He laughed. He couldn’t help it; what a funny woman! Did she think to control him? Give him commands? “They’re not minions, love. They’re Shadows. Subtle difference, yeah? But I can understand the confusion.”
“Whatever you wish to call it. Command them to be still. I don’t want to destroy them.”
Oh, she was quite funny indeed. His laugh came out in a harsh bark.
The woman—witch—didn’t flinch, but her fear dimmed a little. Bright waves of red cascaded from her aura. Anger. Oh, he liked anger.
“You could try, love, but I’ll do m’best to keep ‘em tamed. Seems like you got somethin’ ya wanna discuss. Or ya wouldn’t be showin’ up in the middle of the bloody night.” He grinned widely and leaned back against the glass counter. “Get on with it then. What do they call you, hmm? No tricks in givin’ me the name. I don’t follow much with that True-Name nonsense anyway.” Well… mostly.
The witch hesitated. She took a second to adjust the golden moth pendant at her throat, but she kept her eyes on him the entire time. “Bernice,” she answered. Her accent was English, but unlike his own, she clearly pronounced her words. A bit upper-crust. He didn’t try to place it, but he appreciated the sound. Refreshing to hear a bit of the homeland after all this time. “I am the High Priestess of the Hallowed Circle Coven. We summoned you.”
“Is that right?” He inclined his head to one side, eyeing her. The Hallowed Circle Coven. He had a dim memory of the institution, but it faded as soon as he recalled it. “So you were the puppetmaster of that l’il dead man?”
“Yes.” A pause. “We’ve read all about you.”
He doubted it. No one knew all about him, but he would entertain the idea that she did. He noticed her use of the royal ‘we’. So the sovereignty of coven leaders hadn’t changed much, had it? He nodded for her to continue, and smiled to show his pleasure with the attempted flattery.
“We know of your kind. You are bound to those who summon you, to do as they command. The release comes only when you fulfill the obligation.”
His upper lip curled back. He hated that stipulation. There always had to be some sort of imprisonment. Servitude, to imprisonment in a hell dimension, right back to servitude. He still wasn’t truly free, was he?
“Yes, usually how it goes,” he said flatly. It clicked, then, and his smile returned, spreading into a grin. “You’re comin’ to collect, then? Send me off to do your biddin’? What is it now? Somethin’ dastardly? I need a good bit o’ action.”
She didn’t even crack a smile. “You will bring the coven a witch.”
“Will I?” He heaved a sigh and gestured with one hand. “Go on then. Give details. The more, the better. Specifics—gotta have specifics, but m’sure this isn’t your first summonin’. Will any witch do?”
Bernice took a deep breath, anger flickering in her aura again, barely contained. “You’ll bring us the witch named Andy Foster. Contained, but unharmed. Alive. We command it.”
The command came, as other commands came before. An annoying tingle usually followed it, sealing the compulsion. This time, he felt nothing—nothing at all, save for his vague amusement.
“Andy Foster. Red hair, yeah? Pretty thing? Legs up to her neck? Mm, sure.” He pushed off from the counter and strode across the floor. As he neared the witch, the air around her crackled with energy. “S’a fine command as commands go, but there’s a problem with it.”
Confusion flickered across the woman’s face, then fear once more. It jumped at him from her aura. “We command you—”
“You can’t, love.” He spread his hands. “Y’see… you didn’t summon me. Seems like your commands ain’t so commandin’.”
Her eyes darted back and forth. “I don’t understand. We summoned you. Years of power—”
“Oh, s’perfectly clear to me. M’not your demon. Never summoned me, never controlled me. Someone raised the magic, got the words right, but missed out on where it counts. You can try all ya like, love, but m’not compelled. Don’t feel that overwhelmin’ need to jump at your call.” He took several steps forward until he stood a short distance from her. He’d never been a particularly tall man and he enjoyed when he could physically tower over a person, as he did now. He grinned down at her. “‘Fraid this is a wasted trip. You can’t control me. M’not yours. You shoulda known. Any practiced witch would. Maybe it is your first time summonin’.” He pretended to marvel at that concept. “Better late than never, I s’pose.” He mocked, he prodded, and he took pleasure in seeing her puff up like an old toad. Her aura flared—close enough for him to grab it, snag it, devour it.
