The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set: The Witching Pen, The Sands Of Time, The Demon Bride, The Last Dragon and Wilted

by Dianna Hardy

  She’d also reached her mother telepathically and asked her to make her way here. For some reason, she couldn’t reach her grandfather, which didn’t bode well. She hoped Amy was all right, although given the ferocity of the current quake…

  “I think this is it,” squeaked Katarra from her right. The demon looked both excited and fearful, although a deep sorrow shadowed her features: she was now the only Brujii remaining.

  Elena leaned towards her and kissed her cheek in reassurance. Whatever the outcome, she couldn’t say she would have made it this far without her. A warm affection for the demon took her over. “I think you’re right.”

  Katarra’s four ‘gifts’ had been delicious and more than gratifying. Magic coursed through her in vast amounts, and completely filled up her succubus, but the succubus had not gone. She was still here on the surface, content, but strong, willing to work with the witch to bring this Dragon into the sky.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Katarra, clutching the grass for balance as the tremors continued.

  “The Dragon must rise safely for everyone’s sake, and the sooner, the better.” She reached into her pocket to pull out Mary’s necklace.

  Her hand barely grazed it when the spoken words from behind her brought all her senses to a screeching halt. She almost screamed when she heard his voice. “Oh, I beg to differ.”

  They both swivelled and rose to find Karl – or God – standing some feet away.

  “Humans are a creation I should have ended a long time ago – they destroy everything they touch. They’re a cancer upon the planet. I thought they could be redeemed, maybe through purgation, but I should have known … I should have known the moment the darkness touched Eve.” Something she couldn’t name flickered over his face. “I was supposed to protect her, you know.”

  She stood her ground against another thunderous roll of the Earth. How did I not feel him approach?

  Because he isn’t there anymore, came the very quiet answer which she chose to ignore, although she all at once realised she wasn’t nearly as strong as she thought.

  God wore Karl like a comfy second skin, still in the same clothes he had worn almost twenty-four hours ago when they'd left the penthouse. And it was still Karl’s baby-blue eyes, his cheeky smile, his sun-kissed hair that stared back at her; she still saw the seven-year old boy she’d first laid eyes on, and she felt stitch after stitch of her own self fraying.

  “If that’s what you’ve come to think of humans, you’re missing the finer details. The man whose body you’ve stolen is the epitome of light and grace,” she bit out, without bothering to hide her hot tears.

  “Darling,” he coaxed in a tone too familiar, too gentle, and then before she could blink he had his fingers in her hair as he cupped her face.

  Frozen in place, she could think of nothing except Karl’s touch, some part of her hoping against hope that he was still in there, even as she knew she should be throwing him off.

  “My dear succubus … remember that when you’re draining his light from him. Now, wish me luck, like a good girlfriend should.” His mouth sealed hers in a searing kiss, which she partially melted into, unbidden, then wrenched herself from with a yelp of pain when his teeth sank into her lip, not quite drawing blood.

  He looked at her in both bemusement and disgust. “Thou shalt not commit adultery,” he sneered. Then, “I can smell Brujii on your breath.”

  On the force of his will, Katarra – who Elena knew had stepped back to save the little magic she had left – went spinning across the air and landed smack against a tree.

  Elena hollered and drew on her own power, but half a second too late.

  Karl’s golden glow burst from him and another cry of pain sounded from her as she landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her and her skin burning.

  Trembling, she sat up and took in the front of her clothes, mortified. They had mostly melted away, her skin underneath, red and blistering.

  He had scorched her with his glow.

  Karl now stood where she had been sitting and drew out Gwain’s sword. He laughed at her, no doubt finding her forlorn expression amusing. “Don’t tell me you were fed some crap about an angel’s glow being a sign of love or something. It’s an expression of feeling; most of them feel too much. Another fault I’ll have to fix.”

