The Witchstone by Henry H. Neff

Author:Henry H. Neff [Neff, Henry H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Instantly, the tendrils released Jan and retracted into Maggie’s forearm. Free of their hold, the banker sagged heavily to the floor.

The buzzing in Maggie’s head subsided, and her own consciousness rose slowly to the surface. Confused and breathless, she stared dazedly at the person in the doorway.

Laszlo?

Slipping inside, the demon closed and locked the bathroom door before walking over to nudge something with his shoe. His voice was preternaturally calm. “Who’s your friend?”

She leaned forward from her perch—why am I on the sink?—and saw a large, bloated man sprawled on the tiles with his pants and underwear bunched around his ankles. Only then did Maggie realize that she was practically naked herself. With a soundless cry, she slid off the sink and tried to cover her body.

Laszlo sighed and turned to face the wall. “Oh, relax.” His voice was dry. “I didn’t see anything I haven’t seen in the past ten minutes. Except for the tentacles. I’ll confess those were new.”

Heart hammering, Maggie tugged up her jeans—and as she did, she noticed her forearm. The bandage was gone. A dozen holes, each the diameter of a pencil, had appeared within the boundaries of her ever-expanding curse mark.

Taking a deep breath, Maggie forced herself to look at the man on the floor. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What the hell am I doing?”

Laszlo turned back around and looked at him too. “Never mind that right now. First, we have to deal with this prize. Who is he?”

“I-I don’t know,” stammered Maggie. “Tom, maybe? I think he said he’s a banker.”

“I assume the blow belongs to him?”

Laszlo pointed to a plastic bag of white powder on the floor.

Maggie scoured her memory but came up blank. “It must be his. It’s definitely not mine.”

“No,” said Laszlo. “You don’t strike me as a raging cokehead. Pull yourself together, and I’ll take care of ‘Tom.’”

While Laszlo went to work, Maggie put on the rest of her clothes. Her bra was half-off, and her panties were torn. She saw toothmarks near her left nipple. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She managed to button her shirt and spotted her blazer on a basket of unused towels. For the next twenty seconds she splashed cold water on her face and tried to rinse the taste of blood and alcohol from her mouth. Shutting off the tap, she turned and shot a horrified glance at the stranger Laszlo was now easing onto the toilet seat.

Did I do this?

She watched in a daze as Laszlo arranged the man like a mannequin in a window display, seated on the closed toilet, his glazed eyes fixed on the ceiling. His pants stayed around his ankles, and one of his hands rested on his naked crotch. Finally, Laszlo took the man’s belt and cinched it loosely around his neck.

“What are you—”

Laszlo held up a finger as he checked the man’s pulse. Then, satisfied, the demon used a hand towel to pick up the bag of cocaine and plant it, along with a metal

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