RISING SHADOWS (Shadows Book 2)

Chapter 6

Laid on my bed with a cold cloth draped over my forehead to soothe the headache that had now developed into full rhythmic drumming, I had yet to act on the demand placed on me by the phantom caller.

The coven had experienced enough today and I intended to let them sleep before I dropped this new bombshell on them.

Four things filled my brain. First, who the bloody hell had called me? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't completely creeped out.

The second, who would replace me as High Witch? I had no heir and I didn't know what the situation demanded in Witch law. Would I appoint my successor? Would the coven choose from a pool of willing candidates or would the council have their say?

Thirdly, I wondered what Chaos would be truly like. Whether the horror stories I'd read as a child held anything truth. Were there bodies of the damned strung upside down left draining to create rivers of blood? Did fire burn in an endless sky over a land of darkness where demons ran feral fighting for survival? Would I as its queen be able to change things?

And last of all, how could I say goodbye to Rafe? To become Queen of the Demons as William Darkmore had become their king would involve sacrificing my earthly life, my soul intact. Which also meant Rafe wouldn't be able to fulfil his promise.

I felt strangely calm. As if my estranged aunt hadn't just announced my doomed fate.

I sighed and swiped the damp cloth from my head letting it land on the carpet. I'd pick it up later. Maybe.

The early hours had made sure a hushed darkness cloaked the cottage. Tiptoeing across the hall, I noticed Arden's door was slightly ajar. My heart flipped in hope he'd made his way home but I was left with a sinking feeling deep in my stomach when I found his bed empty. He must have been madder than I thought. I shrugged off the disappointment, shook off the urge to call or at least text him, and continued downstairs.

I grabbed a notebook and pen from Gran's writing desk in the living room and plonked myself on the sofa. Without bothering to turn on the lights, I reached for the TV remote. The black screen flickered to life showing a repeat of some daytime game show. For the next few hours, until the first morning light illuminated gaps in the curtains, I scoured every news channel I could find. Local, national and international. The BBC. Sky News. Calendar and Granada. CNN, Fox News and France24.

Of course I wasn't expecting any of the news readers to announce live on air that demons had attacked. Witches would have worked hard to limit exposure. No, the event would still be newsworthy but dressed differently. Such as the fire that mysteriously wiped out an entire town in Canada - fire service included. Screamed Aed demons to me. Or how every single man, woman, child and animal had vanished overnight from a Nairobi constituency, leaving the place a literal ghost town. There were others too, dotted all around the globe, instances that were too other to be anything else. I listened to each one, jotting them down in the notebook with as many details I could gauge. In a few hours, I would call the coven and tell them everything.

By midday, representatives of each family within my coven had assembled in the archives at Croft Heath. Eyes rounded in sorrow, heads tilted in pity but I didn't want either sentiment. Despite my reluctance to admit it, what I really wanted was a way out of this.

"Someone say something, please." I had taken my place where the name Archer was chiselled into the table. While waiting for the others, I'd traced every letter with my fingertip, thinking of Gran and wracking my brain for memories of Dad. I felt like an Archer, I had claimed the name just as it had claimed me and yet nothing could erase the Darkmore blood within me. I stood with both palms braced on the table top.