Gray Witch Read online

  GRAY WITCH

  HAILEY EDWARDS

  Copyright © 2022 Black Dog Books, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Copy Edited by Kimberly Cannon

  Proofread by Lillie's Literary Services

  Cover by Damonza

  Illustration by NextJenCo

  CONTENTS

  Gray Witch

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Join the Team

  About the Author

  Also by Hailey Edwards

  GRAY WITCH

  Black Hat Bureau, Book 5

  Famous monsters are resurrecting across Mississippi, each one recreating their own gruesome deaths through new victims. Every time Rue pins down one horror legend, another appears with its own bloodthirsty agenda. The summoners raising these vengeful spirits save their best for last, a cruel gift that shatters Rue. But she’s not the only one whose heart gets broken.

  Once her father realizes what the summoners have done, who they’ve awakened, there is nowhere they can hide where he can’t find them. After this final betrayal, there are no limits on how far he’s willing to go to bring down Black Hat, the director, and anyone else who gets in his way.

  Including his own daughter.

  1

  A funk reminiscent of dead mice decomposing in the walls and unwashed armpits ripening under the hot Alabama sun wafted to my nose and kicked my tear ducts into high gear. Had it been summer and not a tepid February day, I might have retched at the macabre trophies mounded before me in a precarious stack.

  Death fogged their eyes. Bloody hair caked their foreheads. Mouths gaped on their final roars.

  And then there were the spines. So many spines. So, so many spines.

  Beyond that, on the killing field, the daemon performed a victory dance he’d learned from Mystic Realms.

  Around me, in bleachers constructed from the weathered bones of challengers past, loomed daemons.

  Fangs. Horns. Wings. Fins. Tails. Claws.

  The appendage combinations alone threatened to drop my jaw upon entering the otherworldly arena.

  The entire coliseum existed inside a magical construct adjacent to Hael. A pocket realm with a dedicated purpose and set location you could reach via a gate anchored to the arena. Or, if you were fancy like me, through a doorway you carved yourself.

  Odds of an ambush were slim but never zero. Why chance it? There were seven challengers vying for the throne without the daemon making himself a target by arriving with the veritable rainbow of spectators.

  All of whom had set aside their differences and united today with one desire.

  To witness their prince slaughter usurpers who coveted his crown with extreme prejudice.

  “Pleat my skirt and call me a cheerleader.” Clay, back from plundering the concession stand, plunked down next to me in the royal family’s box. “Got pompoms? A megaphone?”

  The crimson mohawk he rocked was an impressive two feet high, and yes, he measured it before we left the house. The tee with the daemon’s grinning face made me wish I had ordered one when Clay offered. The black rosettes stenciled down his arms were cute, but he had abandoned the set of temporary fangs after swallowing one.

  “Do I look like a spirit store to you?” I coughed as I caught a whiff of his snack, a greasy paper bag of what resembled fried pinkish crickets in hot sauce. “What are those?”

  “A daemon delicacy.” He held one out to me. “Try it.”

  “No thanks.” I did my best not to gag. “I’m trying to cut back.”

  “I have an idea.” He bit it in two then offered me the top half. “Now try it.”

  “Yeah.” I shoved away his hand. “Still no.”

  “It works when Ace does it.” He popped out his bottom lip. “Is my spit not good enough for you?”

  “No one’s spit is going to make me eat that.” I sniffed the bag. “That’s not hot sauce, is it?”

  “Nope.” He tossed the reject into his mouth and crunched down. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “You don’t know what you’re eating.”

  “Mmm.” He ate another one. “Zesty with a hint of what the hell did I just put in my mouth.”

  “I worry about you.” I inched farther away from him. “You’ll try anything once.”

  “You’re not wrong.” His grin flashed twitching legs caught between his teeth. “What did I miss?”

  “Somebody got disemboweled. Then beheaded. Somebody else got torn in half. Then beheaded.”

  A subtle clap-stomp-clap beat through the ranks, which I echoed, but it was hard to rah-rah for senseless violence. Even if the participants volunteered for slaughter in droves, as if it weren’t a death sentence.

  “I was gone ten minutes.” A not-cricket fell out of his mouth. “Tops.”

  “The daemon has a guild thing with Colby in two hours. He wants to hurry up and get home.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He retrieved the snack from where it landed on his thigh. “They’re raiding the Tunnels of Tumult.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  No matter how often Colby explained Mystic Realms to me, I couldn’t wrap my head around its nuances. The details held my interest about as well as when I gushed to her about my newest book with subplots galore.

  All I needed in order to support her was knowing that gaming was to her what reading was to me.

  A happy place.

  A much happier place than the one I was currently in.

  Screaming, roaring, the crowd surged to their feet as the daemon wrenched his opponent’s hip from the socket, tore off one of his six legs, then beat him to death with it. Classic. Why bring a weapon when you could make your own? Next came his finishing move. A quick twist of his wrist, and off popped the head.

