DEMON DREADFUL is the last book in the Charmed Chronicles trilogy. But fear not, loyal readers! There are more adventures to come in the haunted town of Ravenwood with Shiloh and gang. A new set of three chilling tales to come in 2019, with a vicious new villain for Shiloh and her friends to battle.
In the meantime, please enjoy this excerpt from the last book in this series...
CHAPTER ONE
My head throbbed, and when I reluctantly opened my eyes, my vision blurred. I took deep breaths until the dizziness lessened and I could raise my head. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Tubes poked out of my arms and attached to clear bags on metal hooks. I yanked the tubes out and winced as blood trickled from the small incisions.
Leaning on one elbow, I surveyed my foreign surroundings. A metal-framed bed and a nightstand. A solitary window with horizontal bars. A single light blurb glared down from the ceiling and whiffs of bleach wafted from the bedding and the antiseptic scent made me nauseous.
Yanking off the crisp sheets, I swung my legs over the cold metal bed. Someone had dressed me in a scratchy hospital gown and wrapped my right wrist in a bandage. I had scrapes and bruises on my arms and legs. My forearm had a puncture wound where someone had inserted a needle.
I raised one hand to touch the gauze at my temple and gasped at the band on my left wrist that read: Hemlock Reformatory, Trudell, Shiloh
My stomach twisted into painful knots. This could not be happening—I wasn’t deranged or troubled. I didn’t belong in some youth detention center!
I had no memory of how I’d gotten here, but I did remember someone pushing me from behind and falling down the staircase. The culprit could’ve been anyone at Craven Manor that night I’d met Trent and our half-sister, Madison. It could be Darrah, or Madison, or even…Trent. But my money was on Darrah for the win. The threats she’d said still echoed in my head: ‘Don’t you dare try to expose me! You have no idea what I can do to make your life a living hell’ and ‘Never try to deceive a hecate.’ Her features had twisted cold and ugly as she’d glared at me. The memories stuck hard like the stab of a knife to the heart.
I had to get out of here and fast. The lunar eclipse was next month, along with Trent’s party. Esael planned to attend without an invite. All those innocent kids would be sacrificed to open the Harrows.
My gaze fastened on the bright blue sky outside the barred window. Outside, a massive courtyard, and beyond that a towering forest of redwoods and Douglas firs, and a…moat? Inside, the walls and floor were a dull gray stone and the room chilly.
A door opened, admitting a tall lady with short, fiery-red hair, wearing dark blue scrubs and clogs. She looked tough and beefy. Bet nobody messed with her.
“You’re awake. I’m one of the corrections officers, Drusilla.”
“H-how long have I been here?”
“You’ve been out of it since you arrived,” Drusilla said. “You don’t remember anything?”
“How long?”
“Let me fetch one of the psychiatrists on duty.” She whipped around, closed the door, and locked it.
“Psychiatrist?” I swallowed hard. “Wait! There’s been a mistake.” My voice sounded gruff and strange. “Someone pushed me down the stairs. I belong in a regular hospital—not in an institution!” I shouldn’t have directed my anger at her, but I couldn’t help it.
“This establishment helps troubled young women and I think you’ll benefit from this program. Now stay here while I fetch the doctor.” She left and shut the door behind her.
A fiftyish year-old man with salt and pepper hair entered, wearing a lab coat, entered the room. He was short, probably five-foot five, with a stout frame, olive skin and dark brown eyes. The doctor approached the bed, laying a cold hand on my arm. My muscles went rigid beneath his fingers.
“Hello. I am Doctor Reaper, one of the specialists here at Hemlock.” He glanced at his clipboard. “Do you know where you are, Miss Trudell?”
“Um, yeah, a rehabilitation center.”
“I’m sure you have lots of questions.” He held the clipboard against his chest and his eyes blinked black.
Huh? I rubbed my eyes and looked at him again. His stare appeared normal now.
“Yeah, I do.” I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from trembling. “Like, why am I here?”
“You don’t have any recollection of the events before your admittance?” he asked.
“No. I mean, yes, but I’m not crazy!”
My outburst made him restrain a smile. “We don’t use that term. We help troubled youths to reform in a sense.”
“Who brought me here?”
“You were admitted yesterday evening by Darrah Broussard.”
Insert knife and twist!
All the breath left me as if I’d been kicked in the stomach. Soul-bruising betrayal squeezed me like a vice clamping around my heart. Darrah, the bitchiest hecate around, had put in here to rot. I bet it was to keep her secrets safe. My breathing became rapid and irregular. I clenched my hands, my thoughts still stuck in stun-dom.
“And the silver medal in the Being Wicked Event goes to Darrah!” My heartrate increased and my muscles tensed. “Look, doctor guy, I really have an elsewhere to be, so if you’ll just let me have my phone call, I’ll be on my way.”
