Paranormal Anthology with a TWIST

by Bart Hopkins

  “What? Send you to jail? I could never do that—I felt responsible for you. I was protecting you. You seemed to enjoy your first kill and, as I’ve already told you, we’re alike, you and I. Besides—what was I going to tell the police? Oh hello officer, Marc killed someone because I killed his slut girlfriend and it drove him mad? C’mon,” she snarked at me as she laid the necklace back down. “As we both know, you didn’t stop after that first one, you killed again. It was fascinating to watch but I didn’t like being a bystander—there’s no fun in that. So I learned your patterns, which wasn’t hard after following you around for three years. I watched you hunt your victims and I’d hunt alongside you—and every time you killed, so did I. Although, I had no idea about the vampire thing… just when you think you know someone… It was still a fun game though.”

  She winked at me and my stomach clenched again. I knew why she had seemed so familiar after our meeting in the coffee shop, Witchy Woman. “That night in the club, when I left with Lyd... Katherine, that was you. You were there.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “Did you kill that guy you left with?”

  She shrugged casually. “Duh! Didn’t you watch the news the next morning? Our stories were back to back. It was so awesome!”

  This girl was a genuine psychopath but then again—wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Twelve people were dead by my hand. I had been killing people and drinking their blood because I believed I was a vampire. She was doing it to what, impress me? “Jules, why? Why would you do all this?”

  She seemed insulted that I would even question her motives “I already told you. I wanted to make your sadness go away. I thought we were kindred spirits; but then you decided to kill me, feed off me, or whatever. You were going to make me your thirteenth victim. Not cool Marc, not cool at all.” I turned away from her and resumed staring at the ceiling, attempting, in vain, to process the events of my life. She rose from the chair and I heard her shuffling around. She had her back to me but, out of the corner of my eye, I could see her pulling something from her bag. “That day at the coffee shop, I orchestrated the whole scene so we could finally meet, face to face. I thought we had something really special and we could have had more—but you had to go and ruin it.”

  She turned and walked slowly back to my bedside, clutching a large dagger. I couldn’t take my eyes off it; it was so like a weapon one might find at a Renaissance festival. It was garish—silver and gold with red jewels encrusting the handle. “Are you going to kill me?”

  Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily before responding. “This isn’t an easy decision for me but you forced my hand, Marc. You tried to make me your thirteenth victim. The poetic end to our relationship would be for you to become my thirteenth instead.” She climbed up on the bed and straddled me with the dragger still clutched tightly in her hand.

  I knew I should have been begging and pleading for my life but I just couldn’t find the strength, not after all I had done. Maybe in her own insane logic she was right. My death could be poetry. I had nothing left to live for—except for one thing. I looked into her sad blue eyes and asked, “Would you do one favor for me after I’m gone?”

  “What?” she asked, raising the dagger over her head and gazing down on me.

  “Would you take care of my plant?”

  I am Serna

  Magen McMinimy

  Author Dedication

  There are so many people out there who encourage and support me, this one’s for all of you!

  About Magen

  Magen dreams in the world of the supernatural and looks forward to continuing her Immortal Heart Series and creating worlds for her readers to get lost in and characters to fall in love with. She loves to read and spends as much of her free time with family and friends as possible. Believing life is what you make of it she follows her dreams through anything that would threaten to hinder her.

  Follow Magen

  Website: MagenMcMinimy.weebly.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Magen-McMinimy-Author-Page/242705865781799

  More from Magen

  Immortal Blood: www.amzn.com/B00AOHGJXG

  I am Serna

  “So this is her?” Damon looked at the smiling woman depicted in the photograph. She was beautiful—with long mahogany hair, jade-colored eyes and a lithe, almost athletic build.

  “Yes, she’s in a small town in California.”

  Damon looked from the picture to the White Witch standing in front of him. He didn’t know the Caldwell Witch who’d approached him, but she knew who he was.

