Free Final Scream by David Brookover

Wentworth, but you’re lying through your teeth,” he argued. “My government sources updated me minutes before I entered your parking lot, and there has definitely been no contact with Terror Island by anyone, much less your studios, since the night the communications were severed. President Hanover and I want to know what’s really going on here, and don’t try lying again, or you’ll find yourself in a federal lock-up before you can call your lawyer.”
    She shifted awkwardly in her chair. “I am not lying about the crew contacting us,” she argued, standing abruptly and gesturing toward the door. “Our meeting is over. Good day.”
    Nick stood. “It’s over when I say it’s over.” On cue, his drop-dead gorgeous fiancée materialized out of thin air beside him. Her stern, translucent indigo gaze was fixed on Wentworth’s amazed countenance.
    Gabriella pecked Nick lightly on the lips. “How’s this for timing?” she asked him.
    “Perfect, as always.”
    She glanced at Wentworth again. “I suppose she’s been lying to you, like you expected.”
    Nick threw his head back and laughed. “I’m afraid so. I hate being right so often, but scumbags are so predictable.”
    Maggie glanced at Nick. “Who the hell is this woman?”
    Gabriella answered for him. “I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t start telling us the truth.”
    Maggie Wentworth reached for the security call toggle on the desk, but the entire bank of switches vanished before she could flick it. She yanked her hand away like there was a poisonous viper on her desk. “How … how did you do that?” she demanded, although her tone was anything but hostile now.
    “Gabriella’s the name.” The witch leaned on the side of the table and glared at the network president. “Don’t try summoning help again. It’s useless.”
    Wentworth propped her elbows on the desk blotter and cradled her chin with her hands. “I don’t give a shit what kind of magic mumbo-jumbo you claim to have, this is my office, and I call the shots here! As I said before, this meeting is over. Now get out, both of you!” she shrieked.
    Gabriella pumped her shoulders at Nick, who shrugged in return.
    Gabriella waved her hands in front of Wentworth’s angry face. “Have it your way, sister.”
    The president’s pant suit vanished, exposing her expensive black bra and panties. Wentworth leaped out of her chair and awkwardly tried to conceal her bra and panties with her hands and arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but three tan and green moths fluttered out instead of words. Her eyes bulged, and she moved her hand from her bra to her closed mouth. She stormed around the desk toward Gabriella, but when she was a yard from her target, Wentworth’s progress slowed, as if she were mired in quicksand. Nick’s forearm smothered his smile—he was absolutely enjoying Gabriella’s tortuous performance.
    “If I were you, I’d reconsider adjourning our meeting,” Nick advised her. “Gabriella’s spells can be permanent, you know? The choice is yours.”
    Wentworth wilted, and her face reflected defeat. She looked down and gawked at her orange webbed feet. She waddled back to her chair and plopped down into it. She grunted what sounded like a question, but only dozens of moths emerged again.
    Gabriella waved her hands again, temporarily removing the spell.
    The network president tentatively moved her mouth to speak, and this time she spoke words, not moths. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll cooperate with you both. Please, sit down.”
    Once Gabriella and Nick complied, she added, “I’ll tell you everything I know, but you two can’t repeat it to anyone . As far as the outside world is concerned, we never even met today. Agreed?”
    “Why the need for secrecy?” Nick asked before approving her stipulations.
    Wentworth swiveled her chair toward the wall of glass behind the desk and hunkered down in her chair. “Because if a certain person learns I told you what