Boundary Lines (Boundary Magic Book 2) by Melissa F. Olson

Author:Melissa F. Olson [Olson, Melissa F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503947061
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2015-10-13T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

As I drove toward Magic Beans, I cursed myself again for dropping my phone at Chautauqua—I was desperate to check on Quinn, but even if I got a new phone, I didn’t have his or Simon’s number memorized. Stupid, stupid.

I stopped in an empty parking lot to reload my weapons. For the second time in two days, I was desperately wishing I had a shredder stake. I’d packed for a confrontation with a giant worm monster, not a vampire fight. Quinn had once explained that to kill a vampire you needed to either cut off its head or thoroughly destroy its heart—hence the wooden stakes spelled to shred the heart tissue. From now on, I promised myself, I was going to carry them everywhere. In the meantime, I was hoping a direct shot to the heart with the Ithaca would do enough damage, since I wasn’t convinced the shotgun could take a head off completely, even at close range. When this was over, I was definitely investing in a machete or something.

I parked illegally on 13th Street, and ran straight to the back door of the coffee shop, with my jacket belted over the firearms like it had been at Chautauqua. I ignored the “Closed for Private Party” sign and banged on the door.

A long pause, and then I heard bolts sliding back, and the door cracked open. I had a sudden moment of bizarre déjà-vu, reminded of a few weeks earlier when I’d been called to Magic Beans to witness Maven’s execution of Itachi. To help her do it, really. Would I open the door on the same scene? Or was Maven already dead, and was I walking into my own execution? I unbelted the jacket and pulled out the big revolver before going inside. I wouldn’t be going down without a fight, anyway.

The back door opened directly onto the big concrete-floored room at the back of Magic Beans, where they occasionally hosted open-mic night or acoustic musicians, the same room that led to Maven’s little office. As I stepped inside, I almost slipped on the wet concrete, my foot bumping into something that didn’t slide away at the contact. I looked down to see a hand.

I flinched back so hard I stumbled, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The hand was stretched toward the door, attached to a bloody, half-rotted arm. The arm was attached to nothing, because it had been ripped off at the shoulder joint.

I tore my eyes away from it, because gaping too long at something like that is a great time for the enemy to ambush you. There was no movement in the room, though. Someone had stacked all the chairs against the back wall, leaving a single chair on the stage, lit by a spotlight. It was the only source of light in the whole room. Maven sat in the chair, her face resting on one palm, as she stared broodingly at a body that lay prone on the floor in front of her.

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