“Now my good man, I will leave you to your death. May we meet again, may we meet again!” he chimed. His presence made my skin crawl, but I’d lost too much blood to react. He walked away from the altar into the shadows, my vision followed suit until all was black and cold. My last thoughts were of Torhild’s smiling face and of the Valkyrie that should be on its way to gather my soul up and bring me to the great feats of Valhalla.
The world slowly spun and condensed around me, only to fade and disperse again. Things finally cleared and I looked about in confusion. I stood in the center of my hut with the fire burned low. Was it all a dream?
On the edge of the table was my valknut. That’s strange; I never take it off. I crossed to the table and reached for it, only to find my hand passed through it. And the table below it. Then I saw the blood splatter across it.
From behind me I heard someone cackle with laughter and it made the hairs on my neck rise. Slowly I turned, and there was the man again. The same man that saved me only to...
By the gods, I’m dead.
What’s worse, this isn’t Valhalla.
The man gave me a grin and clapped his hands as he rose and spun in a tight circle. He walked over to me and looked me over like a prized goat or sow.
“It almost worked! You’re not quite what I wanted, but from what I can gauge you’re the strongest source me or mine have been able to make. Excellent, excellent!”
How dare he! I couldn’t imagine how long he had been committing atrocities against the gods and living, but I would not stand it for a second more. My rage flared and I went full berserker without the aid of the usual drink and herbs. I pummeled and kicked at the man repeatedly and viciously with all of my strength.
Only to pass straight through him.
He walked through me, which gave me an odd, overstretched, and nauseated feeling as I felt like my essence had been pushed apart for a moment, and picked up my valknut. I realized that I could see his aura, a sickly yellow that was thin and barely covered him. Then he pushed his aura into my valknut. My world turned hazy again and I screamed in pain, but through sheer willpower I kept myself together and did not cower. I glared at the man who ruined my life, who murdered me and ripped me away from my... My family... Torhild... My child that I will never see... My anger and rage helped focus me and push the fog away.
I froze. This is definitely my hut. My home. Where is Torhild? I no longer heard anyone breathing in the other room, it must have been this man that slept in it. I studied him intently and realized all too late that he has similar features as the group of völva in the meadow. Dark hair, square jaw, rounded nose, dark eyes.
“You are better than I ever could have imagined!” he squealed gleefully as he clapped his hands. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, you’re dead. Deceased. Keeled over. But the good news is that my ritual was almost completely successful and you are my ghost now! Oh, we will have so much fun together!”
By Odin’s eye, what has this man done?
If you enjoyed “The Catch,” continue following Brandur and his journey in “The Rebellion.” Dead but still among the living, Brandur now has to learn how to use his ghostly form to help him escape the clutches of the crazed family that only wants to use him to power their strange magics. Determined to be free once again, Brandur fights for all he is worth against his captors, but will the once fierce Viking be strong enough to obtain his freedom? “The Rebellion” can be found in Wayward Magic.
About the Author
A small-town girl from the Adirondack Park in Upstate New York, Gwendolyn Woodschild surrounds herself with horses, critters, family, friends, and trees. Always the avid reader, she used books to escape out of her school life and into worlds where the good guys win in the end.
This led to an excessive amount of daydreaming as she lived within her imaginary worlds, which ended up evolving into her art in its many forms. From a run down Ferris wheel becoming the latest focus of her photography to a dream inspiring a series of novels, she tells stories of adventure, challenge, and growth across the genres of paranormal fantasy, science fiction, and high fantasy.
“Reality is up for grabs. One man’s reality is another man’s fantasy.”
Trapper John McIntyre
This quote resonates with Gwendolyn as she turns her imaginary worlds into reality for your reading pleasure. Her current past times are avoiding having spare time, mucking stalls, writing one of her numerous projects, being “volun-told” by her nieces when and where she is taking them and a carload of friends, hiking with her husky/white shepherd mix, crocheting, and pestering her beloved grandfather.
For more information about the author, please visit: www.Ghost-Stalkers.com, and don’t forget to grab Wayward Magic now!
The Hunter
H. B. Lyne
“The Hunter” is the story of a troubled man in need of a purpose. He inadvertently stumbles upon the hidden world of shapeshifters who live among humanity in secret. The magical world that shifters inhabit has been painstakingly hidden from humans for aeons, for everyone's protection.
This is a prequel story to my novel series, Shifters of Caerton and is a perspective that I've been itching to explore for a number of years. Felix, the main character, presented himself to me and I felt compelled to share his story.
I'm a British author and write in international English.
H. B. Lyne
One man stands alone against the unknown.
Army veteran, Felix Jones, feels isolated from the hum drum city of Caerton. The only connection he has to civilian life is his sister. On the morning that he finally gets support, his world is shaken by her disappearance.
When an entire area of the city vanishes, Felix is terrified for his sister's safety. With a renewed sense of purpose, Felix sets out to find his sister. He stumbles into a hidden world of magical beings with powers beyond his imagination.