  With a war-cry, he drove the sword into the spot that would split the Earth open, and split it open it did, although she was sure it screamed its anguish through every blade of grass. She grew momentarily nauseous as if mirroring what the Earth felt, and then the moment was gone and she was struggling to get to her feet, ignoring the way her damaged skin stretched at her movements.

  The split in the ground turned into an ever-growing gash that might as well have torn the planet in half. The sound of it ripping was something she’d hear for the rest of her life. Using Mary’s necklace in a spell, the way she had planned to, would never have caused this much pain. Guess that’s out the window.

  She thought the gash would go on forever, but after a short while the sounds of breaking rock and rubbing plates stopped, plunging everything and everyone into a silence that could have been the land holding its breath for whatever happened next.

  God stared at her with eyes that held a swarm of emotions, aeons old. That wasn’t what killed the hope left in her. What killed it was the realisation that, for the first time, she’d thought of him as God – not Karl.

  ‘You know, if anyone can beat this thing, it’s Karl.’

  Fuck it, she couldn’t give up! He would never give up on her so easily. You didn’t need hope anyway, when you had nothing left to lose. She strengthened her resolve and strode towards him.

  “Earth was Eden,” he said, those blue eyes that threatened to break her, hardening with his own resolve. “Eden is mine.”

  With sword in hand, he jumped into the centre of the planet through the miles-long tear he had created.

  With heart in hand, she followed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What the hell just happened?! Amy, you’re not supposed to teleport when you’re—”

  “I didn’t!”

  “But—”

  “I didn’t – it wasn’t me!”

  “Then who—”

  “The baby! It was the baby.”

  Paul stared at her in shock as her words rang in the air.

  She said them again. “It was the baby, I swear. That’s where I felt everything shift from before we disappeared: the womb. The baby brought us here, I’m sure if it.”

  Still wide-eyed, he took in their surroundings to establish exactly where ‘here’ was.

  Amy huddled closer to him and brought her bedsheet over her shoulders because they were starting to burn. And thank you, my beautiful boy, for letting me keep the bedsheet while we teleported.

  She received a little kick in reply and she found herself smiling.

  “Do you know where we are?” asked Paul.

  She surveyed the landscape. They were in the desert, although this wasn’t a part of any desert she’d seen before … not that her desert trekking knowledge was particularly good or anything. “I think this is Dessec territory,” she replied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but the baby’s part Dessec and here we are.”

  Paul nodded. “Makes sense, I guess…”

  All around them in the distance, dunes rose in peaks and valleys. They, themselves, stood in the centre of some kind of flat-level basin, and by God, did it ever catch the heat. The ground was baked dry, and caked with cracks that had swallowed up every last drop of water and still gaped open for more.

  “We can’t stay here, we’ll die,” stated Paul.

  “Well, I can’t teleport unless the baby wants to, and I get the distinct feeling he wants to be here.”

  “But there’s nothing—”

  “Oh, Paul…” Her voice trailed off on a gasp. “Look at that.”

  Clocking her gaze, he turned to se
e what she was staring at. A “holy shit” told her when he’d spotted it.

  “How can a tree grow like that here?” she wondered aloud, amazed at the sight.

  “Because it is not just a tree,” came the answer from someone who wasn’t Paul.

  They both spun back to find an old, Dessec woman, wrinkled with age and wearing a bright blue scarf, smiling at them. Her grin widened when she took in Amy’s belly under the sheet.

  Paul coughed and yanked a corner of the sheet to wrap around his nudity. “My apologies. We appear to be here by accident.”

  “No,” dismissed the woman. “Not an accident at all,” she stared straight at Amy, “is it?”

  She shook her head, wondering if she should be more afraid, but this woman exuded a warmth through her toughened exterior that seemed somehow familiar.

  “My name is Zaynolita. I am Pueblo’s Bel’louma – his grandmother. You, beautiful woman, are carrying my great grandchild.”

  Amy’s mouth dropped open and Paul went positively pale beside her. Oh, right – ‘cause they were both naked and he was the baby’s other father. Well … this was awkward.

