By Colleen Foley
Like sonar pings, I was drawn in precisely the right directions. We
ended in a cul-de-sac, facing a sprawling ranch-style monstrosity. All
perfectly normal, just like that farm. But I could feel it; the
creeping malefaction beneath the surface. I could feel them. Us.
“Turn on your witch-crafty mojo, kid. Turn it on big. Now.”
He gave me a mildly offended sideways glance.
I pointed at my chest. “I’m too close. Your wards are being defeated.”
I cocked my shotgun and moved, voicing a last coherent thought.
“Seth. If we don’t beat this thing, you can’t let me live.”