He reached down. Down. Down. Down. To the center of the earth.
He took several deep breaths and pulled in the liquid fire from the earth’s core.
He kept breathing in a dragon’s flames.
Absorbing it.
Manifesting it.
Polishing it.
Harvesting it.
He continued until his body felt like it was about to explode. And then he pulled in some more fire. His eyelids flickered open, and he focused on Bellana’s chest. He concentrated the internal blaze, and right before he passed out, he flung the intense wave of internal magic at the undead woman.
The desperate screeching of the woman assured Mike that the internal fireball had been a success.
Smoke poured out of the undead woman’s ears, filling the forest with the scent of burnt syrup. Her dress caught fire and turned black as a breeze picked up. The prevailing wind carried away her burnt dress, ash by ash, leaving a battered naked body.
Mike dropped to his knees as a sharp pain ran through his head, making his ears ring. He hadn’t yet mastered internal magic. However, his plan to heat up the sap so it cooked her body from the inside appeared to have worked like a charm. Mike watched George’s wife take her last few breaths and a mighty smile spread across his face.
Chapter 26
MIKE’S SMILE DISAPPEARED when George roared like an entire pride of lions in unison. The hairy undead man sprang to his feet. He jumped angrily in the air, waving his arms around, and landed with a tremendous thud, facing Mike.
Harsh vibrations rippled through the forest. Mike felt himself being snagged by George’s vines of magic. He couldn’t move.
Paralyzing fear.
A foul copper taste.
Beads of sweat.
Wrinkles of shock forming.
His head tilted like a questioning dog’s.
Unhinging fear worked its way up and down Mike’s spine, performing the dance of the living dead. George took steady, measured steps toward his prey. Mike’s head screamed at his body to hightail it out of the woods, but he remained still as a statue.
Gooseflesh bubbled up on every part of Mike’s body.
An eye squinting scowl from the predator.
Why didn’t Mike run?
Why didn’t Mike try to fight?
What happened?
Mind magic?
If true, Mike didn’t stand a chance. George stopped his wailing and moaning to stare at Mike. Mike wanted to turn and run out of the woods and never come back. But he didn’t.
He stood. Shaking. Waiting. Waiting for his punishment.
It arrived right on time.
He felt an invisible rough noose tightening around his neck. Tighter. Tighter.
The coarse rope lifted Mike into the air. He kicked around and grabbed for the top of the rope, but nothing met his touch. His face turned purple, and foamy spit shot out of the sides of his mouth as he gagged for air. Life fluttered away. Glowing geometric visions bounced around his mind.
Mike wanted to give in. Time to end this fight. To end this life. No more cancer. No more sore bones. No more spitting up blood. No more worries. He closed his eyes.
An amethyst lightning bolt streaked down from a shimmering silver cloud. Mike felt its heat brush past the back of his neck. He suddenly fell to the ground and rolled around, gasping to find some elusive oxygen. George had returned to his wife to weep over her limp body.
Mike made it to his knees and then up to his feet. He stumbled around until he fully regained composure, wondering why George hadn’t come back to finish him off.
But George didn’t need to do that. Mike barely saw the rippling wave of opaque energy that George had sent his way, and took the brunt of the force. The magical impact knocked Mike back about fifteen feet.
Smoke rose from his singed body, and Mike felt like he was about to combust. He rolled around trying to extinguish the invisible flames. Eventually, the feeling abated.
Mike struggled to his feet and thought again about running away. The prospect of defeating George seemed to fade away as reality set in.
Mike searched his scrambled mind for magic to use against this timeless warlock. Nothing came to him. The intense, rolling head pains of a migraine started to set in. Mike couldn’t straighten out his thoughts. His mind wobbled. It felt like someone was pounding a nail into his temple.
George peered over his left shoulder at Mike. A silver shine came over George’s brown body, and he shot a stream of argent dust toward Mike. The steady stream of floating powder sparkled like a diamond. As it approached, it divided into many smaller tributaries and surrounded Mike.
