Aldin's Wish
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Aldin’s Wish
Enchanted Immortals Book 1
F.G. Adams
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Also by F.G. Adams
Keagan
Copyright © 2016 by F.G. Adams
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, named features, artists and bands are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used for reference and without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
Cover Design:
LJ Anderson with Mayhem Creations
Edited by:
Daryl Banner
Dedicated to our grandma,
for encouraging us to be who we are today.
We miss you and will love you always.
Prologue
Peru, South America
In the bowels of the great mountain Huayna Picchu in Peru, the cool moist air drifts heavily throughout the intricately woven caves of blackness, a never-ending labyrinth with a stale stench of death permeating from the slight air flow seeping through the tunnels. Walls of slippery, wet rocks with sharp, jagged edges from centuries of mineral deposits and eons of erosion continue the maze. Lifeless.
In the underground makeshift tomb well below the Inca ceremonial Moon Temple, a figure stands hunched over, waiting. Muted light filters throughout the grotto from the two lit torches perched at the entrance. Decay seeps from the exposed skin of the man. No, not man—monster. Flesh rots away from the bone, piece by piece, like a dead animal left in the woods for weeks.
A sizable obsidian stone hangs from the ceiling in the center of the room, angling down toward the solitary rock-sculpted altar. The black gem is called the Abgrund Stone, better known as the Infinite Abyss which holds all the Night Realm power.
“திறந்த எள்” Open sesame, the man whispers into the subterranean tomb.
The lone figure turns his head to the entrance as a bright light flashes, and the sound of heavy footsteps rumble through the cavern. He watches as a huge, shadowed frame steps into the cave burdened by a large bundle over his shoulders.
“Did you retrieve what I desired, Jafar?” the decaying man croaks from the middle of the cave.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The figure bows while balancing the heavy load.
Walking over to his master, the man lays the massive bundle carefully out across the stone table set in the center of the room, mindful of his actions.
“It is just as you wished, Your Majesty. He is thirty-five human years old. A Vampire youngling. He’s been turned for only ten years.” Jafar looks eagerly to the rotting man, expectant and hopeful.
The dark cloak is pulled back to reveal a strikingly handsome specimen. Long black locks surround a narrow face. The Vampire’s tan color and high cheekbones give away his Indian heritage.
“Ah, Jafar. You have done very well this time.”
Jafar bows again, then reaches inside his pocket to retrieve a tattered black and white photo. “I found this on your new body, Your Majesty. It bears a striking resemblance to Maarku.”
A decrepit hand reaches out to snag the photograph. Peering at the tattered paper from deteriorating eyes, the man studies the picture. Two men are standing side by side, one with his arm draped over the other, his gaze showing a look of fatherly admiration and warmth toward him. As he examines it closer, a sinister smile spreads across his face.
“Yes. Yes. I believe you are correct, my old friend. This is most certainly him.”
Evil laughter erupts from the crumpled remains of the man, pinging off the walls, echoing through the cavernous space. Soon Jafar joins in.
“We finally have him, Jafar. And I now know his weakness. Come. We must begin the ritual immediately. We have much to do and little time to do it in.”
They prepare the body lying on the stone table. After stripping him naked, they cuff his hands and feet. Jafar scurries around prepping while the man leans laboriously against the table. When all is ready, the ceremony begins. With shallow breaths, he commences with reciting the incantation:
“ஓ இருள் அதிகாரம் நான் உம்மை வேண்டிக்கொள்ளுகிறேன். நான் கடவுள் Zenon மற்றும் அம்மன் அகஸ்டா சக்தி அழைப்பு விடுக்கிறோம். டார்க் நைட் அதிகாரம் வெளியிட. இருண்ட ஆன்மா பள்ளத்தை நரகத்தில், Abgrund ஸ்டோன் உள்ள இருக்கும். என்னை மாற்றம் சக்தி தாருங்கள். அவரது உடல் ஆன்மா, உடல் ஆன்மா மாற்றம், என்னுடைய.”
(“Oh power of darkness, I beseech thee. I call upon the power of the god Zenon and goddess Augusta. Release the power of the dark knight. The dark souls existing within the hell of abyss, the Abgrund Stone. Grant me the power of transformation. Transferring soul for soul, body for body, his for mine.”)
Chapter One
New York City, Spring of 1820
Aldin
As I walk home in the early evening light, the wind whips through my hair from the salty coastal waters causing a tornado affect around me and making me shiver. I bundle my coat closer and wrap my tattered scarf more firmly around my neck. There’s a slight chill in the air that is reminiscent of the harsh winter. But the air has changed, becoming more crisp, and with it brings a new hope for better days. The sun slowly sets off to the west as I buckle my coat tighter.
