Mike turned to walk away again when a shrill call resonated in his ears. “Stop.”
It was only one word, and Mike never listened to anyone. He went to continue on his way, but instead, his body involuntarily made a one-eighty turn and faced the smiling dwarf.
Alayna walked up and leaned against the trunk of a big oak tree. “I wasn’t finished with my spiel, and my time isn’t cheap, so you should appreciate these lessons. A fingertip punch works like this.” She held her fingers straight out and placed them against the rough bark of the tree. “Imagine the tree is my target, and I can’t wind up. I have to punch from only a fingertip distance away. I make a fist.” She curled her bruised knuckles into a ball. “I can only strike from this distance away. And I have small fingers.”
Mike asked, “Why in the hell would you do that?”
She shook her head. “As I said, it is to be used in close fighting and whatever other situations might warrant it. This technique proves that power doesn’t have to derive from brute strength. It can come from your mind. Do you want to try it out?”
“You going to leave me alone if I do? Whatever. Kyle’s probably still sleeping, and I don’t got anywhere to go right now.”
She chirped at him. “You first.”
“You want me to hit a little girl?”
The smirk on her lips curled in the other direction. “Don’t worry, I’ve been smacked by savage beasts much bigger than you. I’m not a little girl either. I am nine-hundred and ninety-nine years old. Now hit me, you little bitch.”
Mike laughed and shook his head. “Is that like twenty-nine for most women? Have you turned nine-hundred and ninety-nine, like, forty or fifty times?”
Alayna shook her head and flipped him off with both hands. “Hit me.”
Mike shrugged his shoulders. “If you really want me to.”
“Oh, I insist.” The faerie pointed to her shoulder, and Mike leaned down and placed his hand near the target.
He gave her a final chance to call it off, but she didn’t, so Mike closed his fist and rammed it into her upper arm. He jolted her upper body with the punch, but her heels remained dug firmly into the earth’s soil, and her feet didn’t budge.
Mike immediately felt bad about hitting a tiny woman. “Sorry, but you asked for it.”
Alayna mockingly brushed off her lace flower-decorated shoulder and blew on her fingernails. “The bugs must be biting today. My turn. My turn.”
She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Mike felt a gentle breeze as a cloud of green smoke rushed from the open aperture. Alayna put her hands on her hips and raised her head. Her nostrils widened like an angry bull’s and the emerald fog suddenly started to flow in reverse.
She reclaimed the magic gas through her nose, shook her head and opened her eyes, looking refreshed. Mike started to back away as she approached him.
She pestered him, “Where are you going? You aren’t afraid of little ole me, are you, big boy?”
Mike stopped. He wasn’t afraid of her. He was terrified. This had to be a figment of his imagination. Still, he kneeled and pulled up the short sleeve on his shirt, exposing his corded bicep and the bulging blue veins tracing around his upper arm and shoulder.
Mike waited for his love tap but the woman was staring at him adoringly. “You gonna do this?”
She flickered her eyelids. “I’m sorry. I feel like I just got lost in a portal or something. I’ve traveled back in history many times, and you remind me of a great warrior. The rippling muscles, haunting blue eyes and short blond hair. His hair wasn’t always long, and it certainly wasn’t dark, the way some of the books like to claim. Most of the movies and books get it wrong.”
“And who in the hell are you talking about?”
She instantly replied, “Lancelot.” A flash of electricity ran through her eyes, but it deadened when Mike returned a dopey stare.
She shook her head. “I forgot that you are not exactly scholarly. Rest assured it’s a great compliment. All right, you ready?”
She moved in closer, laid her silky fingertips against Mike’s triceps and moved up to his shoulder. Four tiny golden fingernails disappeared into her palm.
Quick as lightning, her tiny fist sprang into motion, ending with a harsh thud against the big man’s solid flesh. Mike toppled over on the ground as sharp, jagged pains centered in his shoulder and ran down his arm. He used his other arm to recover his sunglasses from the ground.
“You wicked bitch. What the hell was that?” he yelled.
She held her index finger over her lips and whispered, “Magic and mind-power, my dear. And I quite like that nickname. Don’t get it twisted, Mike. You can be much more powerful than me.”
Mike stood up and shot her a dirty look before jogging away.
She screamed, “Stop.”
Again, Mike didn’t want to, but he turned around involuntarily and walked up to Alayna. Perhaps he yearned for structure or discipline. Hell, Mike would take any parental-type figure just giving a lick about him. However, he still didn’t think that this lady was real, although that punch had most certainly felt real.
Sudden anger rushed through his body. He thought he must be dying. This had to be some lucid dream before he was judged and sent to hell. The confused young man locked eyes with this magnetic woman.
“Uh oh. You look mad. I’ll give you a chance to wind up and hit me. It’s only fair. Go ahead.”
Mike watched in awe as a glow equal to the gold of sunshine washed over the dwarf like a waterfall. She retained her pearly white complexion as the yellow gleam faded. He rubbed his eyelids harder this time but the strange image remained standing a few feet away.
“I would never hit a woman with a full punch,” Mike promised and turned to leave.
