Blood Sacrifice: A Blackham City Urban Fantasy Novel (The August Creed Paranormal Suspense Series Book 1) (The August Creed Series)

by N. P. Martin

  As she set the rifle against the wall and began to lock up the gun cabinet again, I felt a rush of gratitude that Leona was backing me up on that crazy mission to steal a soul. She might not have known magick in the conventional sense, but she sure knew how to create her own form of magick when it came to fighting, either armed or unarmed. God help any of Belger’s acolytes should they try to accost us on the island, that’s all I could say.

  "So," Leona said, locked and loaded, anxious now to get going. "How are we getting onto this island?"

  “First we drive to the coast, then I teleport us over to the island itself.”

  “Teleport?” She shook her head like the idea of teleportation disagreed with her. “I’ve seen The Fly you know. What's to say we won't end up a conjoined mess when we land?"

  “Get a grip,” I said laughing. “This is magick, not technology.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Leona said as we hauled ass out of the apartment. “That’s always what worries me.”

  29

  The Leap

  IT HAD BEEN a while since I was outside of the city, so it was a pleasant change to see green fields and rolling hills set against an expansive sky, instead of buildings like skeletal fingers reaching up into the gloomy Blackham skyline. It was late afternoon by the time I drove the Lincoln off the expressway and started taking the back roads that headed towards the coast. On the two hour journey from Blackham to Morgan County, Leona and I discussed, amongst other things, our impending clandestine assault on the Devil's Playground (the gist of which was: get in, get out as quickly as possible), her opinions on her boss, Brentwood (good soldier, pain in the ass boss), her hatred for modern pop music (which I shared) and the fact that she was hungry by the time we got off the expressway, so we ended up stopping at a roadside diner so she could munch on a burger while I watched and drank coffee. Then we were off again, driving along winding roads, the smell of the sea air filling up the car as we got closer to the coast. Finally, we made it to Birkenhead Cliffs, driving the car over the wide stretch of grass to within several feet of the cliff edge.

  When we got out of the car and walked to the edge of the cliffs, the wind was brisk and had a sharp bite to it thanks to the cold air blowing off the sea. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I said as I gazed out over the vast sheet of dark water a few hundred feet below, the sun just starting to sink towards the horizon. "These cliffs are known as Maggie's Leap, did you know that?"

  “No,” Leona said, as she stared hard at the island in the distance. “No doubt you’ve told me that before though, right?”

  I suppressed a smile. "I might have. About a hundred years ago, a woman named Maggie Gilpenstein threw herself off the top of here, falling to the rocks below."

  Leona looked down at the waves crashing against the rocks. “Some fall. Why’d she do it then?”

  “She was an infamous child murderer. Apparently kidnapped and killed scores of local children before people realized it was her.”

  "What was she? A witch or something?"

  “Some say she was. She was apparently obsessed with the story of Countess Bathory, thought it a good idea to follow in the Countess’s footsteps and bathe in the blood of virgins to keep herself looking young. When the local townspeople found out, a lynch mob marched to Gilpenstein's house so they could burn her as a witch."

  “But she did a runner before they got to her.”

  “Yes. Killed herself rather than give the people the satisfaction of burning her at the stake. Henceforth, these cliffs have come to be known as Maggie's Leap. Her ghost apparently still haunts the town."

  We fell silent for a moment as if listening for signs of ghostly activity, then Leona said, “Was there a reason for that story, Creed?”

  I shook my head. "No. Just thought you might be interested in a little local lore."

  “Okay, well thanks for the history lesson. Are we going to start the mission now?”

  I looked across the water to the island about six or seven miles in the distance. With the dim light, it was hard to distinguish anything about the island, except that it wasn't very big, a few square miles maybe, and that most of the island seemed to be covered by thick forest, at least around the perimeter. Who knew what lay beyond the dark trees?

  "Sure," I said, suddenly feeling cold and empty, like my soul was shrinking because I was nothing more than a cancerous form or an empty husk to be cast off as soon as possible so my soul could exist on some other plane far away from me, the virtual stranger I was to it now. Holding back my despair, I said, "Let's get this done."

  I popped the trunk on the Lincoln to reveal a large wooden box. Leona asked me if I'd brought a picnic. "Not exactly," I told her. "More like a tool kit." I opened the lid on the box, and the whole thing opened out like a fishing tackle box, with various drawers and compartments, each of them filled with a variety of glass phials, small plastic bags and other, miniature boxes. "We'll need a few ingredients out of here for the Cloaking Spell."

  “I always wondered what it would feel like to be invisible,” Leona said. “Ever since I seen that Kevin Bacon movie, Hollow Man.” Leona wasn’t big into movies, but she had a thing for Kevin Bacon, almost crying when his TV show, The Following, was canceled. She even threatened to go after the executive who made the decision to cancel the show. If I hadn’t of been there at the time to calm her down, I think she might have followed through on her threat to take out the Hollywood exec. I certainly wouldn’t have put it past her.