  “Are the challenges always this hardcore?” I indicated the crowd with my chin. “And so well attended?”

  “Yep to the first.” He skimmed the gathering. “Nope to the second.”

  As a frequent attendee, Clay was the authority here. This was my first time witnessing the spectacle in its glory. Or should that be gory? A front row seat to watch the daemon fight for his—and Asa’s—life wasn’t my idea of entertainment. I had avoided my debut for months, but I was all in with Asa now. If I wanted him—and I did—I had to stake my claim for all to see.

  Grateful for the cooler Asa packed for me, I dug out a bottle of chilled water. “What makes today special?”

  “Stavros is the only person who pulls in these numbers.” He patted my head. “Until you, apparently.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Hey, friend.” Eyes on my drink, Clay wet his greasy lips. “Can I have a sip?”

  “You have roach legs stuck in your teeth, so no. I don’t want your backwash.”

  “They’re crickets,” he corrected me then examined one. “Probably.”

  Heaving a sigh, I surrendered one of the precious bottles for his use, to pollute as he saw fit.

  “Rue.”

  The daemon bounded over with the oozing head of his latest kill and presented it to me on his palm.

  “For you.” He dropped to one knee and extended his arms until ichor dripped onto my pants. “You like?”

  All eyes followed the prince, and the gazes of every daemon in the stands now bored holes through me.

  “It’s the best one yet.” I ignored the foul stain spreading across my jeans. “My new personal favorite.”

  “Rue claps for me.” He swung the offering to show Clay too. “Claps help me kill faster.”

  Clay choked on a laugh he blamed on a cricket leg going down the wrong pipe.

  “Well—” he coughed into his fist, “—you are half fae.”

  The nod to the Tinkerbell effect made me smile, but the daemon tilted his head to one side.

  “There’s a play called Peter Pan,” I explained. “When Peter’s best friend gets hurt, the audience is asked to clap if they believe in fairies. Tinkerbell, his best friend, is a fairy. So, the claps save her life.”

  The whimsical idea appealed to him, if his bright eyes were any indication.

  A crackle filled the speakers overhead before they squealed in an earsplitting screech then fell silent.

  “Ruger of Agonae,” the announcer boomed, then a heartbeat later. “Face your doom.”

  Interest perking at his classification, I kept my eyes peeled for my first look at another Agonae daemon.

  A male swaggered onto the field who was the equivalent of the daemon on steroids. His features were a perfect mixture of hard angles and sharp edges, his fangs thick and white, his lips full of
sensual promise. He wore his silky black hair in four Dutch braids tied at his nape. Strands escaped to frame his pretty face, drawing attention to the perfect arches of his eyebrows and his coal-black eyes.

  “Jason Momoa called,” Clay broke into my thoughts. “He wants his eyebrows back.”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t put my finger on it before, but he was right. “He’s got a Khal Drogo vibe.”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Rue?” He recoiled. “She never watches TV.”

  “Ask Colby how much trouble she got in when I caught her watching the Dothraki wedding episode.”

  A shrill whistle left his pursed lips, and his grim expression confirmed I had been right to flip my lid at the graphic nature of the show. The guild had been watching together, which was no excuse for Colby diving in with them. Mentally, she was ten years old. She always would be. The others were aging up, but Colby wouldn’t. I ached for her, for that forced stasis, but she knew better. She just didn’t want to feel left out.

  During the two weeks that followed, she really felt left out with no internet access.

  “Lady Witch,” Ruger called, yanking my attention to the field. “Will you grant me your favor?”

  This guy was throwing off some hardcore renaissance faire vibes.

  Mmm.

  My kingdom for a fried Oreo. Oh! Or a fried Snickers bar. Or a fried Twinkie.

  Really, anything that didn’t make me want to hose it with bug spray or step on it first fit the bill.

  “Why would I do that?” I scrunched up my face, playing my part. “I want a champion who actually wins.”

  The crowd erupted into laughter, the daemon puffing up with pride, but Ruger only doubled down.

  “Will you be mine, beautiful darkness, if I win?”

  The daemon scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. “Rue mine.”

  “Let the wicked lovely speak, half breed.”

  A hush fell over the spectators as the insult landed, or maybe it was the faint buzzing in my ears.

  “Call him that again.” I let him see his death in my eyes, how much I would enjoy it. “I dare you.”

  “Lay a finger on him,” Clay warned me out of the side of his mouth, “and Ace forfeits the match.”

  And I would have let my temper write his, and the daemon’s, death warrant.

  “I applaud your willingness to overlook his deformities, but you could fuck me with your eyes open.”

  The daemon swung his head toward me, lips screwed tight over his fangs, a furrow dug across his brow.

  “Are you still talking?” I appealed to the eavesdropping crowd. “Are you guys bored too?”

  The overwhelming answer was yes.

