Read Online Magic at Midnight by Gena Showalter - Free Book Online

now, they would lower his casket into the ground and the cycle of his life—and death—would be complete.
    Sobbing, she turned away from the glowing red numbers and mashed her face into her pillow. She’d never been so miserable. Her sisters had gone to the funeral. Genevieve simply wasn’t ready to say good-bye.
    She cried until her ducts could no longer produce tears. She cried until her throat burned and her lungs ached. Then she remained utterly still, absorbing the silence, lost in her sorrow. Minutes later, or perhaps an eternity, a buzzing sound reverberated in her left ear, and a fly landed on her cheek. Weakly she swatted the insect away.
    “Bitch,” she heard.
    “Murderess.”
    “I wish you would have died instead.”
    Genevieve rolled to her back and blinked open her tired, swollen eyes. Three tiny fairies swarmed around her face, flashing pink. All three were female and scowling. She recognized them from the bar.
    “You killed him,” one of them hissed.
    “You killed him,” the others reiterated. “You could have used your magic against the demons, but you didn’t. You killed him.”
    You killed him. Yes, she had. “I loved him.” She’d thought her ducts dry, but stinging tears beaded in her eyes.
    “How could you love him? You don’t care about him. The demons have sworn their vengeance upon him for killing their brethren and are even now desecrating his grave, yet here you lie, doing nothing. Again. Someone even took his body from its casket.”
    “What?” She jolted upright. A wave of dizziness assaulted her, and she rubbed her temple with her fingers. “Desecrating his grave, how? And who dared take his body?”
    “Does it matter?” Buzz. Buzz. “Your sisters are fighting the demons off, but they cannot do it without you, the witch of vengeance.”
    Without another word, Genevieve leaped out of bed. Her knees wobbled, but a rush of adrenaline gave her strength. Arms shaking, she tugged on the first pants and T-shirt she could find, then raced through the hallway. The wolf—what had Godiva named him?—trotted to her, following close to her heels. He was almost completely healed, and his brown eyes gleamed bright with curiosity.
    “There’s trouble at the cemetery,” she felt compelled to explain. Trouble she would fight against. Heart racing, she grabbed her broom and sprinted outside. No one—no one!—was going to destroy Hunter’s grave. Whoever had taken him would return him.
    Moonlight crested high in the night sky, scooping low. The citizens of Mysteria did everything at night, even funerals. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and kissed her fiery hot, tear-stained face. Moving faster than she ever had in her life, she hopped on her broom and flew toward Mysteria’s graveyard. When she passed the wishing well, she flipped it off. When she passed Knight Caps, closed for the first time in years, she pressed her lips together to silence a pained moan.
    Soon the graveyard came into view.
    Monuments rose from the ground, white slashes against black dirt. Only a few patches of grass dared grow and the only flowers were silk and plastic. Death reigned supreme here. Broken brick surrounded the area with a high, eerie wall. The closer she came, the more chilled the air became, heavier, laden with the scents of dirt and mystery.
    Her eyes narrowed when she saw the open, empty casket. Her eyes narrowed further when she saw the group of demons taunting her sisters and spitting on Hunter’s grave.
    Hunter’s mourners must have already escaped, for there was no trace of them. Her sisters were holding hands and pointing their fingers toward the short, monkeylike horde of demons whose wings flapped and fluttered with excitement as they tried to claw their way through an invisible shield.
    Both Godiva and Glory appeared weakened and pale, their shoulders slumped. Genevieve dropped to the ground, tossing her broom aside as she ran to them. She grabbed both of their hands, completing the link.