I worked a long day at the shipyard. My body is taut and aching from the overworked, underpaid conditions I’m forced to endure. It’s the only job I can find or the only legitimate job I can get. I’m a street rat after all, scouring around to find any decent work. My father passed away a few years ago and that left me in charge of the family. My mother, God bless her, cooks and cleans for a rich family uptown, but it’s still no
t enough. My baby sister needs to go to school—just another thing we can’t afford.
I’m only eighteen years old. Old enough to be a man, yet still naïve enough to not know what being a man entails. Don’t get me wrong; I can handle myself, being bigger than most and having an attitude to boot. I just never thought I would be in this position. Who ever would?
Picking up my pace, I watch the lonely streets ahead of me. Grey shadows and odd sounds echo throughout them. A few more blocks and I’ll be home, our modest spot in this enormous land. The apartment is a small flat that has one bedroom and a communal bath. It’s all we can afford on the sparse income mama and I get. We had to move to the city after dad died. It was rough leaving behind the family farm, but mouths needed feeding, and without livestock or money, we had no choice.
Reaching the last block, I tense as a dark figure moves out from the alley. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I move away from the giant figure approaching, trying to dart around him.
A deep baritone voice with a hint of a foreign accent reaches out to me. “Hello, boy.”
Since I’m the only one on the street other than this hackle-raising man, I stop in my tracks. Turning around slowly, I face the pursuer waiting for me.
He speaks again. “How would you like to earn some extra coins?” The hypnotic timbre of the voice envelopes me, seeming to trap me in place. It has a calming effect, actually.
My face betrays me. I’m excited by the prospect of earning more money, yet at the same time leery of this shadowed alley man. I take a moment to look him over. Donning a pair of expensive boots with tassels hanging off the sides, the incandescent gas mantle from the streetlamp plays across his nondescript features. He’s impeccably dressed with a dark hooded cloak that masks his face, obscuring his features, and I can only spot his eyes which seem to glow. Those eyes give me pause as I catch a flicker of red playing around his pupils—there one minute, gone the next.
My pulse quickens as I take a few awkward steps back in retreat of this threatening being, trying to decide if what I see is real or just a play on the dimly lit murkiness around me.
Again, the voice snares me and says, “What do you say, boy? If you could have three wishes, what would they be?”
I’m shocked, unable to answer. No one has ever asked me what I wanted. Sure, I’ve dreamed of better days, better things, but I know my life; thinking of such things is a pipe dream. My mind races to a time when I didn’t carry the burden I do now, full of aspirations I wanted out of my life … all before my father died.
“I’m not sure, really. What do you mean, sir?”
“Well, it’s really rather simple. If you could have three wishes, anything at all that you wanted the most … what would you wish for?”
The silky baritone voice envelopes my senses while sending pimpled flesh over my arms, reminding me of the predatory nature this being represents. But I’m hooked and answer as my overworked brain complies with his question.
“I would have lots of money, for starters, so that my mother and sister Ana were taken care of.” I give a sly smile, compelled to continue with my next wish. “I would also have lots of women at my beck and call.” I hear the man chuckle a little as I’m giving into my wishes. “Then, of course, I’d want to live forever!”
“Yes, of course you would,” exclaims the man. “What if I told you that I could grant your three wishes and change your life forever?”
This is incredible, but doubtful at best. I can’t even imagine this man could do anything of the sort. He would need magic or something, and I don't believe in such things. I gaze at the lone figure who has somehow shifted closer into my personal space without me knowing.
“What’s your name, boy?” the man asks as he extends his hand to me. “I am Lord Marcus Dalca.”
“Aldin, sir. Aldin Kovac,” I say as I reach out to grasp his hand.
An immediate surge of electrical pulses race through my arm from this man’s touch. I try to pull back, but his grip is sure and I can’t get loose. Sudden panic floods my system and my eyes round with fright.
The man coolly speaks again. “I can give you everything your heart desires, Aldin. All you have to do is agree.”
That sweet rich bass flows through our connection, giving me peace. Can this be real? Am I dreaming? My heart pounds loudly within my chest while my breathing becomes uneven from the anxiety of the prospect.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, whispering, still clasping his much larger hand with mine.
“Nothing much. Just agree to become part of my ranks, if you will. Work for me and all of your dreams, desires, and wishes will come true,” he states in a formal manner that exudes wealth and privilege.
I nod my head because this is just so unbelievable that I can’t wait another second.
Marcus continues to say, “I must hear you say the words, Aldin. You have to tell me you agree … with your words.”