  “So you can lurk in people’s apartments unseen, watching their every private move?” I said salaciously.

  "You're such a perv, Creed. Have you done that? Wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know."

  I chuckled to myself as I selected a phial of dark blue liquid from the box, along with a little jar of greenish-black ointment. I held up the phial of blue liquid. “We need to drink this first. Just a drop will do.”

  “What is it?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes,” she said, seeming unsure now.

  “It’s the blood of a very rare fish that can only be found in the River Troyden, which runs through Babylon. The blood is then mixed with pure dream essence found in pools on the Astral Plane.”

  “That’s it?”

  “And semen from a sewer rat.”

  Her mouth dropped in disgust. “That’s gross. You’re just kidding about that, right?”

  "Sure." I held up the little round jar of ointment for her to see. "This is mostly plant matter, from various plants."

  “And what else? Piles from a demon’s asshole?”

  I stared at her a moment then shook my head. “That’s disgusting. Nothing so foul. Just the crushed up scrotum of a recently deceased man and the armpit hair of a three hundred pound Russian weightlifter."

  “Now you’re just taking the piss.”

  "I know I am," I said, removing the cork from the glass phial of blue liquid. “At least about the armpit hair. The crushed ballsack is still in there.”

  “Jesus,” she said. “Magick is disgusting.”

  “Can be.” With Leona watching with a grossed out look on her face, I put the phial to my mouth and supped a small amount of the blue liquid inside, unable to keep from screwing my face up at the bitter, acrid taste. “Hmm, lemony.”

  "I'm sure it's more than that." Leona took the phial from me and immediately put it to her mouth, her face soon twisting against the sharp and bitter taste. "Jesus, that's worse than the piss we used to drink in Iraq."

  "You used to drink piss? I hear it's good for the skin." With a sardonic smile, I took the phial from her and put it back in the box. Then I opened up the jar of ointment and scooped a small amount out with my fingers before applying the waxy lotion to both my cheeks.

  “This may seem like a stupid question,” Leona said. “But if we’re both invisible, how are we supposed to see each other?”

  “That’s what the accompanying spell is for. I can tailor it how I want. Magick can
be pretty flexible in that way.”

  She nodded as she took the jar from me and made a face as she put some of the contents on her fingers and did as I did, rubbing it into the skin of her cheeks. “This shit smells awful. All I can think about is that I’m rubbing some old guy’s scrotum on my face.”

  “Not for the first time, eh?” I laughed. Leona wasn’t amused as she threw the jar back at me. “I just mean that I’m fairly old by normal standards, and we have slept together and my balls—”

  “Yes, Creed, alright. Enough. I get it. I’m going to get my rifle from the car now. Don’t be surprised if I shoot you with it.”

  I chuckled again as she walked away and I put the jar back in the box, closing the lid before slamming the trunk closed. "Get everything you need before I do the spell."

  After attaching a suppressor to the end of he rifle, Leona attached the rifle to a strap on the front of her. “Shouldn’t you be wearing armor as well? I’m sure there’s going to be guns on that island. Invisible or not, you still might get shot.”

  "I have my fetching trench coat, don't forget. Demon skin is as good as any armor you could give me."

  Daylight was beginning to fade, and the sky was taking on an ominous appearance as dark clouds gathered, making the water look almost black. As I looked out at the island barely visible now in the distance, I thought about Hans Belger. Did the old Warlock know we were coming? He certainly would when we landed on the island, that was for sure. It remained to be seen what his response to our trespassing would be, though. Something told me he wouldn't be waiting for us with tea and biscuits.

  I called Leona over and put my hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close, so our foreheads were touching, our eyes looking into the others for a moment before I closed mine and started reciting the spell that would make us invisible, at least for the next few hours or so. After that, the spell would fade, and we would be exposed to the world again. Hopefully, we would have completed our mission before that happened. “That’s it,” I said, stepping away from her. “It’s done.”

  Leona looked down at herself like she half expected her body to have disappeared. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “You won’t, except when other people look right through you.” I grabbed her arm then. “Ready?”

  She nodded once. “Ready.”

  "Devil's Playground, here we come…"

  30

  The Devil’s Playground

  WE TELEPORTED TO a stretch of sandy beach on the north shore of the island, our boots sinking into the soft, wet sand as we landed, the stiff breeze coming off the choppy water rapidly cooling our skin. Leona still held onto me as she tried to get her bearings again. “That was a rush,” she said as if we had parachuted out of a plane thousands of feet up.

  “It takes a bit of getting used to,” I said, as I looked around for signs of life, seeing nothing but rocks, trees and sand. “The dizziness will stop shortly. It’s just your brain readjusting and trying to make sense of the fact that it was somewhere else a second ago.”

  Leona let go of my arm and shouldered her rifle, keeping the barrel pointed downward as she surveyed her surroundings, looking every inch the professional soldier. “Seems quiet.”

  “So far. No doubt that will change when we move further inland.” No doubt at all. I was pretty certain that Belger knew we were there on his private island. Any Warlock or Mage worth their salt would have been able to detect intruders immediately, even if said intruders happened to be invisible to everyone but themselves.

  Leona seemed concerned as she stared towards the dark woods about ten yards away. There was something ominous about those woods like an evil presence lurked there. “Something isn’t right about this place.”

  “Your instincts are spot on as always.” I stared down the beach toward a rocky outcrop that jutted into the water like a huge demon mouth. “There’s a lot of darkness here.”

  “Darkness?”

  “Evil.”

  We exchanged glances like we were crazy even to go to the island in the first place. Which we were, of course. Batshit crazy, although Leona didn't know the full danger. How could she? If she knew magick like I did—if she knew the full extent of its dark potential in the hands of someone like Hans Belger—I doubt she would have come with me. Or maybe she would have. One thing about Leona was that she was loyal, and despite only knowing me for a few days, she seemed more than willing to help. When I first met her three years before, it took her nearly a year before she displayed the kind of loyalty towards me that she was exhibiting now. I guess I should have been grateful, but I still wondered what was different. Was it because on some level she knew I was telling the truth, or because deep down she still remembered me, even if those memories were nothing more than hard to pin down impressions? As curious as I was, it wasn't the time for indulgence. It was a time for focused action so we both could stay alive.

  “Alright,” Leona said, her slender fingers curling around the stock of her rifle. “Are we going to do this? I want off this island as soon as possible.”

  I didn't blame her for wanting to leave. So did I. The presence of dark magick on the island was palpable, more so to me because I still bore the stain of it inside me, and that stain was acting like a magnet to the black magick that permeated every square inch of the island. Drawing the magick to me, which demanded access so it could fill me up and consume me once more. Leona threw me a look and asked if I was alright. "The magick here is corrosive," I said. "I can feel it burning my skin."

  “I don’t know about magick, but this place gives me the damn creeps.”

  “We’d better get a move on then, before—”

  “Before what?”

  “Before someone or…something, comes looking for us.”

  “Very reassuring, Creed. Let’s move to hell out.”

  Smiling despite myself, I fell into step beside her as she strode across the sand and headed for the trees. The wind on the island was blustery, and it whistled as it blew through the branches, rustling the dry leaves. What daylight there was left got swallowed up the second we entered the woods. The trees were thick and gnarly, their branches twisted in a grotesque way that didn’t seem natural, like sinewy arms with spidery fingers on the end that looked like they might try to grab you if you got too close. In between the trees was grass and patches of dirt that occasionally became swampy. We moved around the swampy parts, somehow knowing that we would disappear into the ground if we tried to walk across.

  There was also a smell in the air that I can only describe as the lingering smell of death. On my travels in Europe years before, I once visited the Auschwitz concentration camp because I wanted to see for myself the large scale horror and brutality that man was capable of and because I was curious about how strong the magick would be in the place. As it turned out, the black magick in Auschwitz was as strong as I expected it to be. Maybe not as potent as it once was when the camp was fully operational, but I still felt burned by it as soon as I walked through those gates. Needless to say, Auschwitz was also full of ghosts, mostly the lingering essence of those who had died at the camp, and also at least one vengeful spirit that I saw haunting one of the gas chambers. The ghost of one of the Nazis who ran the camp. Aside from that, though, my overwhelming impression of Auschwitz was summed up by the toxic stench of death that poisoned the air around the place. You didn't need to know magick to smell it. Everyone could smell it, could feel it seeping into their skins as they toured the death houses. The Devil's Playground had that same sickening scent of death to it, like thousands of people had died there over the years.

  Then as if to prove my assertion, we came across a sight that caused us both to stop and shake our heads in sheer disgust. At least ten corpses in various states of decay were nailed through the chest to an unnaturally thick-trunked tree. A few of the bodies were nothing more than skeletons with bits of ragged skin still hanging on them, but most of the rest seemed relatively fresh like they had all died
in the last couple of weeks, both men and women. The spikes in their chests were thick like railway spikes. As the flashlight on Leona's rifle moved over the bodies, the extent of their wounds also became apparent. Each one had died a violent death. Some had bullet holes in them, others slashes and gaping wounds made by sharp blades. Still others twisted around in a way that didn't seem possible, as if a great force had twisted them so.

  “What the fuck?” Leona said.

  “I mentioned they hunt people on this island, didn’t I? I’m assuming these people were the hunted.”

  That wasn't the full extent of it either. As we moved further through the trees, it became apparent that there were bodies everywhere. Some strewn across the ground, others hanging from the branches of trees, ropes around their necks, their bodies in horrific states of degradation. At one point my boot kicked something heavy on the ground, and when I looked down, I saw it was a disembodied head. The head of a young woman to be precise, her lower jaw ripped off by someone or something. Everywhere we looked there were signs of death and decay, extreme violence and bloodshed.

  And something else.

  Some of the bodies looked eaten as if something with a huge mouth had taken chunks out of them, after and possibly before death. I decided not to mention it to Leona. She seemed spooked enough already.