  Indulgent smile on his lips, Ruger executed a courtly bow to me then pivoted on his heel.

  Any concern on the daemon’s part vanished, and he pounded a fist over his heart. “Rue love me.”

  “You really are a sad thing, aren’t you?” Ruger rolled out his shoulders. “Barely comprehensible.”

  The buzzing turned into a full-on roar as Clay slung an arm around my shoulders to restrain me.

  “Don’t do it.” Clay held on tight and forced my head onto his shoulder. “Don’t give him what he wants.”

  As far as I could tell, what he wanted was to die horribly. By my hands. Wrapped around his throat. With that stupid smirk etched on his stupid face. Forever. Because after he was decapitated, I would shave his stupid hair and shrink his stupid head for a rearview mirror ornament to brighten my drives to the shop.

  “Can this guy die already?” Leaning into my pose, I faked a yawn. “I’m falling asleep over here.”

  As far as my fellow spectators were concerned, it was the right thing to say.

  Their prince’s arm candy was bloodthirsty, ready to kill for him, and they ate it up with a spoon.

  A chant began in the row behind me and picked up speed as it swept through the stands.

  “Fight.”

  “Fight.”

  “Fight.”

  “Ruger of Agonae,” the announcer thundered over the ruckus. “Fight or forfeit.”

  The daemon settled into a ready stance, but Ruger grinned over his shoulder—then ran straight at me.

  “Dreams do come true.” I touched my wand through my pants. “I can defend myself, right?”

  For such a bulky daemon, the guy was moving fast. He also wasn’t deviating from his collision course.

  “Oh, hell yes.” Clay tossed his snack to a nearby daemon. “You absolutely can.”

  That was when I realized Clay had ditched his food, and it wasn’t to help me.

  “Let's get physical,” he belted out. “Get down, get hard, get mean.” He clapped in rapid bursts. “Let's get physical and beat that other team.” He stomped as the daemons joined in. “Go, Rue! Go, Rue! Go, Rue!”

  Six feet away from the royal box, Ruger leapt, claws out and fangs glistening.

  I let him come, let him see I had no fear, let him register just how big the mistake was he had made.

  As he started pinwheeling his arms, desperate to halt his descent, I unsheathed my wand.

  Magic percussed the air when I tapped him on the quivering nose, and he burst into powdery ash flakes.

  “Anyone else?” I fanned the gray flurries away from my face. “Or can I get back to watching the show?”

  Whoops and whistles erupted in the crowd, and they picked up Clay’s chant, lifting it until my ears rang.

  The two remaining challengers slinked to the forest’s edge then disappeared into the shadows.

  Muscles tensed in the daemon’s calves, the instinct to chase riding him, but he allowed the cowards to flee with a disgusted grunt.

  An orange-skinned daemon with flaming yellow hair jogged out to greet him dressed in a red leather suit with black shoes. A gold lavalier mic flashed at his collar, and a bodypack transmitter bulged at his spine.

  “The winner and still champion,” the announcer roared, “Astaroth Xan Stavros, High Prince of Hael.”

  Grinning like a fool, gore smearing his face, the daemon allowed the announcer to thrust his fist into the air.

  After the obligatory grandstanding ended, the daemon jogged over and vaulted into the box with us.

  “Congratulations, big guy.” I raked my fingers through his stiff and sticky hair. “You kicked butt today.”

  “Rue okay?” He crushed me against his chest. “Ruger not hurt Rue?”

  “Oof.”

  Lungs screaming for oxygen, I coughed out a garbled answer.

  “She’s fine.” Clay wedged us apart. “Or she will be, if you let her breathe.”

  Glee sparking in his eyes, the daemon bounced on the balls of his feet. “You have fun?”

  In no universe would I ever consider him fighting for his life fun, but he was high on victory, and the final event did brighten my day. Really, I didn’t feel bad fibbing to keep a bounce in his step. “It was a blast.”

  “Literally.” Clay wiped his face. “I need a tissue to blow Ruger out of my nose.”

  “Crybaby.” I used the hem of my shirt to wipe my face clean. “Snorting daemon never hurt anyone.”

  Fast as a blink, the daemon scooped me into his arms and leapt to the grass, setting me on my feet.

  “Me next.” Clay held out his arms. “I want to be carried everywhere I go too.”

  The daemon rolled his eyes in a Colbylike gesture then turned to me. “Go home now?”

  “Sure thing.” I worked to contain my relief. “We’re done here.”

  Heaving a sigh, Clay jumped the railing and landed beside me with his second pout of the day.

  About to tease him for it, I tensed when flames ignited as the daemon exchanged one body for another.

  Hair in grisly tangles, Asa wore the daemon’s black leather pants and onyx piercings, but that was it.

  Worry trickled through me at the unscripted switch. Asa had explained before we left that he would hold his daemon form to please the crowd. They weren’t big on fae. Princely or otherwise. It was dangerous to swap now.