“Sir, I shit you not.”
“I think I hate you.”
Siobhan smirked. “It’s not actually the store. The store is just an entry point.” She took his hand and dragged him towards the building.
“Am I going to throw up again?”
“Probably not.”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s comforting,” Shane said with a groan.
“Hey, if you want comfort, get a Snuggie. Sweetheart.” She opened the door, and before he could protest she yanked him through.
Instead of being bombarded with the smell of fruit-scented candles and hand sanitizers, Shane walked headlong into a peach-colored fog. His hand tightened on Siobhan’s reflexively, and she squeezed back, passing assurances without words.
The air was warm and glittery, the sparkly haze made him uneasy, but the heat comforted him and cast a drowsy spell over his senses, subduing the edge of worry. The atmosphere itself was lulling him into a false sense of security.
Shane blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings, but as soon as he thought he understood the weird pastel environment, it had vanished. What was on the other side wasn’t soothing at all and gave him no illusions of comfort and safety.
They were on the edge of a circle of elder trees, standing between two of the big trunks and looking into a clearing in the middle where a large stone slab was mounted on two smaller slabs. A group of men in thick black cloaks was struggling with a slender, tall blonde who could have been a Sears catalog model if not for her librarian-style glasses. What was with all the hot virgins? If all the so-called pure girls looked like this virgin sacrifice and Siobhan, Shane would have to reconsider his stance on deflowering them. For the sake of humanity, of course.
“Let me go, you freaks.” She wrested one hand free and landed a punch squarely inside the hood of the man nearest her. For such a skinny thing, she had a lot of fight in her.
Shane was guessing girls in New York were a lot tougher now than they’d been the last
time these guys had tried to sacrifice one. Unfortunately for this spitfire she was outnumbered, and their surprise at her fervor was short-lived. It didn’t matter how tough you were, getting coldcocked over the back of the head with a stone knife hilt was going to knock you out. The girl went limp and was positioned on the large gray slab.
The men set about ripping her clothes off, tossing her jeans and sweater to the ground. Shane couldn’t watch anymore.
“Hey, Red. Got any bright ideas here? Otherwise I’m just going to start shooting them all.”
“You can’t.” Siobhan shook her head, but her gaze was focused raptly on the scene before them.
“I have two guns here saying I can.”
“No, you don’t get it.” She directed his attention to a white ring around the ceremony site. “They’ve already sealed themselves in.” To prove her point she threw a twig at the clearing. The branch bounced off an invisible barrier and came flying back towards them while a wave of energy shimmered in the wake of the assault. “Now imagine what would happen with a bullet.”
Shane whistled.
“So what’s our plan of action here?”
Siobhan looked at him and bit her lower lip. “How much blood are you willing to let me have?”
As far as weird requests went, Siobhan knew this would probably stand out as a memorable one for Shane.
“My…blood?” he asked, his voice quavering. “What are you going to do with my blood?”
“They’re inside an unbreakable circle,” she said.
“And?”
“That circle is directly on top of the gate.”
He looked like he was itching to reach for a weapon. “And?” Clearly he was still stuck on the whole give me your blood thing.