Reunion

by Sean Stone

  “I never—” Richie began.

  “Silence!” Ramsay screamed. “They brought me here to protect them from you. That’s what they said anyway. I think they’re all in this together. They just want to eliminate us.”

  “You think so?” Michael looked around at them. As his eyes met Richie’s, Richie shook his head but Michael looked away.

  “Yes I do. We should never have allowed anybody to come between us. We are family. Family remains together.”

  Richie looked at Isabella and then Victor. They were supposed to be family. They hadn’t stuck together. Should he have been more understanding of Isabella’s pain? It was too late now.

  “Family should stick together,” Michael agreed. “But I will never stand with our father again.”

  “If we leave him buried then we’ll never have to,” said Ramsay.

  Richie looked at Victor to try and formulate an escape but he was too occupied with his daughter now. Richie would have to run alone if he wanted to get away now. How could Victor be so stupid as to wake up Ramsay? But it was Richie’s fault really. He should never have allied with Michael.

  “So, will you choose your family or will you choose our tormentors?” Ramsay said. Richie could not believe that he was being described as the tormenter. If anyone was the tormenter it was Ramsay.

  “Either way the outcome remains the same,” Michael said. With a small movement, he snapped Isabella’s neck and then tore her head right off. Victor screamed in anguish and fell to his knees, his eyes on his daughter. Her body fell, spurting blood and Michael dropped her her head a moment later. Her eyes remained widened in shock. At least she had the mercy of being dead before she understood what was happening. Just like Lydia. “But I choose family,” Michael finished.

  Victor pulled a syringe of yellow liquid from his inside pocket and charged at Michael. Ramsay caught him by the throat and lifted him up off the floor. The syringe fell from his hand and rolled across the floor towards Richie who snatched it up.

  “Wait!’ Richie shouted and all eyes were on him. “Isabella killed your sister. Let us go.”

  “You expect us to believe that this wasn’t an elaborate plan to destroy our family?” Ramsay asked. “You just want your freedom from us.”

  “You’re paranoid, Ramsay. You always have been,” Richie said.

  Ramsay smiled. “Perhaps I am.” He squeezed Victor’s neck, crushing his throat so no sound could escape. Then he launched Victor across the room impaling him on one of the jagged bits of wooden window frame.

  “NO!” Richie screamed as Victor’s flesh greyed and his eyes glazed over. Ramsay turned back to Richie. He smiled broadly and then extended his arm. He gave Richie the “bring it” gesture and waited. Richie needed no further invitation. He charged across the room, syringe raised above his head. Escape was no longer an option. He only wanted revenge. Or as Victor would put it: justice. He never reached Ramsay because Michael ran forward and kicked his legs from under him. Richie rolled onto his back keeping hold of the syringe. Ramsay came bearing down on him and Richie brought the syringe up. Ramsay grabbed his wrist moments before the syringe found his face. Ramsay held him in that position. Richie on his back, Ramsay on top of him. They were so close Richie could feel his breath.

  “How does it feel to have you little scheme reversed on you?” Ramsay asked. Richie tried to push the syringe up but he was not strong enough. Ramsay forced Richie’s wrist to twist so the syringe was pointing at Richie’s shoulder.

  “There was no scheme,” Richie hissed as he struggled against Ramsay’s strength. The syringe moved lower and closer to Richie.

  “Sticking to it to the end, eh? Very well.” The venom was only a couple of inches from Richie now. “This stuff paralyses my family. Do you know what it does to a regular vampire like yourself, though?” he asked.

  Richie glanced at the syringe and then back at Ramsay. He shook his head.

  “Neither do I. I guess we’ll find out together.” Ramsay forced the syringe into Richie’s shoulder and depressed the trigger. As the venom entered his blood stream it felt like acid itself been poured into his veins. He could feel it as it spread over his entire body and he screamed. The sound of his scream was so shrill and unfamiliar that at first he thought it was somebody else. “Ooh, that looks nasty,” Ramsay said as he stood up and stepped away from Richie.

  Richie writhed around on the floor. He waited for the pain to diminish but it never did. It just went on and on. As the minutes passed he gradually lost sensation in his limbs. Sadly there was no numbness from the pain and even when he could not move so much as a finger the pain remained in full force. He lay motionless in agony looking up at the Aramaya brothers who looked down at him with intrigue. Richie tried to speak but he was unable to do that either. All he could do was watch his captors in silent, agonising horror.