Mike tried to run out of the surrounding shield, but was stopped by the silver glow. The force picked Mike up off the ground and spun him around like a cyclone. He became dizzy and started to lose consciousness as the speed increased.
Mike passed out, and the circular motion stopped suddenly, flinging his body flew through the air like a ragdoll. He crashed into a large tree branch, breaking it off the trunk. Mike fell to the ground and a smack of pain radiated from his right arm, bringing him back to awareness.
The busted branch had caused a gash that ran from Mike’s elbow to his wrist on the top side of his forearm. Dark blood oozed from the wound, and he could barely lift the injured appendage.
Grinding his teeth against the pain, Mike waited for George to strike the deathblow. The idea of getting up or fighting back hadn’t even crossed his mind.
A heavy hand landed on his left shoulder and lifted Mike back to his feet. At the same time a sense of relief cascaded over him. Someone had finally arrived to save him.
Unfortunately, a beast with the head of a boar and teeth like a saber-tooth tiger’s, greeted him.
George cocked his right hand back. Mike tried to duck the blow, but the killer had a firm grip on his shoulder. He held Mike steady while he threw three crushing right hooks. Mike could feel different bones in his face breaking with each punch. The fourth punch connected right in front of Mike’s ear, breaking his jaw upon impact.
George let go of Mike, who crumpled to the ground and whimpered.
Mike tried to talk with a busted face, but he could only mumble. “Kill me. Just end this already.”
To his surprise, George left him there and went back to tend to his dead wife.
Mike leafed through his mental catalog of healing magic. He knew that trying to heal the intricate bones of his face and jaw would be almost impossible, but the pain was so excruciating he had to try.
The young wizard performed a hasty job of fusing the bones back together. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now.
Then he concentrated on the wide cut on his right arm. He thought about plant and elemental magic that he had talked to the Gods and Goddesses about. The elements.
His mind swirled, but he could still feel the heat in his chest.
He directed all the heat to his left index finger, shifting the flames from his chest toward his extremity. He couldn’t tell if it was working or not as the heat thrashed around his body, trying to find a final destination.
The warmth danced from his shoulder, to his biceps, to his elbow, through his forearm and circulated around his palm. The fire filtered through his index finger, knuckle by knuckle and finally reached the tip. His fingertip glowed like burning ember and he moved his vision back to the severe wound.
Chapter 27
MIKE HAD A RADICAL plan. He brushed the burning finger straight down the center of the gash. The agony had him bite through his bottom lip and taste the salty zest of life. The area he’d tried to heal turned black and a hideous smoke plumed from it. It appeared he’d stopped the bleeding for the most part.
Now it was time for the surgery.
Mike ran his finger down the entire length of the cut, along the healthy skin outside the wound. His skin bubbled and turned black. He used the middle finger of his left hand to push the wound. He closed and sealed the burning skin to the other side
of the wound. The action didn’t completely close the cut, but it slowed the bleeding dramatically.
Mike tried to control his shaking hand as he burned himself badly trying to seal up the rest of the wound. No doctor would have taken credit for this sloppy surgical procedure, but at least Mike wouldn’t die in the woods from loss of blood. He pulled a Five-Hour Energy vial, downed the entire little bottle and threw it aside.
The caffeine opened his capillaries and increased blood flow, relieving some of the pressure of the migraine. Mike stood up, stumbling once or twice, then caught his balance. He still hadn’t thought of what type of magic to use.
Regardless of his lack of preparation, Mike stalked toward George with a false sense of confidence. The warlock appeared to be performing a crude form of CPR on his wife. Mike rushed and hurled a fire ball at George. It missed by a mile, and the failed attempt drained the rest of Mike’s internal heat.
Oh, shit.
Mike turned to retreat. A wave of energy smacked him in the back and knocked him on his face. He couldn’t give up. He had to find a way to defeat George.
