Page 16 of Property of Hayride
She starts humming, and it’s a little disconcerting since she’s holding my hand. Without warning, she grips it tighter. A gasp leaves her mouth. “Martha, you’re here.”
Huh?
“I’m not Martha. My name is Natalya.”
She shakes her head. “Martha, you’ve finally returned home.”
I try to correct her, but it’s no use. She keeps insisting that my name is Martha, that I’ve been to Raven’s Crest in the past.
“Martha Scott.” She smiles. “You’ve been missed. Stop by the graveyard. The ancestors want to speak to you.”
I yank my hand away and pop to my feet, creeped out by her words. “I’m here for —”
Madam Serena cuts me off. “Your brother.”
I jolt. Maybe she does know something that can help.
She gestures to the chair. “Sit.”
Since I want answers, I obey. My ass hits the seat, but I squirm, keyed up for no reason other than my anxiety and worry for my brother. Maybe her insistence that I’m someone else has me a bit spooked, too.
“He’s in danger.”
I give her a skeptical look. That’s far too vague.
“Thad, your brother. Dark forces are pulling on him.”
Dark forces? What kind of crap is that?
“He needs your help.”
Well, duh. I already figured that part out. “Where is Thad?”
She shakes her head. “It’s too clouded. I can’t see.”
I open my mouth to reply, but she holds up her hand.
Sitting back against the chair, I wait for her to connect to the spirits or whatever witchy entity she’s seeking for answers. If it helps me find my brother, I can put up with Madam Serena’s eccentricities.
She’s odd, but I guess all clairvoyants seem a bit strange.
Madam Serena’s eyes close and flutter. She begins to sway as I watch with fascination, murmuring words I can’t make out because her voice is too low for me to hear. She jolts. Once. Twice.
“Trust,” she gasps. “Trust the dark one.” She pauses. “The man with the wings and sword.”
What the hell does that mean?
Madam Serena’s eyes snap open and lock onto me. Her mouth stretches wide in a silent scream as I scramble to my feet in horror. Blood begins to seep into the material of her silky shawl that’s draped across her shoulders and rests over her chest, and soaks into the pretty beaded dress she’s wearing. A growing spread of crimson fills her torso as my hands slap over my mouth.
What the hell just happened?
Outside, I hear footsteps that indicate someone is there, behind Madam Serena’s side of the tent.
There’s a dark chuckle, and I freeze, overcome with the urge to flee, but terrified to move.
Madam Serena falls forward, and her body slumps over the table, knocking her crystal ball to the ground. It lands with a thud on the grass beneath our feet. Her eyes remain open, staring, but there’s no longer a soul inside to give her life. Protruding from her back is a large knife. The blade sank deep, probably hitting a vital organ and severing arteries.
My gaze lands on the hole in the tent where someone must have thrown the blade. Hard enough to fly through the air and pierce the fabric. With enough strength to ensure it’s embedded in flesh and inflicting deadly trauma.
