“Son of a bitch!” Dad thumped the arm of his recliner several times to beat out my smoldering handprints.
The aroma of melted plastic enveloped us.
Satisfied the danger was gone, he glared up at me. “Keep it up, Ruby, and I’ll call the men in white coats to come get you.” Dad returned his attention to his meal, stuffed the first empty burger box into the bag, and withdrew the second one. “You’ll spend more time with a shrink like you did the summer you killed your mother.”
“I went into therapy because I started seeing weird things like the dog-man that chased the mail carrier back to his truck!”
“Those things exist only in your mind.” Dad took another bite of his meal. “I don’t care what you think you saw in the garage that day. It was your imagination.”
As I studied his craggy face and bushy brows, his mouth full of burger, and sauce clinging to the corners of his mustache, the urge to sob struck me. Why couldn’t I have a normal father and have friends, a regular life—a loving relationship with a wonderful man? Instead, I was an outcast with a tyrannical jackass for a father and forced to endure a life of loneliness and isolation.
“Never mind,” I said, defeated. “Let’s drop it.” Sighing heavily, I picked up the trashcan and debris surrounding it. “Do you need anything while I’m here? Clothes washed? Dishes done? Do you have plenty of Twinkies and Blatz?”
“No,” he mumbled. “No again, and yes to the last two.”
“Good. I’m going home.”
He said nothing. Reaching for the remote, he flipped on the Speed Channel, burped, and yanked a can of Blatz from the full six-pack on the TV stand at his side.
In the kitchen, I gathered all the trash and carried it outside to the dumpster. When I walked back to the living room, Dad hadn’t moved except to push remote buttons or lift his beer to his mouth.
“Night, Dad,” I said as I opened the door. “I’m sorry about your recliner.”
“Whatever.” He belched again.
Loneliness slapped me, and I fought tears walking back to my Jeep. Exhaustion settled in my bones as I drove home. All I wanted was a good night’s sleep so I could escape this shitty life I’d been dealt—and avoid more terrifying visions.
Once home, I locked the apartment, made my lunch for work the next day, then realized I had a sack meal for a job I no longer possessed. With a resigned sigh, I sat down and ate the sandwich and applesauce for my supper.
Finished, I changed into a thin nightgown, crawled into bed, and let the tears dampen my pillow.
****
A horn sounded in the distance, and I froze where I stood.
A few villagers filed out of their homes or pushed open shutters, their frightened faces pale in the gloaming.
The horn moaned again, the sound hollow and ghostly across the hillocks and through the shallow valleys.
No! It can’t be. Not them!
The approaching thud of hoof beats followed, and the horn blared one more time, finalizing our pending demise.
“Run!” a man screamed. “Hide the women and children!”
Fear prevented my feet from moving.
Armored men rode into the village on monstrous horses with huge, furry feet. The warriors brandished broadswords or maces, and a few wielded whips.
A snarl reached me. Slowly, I faced the sound. A monstrosity crept across the ground in a swirling veil of indigo, black and gray mist. Long yellow claws glinted, and sharp snapping teeth filled a nightmare’s face.
A lump of horror wedged in my throat. Unable to swallow, and with my heart hammering so hard spots floated in my vision, I feared the breaths I managed to suck in would be my last.
Villagers ran from their houses and into the darkness, their frightened screams impaling the night. The town harlot cried out, cowering against the community well. A few feet from her, another beast crouched, poised to attack. The woman had been kind to me, and secretly, I often left food and wine for her whenever I could sneak it out of our cottage.
I ran across the village to the whore, anger toward the intruders fueling my movements. I leapt at the fiend, but it dispersed only to appear again a few paces away. It formed a half-solid body as its bright yellow eyes assessed me through its camouflage.
“No! Leave her alone!”
“Tis a lowly whore,” it hissed. “The masters can use her.”
“You shall not have her.” My innards quivered, and my legs shook so hard I feared I’d fall face down in the dirt.
More creatures drifted toward me and my paphian friend, their talons glittering in the light of the rising moon.
“Run,” the harlot whispered. “Save yourself.”
“No, I cannot leave you.”