Mike made it to his knees. A sharp pain ran though his chest when he took a deep breath. He ignored the physical agony and pressed on.
Back on his feet now, Mike stumbled over to an oak tree. He hugged the trunk. He united with the roots of the tree, reaching down to the coldest underground cave. He became one with the trunk and summoned the memories of winters past. And finally, he thought about the branches that touched the sky. He peered up at the sky, and the moon glided out from behind a dark cloud.
Mike reached to heights he never would have reached for only a week ago. He left this world and sent his mind and soul to the far side of the moon. He stood on its surface, impervious to the conditions. He sucked in some bright dust, and immediately felt his core temperature drop.
Mike hadn’t a clue as to how much magic he could handle. But his brief talk with the Gods and Goddesses coupled with his four-hour study session had given him great confidence. He pulled in more freezing air while his mind and soul returned to earth.
He still needed something to tie everything together. Mike wracked his stressed brain for one more idea. He couldn’t handle much more as his insides were freezing to death. His movement slowed as he ran his hand down the side of the trunk. Animals.
He hadn’t developed a connection to any animal yet, but knew one person he could call on. The Morrigan. Death herself. A risky move. He knew she controlled the only animals that would go into Houlihan’s Square.
“Goddess, grant your creatures flight,
If you will, I have a plight,
Many wings, they have great might,
Strength to borrow on this great night.”
Mike looked up at the sky. Nothing. It had been worth a shot. He decided to foolishly press on without any assistance from the sky. His organs were threatening to shut down because of the great chill running through his body. He couldn’t waste any more time.
George appeared just beyond some heavy brush, looking to finish him off, Mike presumed, and continued his robotic movements toward the killer as his muscles and ligaments started to freeze. A great commotion sounded from above, and in the next moment a murder of crows descended through the tree branches. Mike thought they might attack him until the birds veered left, toward George.
More specifically, George’s wife. Hundreds, if not thousands of birds swarmed Bellana’s dead body and tried to get a snack. George rushed back to her, flailing his arms around trying to swat the black birds away. The crows began to pull the body away, but George snatched Bellana’s ankle and dragged her back.
Mike watched and waited.
More crows rained down and attacked the dead witch’s body. George was overwhelmed by the angry birds, and they pulled him away from his wife. The crows picked the body up off the ground, and George went wild.
He shook away the dogged birds for a moment and pulled his wife back down. Mike formed his plan and waited. So many birds surrounded George that he could barely be seen behind the avian blanket. Another group of birds lifted George’s wife off the ground again.
George bucked and thrashed around, hitting multiple crows with every movement. He lunged for his wife, and Mike took his chance. He summoned the chill from deep inside his reservoir and chucked it toward George...
But he didn’t know how to release it. He whistled through the pain to alert the crows to leave, and a sparkling silver dust came out of his mouth as he did so. A-ha!
Mike took a deep breath and spewed out more moon dust in George’s direction. The crows dispersed as the freezing smoke hit the murderer’s body.
Mike watched for George’s reaction, ready to retreat again.
No movement.
It had worked. Mike couldn’t believe it, but he knew he needed to act quickly. He thought about The Dagda and his chiseled frame. He remembered when the God had told him that strength was totally mental.
Mike held his hands together like a club and spun in two circles, drawing nearer to George with every turn. He took one last spin, and the maneuver culminated in Mike’s fists meeting the side of George’s head, just above his ear. Mike’s hands rang in pain as he watched George’s frozen head topple off his neck and land on the ground.
No blood had come from the decapitation, and Mike wondered if George was really dead. He walked closer to the body. Still no blood. Mike took two more steps, and that was when the chilling effects wore off and blood gushed from the neck of the body and head. The crows returned and attacked both pieces of George.
Mike took a few steps back and stared the vanquished murderer that had terrorized his town for centuries. George lay dead about ten feet away.
Dead.
