicked it out of the way and pulled hard on her talent.

Paranormal flames leaped around Clark. He jerked in reaction to the fierce energy, convulsed, and collapsed. He did not move. Ravenna cut her talent, rezzed a light, and studied the unconscious man.

“He seemed like a nice guy,” she said to Harriet. “The second nice guy who has tried to murder me in the past week. He gave you a lovely pen. What is going on here? Is it me?”

Harriet was once again fluffed out. She chortled, satisfied the immediate threat was over. Ravenna took a few deep breaths and tried to think.

After a moment she moved to the bedside table, picked up the phone, and made the call.

Ethan answered midway through the first ring. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But something really weird is happening. I seem to be in need of trash removal service again.”

“I’m on the way.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“We should probably stop meeting like this,” Ethan said.

Ravenna folded her arms very tightly around her middle. “If that is supposed to be funny, your timing is extremely poor.”

“Right,” he said. “Sorry.”

So much for trying to lighten the mood. He had felt the need to do something to ease her obvious distress, but clearly he had failed.

They were standing over Clark Hatch’s unmoving body, which was sprawled across the threshold of Ravenna’s bedroom doorway. There was a bandage over the teeth marks in Hatch’s forearm, evidence of Harriet’s attack.

Ethan smiled.Go, Harriet.

Ravenna had cleaned and covered the wound before he arrived. She was still in her robe and nightgown. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. As far as he could tell, she seemed more bewildered than panic-stricken by the fact that this was the second time she had been assaulted in her own home by a former agency date. Shock, probably.

“This is just so... bizarre,” she said.

“I agree,” he said.

“We ought to call the cops.”

“Definitely.” He looked at her. “So why didn’t you? Why call me?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to get Clark in serious trouble, not yet at any rate.”

“He’s not Willis,” Ethan pointed out. “Hatch may be a well-known author, but he doesn’t have any special clout in this town. And this scene is pretty damning. The police are not going to doubt your version of events. The lock on the back door was broken. There will be prints on the pistol. Lots of evidence.”

“The thing is, he’s really a nice person.”

Ethan looked at her. “Hatch? Seriously?”

“There is nothing in his background to suggest he would do something like this,” Ravenna said, defensive now. “Sybil runs exhaustive online checks. I liked Clark. Harriet liked him, at least until tonight.”

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