Awakening
By Catrina Burgess
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
* This book is rated Pg13 – Due to violence and some sexual situations.
© copyright July 2013, Catrina Burgess
Cover art by Catrina Burgess, © copyright July 2013
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
License Notes
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Dedication
I would like to thank Natasha, Megan and Kamryn for being my inspiration and for helping me pick out some of the characters names. I want to thank my Mom for always telling me truly bizarre stories when I was a kid. My favorite-- the one about alligators flushed down the toilets that now roam the sewers. Thanks to my Dad for raising me to believe anything is possible. Special thanks and lots of kisses and hugs to my writing buddies who spent many hours poring over my stories looking for typos and funky grammar--Anara, Marie, Vanessa, and Paige.
And to Todd—None of it would be possible without you. Because of you, my world is always full of magic and possibilities. And now it’s also full of zombies. ;-) Dude, you know the zombies were totally your fault.
Chapter One
Into the Darkness I Go
“You want to learn the Death Arts?”
The look on his face was hard to read. It couldn’t have been every day that someone wandered into the shop and made such a request.
I tried to look more confident than I felt. He couldn’t tell my hands were slightly trembling inside my jacket pockets, could he? I forced myself to keep my gaze steady and resisted the urge to take to my heels and run out the door.
My Mama always said, “You can always ask, the worst they can do is say no.” But I don’t think Mama was thinking about revenge and murder when she dealt out that piece of homespun advice.
He stood behind the counter and looked about my age--seventeen. He had shoulder length blonde hair and he wore a black tank top sporting a picture of a large red phoenix surrounded by fire.
“I was told the owner of the shop could teach me the Death Arts.”
“I’m sorry, someone’s playing a joke on you. No one here can help you, not with something like that.”
Every wall in the place housed a set of shelves and scattered around the room were waist-high, freestanding glass cases. Statues with menacing faces stared back at me from between leather bound books on the shelves. Every flat surface was crammed full--exquisite bottles filled with colorful liquids, dried herbs, exotic feathers, and cloth pouches tied with ribbon. Mixed in with these harmless looking objects were other things. Misshapen bottles filled with red liquid, probably blood--human, goat or pig, who could tell? In a dark corner, I could make out the shapes of animal skulls. And something else. I leaned forward to get a closer look. What were those small objects hanging from a wooden pole over in the corner? A chill ran down my back as I realized that they were shrunken heads.
A magic shop dimly lit with some of its items peering from the shadows where they hid. Some of the items I’d only seen pictures of, and at another time I would have been tempted to spend a lazy afternoon exploring every nook and cranny in the place. But not today. I was here with a single minded purpose.
I’d anticipated that my request would be met with anger or disbelief, but he seemed almost indifferent. Almost. Those dark eyes had a hint of wariness about them. He might act as though everything was fine and dandy, but I had the impression that, at any moment, I was going to get tossed out on my butt.
“Luke, you know who she means.” A pretty girl with the longest hair I’d ever seen spoke from a doorway behind the counter. Her hair was the color of sweet yellow corn and fell just short of the ground.
“Darla, shut up.”
Darla looked a few years younger than Luke. She had on a long flowing blue skirt covered in yellow flowers and a white bohemian shirt, the sleeves of the shirt trimmed in blue lace.
“You’re looking for my Uncle Franklin. He’s out of town.” She glared at Luke as she came out and took her place next to him. “Ignore my brother. He’s worried you’re a Redeemer.”
Gods, do I look like a Redeemer? Everyone knew about the cult by now. They had started up two years ago--an organization whose members rejected all magic. Most members were innocent enough, but there were fringe sects that not only rejected magic, but sought out anyone who practiced magic for the sole purpose of “cleansing them.”
Five people had been found in the last month, drowned in local lakes, their hands and feet bound by thick rope. Obviously some psychopaths were watching too much of the history channel. Anyone who was a witch would float, and the innocent would drown, according to the old wives’ tale. These crazies proclaimed poor souls who drowned cleared of all charges. Little help it did them, being dead and all.
A group of Redeemers took credit for the deaths, but not in any way law enforcement agencies could track them down. The news reported flyers proclaiming The cleansing has begun, and Redeemers will take back our world, had appeared on various city streets.
How did someone prove they weren’t a nut job on a religious cleansing? “I’m not a Redeemer, I swear.” I tried to look mentally stable. “I was told that you’re death dealers. From the Phoenix Guild.” I looked pointedly at his t-shirt.
Darla laughed. “She’s got you there.” She reached behind the counter, pulled out sticks of incense and held them up. “What do you think? Lavender or Root beer?”
“Root beer.”