  More Dessec approached them – maybe around fifteen – and surrounded them, encasing Paul, Amy and Pueblo’s grandmother within a circle.

  “Er…” What the fuck should she say?

  Paul seemed to be wheezing slightly, and suddenly the old female exploded in laughter, the noise sounding melodious and less like the cackle Amy would have expected. It reminded her of Pueblo’s bass notes.

  She found herself smiling back.

  “Come!” the grandmother exclaimed, and then clapped her hands, and four Dessec came in closer and bowed in front of her and Paul.

  Next, they stood and gently steered them towards the sheltered tree.

  “You are welcome here, and you will be cared for and cherished. I did not know for certain that my great grandson would choose to be birthed here, but I had hoped. Oh, yes, I had hoped. What a great pleasure to see him at least once before I pass into the unknown.”

  Amy was at a loss for what to say. “I’m so sorry about what’s happening with the demon tribes.”

  She clucked her tongue in dismissal of her words. “All great things must come to an end, and it is our time. Come, come, come.” She ushered them into the small wooden structure that covered the tree. Stepping into its shade, both she and Paul sighed in relief and surprise. This wasn’t just shaded, it was cool, as if the tree was some kind of air conditioner in disguise.

  “You will be protected here. Sit.” She gestured to the built in plank that ran all the way around the inside walls of the shelter.

  Amy happily got herself onto it, and she was pretty sure Paul followed suit because he didn’t want to be without the bedsheet.

  Dark brown eyes appraised him through weathered sockets. “You look like the antelope aware of the lion. Do not worry, wizard, we lions have already fed.”

  Panic flashed over his face.

  The Dessec boomed her laughter once more and Amy nudged him. “She’s teasing,” she whispered, grinning.

  He didn’t look convinced.

  All at once, her laughter faded, and the old woman lowered herself in front of Paul. She took his right hand in hers and those almost black eyes grew tender. “My great grandchild could not exist without you. That makes you my grandson – my K’lanseun. My home is your home. Welcome.”

  “Thank you. I am humbled – truly.”

  “And you,” she turned to Amy, “it’s time to let go of your guilt. No one is inconvenienced by your feelings but you. Let it go, child.”

  Embarrassment squirmed through her. “It’s hard. It’s not the done thing, you know? You’re not supposed to love two men.”

  “A dragon is about to rise from extinction, as demons and angels fall into it, and you are worried about the done thing?”

  Well, when she put it like that…

  “The heart will always live by its own rules, and I am not sure that love is something to be controlled. I don’t know about having two men, but I do know about having two children, and I will tell you this: a mother does not love one child any less than the other – differently, yes, but not less. So, maybe, it is okay just to love, hmmm? Let it flow as it wants to, and see where it takes you.”

  Wow.

  Of all the people she thought she’d be having this conversation with, she hadn’t dreamed it would be Pueblo’s grandmother … and she never in a million years thought it would go like this. “You’re … the coolest granny ever.”

  She slapped her thigh in triumph. “I’ve always thought so,” she beamed. “Now…” She signalled to one of her tribe, and he promptly brought over a tray filled with two bowls of water. “Do not become like prunes out here. Drink.”

  “Thank you.” They both took the bowls and drank with vigour. When finished, Amy took Paul’s from him and placed the empty bowls back on the tray. “I just realised that I can’t feel any quakes here. There was a huge one just before the baby teleported us away.”

  “You are in a place called the Wastelands. It is considered a death trap by some, but it has also been my safe-haven for three centuries. You will feel no quakes here – this space is protected, somehow. It is a matter of fate – I do not question it, I am just grateful for it. This is where I was when my tribe was slaughtered.”

  How awful, thought Amy. “Before we arrived here, we were attacked. The same shaman who murdered the Dessec is after my—oooooOOO!” she cried and leant her body forward to relieve the odd, popping sensation between her legs.

  “Amy?” Paul called out, startled.

