Thirty yards.
Twenty.
Fifteen.
Slam. A fierce gust of air bulldozed into her. Her legs jolted, lost footing, forcing her butt to smack into the gravel. Dazed and winded, she spat out a straggly lank of hair that’d swept inside her mouth.
“Welcome home, dearest Jemma.”
She’d recognize that low, taunting whisper anywhere. Shivering, she lifted her gaze to the apparition hovering in front of her. Nettie extended an arm, her black, talon-like nails coaxing her to rise.
The flared, grass-stained leg of Clarissa’s jeans entered the perimeter of Jemma’s vision. “Why don’t you return to the hell you crawled from, you nasty bitch.”
Her eyes flashing with ugly menace, Nettie turned toward Clarissa. A silvery arc of light shot from Nettie’s fingertips. Clarissa dropped to her knees and clawed at her throat, a rasping choke gurgling from her.
“Stop it!” Jemma attempted to shove onto her feet, but her useless limbs kept slip-sliding in the gravel. The pounding approach of footsteps had her tensing, until she heard the distinct click of the shotgun chambering a magazine.
An evil smirk twisted Nettie’s mouth. “You think that will stop me?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Griff’s calm pronouncement preceded a thundering boom from the shotgun. Rock salt showered the air. Nettie’s banshee wail cut off in mid-shriek as she disintegrated.
Blinking, Jemma peered up at Griff. “Okay, what’s the deal with the salt?”
“Ghosts don’t like it.”
Ask a dumb question…
Shaking her head, she allowed Griff to hoist her up. Behind him, she spied Logan hoofing it down the trail. At least a dozen zombies were in hot pursuit. She gulped. “Uh, guys, I think we better get our asses in the car.”
No one needed to be told twice. They all piled in, and Griff slammed the key in the ignition just as Logan dove into the backseat. Throwing the gears into reverse, Griff floored it on the gas. Loose gravel showered beneath the tires, pinging against the undercarriage.
Through the windshield, Jemma watched the continual flow of zombies pouring from the distant field. She swallowed. Hard.
We are so fucked.
Chapter Fourteen
Griffin knocked before entering Jemma’s bedroom. He spotted her standing in front of the tall picture window. Something outside must have held her rapt attention, because she didn’t even glance in his direction when he sidled up next to her.
“What is she doing?”
He peered out the window and noticed Clarissa walking the perimeter of the property, waving her arms in dramatic swoops and flourishes. “She’s calling on the guardians of the four corners to help defend her wards.”
Jemma shifted her head and blinked at him. “Four corners? Wards? I think I’m going to need a glossary to understand all this magic stuff.”
“The four corners are what most people know as north, east, south and west. Elementals, or guardians, have assigned watchtowers in those quadrants.”
“Elementals?” Frown lines crinkled between Jemma’s brows. “Are they anything like the elements?”
He tweaked her nose. “Who says you need a witch’s dictionary?”
“You’re kidding, I got it right?” Her eyes widened. “So are these elementals actual creatures?”
“In a sense. It’s more accurate to think of them as manifestations of the elements they govern.” He pointed to a red-tailed hawk gliding above the oaks. “To the casual observer, they’d think that’s merely an ordinary hawk. But it’s Akasha, one of the guardians of air.”
“You mean these elementals are just hanging around us, out in the open?”
He chuckled. “Some, yes. The leprechauns tend to be more reclusive and cranky. And don’t even get me started about the dragons.”
Jemma’s mouth fell open. Her focus returned to the window, and she shook her head. “Okay, you’d think none of this would shock me anymore.”
“Cut yourself some slack, Jem. Most would be suffering a mental breakdown with everything that’s been thrown at you the past twenty-eight hours.”
She offered him a peculiar look before crossing to the chaise lounge and plunking onto its cushion. Staring at the floor, she picked at a loose thread dangling from the hem of her shorts.
Her sudden quiet moodiness worried him. “What’s wrong?”
Lifting her gaze, she gaped at him. “Uh, where should I start?”
He joined her on the chaise and clasped her fidgeting hand. “Something besides the zombies is bugging you.”
Her contemplation returned to the Berber carpeting. The faintest tremor ran through the delicate fingers pressed against his palm. “I’m scared, Griff. Scared that…” Her throat worked with a difficult swallow.
“Baby, talk to me.”
She looked up, revealing eyes clouded with doubt and fear. “What if Nettie gets to me?”
He didn’t realize his hand vised hers painfully tight until her wince clued him in. Releasing his grip, he cupped her cheek. “Never. The wards will help keep her and the zombies out.” He deliberately omitted the part about the shield also keeping them locked within the protective barrier. The only thing that’d break the wards now was one of them crossing the shield, thereby rendering it useless—hence the wards being the last line of defense. She already felt imprisoned by her nightmarish circumstances. He didn’t relish having to confirm how literal her notion had just become.
“I’m not talking about that.”
Her statement left him baffled. “Then what do you mean?”
She gnawed her bottom lip between her teeth for several seconds before answering. “When we were standing in front of the plantation house a weird sensation came over me—similar to the one I experienced last night in the garden. Griff, I wanted to go inside Nettie’s house. More than anything.”
Uneasiness washed over him at her admission. “But you didn’t.”
“Yeah, but only because you stopped me. What if you hadn’t been there?”
“You would have stopped yourself.” He injected his voice with a certainty he desperately wanted to possess.
Skepticism clouded Jemma’s expression. “We don’t know that. Obviously there’s still something tying me to Nettie despite Clarissa’s spell breaker. Maybe because Nettie’s my grandmother. Who knows, maybe our blood—”
“No.” He grasped Jemma by the upper arms, unwilling to let her venture down that dark, twisted path. He’d refused to humor Domino’s theory of genetic linkage, and he sure as hell wouldn’t give credence to Jemma’s. “Whatever is going on has been fabricated by Nettie. She’s a master manipulator. Jesus, her zombies are living proof of what she’s capable of.”
“Then does it really matter if it’s coming from my blood or not?” She extricated herself from his hold and squeezed his kneecap with a trembling grip. “Clarissa’s wards won’t keep Nettie from stealing into my mind again, right? And if she figures out a way to stay a permanent guest inside my head, we’re doomed, one way or another.”
Helplessness threatened to crush him as he took in the myriad doubts lurking in Jemma’s eyes. “You can fight her, baby. Deep down, you’re stronger than Nettie.”
Smiling tremulously, she twined their fingers together. “You’ve always believed in me, no matter what. That’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you.” Tears collected on her dusky lashes. Before they could spill he whisked them away with his thumb.
“I—I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything.” He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly.
Their lips parted and she stared at him, a glint of determination replacing the shadows in her irises. “If you see me slipping toward the dark side, kill me.”