  “You say Paige told you about me?” Damon asked, swishing the deep-amber liquid in his tumbler.

  The Witch nodded. “So, will you help my niece?”

  Damon took another peek at the picture. “Why does Serna want her?”

  The Witch snickered. “Why does the Witch Queen ever want a White Witch? Ariel is young, but her power already surpasses even my own. In four years she will be a force to be reckoned with and a match for Serna.”

  Serna was a sickness on the magical community, a Dark Witch with a title she never deserved. Damon knew better than anyone what she was capable of. It was why he’d spent the last five years hunting her—but she was slick and was always one step ahead of him. Somehow, always just outside of his grasp.

  “I assume Paige also told you that I have one mission I’m working towards?”

  “You want Serna. Perhaps in saving my niece, you’ll come upon the Queen.”

  Damon smirked. “Perhaps. So what little town has your niece found herself in?”

  “Sebastopol.”

  It took Damon no time to make his way to the small town—flashing was one of many powers he’d inherited from his mother’s bloodline. He was a warlock, but he saw himself as more of a shield for the good left in the magical community—or possibly even a hit man. He hunted those who abused the dark craft and helped White Witches protect their own.

  Damon ducked into a local bar on the one-way main street that was the center of this little town. Ariel’s aunt told him this was where he would find Ariel. She’d taken a job as a bartender/server. She moved far from her roots, leaving her coven to hide in a small-town biker bar.

  Damon took a seat on a cracked leather stool and tapped the lacquer-finished oak bar. Jade eyes lifted from the beer tap to settle on him, a sultry smile stretched across her pretty face.

  “I’ll be right with you, handsome.”

  Damon smirked.

  “What can I get you?” Ariel asked, grabbing a bar towel and mopping up the area in front of him.

  “Your best whiskey.”

  “Ah, a top-shelf kind of man.” She smiled again. “I’ll be right back.”

  Damon watched her glide around the other people behind the bar, her mahogany ponytail swaying as she moved. It didn’t miss his observation that her hips and ass were swaying with the same rhythm.

  Damon waited for Ariel to finish her shift and watched as she untied her apron and headed towards the back exit. Damon finished off his drink and followed quickly behind her into the dark parking lot.

  “Should I be nervous that a hit man is following me?” Ariel asked, twirling to face him.

  Damon arched a brow. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean that I know who you are, Damon Payne, and while I’ve always been told that you protect White Witches, I learned a while back that you can’t really trust anyone.”

  “Your aunt sent me to protect you—said Serna is after you.”

  “Was,” Ariel corrected. “I don’t need protecting. I haven’t caught wind of Serna or her hellhounds in over six months. She either can’t find me or has given up now that I renounced my cove—”

  Ariel and Damon’s heads both whipped towards an alley that ran alongside the bar, her words cut off by the pounding steps of the aforementioned hellhounds. Serna’s hounds were nasty-looking demons that she’d resurrected as her own personal hunting party
.

  With a flourish of blue mist, Damon pulled a sword out of thin air. There was only one way to send a hellhound back to its dimension and that was beheading it with a blessed sword.

  With the grace of a true swordsman, Damon glided the sword toward the closest hellhound. Its head separated from its body with an ear-piercing howl and the scent of rotting flesh. The hound disappeared into a puff of dark smoke.

  “Well, she found you now,” Damon took the time to remark before facing off with the next hound.

  Each hound that Damon disposed of another seemed to appear in its place, materializing from the alley. Damon focused on disposing of the hellhounds, only briefly noticing the night had gone deathly silent aside from the howls and the fighting.

  “Are you doing this?” he called out to Ariel as a splatter of hellhound blood splashed across his black shirt.

  “I’m not a fighter,” Ariel yelled. “I’m a caster, so I figured the best help I can offer is to hide us.”

  “Good plan, but they keep coming.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” Ariel said, sarcasm bleeding from her tone.

