Page 63 of No Surrender

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“Get off him, you bitch!” Simon pulled the trigger, blasting the boo hag with salt. Dousing the monster with salt prevented it from feeding or possessing Vic, which meant the hag would turn its malice on them.

The hag blinked out of sight, but Simon knew it would be back—driven by hunger and unable to leave the room. The creature was trapped with them until they captured it, or it defeated them.

Simon had pulled a short-handled broom from his bag and laid it across the end of the bed. Legend held the hag would be compelled to count every piece of straw, distracting it from Vic and making it vulnerable to Eppie and Simon.

Everything went well—before it all fell apart.

The hag moved toward the broom and ran a long-fingered hand across its bristles. But either the lore was wrong, or this hag had exceptional focus because it turned away with a snarl and rushed at Simon, raking its long nails down his chest and throwing him out of its way.

That meant the amulets protected his soul, but weren’t a bulletproof shield for his body.Wish I’d known that a little sooner.

Simon rolled and came up firing, ignoring the pain from the gashes and the blood that ran down inside his shirt. The shotgun thundered again, and the hag winked out, only to rematerialize seconds later between Simon and Eppie. He ran at the hag with his iron knife, unable to fire without hitting Eppie. She kept chanting as Simon fought to keep the hag away from her and Vic.

Each time the hag re-formed, its outline appeared fainter. But even weakened, the creature posed a deadly threat. Simon shot when he could and stabbed when he couldn’t. If they didn’t die, he’d be bruised from being thrown into walls and probably need stitches.

Eppie finished her incantation, then lit a strip of paper and tossed it into a round glass ball.

“Do it!” she shouted.

The boo hag’s image wavered unsteadily, weakened by salt and magic.

“Be gone, foul and loathsome spirit…” Simon began the ancient banishment, glad he had memorized the words so that he could recite them without hesitation.

The hag shrieked in fury and its emaciated body twisted in unnatural ways, exposing muscle and sinew. It dove for the bed, clawing its way up the mattress, limbs akimbo like a crab and moving in a blur.

“Finish the spell!” Eppie shouted, realizing that Simon was torn between trapping the hag and keeping her away from Vic.

“…I bind and banish you by all the powers of light. Go, leave this place, and trouble us no more.”

Eppie held out the glass ball. Inside it, ashes, embers, and a strange fog swirled, glowing brighter and brighter until Simon had to look away.

The boo hag screamed again and dug its clawed hands into the mattress as the power of the spell pulled it remorselessly toward the ball. Its body thinned and stretched as the orb sucked it in until the creature vanished and the globe flared with red light.

Eppie quickly sealed the opening with paraffin and pressed a binding rune into the thick wax, then wrapped the ball in spelled cloth and tucked it into her bag.

Simon sank to his knees. His head pounded, the slashes on his chest burned, and a nosebleed meant all he could smell was blood.

Vic woke with a gasp and bolted upright, eyes wide with panic.

Simon dragged himself onto the bed, trying to ignore where the hag’s claws had shredded the mattress. “You’re okay. We’re all fine. You’re safe.”

Even in the dim light, Simon could see bruises starting on Vic’s throat where the hag had choked him and bet there were more where she had grabbed his shoulders.

“Simon?” Vic’s voice sounded scratchy, and his eyes looked haunted.

Simon crawled up to sit next to him and pulled Vic into his arms, not surprised to feel his lover cold and shaking with the aftereffects of the haunting.

“You’re bleeding.” Vic drew back. “You’re hurt.” He took in the ripped shirt and smeared blood on Simon’s face.

“We trapped it,” Simon told him, ignoring his injuries. “The hag won’t hunt here anymore.”

“Good work, both of you,” Eppie said from where she busily collected her things. She strode over to have a look at them, and Simon guessed she was using her abilities to triage supernatural wounds or residual shadows.

“The amulets couldn’t protect you from everything physically, but they did provide a psychic shield. You’re both unstained.”

“Good to know.” Simon was grateful, but utterly wrung out.

“Can you walk? Someone’s sure to have heard the gunfire, and I don’t want to be here when the police come. I would not look good in a jumpsuit,” Eppie told them.