Magda Painting Twisted Series Novels & Stories

He stormed into the lower halls, his steps purposeful, his breath ragged. “Where is she?” he demanded, grabbing Magda by the arm near the wine cellars. “She’s safe,” the old woman snapped. “And she’ll stay that way.” “Magda,” he growled, “don’t test me—” “She’s shaking, my King,” Magda hissed, eyes flashing with fire. “She hasn’t eaten in days. You touched her, marked her in spirit, if not in flesh, and now you parade that ice witch in front of her like it meant nothing. So no. I won’t tell you where she is.”

Screamed Eric trying to break down the twist ties that held him in the chair. “Look you are pissed, and you should be, but you don’t know what you are talking about.” Megan started digging her dresser drawer. Her fingers touched the small bottle that held holy water. She had it in there for safe keeping. She had on screwed the top before she swung around flinging the water across Eric’s face. “Untie me now your stupid piece of shit! What the hell is that!!??”

Another silence spread through the room, thick and knowing—as if the walls themselves were listening. Meanwhile, in the next room, Magda was surrounded by her tools, working under a dim lamp. She carefully applied layers of silicone and resin, creating masks—some cast after unknown female faces, others disturbingly familiar: the minister and his family, even the victims Malik and his crew had murdered. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the last mask. She had never touched a corpse, and she had never dared to look at one for long. Her hands, still unstained by blood, moved nervously, and fear was evident in every gesture. After hearing the conversation in the living room, Magda walked to the

“The left one,” “Pick it up, and return to your position,” I waited for her instruction; seems like my naughty birdie was planning for more. “Splash it forward.” I did, and to my sense, some of the paint came over me. Did I throw the paint on the wall? “Now open your blindfold,” chuckling, I opened the blindfold and found a figure standing in front of me. Did I paint Magda? Chuckled, I turned to look at her, where Magda and Raya suppressing their giggles. If Magda was standing there, then who was the person I painted? Hesitated, I turned and was captured by a pair of mercury orbs.

I scanned the place. I am sure. This is the place where I dropped off Magda last time. I can't be wrong. I spoke in the back of my mind. I wonder why Bel is the one who was here. Just in case Bel and Magda are the same people—No! No! It's impossible. I protested. If you take a look, Bel has a sun-kissed skin tone while Magda is fair. Bel has shoulder-length hair while Magda is long. The woman who's with me now is tall, while Magda just has an average height.

"I'll try my best, Alpha. May the moon goddess guide me." She disappeared into a hut, asking us to wait. Minutes later, the door flew open, startling CJ and me. "Come," Magda said. She led us to the small room where a bed sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by candles of all kinds. My consciousness began fading, and the room was swaying in and out of focus when Magda turned to look at me. There was an odd glint in her dark eyes. She grabbed a vial off the table next to the bed, poured some liquid into a cup, and made me drink.

Because damn. Her back was to me. And what a back. Hair in a messy bun. Neck long. Skin flushed. Her spine dipped sweet into that perfect curve of ass.... Jesus. That curve, it evaporated all of Victoria's poison. Maddison was painting. With the art set I’d dropped on her bed yesterday. Tubes, brushes, water jars, mess everywhere. She spun for a clean brush… And saw me watching. “Mr. Van Halen…” she gasped, cheeks lighting.

Magda staggers back a bit. "Yes, but you've got to understand..." "Understand what, old woman?" In the twinkling of an eye, Correy grabs Magda by her throat and holds her up. The old woman's gasps bring me out of reverie and I rush to them. "What the hell are you doing, Correy? Leave her alone!"

Meredith smiled. A new, unfortunate case in Maine proved to be a timely distraction for April G’s thoughts about her eternal battles with the old witch. Reports of people being murdered in bizarre ways had reached the Agency and it was almost certain that supernatural was involved. Madison was chosen to be on the case and on the following day, she was scheduled to meet Lady for the instructions. “How are you getting on?” Lady asked casually. “Well, let us see… An evil witch has been haunting my dreams and now I often seem to be lost in thoughts and blanking out,” Madison replied.

“Brendan, are you at the hospital?” asked a disoriented Dennis as he spoke into the phone. “Sure. Why?” replied Brendan. “Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Dennis as he cut the connection. Dennis lay back on the bed in his suite and sighed. His head was banging. It was as if a train ran over him. What did that witch give him to drink? “If I lay my hands on that beautiful witch, she is dead. How did that little witch drug me?” he asked no one in particular.