She grabbed a box of matches from a nearby shelf, pulled one out and struck it. The flame flickered wildly before she lowered it and carefully lit one of the brown sticks. She held the stick up to her mouth and blew out the flame at the tip. The smoke continued to rise and curled up in swirls around her face.
“Root beer is my favorite.” She smiled and placed the incense down into a carved wooden holder sitting on the counter.
The sweet smell filled the room. Darla pushed the wooden holder to the side and hopped up on the counter. Once settled, she swept the mass of her hair over her right shoulder. It slid down her body like a golden river.
I wondered how long it took her to wash and dry such hair. It had to be heavy and, I’d think, very hot in the summer. I watched, mesmerized as her nimble fingers divided the strands into three large sections and she began to braid it.
“Your uncle, when will he be back?”
Luke didn’t answer, and he was starting to look annoyed. I waited two beats, and when he still didn’t answer I turned to his sister.
She looked up f
rom her braids and watched her brother for a few seconds before answering, “Not for at least two weeks. He’s put us in charge of the store while he’s gone.”
I was desperate--no way could I wait weeks. Chances were if I didn’t get help soon I’d be dead--in days not weeks.
“Can you help me?” I couldn’t help it, my voice trembled a bit.
This time Luke responded. “Help you learn the Dark Arts? So you can what? Take out your frustrations on the world?” He turned to Darla. “I’m betting someone pissed her off. You ever notice that it’s always the angry ones who think they can come and learn our craft? Think they can be taught our art during a weekend course. Why not just buy a gun? Oh, yeah, because guns don’t work on our kind.” He turned his attention back to me. “If you don’t mind me asking, who’s this almighty enemy who pissed you off? Ex-boyfriend? Some clerk at the local mini mart?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
My chin came up, and I looked him straight in the eye when I answered. “I’m not asking you to train me in the deadly arts so I can take out a busload of nuns.”
This proclamation brought a half grin to his face. He wasn’t taking me seriously. In truth I couldn’t blame him, I didn’t look the part. No Goth clothing, no long black trench coat. I wore the uniform of the middle class in my part of town--a striped white and blue sweater covered by a dark sailor jacket, a pair of faded blue jeans, and black Vans.
I was beginning to regret the coat. The moment I entered the store a wall of heat had hit me. It was autumn outside, but someone inside liked to keep things toasty. Small beads of sweat were forming on my forehead. I considered taking off my coat, but the reception I was getting made me think I wouldn’t be staying long.
He slowly took in my appearance. I tried not to wither under the scrutiny. I knew what he saw standing in front of him--a seventeen year old girl with dark brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. I’m not the type to stop traffic. My chin and my forehead were a bit too pronounced thanks to my Scottish heritage. Blunt bangs fringed my forehead, coming to rest above nondescript hazel eyes, and my build--more tomboyish than playboy bunny. Nothing that screamed “look at me”--I blended into a crowd, and that was something I counted on.
“I can pay.” I pulled a wad of bills out of my right jacket pocket. “I understand that you people prefer to work in cash.”
The cash made him frown. Worse, it made him move from behind the big glass counter faster than I could have anticipated. I barely had a chance to take a step back before he reached out and grabbed my arm.
“Who are you?”
He was much bigger up close. I looked up and our eyes locked, and I suddenly lost the ability to speak. He’d seemed amiable enough when I stepped into the shop, but now his whole body language took on a more threatening vibe. Those dark eyes shone, not with anger but… Violence.
Normally a big, pissed-off stranger manhandling me would have freaked me out, but I was past being intimidated. Fear had left the building a few days ago when bullets had been flying and bloody bodies covered the floor. I gave myself a mental shake. I wouldn’t think about that now. I’d lock those images into the deepest, darkest corner of my mind, and maybe one day I would deal with them, but not today. Today I was on a mission. I didn’t have a lot to lose and this guy might be the only one who could give me what I needed most.
I pushed the money at his chest with my free hand. “My name is Colina. You don’t need to know my last name, and if this isn’t enough, name your price.”
His fingers curled around the bills, and he took a step back and let go of my arm. “You’re serious about this?”
“Yes. If you tell me no, I’ll go find someone else.”
Only problem was there weren’t a lot of people willing to teach outside their guild, and we both knew it.
“You think you can handle learning the black arts?”
I wasn’t sure I could handle it, but I wasn’t about to admit my fear to him. So I kept quiet and nodded.
“Luke, you can’t be serious. You can’t teach her.” Darla had finished braiding her hair--her attention now was on the two of us.
“Stay out of it, Darla!”
“No way Uncle would let you do it!” Her brown eyes blazing with anger, Darla jumped down from the counter and rounded up on him.
He took a step away from her and turned to me. “Have you had any training?”