  Damon’s sword disappeared as he wrapped his arms around Ariel’s waist and flashed them back to his hotel a few towns over.

  “You want protection now?” Damon asked sardonically.

  “If not for you, they wouldn’t have found me,” Ariel said, pushing a long, loose lock of hair from her face.

  Damon scoffed—was she serious? He just saved her life; she would have been a tasty morsel for those hounds.

  “How do you figure?” he questioned her.

  “I’ve been safe here for the past six months. Suddenly you show up and so do the hounds. I can only figure you brought them with you. What do you want from me?” Ariel asked, taking an obvious step back from him.

  “I want to protect you. It was dumb luck that I showed up today and was able to protect you. If I hadn’t, you’d be hound food.”

  Ariel studied him, and then took in the room they were now in.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “We're in my room at the Doubletree in Rohnert Park.”

  “So we’re in a pretty public place?”

  Damon raised a brow at her. “I suppose.”

  “Can they follow your flash?”

  “No, you’re safe here, Ariel, but the question I have for you is—what do you want to do now?”

  Ariel narrowed her eyes at him before looking down at herself. She had dark stains covering her jeans and white shirt.

  “What I want is a shower; you got hellhound blood on me.”

  Damon smirked and couldn’t help but poke at Ariel a little. “I got hellhound blood on me too—care for some company?”

  Ariel’s eyes drifted up and down Damon’s body. The man was built and had helped her and well…he was gorgeous: close-cut black hair, grey eyes, and a full mouth that looked oh-so kissable.

  “No,” Ariel said with a smile as she walked into the bathroom and locked the door.

  Three days had passed with no signs of Serna or her hounds. Damon had been spending Ariel’s work shifts at the bar with her. He’d admittedly spent most of that time in a corner booth watching her.

  They’d fallen into a simple, flirty repertoire and Damon found his body wanting more than to just protect Ariel. He wanted her—he wanted to run his fingers through her silky hair, run his tongue along her soft, jasmine-scented skin, he wanted to hold her close, and he wanted her to straddle him in his bed. He was losing himself to the beautiful Witch he was sent to protect.

  Ariel carried an air of mystery around her. He’d caught her studying him from time to time with a very observant eye, but she held back any thoughts she had. He knew she hadn’t fully opened up to him, but he intended to change that tonight. He planned to—at the very least—taste her sweet, pink lips.

  “You ready to go?” Ariel asked as she approached his booth.

  Damon smiled… Yes, he was most definitely ready to go.

  He nodded as he rose from his booth. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Damon placed his hand on the small of Ariel’s back and led her through the parking lot to the alley, where he flashed them back to his house this time instead of the hotel.

  “Where are we?” Ariel asked, as she did a small circle, taking in her surroundings. The secluded house was large. From where she stood on the front lawn she could see nothing but trees surrounding them and the two-story log home.

  “This is my home,” Damon said as he led her forward.

  Ariel smirked. “I was wondering if you would ever take me somewhere other than that cheap hotel.”

  Damon scoffed. “That hotel wasn’t cheap.”

  Ariel looked up at him through hooded eyes. This was precisely what she’d been waiting for.

  With a sultry move, Ariel ran her fingers down Damon’s hard, broad chest and locked them behind his back, lifting up on her tiptoes. She pressed her lips firmly against his. With little coaxing, Damon’s lips parted and Ariel drove her tongue deep into his mouth. Damon melted into the kiss, their tongues twisting in a sultry dance.

  He never saw it coming.

  Ariel’s head dropped as she pulled back from Damon, her fingers slipping off the hilt of the knife she’d just plunged into his back. Damon’s grey eyes were wide as they met hers. The beautiful, pale jade of her eyes swirled, taking on a deep emerald shade, her mahogany hair lightening to a pale gold as her features morphed into a face he had spent so many wasted hours searching for.

  “Serna,” Damon muttered as he fell to his knees in front of the Witch Queen.

