Bound In Blood (The Adams' Witch Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

with another smile. “I bought you the shirt, didn’t I?”
    He grabbed for my hand, but I slyly made it busy by rearranging the new shirt around myself and then slipped it into my pocket. He didn’t seem to notice. I hoped he didn’t. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt his feelings but he wasn't the reason why I was here and I didn’t want to get distracted.
    He motioned toward the thickening crowd. “We better find a spot before the show starts.”
    I trailed along behind as he maneuvered through the crowd. I took short, quick steps to keep up with him and dodge other people. “Where are we going?”
    “Right…here,” he said, finding the perfect spot under an old oak tree. “Sit down. I’m going back to get us something to eat.”
    Drake swiveled around and left. The leaves of the oak blew in the wind as a pink-colored sky rolled in. Even though Adams was so last century, its beauty was tempting. Miami had the ocean, beautiful sand beaches, and people. Lots and lots of people. Adams was this small dot on a map that nobody knew about except for the people living in or around it.
    I couldn’t help but wonder if Dad liked it here. Maybe he’d even loved Adams more than Miami. Unless Aunt Rose knew, I’d probably never find out.
    Adams had history, however weird and creepy it may be. At least it had something. It had Dad. The only page in Dad’s journal I brought myself to read that night, while I was back at Mom’s, said he was packing for a trip home to Adams. Home. A wonderful word. A word that made me think of bear hugs, of smiling faces, of kitchens that smelled like people actually cooked in them. At least, that’s what I imagined it to be.
    On stage, a young woman talked to two men as they set up a microphone and speakers. One of them showed her how to adjust the mic stand and the buzz of the speakers sounded as he demonstrated the on/off switch. I twisted around and searched for Drake in the crowd, finding him easily. Most of the townies sat like me now, waiting for the show, but he stood out.
    So did the girl he talked to.
    It was the girl who waited tables at Abigail’s Diner. The one who annoyingly smacked gum all the time and who, as Drake pointed out earlier at the busy diner, was an ex-girlfriend. I probably would’ve figured it out all by myself considering the death glares she sent me from across the restaurant.
    I didn’t know how he could stand to be in her presence for even two seconds. She probably already popped her gum a gazillion times. The slut suit she wore may have helped. Her laced-too-tight red and black bodice heaved her boobage into his face.
    Drake acted like a perfect gentleman though. He paid for our drinks and tried, several times, to back away. She finally gave up when another customer stood right at the counter, tapping his dollar bill onto the metal shelf.
    The lights around the park dimmed. I twisted toward the makeshift stage again. Forty feet away, a figure stood tall, elevated by the 2x4’s that lay out on the grass only a few hours ago. A hooded black robe disguised the guy, not that I would know who he was anyway. The dark night, the material folding over his head, made him look like a faceless grim reaper. It was dusk and getting darker, the pink deepening to a rose red.
    The robed figure lifted his hand, smooth, indifferent, a marionette being played with. His hand made a wide, sweeping horizontal arc, pointing into the faces of everyone.
    My stomach twisted and turned into knots. Drake bumped into my shoulder and held out a drink as he sat down. Then, the figure yanked his hands in the air and a big blaze of fire erupted from the space between the stage and the audience. I jumped, deftly managing to spill half my soda.
    Flames shot up, reaching toward the night. The smell of gasoline used for ignition hung in the air. A few people laughed behind me. Drake even joined in. “Gotcha,” he said, leaning over, whispering in my ear. With him so close, the