The killer was finally dead.
Mike had completed the quest he had set out on. But would it end up costing him his life?
He knew he barely clung onto life. Each exhale seemed to be more than he was inhaling. Too much leaving his lungs and not enough going in. Mike reminisced about his mom. He wanted to die with pleasant memories in his head.
I got him for you, Mom. I got him good. I finally accomplished something for the good of everyone. I hope you are finally proud of me. I did it all for you. I might die, but I avenged your murder.
Mike remembered his eighth birthday party again. The images were catching fuzzy interference, like an out-of-tune TV station. He could only concentrate on the pain. His cauterized wound had busted open in many places, and dark blood seeped from the ruptures.
It was too much. Mike stopped fighting. It had become too hard. His mind and body wanted out. He closed his eyes, and a bright light appeared in front of him. Mike ran toward the light, as it would take away the pain. It was almost over. Just a few more steps.
The voices creaked like old wood and promised to take away the agony. “No more pain.”
The brightness turned to darkness.
Still. Calm. Dead. Darkness.
Chapter 28
A PETITE HAND SHOOK Mike’s limp body on the ground. Nothing.
The hand checked for a pulse. Nothing.
The hand put two fingers against the side of Mike’s neck. Nothing.
The hand held a finger under Mike’s nose. Nothing.
The hand shook Mike again. Nothing.
The hand shaped into a fist and punched Mike’s chest in disappointment. The internal engine of a body started to rev. A warm buzzing circled around Mike’s heart, kickstarting it into life.
Mike sat up suddenly, and Emily wrapped her hands around him. “Oh, my God. I thought you were dead. I can’t believe you did it. He’s actually dead.”
Mike pointed at his misshapen face and jaw. He made a talking symbol with his hand and shook his head to indicate he couldn’t talk. He could talk, but it caused so much pain and he decided this was easier.
Emily hovered over him, bawling. From head to toe, Mike looked like he had just survived a major battle, which he more or less had.
Emily tried to help him up, but couldn’t support his weight, and Mike went crashing to the ground again. A few more spots on the gash on his right arm opened up, and the warning buzz of a shocked system ran through his body. Streaking stars and random colors teamed with dizziness and swirled around his head. He made it to his hands and knees and vomited.
Emily patted him on the back until he was finished throwing up and helped him up again. Mike stumbled to his right and planted his right palm on the bark of an oak tree trunk. He waited to regain his equilibrium and stared at the dead body of George going in and out of focus until the image steadied. The crows were picking at his flesh, and although it was disgusting, the killer was finally dead.
He wanted to smile, but the action never made it to his lips. It had been intercepted by the pain coursing through his entire body. From head to toe, Mike’s battered body exposed early bruising, bleeding, broken bones and major swelling in several areas.
Mike leaned heavily on Emily’s shoulder as she helped him get out of the woods. As they traveled through the darkness, crushing fallen leaves and twigs scattered below, Houlihan’s Square didn’t have the same aura it had when he had entered. A slight sense of relief ran through Mike’s chest, but due to the broken ribs, it was hard to detect.
Mike’s right arm hung low, blood dripping from every fingertip. Competing thoughts collided in his head. His future with Emily. Memories of his childhood. His father walking out on him. Had he imagined Alayna? Was his mother proud of him? Or was he just a murderer now?
Emily cried the entire walk through the woods. They broke through the tree line, and the street lights gave Mike a sense of hope. He made it to the Jeep, and Emily helped him get into the passenger seat. The interior light further exposed Mike’s battered body. He closed his eyes.
Emily opened the back door and searched around the back seat for a minute. She got in the driver’s seat and handed Mike a small notebook and a pen.
Emily’s eye makeup had been smeared onto her cheeks. She tried to wipe it away with the back of her thumb. The attempt only spread it around more, but she still looked like an angel to Mike.
Bloodline Awakened Supernatural Thriller Series: Books 1-3 Page 58