He immediately spun back around and threw a haymaker at the dwarf’s shoulder. His fist, forearm and shoulder passed through the target as if the woman was a hologram or projection. His momentum caused him to plant his face in the dirt.
Alayna chuckled like Scooby Doo.
Mike scrambled to his knees.
She informed him, “I can teach you all of this. What say you now?”
Mike started to walk away, paused for a second and turned around. He glared at her mousy nose and mouth, and could picture whiskers on her cheeks. He slapped his cheek, assuming he was hallucinating. “You want to know what I say. I say you should take your midget ass outta here before you get mistaken for an animal and get shot. Hell, you could get eaten by one of the bigger animals round here.”
Her blond brows lowered, face flushed, and anger latched to her face. “I’m a faerie, asshole. I can help you with the cancer despite you acting like a fool right now. Don’t be stupid. Oh, look who I’m talking to. Come on, I thought you didn’t have anywhere to go. He’s going to kill you if you don’t take my help.”
“Who’s gonna kill me?”
She tilted her head to the side. “George.”
Now he was convinced this was only a figment of his imagination. The weed always carried a calming effect, but the herbal remedy couldn’t prevent Mike from getting riled up. He wanted to keep the secret about his cancer diagnosis just that, a secret. He flipped her off with his right hand and turned his back for the last time.
Mike broke into a sprint, and before too long, the heavy sounds of following footsteps ceased. He pulled his phone from his hip pocket and called Kyle.
Chapter 2
Emily
EMILY POKED HER HEAD in the open screen door of the Wallace Avenue convenience store. “You guys sell Red Bull here?”
The salt-and-pepper bearded clerk wore thick, Coke-bottle glasses and seemed to be looking to her right, not directly at her.
He said, “Sorta.”
Emily spoke in terse, desperate tones. “Look, look. Either you sell it. Or you don’t...fucking sell it. It’s not hard.”
The clerk still looked to the side of her and said in a stern manner, “Tell you one thing we don’t do with rou
nd here, an’ ‘at’s cussin’, young lady. Said sorta ‘cause we don’t sell that fancy name-brand stuff. What we got’s over there in the cooler, and I’ll thank you kindly to mind your tongue as well.”
She slinked all the way into the store. “Of course, thank you. Sorry about that.”
Relief cascaded through her body. Coffee had always made her sick, but she needed artificial energy. She walked past the potato chips, donuts and snack cakes to get to the cooler. She hadn’t slept in the two days since she had seen that—that thing.
No.
Wait.
She hadn’t seen any image.
At least, that was what she tried to convince herself.
She hadn’t seen anything.
It was too dark in the basement of that tarot reading place.
The lamp had been knocked off the table.
The light coming from it was making queer shadows.
Surely that explained it all.
Frantic thoughts flurried down like a blizzard, freezing her mind and conscience.
Emily reached out to grab the biggest cans she could find. She unsteadily carried six 32-ounce cans up to the counter and dropped them harder than she had anticipated. The clerk grabbed a rolling black cylinder before it fell to the ground. He pulled in the beverages and used his pinky finger to count them three times before scanning one can’s UPC six times.
Emily Rodgers was past the delirious stage in her sleeplessness. Her current confusion was causing a staring contest between her and Coke-bottle Willie.
The clerk broke the silence. “Ten dolla’ and twenty-seven cent. Cash or charge?”
Emily came out of her haze and asked, “You take checks?” She tried to smile but her lips wouldn’t quite acquiesce.
He stroked the hair on his chin with his thumb and index finger. “Used ta. Not no more since too many deadbeats mest it all up for e’ryone. Now she’s just cash or charge.”
Emily reached into her pocket and felt over the stack of credit cards. Most of them were worth more in plastic than the balance of the account. Hell, six cards out of the baker’s dozen she owed money on.
She dove deeper for the bills in the bottom of the pocket and shaped her hand like a shovel to scoop out the money, throwing the wrinkled bills onto the white counter.
“How much was it?” She looked up with desperation in her eyes and sweat building above her brows.
“Ten twenty-seven, young lady.”
She started unraveling and laying out the notes.
$1
$1
$1
$5
$1
She flattened out the last bill and stared at the face of George Washington.
Shit.
She ruffled every bill with her thumbs and fingers, hoping that two notes had gotten stuck together.
No luck.
She checked her other three pockets for paper money or coins.
No luck.
Her eyes darted to the Give A Penny—Take A Penny box near the register. It still applied for give 27 pennies, take 27 pennies, right? Unfortunately, it only held about ten cents.
No luck there. She thought about running to her car to look for change.
Emily tried to put on a sympathetic face, not realizing that she looked like a strung-out vampire, especially with the smeared mascara. She stared into the clerk’s thick lenses and distorted gray eyes that reminded her of the wacky mirrors at the carnivals.
He appeared to still be looking off to the right, and her hopes faded.
He adjusted his glasses. “What is it ya got there? Is ‘at ten? Just gimme that an’ let me make sure it looks OK, an’ we’ll get ya all fixed up.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” She shoved the bills over with her forearm, that was covered with red scratches.