A fiery sensation bubbled up from my innards and flowed into my breasts, my shoulders, and down my arms. An invisible force shot from my hands and hit the beasts. With piercing shrieks, the fiends transformed into metal contraptions with wheels and demonic animal heads. Each one rolled away into the darkness, their abominable sound filling me with terror.
I frowned at the retreating things, wondering what sort of magic had created them, but approaching hoof beats resounded in the air. A glance over my shoulder spurred me into action. Framed by the red sky, a warrior, his black armor shining darkly in light of the rising moon, sat astride an ebony horse. The steed snorted, its feet sending a tremor through the ground. Terrified, and with my mouth suddenly dry, I grimaced at the panic slicing through my core. I sprinted for the narrow path between two cottages, the stones and pebbles bruising my feet through the thin soles of my slippers.
The animal’s hot breath brushed the back of my gown. An instant later, the warrior caught me by the upper arm and hoisted me up and over his saddle.
I screamed...and screamed...
I sat straight up in bed, my scream shattering the quiet.
Chapter Two
Panting, my body aquiver and coated in sweat, I flung back the covers and leapt from the bed. The little toe on my right foot connected with a chair leg, and pain spiraled upward to my brain. Trying not to cry, I jumped up and down, my toe banging out an agonizing beat.
“Judas Priest and cherry Popsicles!”
I reached for the bedside table and steadied myself. A sickening, telltale sensation hurtled through my body. The air around me glowed, and warmth cascaded down my arms and into my fingertips which brightened to a brilliant copper-orange.
“No!” I jerked my hand back, righted myself. Invisible electricity crackled out of my right hand, zapping the lamp. The bulb flashed, followed by an abrupt pop and the aroma of ozone.
I breathed deeply. In, out...tamp down the fire and the need to blast the hell out of everything.
Gulping, I glanced around the room as the sensation faded. The dream had been so real, including the absurd part where the smoke creatures had turned into motorcycles. I rubbed the fiery sensation from my hand.
The vision I’d had in the shower taunted me, which didn’t help my state of mind. It was unfair to experience a phenomenal sense of lost love from a damn mind flash. I hadn’t had a date for months. A relationship was out of the question, but it would be nice to get laid every hundred years or so. Well, it certainly felt like it a century since I’d had a good screw.
Hopelessness overwhelmed me. My job sucked, my neighbors hated and feared me, and my father wanted little to do with me, plus I sensed my life was about to change drastically.
I tensed as the aura of danger kissed my neck.
RUBY NUTTER, WE HAVE NEED OF YOU.
Still shaking and afraid to move, I stood staring at a tall chest of drawers.
RUBY NUTTER, WE HAVE NEED OF YOU. IT’S TIME TO FULFILL YOUR DESTINY.
My gaze slid around the room, the sense of danger mounted.
Time to go, to get away. Go...go now—hurry!
YES, COME TO US. BRING YOUR SON. HE’S IN DANGER TOO.
Anthony! I had to see him, warn him.
But was I ready to see
my son again? I’d only been fifteen when I’d given birth to him. After all, he was twenty years old, and he might not be too keen on seeing his biological mother.
Once Anthony turned eighteen, Catherine, his adoptive mother, sent me their address and phone number. It had been part of the adoption agreement. Anthony lived in Florida which seemed to be the direction I felt drawn to anyway. All that mattered was that he was safe.
IF YOU WANT ANSWERS, THEN COME TO US, RUBY.
Against my better judgment, I made up my mind to go south and shrugged out of my nightclothes. Showering quickly, I rushed, dripping wet, back into the bedroom and jerked on the white sundress again, fresh undies, stuffed my feet into my Sketchers, and yanked a large suitcase out from under my bed. Within minutes, clothes and toiletries filled them. A small makeup case finished the ensemble.
After a brief breakfast of toast and jelly, I telephoned my landlady, explaining I’d be on vacation for several days, loaded my Jeep Wrangler, and locked up the apartment.
I should tell Dad I’m leaving.
