LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter One

      Silence drenched the dark street as if the creatures of the night were too afraid to make their calls. Probably because of the jackals and men that skulked through the shadows.

      The silence didn’t matter to Markus Grant. He and his brothers knew how to use the darkness and the silence to hunt, to survive. When they claimed their prize tonight, their future would be assured.

      His right hand slashed the air in command to move forward. His men advanced, some in jackal form, some in their human shapes. The row of houses looked like plenty of others in this small community in the southern outskirts of Atlanta, with its maintained lawns and sidewalks fronting older, low-slung houses tucked beneath mature trees. Vegetation provided plenty of cover as the jackals raced toward their target, the house at the end of the street.

      The only visible difference between it and the other houses was the number of large trees lining the high wooden fence framing the backyard. That and the lushness of the landscaping. The flowering azaleas and dogwoods seemed vibrant even at this late hour. A well-used four-door compact sedan sat in the driveway. Hardly the usual conveyance of an Isis witch.

      Markus suppressed a growl. The Daughters of Isis used to collaborate with the Sons of Anubis to protect the funerary temples and complexes and prevent the dead from returning to the land of the living. Some of the dead didn’t know the spells to make it through the Weighing of the Heart ceremony and on to the Field of Reeds. Some simply didn’t want to go through the trials in the Underworld or were afraid that their souls would be fed to Ammit the Devourer. Still others lost their way or coveted what they’d left behind: life.

      Regardless of the reason, some of the dead returned and in the journey back to the land of the living became darker, more evil: the Lost Ones.

      When the dead rose from the sands as undead, the Sons of Anubis were called to action. The Daughters of Isis would empower them, weave spells to protect them and, after battle, heal them. When possible, they returned the Lost Ones to their graves and tombs so they wouldn’t be forgotten. Otherwise they were destroyed and became as dust.

      That was then, a glorious work lost in the sands of time. Now all the Isis witches seemed to do was find inventive ways to kill jackals. Markus bared his teeth. No more. Tonight the witches would learn the meaning of fear. Tonight a Daughter of Isis would become a prisoner of the Sons of Anubis.

      At his signal men and jackals swept toward the corner house. The numbers were sheer insurance, nothing more. Most of the jackals were patrolling each quadrant of the city, sniffing out clutches of Lost Ones. The lone witch would know as soon as her wards fell but she obviously was either sloppy or overconfident, since she hadn’t extended her wards below the fence line into the earth. Marcus led his men through the sliding glass door and into the darkened house. As planned, his men fanned out while he and two others entered the bedroom. The witch had just begun to stir from sleep as he slapped duct tape over her mouth. She kicked and thrashed, one blow connecting with his shoulder. It was the last punch she got in.

      He grabbed her wrists as another jackal sedated her. “It’s for your own protection,” he told her, staring into furious dark eyes. “No one needs to get hurt.”

      Fury gave way to fear then unconsciousness. With efficient movements, he bound her and tossed her over his shoulder, crushing guilt under his boot heel. She hardly weighed anything and her defensive skills were sorely lacking. Why had the local Isis witches allowed her to leave the safety of their circle? Had they ostracized her for a lack of magic? Was she not a Daughter of Isis after all?

      No, he wouldn’t think that. He couldn’t think that. If that were true, all of this was for nothing, and more of his men would die.

      Markus rejoined his men in the hallway. “The entire sunroom is a shrine to Isis, sir.”

      It was confirmation, not that they needed it. “Acknowledged. Load up what you can, in case we need it. Her keys are on the kitchen counter. Pack up her car quickly and get out quicker.”

      Markus carried his unconscious prize out of the house and over the back fence in less than two minutes. A quick dash through the wooded lot to the waiting van, and they were on their way.

      Only when he had received word that the rest of his men were safely out did Markus allow himself to relax. So far, so good. The most dangerous part of the mission was complete.

      “You think this will work?” asked Hector.

      Markus knew his second in command didn’t doubt the mission. No one questioned him in that regard; he’d proven his ability to lead centuries ago. Hector’s blood brother was one of the afflicted, in the first stages of a debilitating illness that had cost the lives of four jackals so far. Markus swore there wouldn’t be a fifth, and this witch would guarantee it.

      “It will.” Confidence loaded his words. “She’s a Daughter of Isis. One of them cast the curse. She’ll break it.”

      “What

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