Will Felix find his sister? And what will happen to the strange creatures that stand in his way?
Chapter One
Traffic rumbled past on the cobbled street below the flat window. Felix Jones stubbed out his cigarette into the full ashtray as he gazed down onto the wet street. It had rained all day. That fine drizzle that was particular to Caerton. It didn’t seem so bad until you went out in it and found yourself soaked to the skin within minutes. October had been particularly wet so far, but Felix didn’t mind, except that it made his left leg ache where the pins were. He ran his rough hands through his greasy hair and down over his stubble-covered jawline. He gave his cheek a light slap and blinked his bloodshot eyes.
He reached for his phone and opened his messages. A string of unanswered texts to his ex-wife stared back at him. The last of which was him begging to see their son. He scowled at the lack of response from the heartless cow and tossed his phone back onto the table next to the window. He resumed staring out at the passing traffic. He lived above a corner shop at the bottom of a side street in the heart of Old Town. It was the oldest part of the city, right by the river and the old castle ruins. It was a jumble of little old cobbled streets, like his, and wide, sweeping roads that carried heavier traffic in and out of the city centre.
It was getting dark and the street lights were starting to flicker on. Felix heaved a sigh and his breath caught in his throat, forcing him into a hacking cough. He turned and stumbled over to the sink in the small kitchenette and spat out the phlegm that had come up. He winced and ran the tap to wash it away. He reached for his whiskey bottle and poured a double shot into a smeared glass. He knocked it back and smacked his lips.
He was a mess and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. He poured another drink and wandered back to his perch by the window. Sipping this one more slowly, Felix stared down into the street again.
He had been doing this almost all day and night since he got back from the hospital. He didn’t have much else to do. He absently rubbed his aching knee and flexed it a few times to try and take th
e edge off. The drink helped with that most of all. That and the nightmares. He didn’t care much for sleep these days.
A man in a long coat with a tall wooden staff strode past the end of the road below and Felix narrowed his eyes, watching the strange figure. He had long, grey hair and walked past at the same time every day with a determined expression on his weathered face. Felix had noticed him about two weeks ago and quickly spotted the pattern. A distinctive man like that was hard to miss. How many people walked around the city with a staff like that? The stranger was soon out of sight and Felix lit up another cigarette to occupy his hands. He shrugged it off again, like he did every day.
At 10 p.m. Felix was out of smokes. He pulled on his leather boots without bothering to tie the laces, put on his battered old jacket and left his flat without locking the door. He stomped down the stairs and out into the wet street. A bar up the hill was hopping with young revellers and he grunted with indignation. The shop under his flat was still lit up, but quiet inside. He opened the door and a bell jingled overhead. He weaved between the stuffed shelves to the counter where an old Asian man was stacking newspapers.
‘All right, Sanjeev.’
The man behind the counter turned to Felix and gave him a tentative smile.
‘Mr. Felix. How are you this evening?’
‘Out of smokes. The usual, please.’
‘Of course.’ Sanjeev turned and found Felix’s usual brand of cigarettes from the display, which stood open at this time of night when it was typically being restocked. The shop owner put the packet down on top of a stack of newspapers and Felix handed over the money in change. He scooped up the precious purchase and stuffed it into his pocket. With a casual wave, he left the shop, making the bell over the door ring again on his way out. He unlocked the small door at the side of the shop and trudged back up the stairs, ignoring the cries and shouts of the young people in the street.
He was about to light up when his phone buzzed. He fumbled to get it out of his pocket and looked eagerly at the display. His enthusiasm evaporated when he saw his sister’s name above the message. He unlocked the phone and read it over.
Don’t forget about that group in the morning. Do you want me to come?
If you want. Meet me there, he replied. He dropped the phone onto the table and carried on lighting a cigarette. Julie had been on at him for weeks now to go to this thing and he had grudgingly agreed just to shut her up. But maybe it would do him good. He hadn’t ventured past the end of the street in ages and it might be good to talk to other veterans, or to listen at least. He’d been back for four months, but it didn’t feel like it. He’d spent a chunk of that time in hospital and then in a rehab facility doing daily physiotherapy. Sometimes it felt like years, other times just moments. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he was still out there. He let out a snort, dragged hard on his cigarette and stared down into the street. He could hear the revellers from the bar making their way down towards the main road; they were shouting and jeering. He peered down at them as they came into view.
‘Don’t be stupid!’ one young woman yelled, bursting into laughter.
‘I’m not being stupid. I’m scared. I don’t know where I live. Why don’t I know where I live?’
Felix rolled his eyes and moved away from the window, carrying his ashtray with him. Stupid drunk cow. He dropped down onto the faded old sofa and laid his head back. He finished off the cigarette and rubbed his eyes. He was going to have to sleep. There was no more putting it off. He knocked back the last of his whiskey and sat there staring at the wall until sleep finally claimed him.
