Heart of the Witch Read Online Free PDF Page A

out,
    their torture echo…"
     
    A gust of wind much stronger than the earlier breeze whipped through the room, sending a Tiffany lamp crashing to the floor. Ravyn jumped, fear hammering through her veins. Goose bumps shivered along her flesh. She slammed the book shut and rushed over to close the window.
    The cold air bit at her skin, billowing her black gown around her. The creaking frame split her eardrums as she slid the window shut. She quickly flipped the latches, then jerked the curtain closed.
    Slowly, her fists held tightly at her sides, she turned and walked toward the desk. A gasp escaped her clenched lips. The book was open again. And while she wanted to believe the wind had blown it open before she shut the window, the pages were turned to the exact place she'd been reading.
    She reached out but stopped before touching the book. Let it go. He won't hurt you again. He won't hurt your people as long as you let it go. There's no reason for him to come after you. Not as long as you leave him alone .
    But she couldn't convince herself of that. He was all she could think about. She could not forget what he'd done to her and what he'd done to those other women. What he might be doing to someone right now.
    She slipped back into her chair. Glancing around the room, she considered turning on the lights but discarded the idea and instead bent her head back over the book, reading as if compelled. She was deeply absorbed in the words when she felt a tickle in her throat. Her hand went to her neck. The tickle became a pressure, tighter and tighter until she couldn't breathe. She gasped and pushed back from' the desk, struggling with the effort to draw air into her lungs—
    The feeling dissipated and she could once more breathe as normal. But this was not the first time it had happened—suffering the sensation of having the life choked out of her as if she were suspended by a rope from a tree just before her body was set ablaze. Was it a memory from another life, or just a manifestation of unreasonable fear? She didn't know, and it haunted her both in dreams and when she was awake.
    Ravyn looked down where her fingers rubbed the scar on the inside of her right hand. She still remembered how that had felt, how the fire had singed her skin and burnt the tender flesh from her palm. She lifted her gown and looked at the burn on her stomach. The one he'd given her. She could still smell the sweetish odor of melted flesh. Her own flesh. It smelled the same way it had twenty years ago, when Ravyn's mother had placed the flame of a candle against the hand of her eight-year-old daughter.
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Chapter Six

     
    Ravyn clasped her hands together beneath the table, her thumb massaging the scar on her palm. Her stomach seemed to have a lead ball suspended in its center. She swallowed—a gulping, desperate sound, like a scuba diver sucking air through a mouthpiece.
    Her gaze flittered over the stark interview room. Her eyes took in the battered metal table and straight-backed chairs. The glare from the austere lighting bounced off of a large window taking up half of one of the yellow walls—a two-way mirror, most likely. Was yellow supposed to calm, or to cause anxiety? She couldn't remember which. Maybe there was no significance to the color of the walls. Maybe her thinking that was just an indication of her growing paranoia.
    Dread suffused her at the prospect of the upcoming interview. The detectives had phoned and offered to come out to speak with her, but she didn't want them at her house. She didn't want to talk to them at all, but she knew she couldn't refuse. So she'd offered to come in to the police department.
    The Oklahoma City police wanted to follow up on Whitehall's questions. It made sense. All of the Tin Man's victims had been kidnapped here and taken to that cabin.
    The more she talked to the police, the more questions she answered, the more likely they were to find him. That's what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted