by Cherrie Mack
He shook his head from side to side. “Can’t. That’s for Miss Joyal.”
Percy looked at the bowl of melting ice cream, then glanced around the empty kitchen. His smile deflated and a jolt of panic shot through him. “Where is she?”
Tommy shrugged his shoulders. “Left her in the library.”
Quickly, he pushed his chair back from the kitchen table and rushed to the wall panel. Uncovering the plastic key pad, he punched in a code. An alarm sounded throughout the estate, and Percy shouted back to Tommy. “Find your parents, son. And stay with them.”
Chapter Three
Joyal felt as if she walked a mile through the darkness before emerging into the bright sunshine. She blocked the sun’s rays with her hand and looked around, finding herself outside the gates of Cottonwood Landing. She recalled the warning of evil lurking in the shadows, waiting until the right time, but she was a teenager now. She could handle herself. Besides, it was such a beautiful day, and she was tired of staying inside. She promised herself a short walk, then she would turn around and go right back.
After walking for fifteen minutes, she stopped to admire a hibiscus flower when she heard a rustling sound in the brush. Attributing the sound to a little, fluffy rabbit, Joyal ignored her good sense and walked another few feet. With every step she took away from the safe haven of the estate, the sky above grew dark. And again, movement beyond the foliage captivated her attention, only this time, it was closer. It was in that moment, Joyal paid attention to her now shrieking instinct.
Unable to take another step forward, she froze with fear. Warnings she now recalled manifested themselves right in front of her. The clouds blackened, gathering in clusters in an otherwise blue sky. A warlock approached. The word screamed through her mind as she ran. Warlock!
The wind picked up as the darkness loomed over her. A shrill laugh echoed through the trees. The dark followed her every movement. On and on it went, until just up ahead she saw a ray of sunlight. An invisible divide that seemed to separate the light from the darkness, a swaying breeze from a blustery wind. She ran toward the serenity of quiet, away from the screeching echoes of laughter. She ran with every last ounce of energy she had in the hopes of making it to the tranquil side of the divide. Believing she would be safe in its stillness.
The evil stench of decay surrounded her, making her gasp for air. Covering her ears, she kept going when the laughter turned into a ferocious growl, as if from the depths of a hollowed-out pit at the earth’s core. Whatever it was seemed wild and hungry, and it came for her. Almost there! Please!
As the clammy cold fingers reached out for her arm, she managed to pull herself out of the grasp of an evil creature. She took a flying leap forward and stumbled to the other side. There, a man held out his arms to her and she ran to him, sinking into his embrace. As Joyal sank into the stranger’s arms, she trembled with fear. The man held her tight, rocking her. Not wanting to look, she willed herself a glance at the darkness. A horrible, withering creature stood with its arms outstretched, and long bony fingers flailed in the air. Its fangs dripped with goo and the funk of the grave appeared in its yellowed eye sockets. The wrinkled gray skin foretold of an emaciated creature hungering to the point of extinction.
Unable to tear her gaze away from the ghastly creature, Joyal cried out when the long nails seemed to reach out and touch her. She buried her head in the chest of the man who stood solid and steadfast in his spot. But a horrible smell slowly surrounded her until she felt like it was on top of them. She buried her head, no longer feeling safe. The evil slithered up her legs and wrapped around her torso like a snake, making her gag. The putrid smell, the feel of slimy, scaly skin beneath her fingertips, all indicated a warlock.
As the truth came to light, she lifted her eyes. The trusted stranger showed his true self. He was a warlock. Standing in the midst of a raging storm, in the clutch of evil, Joyal’s legs gave way. Confused, she stole another glance at the darkness and realized it was a mirror image at which she peered. She was indeed in the creature’s grip. All at once, it grabbed the sides of her head, immobilizing her and demanded she open her mouth. When she refused, the warlock’s eyes promised death. Keeping her mouth closed tight, it dug its knifelike nails into her stomach slicing a gaping hole into her skin. It twisted its finger into her gut and in a raspy, wicked voice said, “Make it easy, girl, or I’ll feed you your own organs before I devour your soul. Open your mouth!”
The pain was indescribable, and her will far too weak to resist seeking relief. Even if it meant dying, Joyal needed the pain to stop. Her body convulsed in agony. Knowing her coven would try to rescue her, she also knew they would fail. With her very last bit of resolve, she twisted in the warlock’s grasp causing unspeakable pain. She watched his eyes glow with a feral lust of death as he realized she would surrender. She opened her mouth. Visions of a future filled with the promise of love and laughter were the last thing she imagined before the warlock ended her life. The beast sucked the soul from her body, trapping it in his essence as he gobbled her organs one by one.
Chapter Four
Washington, Louisiana
Giselle Jareau stood outside the home she shared with Angelique Fayette. Over the last nine years, she grew to love the little yellow farmhouse, framed by a white picket fence and lined with lilacs. Standing under the swaying trees dripping with Spanish moss, her dark exotic looks were in complete contrast to the sun’s rays. The air hung heavy, but the setting sun provided a bit of relief from the blistering heat of summer. She reveled in the smell of the fresh cut grass. Twilight was her favorite time of the day, even on one of the worst days of the year. Her birthday. While most people celebrated with balloons and cake, she never did. Fearing her birthday and everything it signified, Giselle always tried her best to forget.
As she approached the porch, her eyes glazed over, as if a veil was pulled over her corneas, skewing her vision. Putting her hands out in front of her, she grabbed the railing. The vision came on fast this time and, like so many times before, she was powerless to stop it. Clutching at the pendant given to her by her mother, what she saw behind the veil left her cold and shaken to her very core.
A hideous creature, covered in slime, black blood dripping from its fangs, lapped at a human liver. It rejoiced in its kill. And, with each bite it took, its decaying skin grew plumper, its coloring changing from whitish yellow to pinkish peach. Like an old, withered flower, dried out and rotted, that turned into a brilliant blossom, the creature’s rotted flesh was repairing. Its yellowed, sick eyes were filling in with brilliant color and its hair was becoming thick and lush. It was growing younger with age, its fingers growing thick and rounded at the tips.
As it continued to scarf the remains of its victim, the green fangs turned pearly white, its pointy ears rounding out. Taking the form of a young man, Giselle fought to keep the vision in her sight. But just like before, she was helplessly trapped by her curse and the vision faded.
When it was over, she caught sight of Angelique walking toward her. With her hand on her lower back, Angelique winced as she moved. In her other hand, she held a small lavender satchel, resembling potpourri, attached to a rope. She hung it around Giselle’s neck. “With the aid of your pendant, this will help you to know that what you see is not in front of you, but elsewhere. Although you may feel like it is happening in the same space, you need to know you are powerless to stop it. The visions tell you what has already happened.”
“Already happened?”
“They called a few minutes ago. A young witch by the name of Joyal Beaumont was devoured by a warlock in the woods where you were born. They are getting bold, Giselle. To get that close to Cottonwood Landing tells us we must act.”
“The visions are getting closer to real time. Maybe they will start to come in advance and I can stop things before they happen.”
Her friend offered her a compassionate smile. “Maybe.”
There was never a positive response to her wishful
thinking, and it frustrated Giselle. “My mother was right. The veil is a curse.”
“You don’t have a curse. You have a gift. And we will find out what the veil can do for the coven. You must tell them.”
“No! What if—? Do you believe I have a gift? All these years I’ve watched you study me, questioning if one day I will turn into the very thing that haunts my visions.”
“You must believe in yourself, Giselle. You were chosen by the gods to host the tenth power. There is a reason, Mon Cheri.”
“Believe in myself? The way you have? The way the royals have? By keeping me at arm’s length? To what? Test the waters? See if I turn?”