I lifted the sleeve of my jacket and turned my forearm, revealing the small tattoo of a blue swallow inked into my skin just above my palm.
“You’re a healer.” He couldn’t have sounded more shocked.
I could feel tears starting to form, but I forced them back. “I was.”
“You can’t learn the dark arts. Your people would never allow such a thing.” He frowned. He’d looked on me first with ridicule, then in amusement, and now he was watching me as though I was some kind of puzzle he was trying to work out.
It was true. I’d taken the sacred oath, and if anyone caught me learning the dark arts, let alone using them, I’d be punished, possibly imprisoned. I knew the risk, but I didn’t care.
“Will you teach me?” I knew he could hear the desperation in my voice. I felt it in the very core of my being. My hands were visibly trembling. I’d done a pretty good job of keeping it together until now, but hunger and exhaustion washed over me. I had been on my own, trying to deal with what happened, and it was suddenly all too much. If seeing me fall apart in front of him was the only way to convince him of my sincerity, then I didn’t care if he saw my fear and desperation. He was my last hope. My only chance to stay alive and maybe, if I lived long enough and I got lucky, I would have a chance to take my revenge.
He didn’t answer right away. Darla stood next to him, her eyes wide but her expression unreadable. She watched us both in silence. And as we all stood there, the silence stretched on and on, and all the while Luke’s unyielding dark eyes surveyed me. I had a feeling he was trying to figure me out, he was trying to coax out my secrets, but I knew he couldn’t. Training in my art had given me the necessary skills to defend my thoughts if I needed to.
I pushed down the urge to shift from foot to foot while I waited for an answer. When he finally broke the silence, I physically jumped.
“Come back tomorrow night after midnight.” He pocketed the bills.
“The witching hour.” I said the words through clenched teeth. It was not the response I was expecting. The witching hour was a time when people slept, and the world seemed tranquil, except it was more than that. It wasn’t truly tranquil and safe, not for people like us. For those of us who knew better it could be wild, chaotic and dangerous.
“Yes, the witching hour.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
A shudder went through me. What the heck was I getting myself into?
“Still time to change your mind.” His voice was low.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? A healer? You’ve seen the life leave a person, watched their energy dissipate into the ether sea, but have you ever called on that same energy? Ever felt its pulse swirling and circling around you? It’s not for the faint of heart.”
What could I say? He was right. I had never called on the spirits. Honestly, I only had an inkling of the type of magic his guild used. I knew that it was the strongest magic. If I was going to survive, if I was going to exact my revenge, it was the magic I needed to learn, no matter the consequences. I had no choice but to head down this road, but that didn’t stop fear and panic from settling into the pit of my stomach.
A phone rang before I could reply. He made his way back around the counter and picked up the receiver and started talking on the phone.
When I had gone looking for a death dealer, I hadn’t been given a name. A piece of paper with an address and a brief description of the shop had been the only things I had to go on. I had made it here in one piece and someone had agreed to teach me. It was a victory, a small one, but I’d take what I could at this p
oint.
I realized I was standing there like an idiot, watching Luke talk on the phone, when I should have been high-tailing it out of there. We’d completed our business. He might have reservations, but he’d taken my money and agreed to teach me. I had no reason to linger. If I hung around he might change his mind, yet there I was--staying and staring.
He was good looking, with piercing eyes and a rugged jaw. He had broad shoulders and a long scar ran down his left shoulder, the end of it lost beneath the black material. I wondered how far the scar ran. At the last thought, I felt a heat rise inside me. My cheeks flushed, and for a moment my heart pounded. I reminded myself that he was a death dealer.
I realized in horror that the phone conversation was over, and he was talking to me, but I had been so caught up in my own thoughts that I had missed everything he said.
I felt a blush spread across my cheeks. Like an idiot I mumbled, “Uh, what?”
“You can’t go back out in the streets.” He looked deadly serious.
“Who’s going to stop me?” I regained my composure, but my voice was more than a bit defensive.
“The Triads. I just got a call from a neighbor. The Triads are hanging out down the block.” He walked around the counter until he stood in front of me. “You’ll have to stay here. At least for a couple hours until the coast is clear.”
No way was I staying. I had gotten what I came for. It was time to leave. The Triads didn’t scare me. I was a healer and even they had a code against harming a healer. But I was no longer a healer, I reminded myself. I was going to delve into the forbidden magics. I was soon to become someone on the fringe of society. No respectable person mingled with the Phoenix Guild.
A wave of exhaustion suddenly hit me. I grabbed the corner of the closest table to steady myself. Making the decision to come here, forcing him to take me on, had taken all the energy out of me. The anger, the desperation, the determination, it all suddenly evaporated.
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