Witches of the West by F.J. Blooding

Author:F.J. Blooding [Blooding, F.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whistling Book Press

Sixteen

The shimmering power of her ward raced out of the exterior of the building and flew through the town, creating an ever-growing dome of protective magick.

“Whoa!” Alma yelled. “You can’t maintain that.”

It wasn’t all Paige, though. Her magick flew along a network of magickal protections that had already been in place, similar to what she’d done in Texas when she’d strengthened Alma’s wards.

Whose protections were these?

Something wispy touched on Paige’s mind. Soft at first, growing stronger as Paige’s magick rolled over and through the remaining ward.

Whiskey, a ghost of a voice whispered.

Could it be? another asked.

Who?

Feels strange, tainted. Blackman ilk.

Paige’s magick stopped flowing with an explosion of light. The energy rippled back toward her.

“Brace yourself,” Alma cautioned loudly.

How? Paige stiffened her arms and shoulders.

Electricity shot up Paige’s fingers, laced along her arms, and captured her neck in rigid strength.

Blackman ilk, the female ghost voices chanted, the power in their combined voices growing.

“What’s going on?” Leslie asked, her voice sounding very far away.

Not… Paige forced her mental voice outward, struggling to do so as if there was a vice grip on her mind’s voice box. …Blackman.

You have the blood taint.

My father. Paige staggered as the force, whatever it was, released her.

Explain.

Who the Hell was she talking to? My father was a Blackman.

The force pressed on her.

But I never knew him. Grandma raised us in Texas, far from here, far from him.

The force released her again. Grandmother. What is her name?

Paige wanted more than a few names herself. Alma.

The voices seemed to breathe a sigh of relief almost as one. Alma. That dear, dear child.

Dear, dear child? How do you know my grandmother?

We touched her soul when she was born.

What? When she was born? Who are you?

The ghosts of Whiskeys past.

You’re…kidding me. Right?

The voices didn’t answer.

How did you “touch her soul when she was born?” She was born in Texas and she’s not that old.

A beam of light danced in front of Paige’s eyes and slipped into the form of a woman Paige had only seen in pictures. Alma’s mother, Paige’s great grandmother, the one who had gone crazy because of the demon summoning gift.

Oh. Paige glanced around her office as more women formed from the light of her ward. Well, uh, it’s me, Paige, Alma’s granddaughter.

A taller woman, dark hair in a bun, long dress of, like, the Wild West days, stepped up to Paige and reached up to touch her cheek. Such power.

A shrewder looking woman tipped her head to the side, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, making it look like she had big hair. She folded her hands in front of her prairie dress and pinched her lips. Someone bred to gain this one.

If you mean by “bred,” that my mother had sex to create babies, Paige said with a sour note of disgust in her tone, then you are one hundred percent correct. My mother made babies. Three of us.

Where are the other two? The shrewd woman turned.

And looked right through Leslie. Paige frowned, her head hurting from the oddness of the situation.

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