“Your mother hasn’t been very forth-coming about your blood, Giselle. But, all these years, I’ve watched you grow into a young woman who is far too compassionate and loving to be of bad blood. It is time to show them all that you are the chosen one with the gift of the tenth power.”
Giselle placed her hands on her hips. Choking back tears of frustration, she paced. “What gift? I suck at magic. If that’s a gift, they can have it back for all I care. I’m nineteen years old and have no life to speak of. Nothing to live for. I hate witch-hood!” She ran into the house, slamming the screen door behind her.
****
Angelique knew Giselle looked to her for everything. Abandoned by her mother, she tried hard to offer her support and guidance, and tried to teach only what was necessary. But, unsure of her bloodline, Angelique worried for her. She struggled to remain steadfast, but Giselle’s longing for a normal childhood pulled at her heartstrings. Now, she was afraid that, by giving in to Giselle, she damned them all.
When she glanced toward the setting sun, the bile rose up in her throat as she felt the evil stake its claim. The battle was coming and everything would change. And Angelique feared Giselle wouldn’t care one way or the other.
Chapter Five
Julien Beaumont stood in a golden chamber amid a running stream. Green moss climbed the marble columns leading up to the glass-enclosed dome. Birds could be heard chirping as the chamber mimicked the sounds of a rain forest. It had the distinct smell of wet leaves. With patience, he waited for the master to appear, but the crushing sense of loss for his little sister Joyal was hammering his emotions and his nerves began to betray him. His throat felt tight as he fought hard to keep the sadness at bay. Fisting his hands was the only way to help him focus on his anger instead of his grief.
With nothing but time, Julien explored the stream that seemed so oddly placed, watching the small fish leap from the water in a playful chase.
When he knelt down, he stared at his reflection. Joyal, his little sister, resembled him. Her words echoed through his mind and made him chuckle. “Julien, you’re the perfect specimen of a man. All the witches love your dark-golden hair and green eyes. You’re a witch magnet. Settle down. Twenty-nine is way old already. What are you waiting for? You need to start having babies.” She loved to scold.
Though he looked rugged, with his broad shoulders and muscular frame, Julien possessed a gentle nature. Many witches came seeking his offspring, but he always shied away from impregnating them. His was a respected coven. His parents encouraged him to reproduce. Why he never did, he wasn’t sure. Unable to look at himself any longer, he rose up and began to pace.
Julien’s rage against the warlock Judias, brought him to this place. And he wasn’t leaving without his immortality and the powers of a traveler. Fury shook his body when his impatience flared. So much so, he could hear his own bones rattle. It was then an old man, wearing ancient robes appeared near the stream. “I am the master, my son.”
Julien immediately went down on his knee. “I am Julien Beaumont. I come seeking vengeance against the warlock, Judias, in the name of my sister, Joyal Beaumont. I will hunt day and night to find and rid our world of the existence of this warlock and many others. I pledge my loyalty and service to you, master.”
The master, who somewhat resembled a sorcerer of old, stared at him. In a slow, controlled movement, the master extended his hand, palm up. When he lifted his arm in an upward motion, Julien felt his body slowly being coaxed to rise up by an unseen force. The master was quiet as he studied him. “You have anger in your heart.”
No shit, Sherlock! Unable to respond, Julien stared back. Then, without thinking, he retorted, “My sister was devoured like an animal outside the gates of Cottonwood Landing! Cottonwood Landing! You can say I’m having a bad fucking day. A witch to the tenth power walks among us and has done nothing to help the royals stop these soul-sucking warlocks from destroying our race. I was schooled by the elders, I’ve heard the stories. Being taken by a warlock isn’t pretty! It’s a horrible way to die. You’re the master. Where is the tenth power? I heard she may be of Natas’ blood. If that’s true, we’re all fucked. But please, I beg you, at least give me the chance to free my sister’s soul from Judias.”
Julien took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he realized just how free he was with his tongue. The master, an ancient prophet and the highest ranking royal bestowed with the gift of immortality, remained quiet. Too quiet. Julien hung his head. Fuck! I blew it! When the master cleared his throat, his head snapped up.
“I accept your allegiance, Julien Beaumont. However, there is much more at stake than your sister’s soul. You will have your chance at Judias, but only after you have proven your worthiness.”
With his eyes wide, he nodded his head. “Yes. Of course. I will do whatever is necessary. I will pass any test. Push me to my physical limit, I will not fail. I will not let you down.”
The master held his robe with one hand as he moved fluidly across the chamber.
Did he just float?
“The test before you will challenge not your body or mind, but your heart. Once you leave this chamber, you will possess all the abilities that make our travelers great. Shifting, greater power—immortality. You just might find yourself reluctant to return to your previous status. But, you can. Here, you have free will.”
The master’s light was so great, he sent beams of white energy through every orifice, causing Julien to look away. “Thank you, master,” was all he managed to choke out.
The master moved to a cage, housing two precious lovebirds. Reaching inside with an open hand, the two birds jumped inside his palm. He pulled them out, holding them up to his face. “I have been Master of the realm for centuries, Julien. And I’ve seen much evil in my existence. I’ve watched the warlocks slowly destroy the kindness of a world that is all but gone. They grow in number every day, convinced by Natas, the commander of the underworld, to join his ranks. The life you are choosing is not an easy one. You will seek and destroy warlocks all over the world.”
“I understand.”
“Very well.” With outstretched arms, he held the lovebirds high up. When they flew up into the glass dome, there was a loud pop. A light misty smoke was all that remained. Julien listened intently as the master spoke with an easy flowing pitch. “I’ve crossed them over to the earthly realm where they will flit about. Once crossing into this realm, there is only one way back.” He pointed up. “Molecules, Julien. I have to turn you to dust.”
Julien lifted his brow. “Whatever it takes, Master.”
Chuckling, the master continued. “First, you must train. Learn our ways.”
When he clapped his hands together they made a most unusual sound, like that of a bell chiming in the distance. At once, a man stood at the master’s side. “Jacques LaFeoure is my servant. He will be your teacher and your confidant. Tell him the things you would tell me. He will be there for you.”
“I will do my best to serve you.”
Before the master quickly disappeared from sight, he offered Julien his insight. “The assignment you have before you is one of grave danger. It can lead you down the darkest of paths or it can lead you into the light. When faced with the choice, you must choose wisely. Everything is not how it seems. Follow your heart and you shall be saved.”
The master bowed his head and in an instant, he was gone.
Julien watched Jacques size him up. Feeling inferior, he assured him. “I want to kill the warlock, Judias. I live for revenge and that’s all I live for.”
A tight smile was all he received in return. The traveler then turned away from him. “Come. We have much work to do. I will inform you of your assignment when the black and white moons meet in the middle. For now, we must train.”
Julien furrowed his brow. “The next partial eclipse will not happen for months. I seek my vengeance now.”
Jacques laughed. “Ah, you young ones have no patience. Your sister’s soul will be freed when Judias is destroyed. Do you know how to do that?”
“You’ll tell me how and I’ll do it.”
He cocked his brow. “You must learn how to track a warlock to its hunting ground. It’s not too hard when it is ready to feed, for the smell is—very pungent. A traveler’s sense of smell is rather strong. It is heightened ten-fold over that of a witch. You must remove the warlock’s venomous fangs, in one piece—and viola. Simple.”
“Well—how do you get close enough to a warlock to do that? Don’t they have five blades on each hand?”
“Yes. Did you also know that they can take the form of any soul they have trapped?”
“I have heard of such a thing. The humans had a case of a serial killer whose description kept changing. I assume he was eventually caught by a traveler.”
Jacques only affirmation was a smirk. “A traveler’s biggest worry is for a human, in a position of great power, to be devoured by a warlock. The warlock then assumes the identity of that human—and the consequences can be catastrophic.”