Unlocking the door, I hurried back inside and straight to the phone. I glanced at the clock over the sofa. It was too early to call. Dad would still be in bed, and if I did call, he’d probably cuss me out. He wouldn’t care anyway. The only reason he wanted me around was to wait on his needs, clean the house, and blame me for his mistakes.
Dad wouldn’t even notice I was gone until I didn’t show up for a couple of days or his phone calls went unanswered. I turned away from the phone and strode to the door.
Outside again, I paused to study the pale gray dawn streaking the sky over Columbus. Dots of light glowed in some of the neighboring windows as the homes’ occupants readied themselves for work. Pigeons cooed in the eaves of Mrs. Tittle’s rickety two-car garage across the street, and the distant roar of a garbage truck drifted up the street. The distinct odor of refuse from a cluster of cans on the corner floated on the air, and the flowery aroma of fabric softener spewed from someone’s dryer vent.
Another rumble snared my attention, and a chill swept over my skin. I stopped with my hand on the driver’s door and listened. Motorcycles headed this way. No one I knew of in this neighborhood even owned a moped let alone a suicide machine.
An overwhelming sense of urgency flooded my body again. The visions! I had to leave now. A whimper escaped me.
“Shit!”
Terror galvanized me into action. Keys in hand, I opened the driver’s door and prepared to slide into the seat, but the sound of the bikes grew suddenly louder. First one, then two, then several motorcycles rounded the corner down the street, their headlights pouring across the asphalt in silver beams. Recognizing the unfolding scene, I fought to draw air into my lungs. Fear slithered into my innards, poked its cold fingers into my brain, and jabbed my spine. For a moment I thought I’d hurl my breakfast on the asphalt.
Hide! But where?
I jerked the door shut, flattened myself across the bucket seats with my cheek pressed against the vinyl, and prayed I wasn’t seen. The choppers passed, their reverberations penetrating my body. The thunderous sound vibrated my SUV, my heart thrumming in time to the engines.
Panting, I wiggled myself into the backseat so I could watch through the hatch. A dozen steel horses turned right, taking the street that led out to I-70, some with one rider, others with two.
The low, heavy growl of another one punctuated the quiet morning. I craned my head around the driver’s seat. This straggler slowed to a crawl. Finally, he stopped in front of Mrs. Cabbershot’s home just two doors up from my apartment.
If he noticed me, I was done for. I’m not sure how I knew this, but I sat so still I stopped breathing. Specks flitted in front of my eyes, and I wondered if my booming heartbeat would give away my location. Sweat dampened my hands, and I tightened my grip on the sides of the driver’s seat.
The man glanced toward the Jeep. I couldn’t discern his facial features, but his eyes, bright yellow and glowing, surveyed my vehicle. My heart stuttered against my ribs. Fear nearly strangled me.
Please, God, don’t let him see me.
He revved the bike and approached my vehicle. Ducking, I kept my gaze level with the window’s rim, determined to see if the biker followed the others. As the steel horse passed, I saw enough of the man to know he wore all the buckles and metal trim of motorcycle garb and that his frame had to be well over seven feet, but the Harley he rode—or whatever the hell it was—was a different matter. The living head of a horse resided where the handlebars, gas tank, and the front wheel fender should’ve been. Above red, flaring nostrils, the horse’s eyes shone flaming yellow. Serrated teeth filled its muzzle, and bands of silver ran from the corners of its mouth to the rider’s hands. The thing snarled and gnashed its teeth against the bit as it rolled by.
The rider paused again, the bike’s back tire almost even with the SUV’s rear bumper. The man looked from one side of the street to the other. Something radiated from him, something primal, sexual.
The stranger parked the bike at the curb behind my Jeep. He pushed the kickstand down, dismounted, and stood gazing up at my apartment. In awe of his size and stature, I could only stare with my mouth agape, breaths tiny and quick. With purpose in his strides, he crossed the sidewalk and side lawn to the stairs leading to my dwelling and ascended them; his heavy footfalls were like drumbeats of doom as he climbed to the door.
He tried the knob, but when the door didn’t open, he placed his hands flat on the glass which began glowing crimson. Stunned, I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the need to cry out as I watched the molten panes collapse. They dripped down the door and dribbled onto the landing. When the glass had melted away enough, he reached through the hole and unlock the knob and deadbolt. He stooped over and stepped inside.