Such a strange request from this intimidating man. It’s as if he’s asking permission. For what? Clearing my throat, I take a deep breath. “Yes, I will work for you in order to attain my wishes and desires.”
I instantly feel the change in the air, a power that sizzles, engulfing us both. Swaddling around us, caressing, squeezing, and consuming. Marcus leans in, hand still tightly grasping mine, and that’s when I see them. His eyes are flaming red and sprouting from his upturned smiling lips are long sharp … fangs.
NO! I scream through my head, wishing the cry to burst from my mouth, but it’s too late. Plunged into darkness, I know no more and my world is over.
Chapter Two
Boston, Massachusetts 2010
Harvard University
Wren
The insistent music of Black Eyed Peas singing I’ve Got a Feeling rings loudly in my ears. It causes me to stir, along with the substantial pressure on my bladder. Note to self: Do not drink a whole bottle of green tea before going to sleep after a seventy-two hour shift. Waking up from sleep has never been easy for me. Since I was a little girl, my mother and father always told me I could sleep through a concert, tornado, or a train wreck. Truth.
I was in the middle of the weirdest dream. My mother and father were there. I can’t quite remember much else which isn’t uncommon for me. Although from the sweat dripping off my face onto my pillow, it was not a good dream. Oh no!
Opening my eyes slowly, I turn my head to face my phone blaring loudly on the bedside table. I realize it’s not the alarm, but a phone call is coming in. Glancing toward the window, I see it’s still dark outside. What time is it?
Grabbing my phone, I notice it’s four o’clock in the morning. Fuck! I’ve only been asleep a few hours. My phone goes off again and I see a New York City number displayed on the screen. It doesn’t belong to anyone I know. I hope my mother’s okay.
As I answer the call, trepidation fills my soul. Something is wrong. I can feel it deep down in the marrow of my bones. My dream … I’ve always had a sixth sense. The first time it happened, I was six years old. My puppy Bruiser was playing in the front yard with me. All of a sudden, I was swamped with a terrible feeling of sadness. And for a six-year-old, it was a bit overwhelming. Then a few moments later, Bruiser ran out into the road and was hit by a car. It was a very traumatic experience. Later on, I realized it was a warning. Being a logical person, this didn’t fit into my world. So I kept it to myself. I’ve never shared it with anyone until I met my roommate and best friend Candie.
Someone on the phone repeats, “Hello, is anyone there?”, breaking my trance.
“Oh, my apologies. My brain is a bit foggy. I just got off a seventy-two hour shift at the hospital. Hello. Who is this?”
“Miss Wren Bishop?” asks the caller.
“Yes, that’s me. Who is this?” I repeat in a groggy tone.
“This is Sergeant Ryan with the NYPD 26th precinct. You are listed as the only relative to contact for a Ms. Katrina Bishop. Is this your mother?”
For a mo
ment I can’t seem to catch my breath. This can’t be happening again. Please, don’t let it happen again. Closing my eyes, I count to ten backwards, then answer in a mildly panicked tone, “Yes, Katrina Bishop is my mother. Is everything alright? Is she okay? Is she d—?”
The sergeant interrupts my anxiety. “Calm down, Miss Bishop. Your mother is alive. She was found wandering the streets of Manhattan last night in her night clothes. She was screaming profanities loudly at passersby, but it appeared as if she was talking to someone who wasn’t there. Even when we apprehended her into custody, she was looking right through us. Your mother didn’t even notice what was happening until we arrived at the hospital. When she finally came to her senses, the first person she asked for was you, Miss Bishop.”
“Oh, thank god.” I sigh in relief that my mother is alive, grateful I will see her again.
“Miss Bishop?” Sergeant Ryan prods. “When can you be here? Your mother needs a custodian. Someone to help make rational decisions for her treatment.”
The relief that washes over me is instantaneous, the tightness in my shoulders giving rest as I take another deep breath. She’s okay. My mother is still with me.
“Yes, of course, Sergeant Ryan. I understand. I will be there in a few hours. I’ll take the next train to New York. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I’ll see you soon.”
When I disconnect the call, I feel my bed dip beside me and Candie’s arm wraps gently around my shoulder.
“It’s all going to be alright, Wren. You’ll see.”
I lean into her warmth and take in deep breaths. No need to cry over spilled milk, so I talk myself out of it. Candie’s comfort will aid my aching heart until I see my mother in person.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur while Candie packs me an overnight bag and walks me to the train station. I settle into my seat at the back of the half-empty train car, lean my head against the window, and close my eyes for a little while, drifting off into blackness.