Last Grave (9781101593172) Read Online Free PDF

mother isn’t there.”
    â€œWorst part of the job.”
    â€œAlways is.”
    They made it to Lance’s car, and as soon as they were inside, he turned on her. “What the hell happened back there?”
    â€œI don’t know what you mean,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
    â€œDon’t give me that. You froze up. You got a problem with Santa Cruz? Did the place personally offend you somehow? An ex live there? What?”
    She took a deep breath. “A friend warned me that I wouldn’t like it there.”
    â€œBecause of all the hippies? They’re harmless. Obnoxious, but harmless.”
    â€œNo, I’ve just heard some unsavory things about other people . . . not hippies.”
    â€œLook, we’re nowhere near Halloween, so there won’t be a bunch of stupid college kids trying to perform satanic rituals and torturing cats.”
    â€œAre you kidding me?” she asked, revulsion flooding her.
    â€œI wish. It’s one of the reasons a lot of the local animal shelters won’t adopt out black cats in the month of October. But like I said, none of that is going on for another nine months.”
    Her stomach turned, and she began to move her hands, then stopped herself just in time before she had conjured Freaky.
    â€œBut the fact that kind of stuff happens at all is enough to keep me from wanting to go there. Because those people might only be doing that stuff a couple of times a year, but they live there all the time.”
    â€œI know—it’s sick. Like I said, mostly college kids, not the regular granola-eating, tree-hugging residents.”
    She didn’t respond, and he seemed willing to drop the topic, which relieved her to no end. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of those “college kids” were actually practicing real witchcraft and how many others were just jumping on the bandwagon. Some could even be the unwitting pawns of the real witches, who were using them and harnessing their energies.
    Lance turned on the radio and classic rock filled the car. They left San Francisco and passed through neighboring towns and cities until they finally were in the mountains. The highway narrowed, and it seemed as if the trees were pressing in on either side. There were only a handful of other cars on the road and whole stretches where they saw no one.
    â€œWhere are we?” she asked at last.
    â€œSanta Cruz Mountains. We’re in the Redwoods.”
    A while farther on, they turned off the main road and climbed into the mountains. She caught glimpses of houses tucked away here and there.
    â€œPeople here must love their privacy,” she commented.
    â€œYou could say that again.”
    Finally, more than an hour after they’d left, they arrived at Winona Lightfoot’s house. It was a beautiful cabin constructed in the Arts and Crafts style. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. They pulled into the driveway, and Samantha reluctantly climbed out of the car. She hated doing this, shattering someone’s world. It was bad enough to lose a loved one to illness or accident, but to lose them to violence changed a person’s view of the world forever.
    The gravel on the walk crunched underfoot as they made their way to the porch. Three steps up and they were standing on a well-worn welcome mat, facing a heavy wood door inset with beveled glass.
    Lance rang the doorbell. They waited a minute and then rang it again. Lights came on inside, and she could hear steps pounding toward the door. She heard the lock turn and a moment later a girl came into view.
    The girl stood, blinking at both of them in surprise. Samantha could only stare back at her. She was about fifteen, very young looking, with long dark hair and wide, hazel eyes. And there was the thrum of power coming off of her. Samantha reached out and grabbed the doorframe to steady herself.
    In turn, the girl looked at her,