The Portal 00 - Legacy of the Witch

a long, long time. Like it’s…I don’t know. Familiar. Right. Weird, huh?”
    “Maybe. But I’ve been feeling it, too.” I lowered my head. “If
only we could have gotten there in time to— Ohmygod, look out!” A woman was
standing right in the middle of the road. Harrison hit the brakes, bringing us
to a sideways stop without hitting her, but she never moved. She was dressed all
in white, with pale blond hair and a glow around her. I shot a look at Harrison,
but he was looking at me as if I’d lost my mind.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    The woman was still there, and she was pointing. I looked at
him. “You don’t see her?”
    “See who?”
    “The woman. Right there in the road, in front of us. She’s…” I
squinted, leaning closer to the windshield. Her eyes met mine and beamed into
me, and I could see beyond her current appearance. Somehow I could see who she
really was, even though she’d been olive skinned, raven haired and ebony eyed
when I had known her before.
    “It’s Lilia,” I whispered.
    He blinked at me. “Amarrah, maybe we need to take you in to
have your head looked at. That thug might have hit you harder than I
realized.”
    “It’s not my head. It’s real. It’s…just trust me on this,
Harmon.”
    “Harrison,” he said.
    “Well, yeah, now. Go left.”
    Lilia nodded, and her eyes held mine. Inside my head, I heard
her whisper, but her lips never moved.
    “St. Mary’s,” I told him. “It’s a big church with red doors and
a statue of—”
    “I know what it looks like,” he said. “I’ve seen it
before.”
    “I haven’t.”
    He frowned at me, the worry in his eyes growing bigger, but he
drove.

Chapter Six
    There were lights on inside the church, and two
vehicles in the driveway. Harrison pulled the Jeep to a stop just a little way
past, and we got out and hurried back to the entry. At the top of the stone
stairs he pushed the red door slightly open, and we crouched, peering
inside.
    The two thugs I remembered so well, minus their ski masks, were
handing the witches’ box over to a man dressed as a priest. But I did not
believe was a priest at all.
    “Here is it, Father Dom, just like we promised.”
    The priest, his dark hair a contrast to his pale blue eyes,
took the box as if he were accepting a long sought after prize. He tipped it up
and examined the bottom. I remembered the symbols painted there, pictures like
those found on the cards of the Tarot.
    “This is it. This is really it.” He reached into his shirt and
pulled out a fat wad of cash, handing it over to them. Both thugs reached for
it, but the skinny one was quicker and got it first. “Well done.”
    “Now what, Padre?” asked the shorter thug.
    “Now you forget you ever saw me. Get out of here. Never utter
my name again. Tell no one of this. Go spend your cash.”
    They looked at each other.
    “And what about the box?”
    “Yeah, we’re dying to know what’s inside.”
    I all but perked up my ears, wondering what the answer would
be, but the priest merely pointed at the door. “Your job is done. Get out.”
    The two thugs shrugged and came toward us. Harrison pulled me
aside. We crouched low as the door swung open in front of us, and the two crooks
trotted down the stairs, got into their car and left, never looking back.
    As soon as they were out of sight we peered inside again, only
to see the priest vanishing, box in hand, through a door in the back of the
sanctuary.
    In my head, I heard Lilia whispering.
    “We have to go after him. He’s going to destroy it,” I
said.
    Harrison looked at me but didn’t bother to doubt. “You’re going
to have to tell me how you do that sometime.”
    “I’m going to have to tell you a lot more than that,” I
said.
    We crept through the church and chose the same door the priest
had, which revealed a set of rickety stairs leading down into a dank basement.
Harrison went first—of course he did. Protecting me, just as he had done before.
We reached the bottom: stacked stone walls, dirt floor, in the distance, heat
and light.
    There was a furnace. And the priest was in front of it, pulling
open a door, lifting the treasure box as if to shove it inside.
    I lunged at him, but not by choice. It felt for all the world
as if a pair of very real human hands had pushed me from behind, even though
they hadn’t needed to. As I reached him, the priest turned, swinging the box,
hitting me upside the head with it and knocking me flat to the