Energy cracked like a thunderclap. It resonated around him, every ounce of it hitting him square in the chest. He flew back from the witch and collided hard with the counter. Glass shattered and stabbed into his flesh. When he cried out, the Shadows reacted immediately. They shot out, seeking the witch for retribution, but she had gone. Her magic signature lingered behind, but all physical traces vanished.
He groaned, rolling onto his side. “Mm, not makin’ any friends am I? Pity. I could use friends.” He laughed, but cut it short when pain sliced through his abdomen. He looked down at the jagged shard of glass protruding out of his side. He grasped it and pulled it out, blood spurting from the open wound to spill on his torn shirt. When it closed up whole a second later, the blood still trickled down his white flesh and soaked into fabric.
It had been blood, hadn’t it? Blood that summoned him, but not Bernice’s, not the revenant’s they’d raised. Living blood. Powerful blood.
Andy’s blood.
Ah, yes. That must be it. The connection.
Why they wanted her was beyond his knowledge or care, but not his understanding. Power like that—a soul like that? Well, of course they would want her. She was gorgeous and strong and her magic—oh, she was a treat.
And he belonged to her by the laws of summoning.
What would she say, he wondered, when he told her that? Told her how the Hallowed Circle had tried to collect her, trussed up but alive, through his hands? Might be more interesting, he thought, if he didn’t say anything at all. He was free, after all, or as free as he could be. No sense in giving the pretty witch an excuse to imprison him by command.
He moved, mindful of the broken bits of glass and metal. Objects clattered to the floor around him. Glass crunched and paper crumbled as he righted himself. “Forget it,” he murmured to the Shadows, pulling Them back with a twist of his finger. “She’s gone.” As fun as taking her soul would be, leaving the old witch alive to see her squirm some more struck him as a far better alternative.
And seeing how Andy fit into it all was a puzzle worth solving too.
He pushed the glass away from him. Blood-stained fingers slid across sheets of paper and he plucked them up. Invoices, receipts, all part and parcel of shop life. Blood smeared across a name, a logo—a comic book open, colorful sparks meant to represent magic, perhaps. The Other Realm Comics read the bold type. Dylan Matherson, owner-manager. A place. A name. An identity, finally, to the former shopkeep whose bones now took up space in the Shadows.
“Dylan Matherson.” He tasted the name on his tongue, then again. “Dylan. Matherson.” It sounded odd, at first, then all too natural. Modern enough, he supposed. “Dylan Matherson.” By the third utterance, it was his. It fit him as perfectly as any name ever had.
“Ya know,” he said to the Shadows, grinning as he crumpled the paper into a tight ball and tossed it aside. “I think m’gonna like my new life.”
Acknowledgement
I want to thank my family, first and foremost.
To Jason for putting up with my nonstop chatter about my process and being a supportive spouse and for picking up some of the slack when I couldn’t. To Marie for being a cool kid (most of the time) and lifting me up with her silliness when I needed it. For Cindy and Willa, for being among my biggest fans and pushing me to do things even when I didn’t want to. I don’t know what I would’ve done wit
hout y’all. I love you.
For y’all on social media (ahem Tumblr especially) who love the idiots in this series as much as I do, for sticking with my writings and ramblings and various canons—I thank you.
To Ria, for all the ideas and the chit-chat and plotting and laughter and tears. To Kimberly, for all your helpful suggestions in the beta process and for editing and suggesting when you didn’t have to. To Tagg for all your valued input in reading and commenting with the beta, and for sending me memes when I really needed a laugh. Especially for the memes! To Mimi, for being a fantastic beta reader and a good friend. Thank you so much. You’ve been there right from the very beginning of my writing career. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.
Thank you all for making New Ashton and its citizens a reality.
Write On!
About the author
F.R. Southerland lives in Indiana with her husband, daughter, and their numerous pets. She reads a lot, does some baking and cooking, and enjoys a simple life.
Oh, and she writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance for self-publication. She also dabbles with the occasional book review, blog post, and short fiction for fun.
When she’s not reading or writing or spending time with her family and pets, she can be found on social media, probably sharing cat videos and gushing about the characters of her newest series.
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Coming Soon!
Blood Ties
The New Ashton Chronicles
Book 2
Coming 2022
Witch Way: The New Ashton Chronicles Page 20