  “I’m okay, I’m…” What the…?

  A warm trickle ran down her thigh. Oh, holy crap, my stupid bladder! If I’ve just wet myself…

  Zaynolita looked gleeful. “Good, good!”

  “Good?”

  “The baby is coming.”

  “It is?”

  Paul’s hand rubbed her back. “I think your water just broke.”

  “What?!”

  He looked down at the ground between her legs. “See?”

  No, she couldn’t fucking see – her stomach was the size of Everest. She scowled at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” replied Zaynolita. “Stand.”

  Paul helped her up, and the trickle down her leg was replaced by a goddamn river. “Oh, Christ…” This is it… “Oh, God!”

  “Hush, child. Do not panic. Breathe.”

  Breathe … right … that’s what they do in all the movies. Damn the apocalypse and its lack of antenatal classes.

  Zaynolita, still smiling, made her way to the centre of the hut where the miracle tree stood. A flash of sadness flew over her countenance, but was replaced with a look of deference. “Life always finds a way.” She placed a hand on its trunk. “This is a good place to be born.”

  ~*~

  It seemed like the wrong place to die.

  A fairy should die in the woods, or the forest, somewhere out there among nature; anywhere but in a fucking condo in the east of London.

  Pueblo sat on the floor of Amy’s bedroom, unable to take his eyes off the shimmering dust that had settled on the carpet in Teigas’ place. Even his clothes had turned to dust.

  Opposite that spot and to his right, the shaman’s dead body lay encased in that black, tar-like substance that had been his curse.

  Pueblo frowned. He didn’t want to look at the shaman. He glanced back at the fairy dust.

  It had happened so quickly.

  Teigas hadn’t even said a word.

  He kept expecting to hear his voice. Come on, imp, you’re supposed to be like my fucking Yoda. I should be seeing your translucent, holographic body roundabout now, while you echo that crap you call guidance in my ear.

  Nothing.

  Fuck.

  His eyes suddenly burned and before he knew it, he was stifling back sobs as tears streamed down his face.

  In a moment of impulsive rage, his foot went
through a dresser. “Fuck! I told you to stay out the fucking way!”

  And then he just felt shitty for getting angry at the imp and breaking Amy’s furniture.

  He took a couple of breaths and got himself together, feeling strangely irritated that he had no body to bury. Fifty-five years and ‘poof’.

  Getting himself to his feet, he looked around for some kind of container. Finding nothing, he made his way to the adjoining bathroom where he finally emerged with a small jar that he had emptied of some pink, floral-scented balls that he couldn’t make head nor tail of – were they supposed to go in the bath or down the toilet? Or maybe they were like an air freshener or potpourri, or something…

  Kneeling down on the floor he gathered what he could of the fairy dust and placed it in the jar. Sealing it with the lid, he set it down on the other dresser – the one he hadn’t broken.

  That would have to do. “I’ll come back and give you a proper sending off, old friend,” he promised.

  Right now, though, he had to get to Amy.

  Quake after quake kept coming, some big, some small; all of them relentless. And in his gut, he knew. He knew the baby was coming. He felt it in his veins; in his blood…

  He’d just caught the trail of Amy and Paul disappearing when he had arrived, and although he should have been surprised with where that trail led, he found, instead that it all made a weird kind of sense. Everything was falling into place, and maybe it was this sense of faith in fate itself, that had him noting he didn’t feel jealous, or angry, or bitter at the scent of the obvious union that had taken place in this room – just relieved that they had gotten away and that Amy and the baby were safe.

  ‘It’s a skill in trust…’

  Well, he’ll be damned – he really was letting her fly…

  And, as the ground shook and he bent his knees to keep himself steady, he all at once realised that he did have trust – in her, in himself and in the universe – because really, what else was there? If she didn’t follow her heart, nothing she said or did would mean anything, anyway. Her free choice was the only thing that mattered, and that was in itself quite a freeing thought.