Page 52 of Sins of the Fathers
Since the binding spell kept him from speaking, Grady glared at her, picturing in detail the bloody retribution he wanted to exact.
“You resemble your grandfather,” she said, eyeing him like a piece of art. “Take after your father too. Guess that brother of yours looks like your mother. She was the only smart one in the lot—took off for the hills when she realized what hunters were really like.”
She turned toward him so that he saw her full face and not merely her profile. Ophelia had scars that ran from her left temple to her chin, puckered like burns. Long sleeves hid her arms, but her left hand also bore pink scars.
Was she injured when she killed my grandfather or Daw’s parents?He didn’t begrudge himself a flare of pride that his family had exacted a toll on their killer, even in death.
I’ve got to keep my wits about me and figure out what she wants. If she intended to kill me, she could have done it already. She’s keeping me alive—for now. There’s got to be a reason.
His blood ran cold.Am I bait to draw the others? Even if Daw is…hurt…the guard saw enough to know there’s trouble. Denny and Gibson and Knox will come looking.
You’re a hunter. You’re trained for this. Act like it!Grady berated himself. He took one deep breath and then another, letting calmness cool the incandescent fury inside.
“Maybe I’ll let you speak—let you ask all the questions burning up in that little hunter mind of yours,” Ophelia mused. “It’s not like you’ll be telling anyone. In case you were wondering—I am going to kill you. Just not right away.”
She gave him a head-to-toe lingering glance that made his skin crawl. “You’re young and strong. You’ll last a while. So much energy and anger. So…potent.” The smile she gave him felt like fingernails scraping his bones.
Shit. She’s describing me like a battery. Is that why she’s not a mummy by now? Maybe she didn’t just hijack the Bushwhacker ghost legends on this cycle—maybe she’s been behind it for a long time.
Thinking about the witch kept Grady from obsessing about Dawson or spiraling over how screwed he was.
Think! If I can figure this out and get free, we can set this whole bloody “family curse” thing to rest.
Self-doubt flooded in immediately.If Grandpa Michael and Uncle Ethan and Dad couldn’t beat her, why do I think I can? I don’t exactly have an advantage here.
Or maybe I do. Did the others have a chance to observe her, or did they only meet in a fight? Maybe if I watch closely, I’ll find a weakness. I’ve got to believe I can do something to make this right.
The witch looked at Grady with contempt. “Your family nearly cost me my magic. All because they would not die easy.” She bit off each of the last four words. “The first two put up quite a fight. It took a lot to destroy them—but I did. Burned them like they did my patron, my mentor.”
Ophelia’s calm delivery made her words all the more chilling for the lack of emotion. “The next two hunters cost me my lover. Killing them destroyed the fire drake I’d summoned and bound—and almost tore my magic out by the roots.” Her smile reminded Grady of a corpse’s lips drawn in by death over its teeth. Her smile emphasized the burn scars on her face.
“I had time while I recovered to plan my revenge. Since the Richardsons and Kings like to hunt, I figured I’d lead them on a merry chase, give them a mystery to solve, and kill the rest of them one at a time.” Ophelia’s expression changed from confident to vindictive, then verging on crazed. Grady couldn’t do more than glare.
“Move him out of the way so we don’t trip over him. Chain him in the corner.” She waved her hand, and the spell that kept Grady immobilized vanished.
The driver dragged Grady to the corner and cut the zip ties that bound him, holding him still while the shooter fastened steel cuffs around his wrists that were attached to solid chains bolted to the wall.
Guess I’m not the first “houseguest” they’ve had.
“You get a bucket for your needs and food when we eat. Give us trouble, and you go without,” the shooter warned.
“Your fake ‘Bushwhackers’ killed those coyote shifters—and the bikers,” Grady accused, figuring that if he died here, he’d at least have answers.
Ophelia turned to look at him, perhaps surprised that he was defiant enough to question her. “Of course. The ghosts were a convenient fiction. The coyote shifters weren’t from a local pack. They were drifters. And the bikers were enemies, thinking that humans without powers should be protected.”
Grady wondered if the driver and shooter were Supernatural Protection Society. He figured it likely.What’s to keep her from quietly backing both the HDF and the SPS from behind the scenes and making sure they both have enough grievances that they stay stirred up? That creates a nice smoke screen for whatever Ophelia herself causes.
He wondered how loyal his captors would be if they knew Ophelia might be playing the SPS off against the HDF—with herself as the only winner.
I’ll keep that to myself for now. Can’t prove it, and they won’t believe me. But maybe I can get her monologuing. Keeps her from doing worse.
“A fire drake? That’s hefty magic.” If Ophelia was telling the truth, Grady was grudgingly impressed. He thought the stories of being able to summon and control such creatures—small fire-breathing lizards—were just folktales.
“I bound it to me, and the drake made quick work of your grandfather—and your uncle,” she gloated. “But the damnable creature broke loose during that last fight, and I killed it when I couldn’t bind it again. A costly victory.” Bitterness colored her voice.
“So you came here to hide and lick your wounds?” Grady knew that annoying Ophelia might get him killed, but he had a chance to find out what really lay behind the tragedies that had damaged his family, which pushed him into dangerous territory.
“Is that why you had to hire a hitman to kill my dad and me? Weren’t up to it yourself?” Grady couldn’t help the accusation, voicing the question that had tormented him since he had learned the truth.