  “I found another syringe in her pocket,” Michael said, nodding towards Isabella. He held up the syringe. “Shall we destroy it?”

  “It would be awful if it fell into the wrong hands,” said Ramsay. He took the syringe from his brother. “But rather than destroy it, let’s put it to use.” With the speed of a snake, Ramsay stabbed his brother with the syringe. Michael swung his arm but the venom was already taking effect and Ramsay moved aside with ease. “You trapped me in a coffin and buried me alive.”

  “I…” Michael tried to speak as he fell to his knees.

  “I was paralysed. Unable to move. Unable to speak. It took weeks for me to desiccate. Now you too will know that pain. You can go in my old spot in the graveyard,” he said as Michael fell face down on the dusty floor.

  Richie couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. So much for family sticking together. The only schemer was Ramsay. “Don’t worry,” Ramsay said as he turned to Richie. “I won’t bury you alive. I have other plans for you.” He smiled wide and broad and began laugh to himself. Richie had never been more frightened.

  23

  Clara stood in the corner of her living room and projected herself again. An exact replica of her appeared on the far side of the room looking back at her. She switched her consciousness into the clone and looked around. Astral projection was not as easy as she’d originally thought. She found she could only control one version of herself at a time. If she wanted to move and see with one then the other was left blind and stationary. She could talk with one whilst moving about with the other but that was the limit of her ability.

  She took three steps into the centre of the room and once again tried to force her other self to move as well. The projection shattered and she reappeared back in her true body.

  “For fuck’s sake,” she cursed. The book she’d taken from Wiccan Wares had said that it was possible to control both selfs flawlessly. The greater the skill the more projections a person could conjure. Clara did not have time to increase her skill to such a level. She needed to be able to control two forms by the time Nick decided to do his ritual. She took a deep breath and projected herself again. Once again a clone appeared and she moved her consciousness inside it. She only took one step before there was a knock at the door.

  She decided it would be good practice to try and communicate with whoever it was using the projection. She walked down the hallway and pulled open the front door. There was nothing to it really. It felt no different than if she’d used her actual body. A small balding man stood on the doorstep looking back at her. If he saw any signs that she was a projection then he didn’t show it. She’d looked at her projection enough times herself to know that there was no way of telling the difference.

  “Got a letter for you,” he said and held out an envelope.

  “From who?” she asked. She looked at the envelope but didn’t take it, fearing it might be some sort of trick.

  “He didn’t say. Just said to bring it here right away.”

  Clara took the envelope carefully. “Thanks,” she said and then closed the door. As she was breaking the seal a small clang broke her conce
ntration and in an instant she was back in the living room. She looked out the window to see what the noise had been but it was just the garden gate closing behind the courier. She shook her head at her own jumpiness and then walked to the hall and retrieved the envelope from the floor. Inside was a simple note:

  Westgate Cemetery. Sunset.

  Elias.

  She had hoped for more time to perfect her astral projection but that wasn’t on the cards. She’d just have to make do with what she had. She did have Kegan and Dean running back-up plans so either way Nick’s ritual should get stopped.

  It was done. Henry stood in the centre of the living room of the house he had taken over and looked at his body. He’d forced his way into a new house after meeting Nickolas, knowing that Toni and Marlon would come for him. They were the only leading people the coven had left and they were the two who suspected he’d taken Elizabeth’s body. As expected, they went to Laurent house looking for him but he was not there. He had chosen a random house on the other side of town, killed its owners and began the spell to restore his body. With the magic Nickolas had gifted him the spell was a piece of piss, as the modern kids said.

  He gazed down at his perfect body and smiled. All he had to do was abandon Elizabeth and climb back into his own vessel. He wouldn’t be alive. Not properly. He’d be something better than that. He’d be an undead immortal. The spell would lock his spirit back in his body. He’d never age. His body could still be destroyed and if that happened his spirit would be forced to pass on. No more lingering in the mortal realm. But there were spells to protect his body. Once his spirit and body were reunited he would have all the magic that was currently trapped back at Montford Manor. He would still not have all the magic he’d stolen whilst inside Adam but that problem could be rectified. And, of course, he needed to kill Clara Winters as he had promised Nickolas. Once all those things had been taken care of, his revenge would be complete and he could… Well, he hadn’t quite decided on that yet. Maybe he’d leave Cedarstone and go and live somewhere with a little less drama.