I turned my attention to the demonic Harley. The horse part snarled and shook its head, sending fright stomping across my nervous system. The silver reins jingled, and one fell, its tip brushing the pavement.
A squeaking noise finally penetrated the cloud of terror over my mind. I craned my head, scanning the backseat. I realized I shook so hard my sneakers were vibrating against the hard plastic of the opposite passenger door. I moved my foot and tried to steady my nerves, praying that the monster bike couldn’t sense or hear me.
While the man was in my apartment, I could’ve slipped into the driver’s seat and sped away, but I was certain he’d hear the Jeep start up and come after me. Even if I managed to reach the next street, he’d easily catch up with me on the motorcycle. Maybe my proximity was the best camouflage.
Movement caught my attention, and the horse-demon thing growled again. The biker exited my apartment and mounted the motorcycle. He drew the kickstand up with his boot, studied my home and the neighborhood for a long moment, and then pulled away. He turned at the corner, but this time, the bike looked like any other Harley, and, I realized, it was the thirteenth suicide machine.
Buzzing filled my ears, and I struggled to draw in air. Everything I’d seen had to be my imagination. Granted, I’d seen some freaky things in this world, including myself, but a motorcycle that was part demon horse?
Tingles needled my forearms and bled into my hands. Light radiated off my body, heat singed my scalp, and my fingernails glowed red like embers.
Calm. Think calm thoughts. Chocolate peanut butter ice cream, cool, sunny days, a hot bath...
The sensations began to diminish, and, jackknifing out of the back, I struggled into the driver’s seat and started the Jeep. My thunderous heartbeat crashed in my ears, and feeling inebriated with adrenaline, I took the long way around to I-70, first stopping at a mini mart for a big cup of coffee. I took the Interstate, heading due south. Somehow the dreams, visions, the voice, and the motorcycles were all tied together. I felt it in my bones.
However, not only was I in jeopardy, but so was my son. It bothered me that the first time I approached Anthony would be to warn him about a danger I didn’t understand. He�
�d probably think I was crazy, but I had to try to protect him. He was, after all, my son, and regardless of the terrible circumstances in which he’d been conceived, I still loved him.
I had to make sure he was all right.
****
As I maneuvered traffic outside of Columbus, I pondered the motorcycles. They didn’t make sense to me, but then nothing about my life ever had.
I could’ve gone to the Columbus Airport and flown to Florida, especially since I felt my son was in danger, too, but for some reason it was essential that I drive. A week earlier, I’d taken the Jeep to have it tuned up and replaced the worn tires with four new Firestones.
Before Mom’s death, my father had taken us on many road trips, so I enjoyed them. Although frightened and uncertain of my future, I could still take pleasure in my sudden, unexpected “vacation.”
Driving also allowed me to think. I needed time to sort through my emotions about my son and consider the whys and wherefores of this trip, the mounting visions and mind flashes.
Is Anthony cursed too?
The interchange for I-77 appeared, and I merged the Jeep with the traffic, heading toward the Ohio River and the West Virginia state line. Thirty minutes later brought me to a bridge where I crossed the dark, slate-blue river. The state sign loomed over the Jeep: Welcome to West Virginia, Wild and Wonderful.
I might be wild, but I’m not wonderful.
The thought annoyed me, and I punched the radio’s ON button. The last few seconds of a pop song ended, but the beginning of “Copperhead Road,” one of my favorites, filled the SUV and lightened my mood. Tapping the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel, I tried to avoid the heart of what bothered me, but it just wouldn’t go away.
I was weird. I didn’t belong. I had no purpose in this world.
Was I destined to always be alone? Never to love?
I’d believed Cole Vandercourt loved me, but he’d quickly proven otherwise. Handsome, blond, blue-eyed Cole, a senior and the most coveted boy in the high school had shown interest in me, a lowly freshman, the odd girl who no one liked. But once he’d gotten what he wanted and proven his fearlessness by doing so, he dumped me.
The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen Page 2
