Read Online Bitter Night by Diana Pharaoh Francis - Free Book Online
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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wealth came from magical services that Giselle sold at exorbitant prices. There was never a shortage of willing buyers.
To Max, Horngate was a sanctuary’a wild, fierce Eden for predators like her. She didn’t know when, but it had become the place she thought of as home. If she destroyed Giselle, she’d destroy Horngate. If she didn’t kill Giselle, if she only broke the bindings that held her prisoner, it wouldn’t be enough. Giselle would hunt her to the end of the world. Max closed her eyes. She’d be forced to kill the hunters who came for her’Lise and Oz and the rest. Her hate flared white-hot and her earlier sense of hopefulness wilted. Her fingers curled into claws. Damn the witch-bitch!
The increasingly strong smell of the ocean and diesel fumes told Max they were driving into the warehouse district along the docks. The Tahoe turned this way and that, bumped over some railroad tracks and along a rutted road, then stopped. Max heard the sound of a metal door rolling up, and then they rolled forward. The door rumbled closed with a clang, and Lise drove a little farther, then put the Tahoe in park and shut it off. Max was already unlatching her light-sealed box. She slid the door up just as Lise popped the hatch.
Max wriggled out and levered herself upright. Lise was already walking away, heading for the kitchen tractor trailer affectionately dubbed the Garbage Pit. Max stretched, cracking her back. “Save me some coffee.”
Lise waved dismissively. “Like you need the caffeine.”
Max stretched, wishing she could follow. Her body had already burned through the powerbars and Gatorade, and the smells of garlic and fresh bread wafting through the air made her stomach cramp. Instead she glanced around the warehouse, taking its measure with a quick examination. It was windowless and sealed against light and dark. Witchlights illuminated the interior’even the darkness of a warehouse did bad things to Sunspears. The hospital semi was parked next to the far wall, and beside it, Giselle’s RV. The Garbage Pit was slotted in next to it, and another couple of smaller RVs and a half dozen cars and trucks were parked haphazardly about on the concrete. It was a gypsy village, ready to roll at a moment’s notice.
“Max. I want you. Now.”
Giselle stood in the doorway of her RV, her voice echoing off the corrugated-steel walls of the warehouse. She didn’t look like much. But then neither did black-widow spiders. She was beautiful and delicate like those spindly museum chairs that are useless for sitting and porcelain cups that break the moment anyone picks one up. She had straight chestnut hair hanging to her waist and was wearing blousy cotton pants with a halter top. She looked as weak and helpless as a baby lamb. Max snorted. A lamb with a streak of Jack the Ripper running through her.
The witch turned and went inside. Max followed her up the narrow steps. Inside, the RV was like a small, luxurious apartment. The cabinets were cherrywood and the floors covered in thick wool rugs. A small kitchen was on the left and a sitting room on the right. The walls were slid out to make it spacious. Giselle sat in a red leather chair with wooden-clawed feet. She curled her feet up under her, weaving her tanned fingers primly together. Max remained standing.
Giselle wasted no time. “Tell me again.”
Max repeated her report, ignoring the cold of the hailstone radiating down her thigh from her pocket. She should have hidden it in the Tahoe, but she couldn’t bring herself to be separated from it.
“How did you get caught?” Giselle’s voice was accusing. She glared at Max, her hair lifting and curling on invisible currents. Max eyed it with a smirk of victory. Sure, it was childish, but she took what she could get, and needling Giselle always made her day. The witch noticed Max’s look, and her hair smoothed into a starched silk curtain.
“When I broke the charm circle on the Hag, the magic burst
To Max, Horngate was a sanctuary’a wild, fierce Eden for predators like her. She didn’t know when, but it had become the place she thought of as home. If she destroyed Giselle, she’d destroy Horngate. If she didn’t kill Giselle, if she only broke the bindings that held her prisoner, it wouldn’t be enough. Giselle would hunt her to the end of the world. Max closed her eyes. She’d be forced to kill the hunters who came for her’Lise and Oz and the rest. Her hate flared white-hot and her earlier sense of hopefulness wilted. Her fingers curled into claws. Damn the witch-bitch!
The increasingly strong smell of the ocean and diesel fumes told Max they were driving into the warehouse district along the docks. The Tahoe turned this way and that, bumped over some railroad tracks and along a rutted road, then stopped. Max heard the sound of a metal door rolling up, and then they rolled forward. The door rumbled closed with a clang, and Lise drove a little farther, then put the Tahoe in park and shut it off. Max was already unlatching her light-sealed box. She slid the door up just as Lise popped the hatch.
Max wriggled out and levered herself upright. Lise was already walking away, heading for the kitchen tractor trailer affectionately dubbed the Garbage Pit. Max stretched, cracking her back. “Save me some coffee.”
Lise waved dismissively. “Like you need the caffeine.”
Max stretched, wishing she could follow. Her body had already burned through the powerbars and Gatorade, and the smells of garlic and fresh bread wafting through the air made her stomach cramp. Instead she glanced around the warehouse, taking its measure with a quick examination. It was windowless and sealed against light and dark. Witchlights illuminated the interior’even the darkness of a warehouse did bad things to Sunspears. The hospital semi was parked next to the far wall, and beside it, Giselle’s RV. The Garbage Pit was slotted in next to it, and another couple of smaller RVs and a half dozen cars and trucks were parked haphazardly about on the concrete. It was a gypsy village, ready to roll at a moment’s notice.
“Max. I want you. Now.”
Giselle stood in the doorway of her RV, her voice echoing off the corrugated-steel walls of the warehouse. She didn’t look like much. But then neither did black-widow spiders. She was beautiful and delicate like those spindly museum chairs that are useless for sitting and porcelain cups that break the moment anyone picks one up. She had straight chestnut hair hanging to her waist and was wearing blousy cotton pants with a halter top. She looked as weak and helpless as a baby lamb. Max snorted. A lamb with a streak of Jack the Ripper running through her.
The witch turned and went inside. Max followed her up the narrow steps. Inside, the RV was like a small, luxurious apartment. The cabinets were cherrywood and the floors covered in thick wool rugs. A small kitchen was on the left and a sitting room on the right. The walls were slid out to make it spacious. Giselle sat in a red leather chair with wooden-clawed feet. She curled her feet up under her, weaving her tanned fingers primly together. Max remained standing.
Giselle wasted no time. “Tell me again.”
Max repeated her report, ignoring the cold of the hailstone radiating down her thigh from her pocket. She should have hidden it in the Tahoe, but she couldn’t bring herself to be separated from it.
“How did you get caught?” Giselle’s voice was accusing. She glared at Max, her hair lifting and curling on invisible currents. Max eyed it with a smirk of victory. Sure, it was childish, but she took what she could get, and needling Giselle always made her day. The witch noticed Max’s look, and her hair smoothed into a starched silk curtain.
“When I broke the charm circle on the Hag, the magic burst
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