The dull light of another wet morning filtered through his eyelids. The pattering of rain on the window seeped into his consciousness.
He groaned as he peeled his eyelids apart. They were crusted with sleep. He rubbed them hard and ran his hands over his stubble. Maybe he should shave before going to this damn support group. He reached for his phone to check the time. It was already gone 8 a.m. He groaned again and heaved himself up off the sagging couch. He pulled himself to the bathroom, stripping his ripe clothes off en route. He stepped into the shower before the water had warmed up and felt the sting of the cold water on his skin.
The shower tray was littered with empty shower gel bottles and the sealant was going black. He stared down at it, hardly seeing it, feeling the gentle patter of the water from the shower on the back of his neck. The water pressure was feeble. The alcohol from the previous day had left his head foggy and his mouth dry. He turned his head up and let the lukewarm water flow into his open mouth. He swilled it around and spat it at his feet. It was nicotine-stained and he watched it swirl around the plughole before disappearing.
‘Felix, you are disgusting. You have to sort yourself out. Maybe then you can see the kid. Come on, you dumb tosser.’ He shook his head and began scrubbing at his skin with a loofah. He shampooed his hair and tried to rid himself of the stink that seemed to follow him. He could do this.
When he was done in the shower he rooted through the bathroom cabinet for a razor, wiped the condensation off the mirror and began to shave. The razor was blunt and it scraped over his rough skin without making much difference to his facial hair. With a sigh, he abandoned his efforts and brushed his teeth instead.
Back in his bedroom, a room he rarely spent time in, he found clothes scattered around the place in various states of wearability. He opened his wardrobe in search of something clean. He found an old pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit anymore and a black shirt that he had bought for a funeral. He squeezed himself into the jeans and put on the shirt while trying not to think of the friend who had died. He was just one of many.
Felix checked the time again. ‘Damn.’ He was going to be late. He hastily typed a text to Julie saying he was on his way. He pulled his boots on and took a moment to tie the laces for once. He grabbed his keys and his smokes and ran out the door, slamming it behind him.
He practically jogged into the city centre, wheezing after about twenty seconds. Damn, he was out of shape. How had his health deteriorated so quickly? He’d been in peak physical condition before his injury brought him home. He coughed up a glob of yellow phlegm at the door to the community centre and spat it unceremoniously into a nearby drain. He checked his phone, he was only five minutes late. There was no reply from Julie. He went inside, thinking maybe she was waiting in there, out of the rain. She was compulsively early for everything.
Felix entered a dingy hallway with faded tiled flooring and dull walls covered in posters. He could hear faint voices coming from beyond a door halfway along the corridor. There was no sign of Julie. He went to the door and peered inside. A small circle of chairs was set up and half a dozen people sat around listening to a man in cream slacks and a neat shirt welcoming them. Still no Julie. Felix looked around, a deep frown creasing his brow. He felt his fingers inching towards the cigarette packet in his jacket pocket. He could just wait outside for a minute and ease his nerves.
‘Hello there? Can I help?’ an all too friendly voice called out to him. Felix felt caught off guard and looked around to double check that it was him being addressed. The nicely dressed man from the small hall was looking right at him through the glass, a curious smile on his smug face. Felix cleared his throat and opened the door.
‘Is this the group for vets?’
‘It is, come on in and take a seat.’
‘I’m waiting for someone.’ Felix hung back by the door and glanced back towards the entrance. Where was she? She was supposed to be here to make this easier.
‘Well, I’m sure they’ll be able to find you in here when they arrive.’ The smug git was still smiling. What was there to smile about, exactly? Felix reluctantly shrugged and stepped into the room, letting the door swing closed. He ambled to an empty seat and dropped into it. They were those uncomfortable folding chairs. He stretched out his bum leg in front of him and winced as it clicked audibly.
‘I’ve got one of those too,’ said a warm voice s
oftly beside him. He looked into the bright eyes of an attractive redhead. Her face was covered in freckles and her hair was in a loose braid over her shoulder. She stretched out her right arm and rolled the shoulder. It let out a number of loud clicks. A few people chuckled; all eyes seemed to be on the pair of them. Felix glanced around. Everyone carried that air of awkwardness that he felt. Half smiles, eyes cast below eye-level so as not to make contact, arms folded over chests. The neatly dressed smarty-pants who had welcomed him in stood with a handful of leaflets, still smiling, but now the smile reached his eyes and Felix felt himself reluctantly softening up. Maybe these people were all like him. ‘Emma,’ the redhead said, extending a hand. Felix took it. Her grip was firm.
‘Felix.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ She smiled and they inadvertently made genuine eye contact. Felix felt something unfamiliar, a long-forgotten feeling in his stomach.
‘Same.’ He released her hand and cleared his throat. He glanced back at the door. Where was his sister?
‘As I was saying,’ smarty-pants piped up. ‘This is a safe space for us to talk and listen. We don’t share anything we hear in here outside these walls. Most folks out there won’t get it. But we do.’
Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 53