“Please cut the sarcasm, Miss Trudell.” Doctor Reaper frowned. “Are you saying you don’t recall throwing yourself down a flight of stairs?”
“Aren’t you listening? Hel-lo. I told you that I was pushed!”
Like a cornered animal, my gaze darted about the room. Only one exit and a barred window. On the pane, a spider was tiptoeing across the glass. At least he could slip through the cracks and escape. The steel door appeared thick and strong. Maybe I could blast it with my powers. I summoned my magick and only felt a tickle of power answer. I tried again, gritting my teeth.
Nothing. Damn.
He shifted his weight. “Please relax.” His eyes studied me like a cat watched a mouse. “Your mother informed us of the special circumstances.”
All the fire left my belly and I slouched. “W-what?”
“Apparently, you had a psychotic episode at Maxwell Donovan’s home. You purposely harmed yourself by leaping from the upstairs rotunda and you’ve been disrespectful to your parents. When Ms. Broussard brought you here to Hemlock, you were unconscious, bleeding from a head injury, and you had sprained your wrist. You were lucky your injuries weren’t more severe, young lady.” He gestured toward my bandages. “Ms. Broussard mentioned that you have a fixation on the occult and have been staying out all night without permission. These rebellious acts of defiance will not be tolerated at Hemlock.”
The deep frown pulling downward on his lips was too much. I glanced at the door beyond his shoulder. Then my gaze fell on the IV next to the bed. Whatever meds they’d been pumping into me must’ve been suppressing my natural magicks.
“You can’t keep me here against my will.”
The doctor tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves and gave me a poisonous smile. “As the lead psychiatrist at Hemlock, I most certainly can. Under California code, section fifty-one-fifty, I can keep you here without your consent to make sure you don’t attempt to harm yourself again.”
“Can I at least use the phone? I want to call my dad. He’ll straighten this out.” I stood, towering over him by an inch or more.
Reaper pursed his lips. “Maybe in a few weeks.”
Coldness filled my veins. Weeks? I couldn’t stay here that long.
“Why did you harm yourself?”
I didn’t answer. Resisted the urge to touch the scar on my arm. I kept my gaze fixed on the door, and tried again to use my powers.
“You’re a special case, Shiloh Trudell, and I look forward to seeing what you can do.”
My head turned to spear him with a glare. “I want to leave—now!”
Before I could move or dodge the attack, the back of Reaper’s hand connected with my cheek, and I lurched backward, sitting hard on the bed. My face throbbed, stinging so badly tears clouded my eyes.
“I won’t tolerate backtalk, young lady. You’re under my supervision now.”
Shadowy power swirled around him, like black vines of poison, and then dissipated.
I blinked. Okay. Extra with the weirdness. The drugs must’ve been making me see things.
“I need to get out of here, like post-haste-y,” I said, rubbing my sore cheek. “Please!”
“Lower your voice and remain calm.” He lifted his chin haughtily. “I won’t tell you again. Now stop overreacting. Teen girls are such drama queens.”
My emotions were ping-ponging within me. My body heat rose to nuclear levels as I stared holes of hate into Doctor Evilness.
“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting! I’m so not an over-reactor. An Apocalypse-like evil is going take over Ravenwood and I have to stop it…” My voice faltered.
Noises seeped beneath the door, screams, loud voices, and footsteps, the volume hurting my ears. I winced when a door slammed in the hallway.
“Is that so?” He wore a slick smile, like a used car salesman. “You’re saying Armageddon is coming?”
“Um…that might be a giant economy-size exaggeration,” I said, trying to backpedal and avoid a longer stay. “School is starting soon, and, and I-I need to go home.”
I bit back the tears and again wished for an elsewhere to be. I wanted to sleep in my own bed. Hang with Autumn. See Raze and Evans. Get a warm hug from my dad. Talk things out with Trent. Drink coffee from my kitchen. Watch videos on YouTube, check my Instagram. Do normal stuff. Even go back to school. Anything and anywhere was better than here. I didn’t need my sixth sense to tell me this place would be the death of me.
“Then behave and do as you’re told. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Reaper walked to the door. The latch rotated and my muscles twitched. My feet touched the cold tiles. My heart beat faster and faster as I scooted to the edge of the mattress, my focus on the door.
He clutched the handle, and when he had the door open, I sprang into action.
Want to know when Sherry releases a new book?
Note: For now the rewriting of the Charmed Chronicles is on hold. At some point, I hope to have the time to write more books in this series, but I'm not sure when that will be. When I do publish more, I'll share in my newsletter, this blog, and on Facebook, so please check in with me on occasion.
