Lamia
an excerpt

Thunder crashed onto the beach harder than the white waves that sought to embrace the wooden structures and posts of the beach houses that rested uneasily in the dunes.
The occupants of these houses were long gone, escaping the menacing face of the hurricane that hurtled water, wind and sand at the buildings they had left behind. In the space of a minute, the storm front and the dunes collided, and the three windows that had not been boarded up shattered with the sound of joyful triumph as the winds rushed past the broken defence that had been as fragile as glass and ransacked the wooden house with a vengeance, tearing at the pale yellow wallpaper, marking the thick wooden furniture it could not move and throwing that which it could across the room. Finally, it flung open a writing desk, sending hundred of scraps of white, cream and pastel coloured paper out the broken window so for a few moment, while the storm tore up the scraps it seemed to be snowing on the Floridian beach. Once the moment had passed, the thick, hard droplets of rain tackled the paper and together they fell wetly to the dark sandy ground, stuck except for the manically flickering corners
There was a plain reason why the inhabitants of the paradise homes had fled. When nature unleashed her fury, there was little that humanity could do to stop it. For tonight, this place was no paradise, but in fact the very depths of hell.
And yet, they had chosen to come here.
They stood in a perfect circle; three men, four women. The numbers were always the same no matter how many centuries had passed since their ancestors had founded the coven, and no matter how much it grew, the numbers would remain the same, as would the arrangement.
Seven watched, and seven waited.