by Dianna Hardy
Anger rose like a tempest. “You’re breaking up with me. At least have the guts to say it like it is!” And this time when she pushed him, she did it with every ounce of her being.
He stumbled back a few feet, hurt painted all over his face.
Well, tough shit. It was nothing compared to how she felt at this second.
Or maybe it was, because his hurt faded, his own anger taking its place. “I am not breaking up with you. I am still here. I’ve been here for over five decades and I’ll still be here if you decide to come back, but I want you whole, do you understand me? Has the last month been fun for you? I see how you’ve been – crying, anxious, panicking, torn … do you think I want that for you? Because I don’t. You still love him.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I don’t—”
“Fine, lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself. Do you want to live the next fifty-five years grieving, all because you never gave yourself the chance to have an ending you deserve? I’m giving you that chance now – take it.”
“Oh, you’re giving me the chance? Does that make you feel big?”
He made some low, menacing noise that might turn into a roar, and she knew she’d pushed him with her callousness, but she didn’t care right now. He’d said the words she hadn’t dared to say to anyone – not out loud and not in her head – and it split her open, a seeping gash without end. “What chance, exactly, do you think I have? What fucking end? Him dying? Is that an end I deserve?”
“Damn it, don’t you twist my words like this.”
“You have no right to tell me how I feel.”
“I’m not telling you how you feel, I’m telling you what I see. I see you hurting. I see you need healing. I see you need closure.”
“Well, aren’t you the fully fledged, all-seeing shaman now.”
He clenched his jaw, his skin burned briefly from flames that leapt from him in anger, and then he simmered down and took a breath in. “I’m sorry I hurt you with my words, but the truth can hurt, and you haven’t allowed yourself the truth over the past month, and it might have been for noble reasons, but I’m giving you an out here: I’m letting you go. So go to him.”
He walked past her and she grabbed his arm, her unshed tears making his form blurry. “That’s it? You’ve decided a future for me without my say-so and—”
“I’ve decided nothing other than to give you a chance to acknowledge all the things you’ve been avoiding so you can heal. Where and how you land is your choice – I told you I’d still be here and I will be. I’m done now.” And then he sighed a deep sigh, sorrow in his eyes, even as he gave her a small smile. “This isn’t ‘goodbye’, this is ‘see you later’.”
“In another fifty-five years?” she tossed out, angrily.
“I’ve got an evil shaman to hunt down before he hunts you down – those fifty-five years were necessary.”
“Like ‘letting me go’ is necessary? I want you here. By my side; by your baby’s side.”
“Like you’re here by mine? Unconditionally? With no second thoughts or doubts?”
All sound stuck in her throat as her fight dropped a level. Yes! Say, yes!
But nothing came out.
A deep understanding reflected in his eyes, right next to the sorrow, and it pissed her off big time because she understood nothing.
“I’ll know when the baby’s coming,” he said, “that’s when I’ll see you next.” He pulled his arm back, and with the first kiss to her lips since he’d arrived back, he teleported out of there before she could say another word.
A strange feeling flooded her veins – something not quite like the panic attacks she’d been battling with; not quite like the fury that so easily came to her at the moment. When she realised what it was, she almost ran, except running wasn’t so easy with a ten pound baby inside you. Her mind, her heart, had been made aware of its predicament with Pueblo voicing what she had refused to, and they wanted to heal; wanted to seek the end…
But I’m not ready for the end!
Regardless, she was making her way down the hall, past the living room, down the next hallway, right up to Paul’s room.
She knocked.
No answer.
She took hold of the handle and swung it open.
The room was bare.
Where—
“He left five minutes ago,” came Katherine’s voice from behind her. “He didn’t say where.”
But he always tells me where he’s going – he’s obsessed with my safety.
Some part of her caved in on itself, crashing down inside her, bringing with it the unshakable feeling that she’d unwittingly made a huge error that would cost her dearly. “Why?”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry. He seemed … upset. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” She gave her a small, sympathetic smile and a gentle rub on her arm, then made her way to her own room.
Numbly, Amy retreated her steps. Once back in the living room, she turned towards her own bedroom, where she locked herself in before clumsily falling onto her bed, landing on her side and trying to find a comfortable position.
The baby kicked in protest.
She reached under the pillow next to her and brought out Paul’s shirt, then finally shed those tears into it.
Chapter Sixteen
Christopher opened his front door as quietly as possible, closed it behind him, and then felt around for the light switch that he knew was there.
Finding it, he flicked it on and almost wet his pants for the second time that day when he saw Norolf standing in his hallway.
“Success?” asked the shaman, coldly.
“I thought you were going to meet me outside in an hour.”
“And give you the chance to disappear on me after your little failed mission this morning? I don’t think so. Did he really hurt you that much? Because I don’t see any bruises. Not afraid of one insignificant man, are you?”
Fuck this guy. “He didn’t seem so insignificant when he was choking me.”
“Want to see what I can do to you?”
Christopher paled and shook his head.
“Good job I found you when I did, then. Good job I overlooked the fact that you were packing a suitcase. Good job I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and offered you a chance to redeem yourself.”
His mouth went dry.
“Now then, what did you hear?”
Moistening his lips, he gave him the information he’d garnered while hovering outside the witch’s apartment. It hadn’t been easy. He could hear thoughts far more clearly when a person was directly in front of him, but through a wall? And a magically protected wall at that? No, it hadn’t been easy at all, but at least he, himself, had been magically protected thanks to this nut job, and it turned out he valued his life quite a bit. The threat of it being extinguished had him putting every ounce of effort he could into eavesdropping. It had taken it out of him. He was wiped out, exhausted, with one hell of a headache threatening to burst from his skull – his ears had even bled a little – but he had heard what he thought was pretty much everything. “God is here, on Earth, and corporeal – he’s sort of possessed one of the group. I think they called it fus—”
“I don’t care about God, I care about that baby and his mother.”
Seriously – this dude was kinda deranged. There must be some psychological crap going on here, because he was obsessed with this woman and her baby, when there was far bigger shit going down. Chris wondered if he was jonesing for a family of his own. Well, he wasn’t exactly the type women would want a relationship with – what, with the homicidal streak and all – so he supposed stealing someone else’s family was the only option left to him.
“Er … it seems that if the Dragon is harmed, the baby will also be harmed. God wants to destroy the Dragon because doing so will destroy the human race, and everyone else wants to keep it alive. And I think the Dessec was there.”
The s
haman zeroed in on him far too keenly. “The baby’s father?”
“Yes. What are you going to do about the husband?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure she said he was her husband?”
“Definitely.”
“Strange…” He clicked his jaw a couple of times in thought, which had Chris grinding his own teeth so he wouldn’t shiver. Worse than fingernails down a blackboard.
“I believe I’ve run into him before, if it’s who I think it is.” He returned his attention to Chris, who kind of wished he hadn’t. “One Dessec I can handle; I already annihilated the tribe.”
“The whole tribe?”
“They were not cooperating – they said they didn’t know where the father, Pueblo, was.”
“You didn’t think they were telling you the truth?”
“Does it matter? They didn’t have the information I needed. Did you find out anything else?”
He swallowed his fear-induced, dried up saliva with difficulty. “The baby’s due imminently – I heard something about it growing rapidly and aligning itself with the Dragon when it rises.”
Norolf grunted and he wasn’t sure that was a good sign. “That’s bad news. It means I’ve run out of time. Fine. I’ll have to take action now.”
“You’re really keen to steal some messiah, huh?”
“What I’m keen on is of no concern to you.”
Yeah, he could guess what he was keen on: the wife, the child and the white picket fence. Throw in a dog and some chickens and you had yourself the illusion of a nice, happy family. Nutter. “All the demons and angels are dying, by the way – that’s the last bit of info I have. Anyone without human blood in their veins is going to perish. Apparently, the apocalypse is for the supernatural types.”
He stared at Christopher silently for a few seconds before leaning casually back against the hallway wall. “Lucky for you, then.”
His nervous laughter did nothing to make him feel better. “So … I don’t know if that changes things for you, you know … that fairy I heard you mention once? She’s gonna be gone – poof – before you know it.”
“It’s a bonus, yes. But I think the new Messiah should be integrated into the world in the best way possible, don’t you?”
And without a doubt, the best way possible meant under his care.
“What are you going to—”
Something small whacked him in the chest. He looked down to find a bundle of rolled up notes lying on the floor. My payment!
He dove for it, snagged the elastic band off, then frowned, his cheeks feeling hot in annoyance and none of it helping the headache which was pounding more persistently now. “There’s only £250 here.”
“You get the other half when you help me capture the witch.”
He shook his head. “You said £500 for finding her. I—”
“You found her, allowed yourself to get caught, then told them where and who I was. You lose fifty percent for being an incompetent idiot, and think yourself lucky that all I did was dock your pay.” His tone held a strong warning and Christopher found himself looking at his gloved hand. It was just the right hand he kept gloved, but it begged the question why and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, although that one time he had mentioned the fairy, the shaman had been stroking that glove absent-mindedly.
He was stroking it absent-mindedly now as he glared at Chris, although Chris swore that in this instance it was faked absent-mindedness, the action purely for show. “Of course, you’re free to take the £250 and leave.”
Bollocks. He’d be dead before the morning.
He pocketed the money, ran a hand across his nose in a bid to calm his nerves, then cursed himself for showing his agitation so obviously. “How do you need me to help?” he asked, defeated.
The shaman smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Correct decision.”
Yeah, great.
He focused on the instructions relayed to him, and tried really hard not to think about the fact that he couldn’t picture himself utilising the money he’d earned. All he could picture was his dead body decorating some gutter.
~*~
Morgana had always thought this particular river to be beautiful. It hadn’t always been here. When she had first come to Earth, too long ago to count, great rivers had flowed more north of this country that humans now called England. But then, after the elementals exploded into existence, came the Great Age of Ice and the ice re-shaped the land, creating new trails with its frozen hardness which burst banks so monumentally that new rivers were created. A path was found through the centre of the country – this path, the Thames, now the greatest of rivers – and it created life where little life had existed before.
The life here was no longer little. It was one of the great capitals of the world, bustling and hungry for power, acknowledgement and reward.
Humans had made this.
What am I missing?
She remembered humans in the very beginning, so lost, so innocent, so pure… but they had grown as surely into God’s image as he had wanted. And God had wanted it. But seeing yourself reflected in others is never an easy thing, is it? Maybe harder for Gods. All those mistakes within yourself you try so desperately to hide, come shining back at you tenfold.
And look what humans had created: great buildings that shone the light back up to the sky.
In her lifetime, Morgana had gone from regarding humans with open curiosity, to loving them as if they were her own creation, to despising them with every fibre of her existence, to … understanding them. Humans were so often weak, but in that weakness sat a remarkable power, because it was that weakness, reflected in all directions, that could bring immortal beings to ground.
I’m missing something – what is it?
A footfall sounded behind her, and Morgan le Fey turned to find the Shanka Witch behind her.
Elena took one more step so that they stood side by side, her long, brown hair somehow looking wilder than usual against the angles of her face. Something had irrevocably shifted in her over the past half an hour, and it reminded Morgana of herself – her old self. Her face wasn’t just a mask, it was armour. It was the expression one wore when they went into battle with nothing left to lose. “I need to know where you stand,” she said.
Stand? She was barely standing as it was.
And what should she say? She didn’t want to see humans suffer and that was the truth, but to give up on her goal was to give up the last tens of thousands of years.
“It’s over,” said Elena, and her voice was as armoured as her countenance. “There’s nothing for you here anymore. I’m sorry you’re dying – you and your race – but either way you lose, there’s no way around that.”
Protestation came so naturally. It rose in her, ready to defend her intentions to the death – they had been a part of her for so long; they had made her – but the witch cut her short. “I will kill you.”
Why the words sank so heavily, so coldly, into her system, she couldn’t say. These are words she had tossed around carelessly herself over the last few eras. Maybe mortality was the difference, or maybe it was because the witch had reached her goal instead of her. Elena now stood where Morgana had so desperately tried to get to.
“I thought it only fair you should know that. If you work with us to save the Dragon, yes, you’ll die. But if you choose to stand against me, Karl, mankind … I will kill you anyway.” Her eyes flashed green. “Two months ago, I learnt that the power of life and death is mine to wield, and I denied it. I denied it even as others around me accepted it; accepted me for who and what I am. I’m done denying myself. Today, I exercise my right to that power.”
The stillness around them both grew static.
“The world does not belong to you anymore. Look at it – chaotic, unfulfilled, awaiting a miracle birth in the form of a child and a winged beast… And now, that birthing hangs in the balance. If this is your world, do something about it.”
The challenge hung bet
ween them, leadened by the silent truth: she had no power left to change the course of things.
“That’s what I thought.” Elena stepped in front of her, never dropping her gaze, and a fire grew brighter around her irises which had nothing to do with the demon and everything to do with the witch. “Karl is not going to die.” Magic crackled all over her, ionising the air. “This is my world now. Veni, vidi, vici.”
At those words, the crackling magic left her hands, forked like lightning.
The sudden jolt of it sent Morgana hurrying backwards, lest she get the brunt of the electrical shock.
The air lit with both silver light and fury, and the potent sorcery took to the sky, its tendrils wrapping itself around anything it touched, energy feeding energy, until the entire city below, or so it seemed, was covered with snake-like tentacles.
Screams and murmurs of disbelief sounded from way down in the streets below.
A bright light exploded out to the right, across the dark horizon. Elena’s sparking coils had just lit up the Canary Wharf tower, sending a bolt of her magic from the tip of it straight up to the sky. Where it ended, she couldn’t see.
Just as quickly, she drew her power back, her mark made, her proclamation ringing in Morgana’s ears as she closed her eyes against tears of defeat.
The witch turned and walked back inside, leaving her broken, in the wake of the age-old war she had just lost.
~*~
“Mmmm … you kinda taste like spicy, burnt chocolate.”
Was she referring to his skin which she was licking her way up from his navel to his chest, or his jizz which she’d just expertly cleaned every last drop of with that luscious mouth after he’d spurted down her throat following the second-best deep-throating blow job he’d ever been treated to?
Whichever it was, she was probably right – Hell had had a spicy, burnt sweetness to it and he had no doubt the scent of the place will have infiltrated his being on many levels – his still black wings were a testament to that.
