Page 57 of Hex You

Khenti shook his head. “I would have to know how old it is. Remember, the older a creature is, the longer it can remain here without having to take on another body. My guess, though, is that the demon is old. The references we found to the thing drawing victims to it through the cries of a ghostly infant were ancient.”

“Waaaait, I have an idea!” Mercy said. “But Xena will have to help.”

“Xena?” Hunter’s brows went up. “What can she—” Hunter’s words broke off at the painful screeching of squealing tires that seemed to come from right outside the house. “What the—?” She stood and began to walk to the big picture window to peek out at what sounded like a major accident, when Khenti suddenly launched himself off the couch.

“Get down!” he shouted. He knocked Hunter to the floor and covered her with his body as something flew through the picture window, shattering it and raining glass shards all over them. The thing hit the wall behind the couch, where it broke a framed original of their mother’s favorite painting of Athena.

Khenti was instantly on his feet. He checked Hunter first. “Are you wounded?”

“No. I don’t think so,” said Hunter as she picked a shard of glass from her hair.

“Ohmygoddess! W-what the b-bloody hell?” Mercy’s voice shook with adrenaline. “She stood and started toward the pile of Khenti, Hunter, and glass that lay in the center of the living room.

Khenti held up his hand, palm out. “Stay back, Mercy! No one move! There’s glass everywhere! I shall return!” Then he jumped through the broken window as he summoned his khopesh.

“Khenti’s right, Mag. There’s glass everywhere. Stay there.” Hunter, who still had her shoes on, walked shakily to the couch. Carefully, she used one of the decorative pillows to brush glass from the cushions before she sat beside her twin and studied her. “Are you cut? Bleeding? Hurt?”

Mercy shook her head. Tiny glass fragments rained from her dark hair. “I don’t think I’m hurt. What the hell happened?”

Hunter looked behind the couch. “The thing that came through the window is back there. Hang on. I’ll get it.” Hunter carefully circled around the couch and picked up something. “It’s a fucking brick!” The words exploded from her.

“What?! How can that even be a thing?” Mercy was shaking her head back and forth, back and forth.

“There’s something written on a piece of paper tied to it. Hang on.” Hunter wiped pieces of glass from the brick and then untied the twine holding the sheet of paper. She lifted it and held it so that Mercy could read the Bible quote written forcefully in black Sharpie:

Exodus 22:18—Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Mercy’s stomach rolled with nausea as she tried to comprehend the hatred and bigotry that one sentence represented.

The front door opened and Khenti came in, still holding his khopesh—which disappeared when he tossed it into the air. “I could not capture them. Their vehicle moved too fast for even me to catch.”

“Did you see it, or was it too dark?” asked Mercy.

Khenti blew out a long, frustrated breath. “It was too dark for me to see many details, especially as they had their lights off. But it wasn’t like the vehicles you, Emily, and Jax drive. It was bigger and the back was different.”

Hunter took her phone from her pocket, tapped it, and then turned it so Khenti could see the screen. “Like this?”

Khenti’s forehead furrowed as he studied the picture of a truck. “Yes. I believe it was much the same shape and size, but as I said, it was so dark I could not see the color.”

“Half the football team has trucks,” said Mercy. “Show him a Jeep like Kirk’s.”

Hunter nodded as she joined Mercy on the couch again. “Good idea.” She went back to tapping on her phone, then showed Khenti a picture of a red Jeep.

Khenti shook his head. “No, the rear part of it was like what you called a truck.”

“Kirk is a dangerous douchebag,” said Mercy. “But when it comes to self-preservation he’s smart. He’s probably behind this, so no way would he drive his own vehicle.”

“You’re right, Mag. He instigates and thinks he can escape the consequences of his douchebaggery,” said Hunter.

Khenti looked around the glass-littered living room angrily. “I can bring the consequences to him.”

“That would be great, but we really need to handle this the right way—the legal way,” said Mercy. “Kirk has already proven that he’s violent and dangerous. Deputy Carter knows he has a vendetta against us. I’m calling the sheriff’s office.”

“Now?” Hunter asked.

“Absolutely. Maybe they can catch Kirk and his football buddies carrying around bricks.” Mercy took her phone from her pocket, quickly looked up the sheriff’s department number, and called it.

It only rang once when a familiar, perky voice answered. “Goodeville sheriff’s department, this is Trish! How may I help you?”