  “That’s right—you finally got your wish.” Serna bent down in front of him, yanking the dagger from his back. “You found me.”

  “How?” Damon asked.

  “I sent the Caldwell Witch to find you—she wants her niece back.” Serna smiled. “At that point I cast a cloaking spell to hide my power level and a glamour spell to look like the precious Ariel.”

  “Is she still alive?” Damon asked through pain-clenched teeth.

  Serna laughed. “Of course not; she’s been dead for weeks now. You know Damon, it’s a shame you’ve wanted to kill me all these years. We could have been good together.”

  With a brief kiss to his lips, Serna plunged the dagger deep into Damon’s chest.

  Bloodlines

  S. L. Dearing

  Author Dedication

  I dedicate this story to my BFF, Janeen, and my Soul Sister, Nat. Your encouragement, support and love is never ending. You are my muses, constantly inspiring me to do better and work harder. And to Cynthia, once again, for putting the contest out there and making me think outside the box.

  About S. L. Dearing

  S. L. Dearing was raised in California and grew up in Arizona. Shannon attended Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, studying biology, then moved to Los Angeles where she spent several years studying at Los Angeles City College’s renowned Television/ Film program. She has worked on several film projects in many capacities, like First A.D. and Producer. She is a book reviewer for the Big Blend Magazine and has her own blog where she posts about life and books. Shannon has been writing since grade school, but over the years she has written several screenplays, poems and short stories. The Gathering is her first novel. Shannon currently lives in the No Ho Arts District of the San Fernando Valley of Southern California.

  Follow Shannon

  Website: www.sldearing.com

  Blog: sldearing1.wordpress.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/sldearing

  More from Shannon

  The Gathering: www.amzn.com/B004DCB5X2

  Bloodlines

  “I didn’t ask you to find just any children, Lieutenant Henke! I want those children! Idiot!”

  The SS officer bowed his head, clicking the heels of his black boots together.

  “My apologies, General. I was led to believe these children would be taken to Birkenau at Doctor Mengele’s request…for the Twins project.�
�

  The SS General looked at the young lieutenant with disdain. The fair-haired Aryan youth was rising in the ranks of the SS due only to his fanatical obsession with the Fuhrer and the influence of his father. The lines around General Heinrich Muller’s mouth deepened. Idiots…everywhere.

  “It is not your concern why I want these children… just find them! These specific children! And when you do, you will come and tell me and I will retrieve them! Do you remember the names I gave you?”

  “Yes, General! Sascha and Eduard Engel!”

  “Good…locate them immediately and then report to me and me only. Now Go!”

  The lieutenant nodded and raised his arm.

  “Sieg Heil!”

  Muller raised his arm and clicked his heels together.

  “Sieg Heil!”

  Lt. Fritz Henke lowered his arm and turned, promptly walking towards the giant, black oak doors. He opened them and exited, then spun around and closed them behind him.

  Muller pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. He walked over to the window and looked out at the dark streets of Berlin, watching the rain fall hard and fast on the unhappy passersby. The Master’s plan was almost complete. The Chosen were being eradicated from the planet and the sheep were following the puppet. The only thing left to do was to find the children. His face twisted into a grimace, his blood pumping furiously to his brain as he clenched his hand into a fist. He had been so close before, but that bitch wouldn’t tell him anything. They had somehow gotten the children to a new location. He began to sneer. He would find them… and when he did, no one would be able to save them.

  The bright light of the moon shone through the little window above the bed of Sascha and Eduard Engel, illuminating the tiny room where they slept. Eduard breathed deeply, lost in the world of sleep as his sister lay quietly next to him. She stared at the sky through the glass, the tiny flakes of snow gently falling from heaven. She twirled an oval, bronze pendant in her fingers and smiled. She remembered her mother. Her mama had always told her that snow was God’s way of sending little pieces of heaven to his people on earth so they would remember Him. Sascha missed her.