“Thank you again,” she said, and this time she could smile.
She snatched the handles of the plastic bag.
The older clerk pushed his glasses up. “Don’t be doin’ nothin’ stupit an’ try drinkin’ em all in one shot now.”
She shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that.”
Emily opened the screen door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She hit the remote unlock button and nothing happened. She had to wait until she was almost on top of the Jeep Grand Cherokee before the locks finally clicked.
Her vehicle looked great from the outside. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Emily Rodgers right now. She had heavy black shaded bags under her yellowish, glossy eyes.
She turned the key and silently said an atheist-style, “Oh, please, Great God in the sky help my car start.” kind of prayer. The slow rumble of a neglected engine attempted to gain traction. She pressed the gas a couple of times, not really knowing why. Perhaps she had seen it on TV or in a movie.
Chugga...
Chugga...
Chugga...
The vehicle finally caught, and Emily patted the steering wheel as if it were a good dog. She checked the rearview mirror in hopes of seeing the big plume of black smoke that confirmed the SUV was running.
Oh, shit.
Quickly, she glanced away. She had forgotten she wasn’t supposed to look in mirrors. Instead, she focused on her expired inspection tags on the windshield.
Emily tried to corral her nervous breathing and put two hands on the wheel.
She lived right down the street.
It should have been a simple exercise.
Her mashed, sleepless thoughts tried to coalesce into a coherent plan for turning this car around without using the mirrors. Unfortunately, those thoughts collided with each other, thrusting her into deeper confusion.
She closed her eyes and the image appeared.
Oh, shit.
Her eyelids flickered open as she shook her head from side to side. She slapped her left cheek a few times, then buried that same hand into the plastic bag on the passenger’s seat and pulled out a huge can. She stared at it like it were a trophy fish before cracking it open.
The audible release of carbonation coupled with the aromatic burst of cherries and cinnamon widened her eyes. She took a greedy gulp too soon and choked. Fizzy purple foam spilled out the sides of her mouth and joined the other stains on her green tank top.
She waited for the carbonation to settle and chugged it in small intervals, stopping to burp in between. Her mind churned, trying to put everything together, ultimately ending in confusion. Logic and reality were conspiring to betray her mind.
What was going on?
Right. She needed to turn this car around and get home.
Emily turned the key and let go immediately because of the harsh grinding sound. She had forgotten the car was already running.
This shouldn’t be that hard.
She had so many other things to be focused on.
Next Thursday, she had a make-or-break meeting to secure financing to save her failing business. She had inherited the role of CEO from her father right after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He had lost his memory soon after and hadn’t found out that Emily had thrust the company into a dire situation.
There was the other offer. Was the tarot card reader really going to pay Emily $50,000 to dig something up from Houlihan’s Circle? She had trouble believing that a tarot card reader who worked out of his house would have that kind of money. That bag of cash in the basement had to be counterfeit. But it looked so real.
She had only wanted the tarot reader to find something good in her future. Anything. She just wanted a little reassurance.
Why had he taken her into the basement? All this confusion swirled around when she should have been focused.
Her hands-on approach as a complete amateur in the Lumber Distribution Market had proceeded to dig a hole and bury the company in debt. That was all over now. What’s done is done and can never be undone.
Right now, she should be concentrating on the meeting that could save her company. Instead, she struggled to figure out what she was doing sitting
in her SUV outside the convenience store. She glanced in the rearview mirror.
Oh, shit.
Chapter 3
Prince’s Mountain
PRINCE’S MOUNTAIN WAS a small town, in a small state, in a small country, on a small continent, on a small planet. The residents wished it were forgotten like most small towns or perhaps known for something like having the World’s Biggest Ball of Yarn. For a small town, it screamed a loud, scary story that had spread across most of the country.
Most small towns don’t carry the dark secrets that Prince’s Mountain did.
The name Prince’s Mountain did injustice to the area it described. There was nothing regal about it. The mountain part wasn’t even true. It was more like a small hill.
Residents called it Prince Mount or the Prince for short. It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, not the preternatural chill zone that all the movies had made it out to be.
Summer was here but the livin’ was never easy in Prince’s Mountain. Since the downturn in the economy ten years before, this small town had been one of the first to be left behind.
Big bank bailouts?
Sure! How much?
Relief for small town salt-of-the-earth?
Hell no. The government can fix that by using an eraser on the map. No more Prince’s Mountain. Problem solved.
Prince’s Mountain was mainly a run-down small town. If you were from a major city, it would be like stepping into a time machine and going back five to ten years.
Little bit of a city, so a family could get supplies, but nothing fancy. At one time, the area had been known for beet growing, red specifically, among other things. Prince’s Mountain had enjoyed some incredible successes in its existence but all everyone wanted to talk about was Houlihan’s Circle.
Nobody still knew exactly what was in those woods.
No survivors. No stories.
The big events had come in ’33, ’71 and ’99. Many people over the years had reported seeing it. Police reports included descriptions detailing the following:
The devil.
A vampire.
A werewolf.
Bloodline Awakened Supernatural Thriller Series: Books 1-3 Page 42