  He closed his eyes and then hopped out of Elizabeth’s body. At once he felt the pull of his old house trying to reclaim him. He fought against it with every ounce of will he had. For a second he didn’t think he had what it would take but then he contacted his body and it sucked his spirit in as if it had been waiting for all these years for him to return. The lights above him all came on at once and grew in intensity. They emitted a loud bussing noise as the spell got to work and then with dramatic finality all the bulbs smashed. Sparks flew out of the sockets and the ceiling above him caught alight. The spell was complete. He was locked in his body, reunited with his old magic once more.

  As the flames spread he jumped to his feet, marvelling at the feeling of power he had missed for so long. The magic he’d had in Adam’s and Elizabeth’s bodies combined were nothing in comparison to this. He looked down at Elizabeth lying unconscious on the floor. She was first on his list. He withdrew his athame and made quick work of stealing the Laurent magic. The flames were eating away at the house fast. His magic could protect him from the flames but the fire would draw attention.

  Once he had her magic he departed quickly and didn’t look back at the gathering crowd. He would take care of Clara first and then go for Adam. He wanted to take his time with Adam and really enjoy making him suffer. Adam had caused him quite a bit of stress by running off. That needed to be answered for.

  24

  “Are you sure this will do it?” Kegan said. He was sitting in the back of the car examining the axe which Dean had given him.

  “I’ve used that thing to decapitate vampires,” said Dean confidently. He too was sitting in the back. They’d argued over who was going to sit in the front so Clara had sent them both to ride in the back.

  “Have you ever used it on an immortal warlock?” Kegan asked, clearly no convinced.

  “Kegan, relax,” said Clara. “The disciples can be cut with ordinary weapons. Elias told me so.”

  “And we can trust him?” Kegan asked.

  “I do,” she replied.

  “Listen, mate, you’re only going to need to use that if I can’t talk my dad out of this and trust me when he finds out he’ll die to complete the ritual he’ll be out of there in a flash,” Dean assured him. Clara was inclined to agree. If there was one trait which was prevalent in James Tenson it was his stubbornness to die.

  “He’s right. You only need to attack one of them if both Dean and I fail,” she said. She didn’t want to think about the likelihood of either of those things happening. “And to be—” The car suddenly flew up off the road and somersaulted in the air. Clara let go of the steering wheel and threw out protective magic to guard them from harm. Her spell hit just in time as the car crashed back down, landing on its roof. The whole car crumpled and they all dropped down in their seats. Dean, who was the only one not wearing a seatbelt had fallen to the roof of the car. Luckily Clara’s spell had protected him. “Everyone alright?” she asked. They murmured that they were. Clara blasted her way from the car and then waited for the others. Kegan had to use his superior strength to remove his door and then he helped Dean up to feet.

  “What the fuck was that?” Dean asked. Then he and Kegan both fell unconscious.

  “What?” Clara said looking around stupidly. Her spell had protected them from harm, there was no reason for them to faint.

  “Just little old me,” an unfamiliar man said as he crossed the road towards her. He looked about average height for a man. He had neat dark hair and a little stubble decorating his angular jaw.

  “Who the hell are you?” she demanded as she stepped towards him. He’d picked the wrong time for a fight whoever he was.

  “My name’s Henry Montford and I have a small vendetta against your family,” he said. Clara knew the name. Her dad had told her stories about Henry Montford when she was a child. She hadn’t realised they were true until Henry had possessed Adam Kent.

  “You’re the one who put Adam in a coma and murdered his family?” she asked. Her lip curled in disgust.

  “The one and only. I did a lot more than that, though,” he said, full of pride.

  “Listen, Henry, I know you want to kill me and frankly I’d love to kill you too. But here’s the thing. Nick Blackwood is about—”

  “To tear down the barrier between the living and the dead blah blah blah,” Henry finished for her. “Not your problem. The only problem you have is me. Now, you are the last on my list so I’m going to do things a little differently. How would you like to die?”

  “After you,” she replied. “I’m a Winters sorcerer, do you really want to fight me?” she asked. She spoke with more confidence than she felt.

  “Darling, that’s exactly why I want to fight you,” he replied. He attacked first. He sent a spell at her which she only just managed to deflect. It rebounded at him and he sucked the magic back into the palm of his hand. “You’ve been practising. Last I heard you were a poor sorcerer by anyone’s standards.”

  “I’ve come along way now.” She attacked back using the most potent spell she knew. Pure magic flew across the gap between them. It hit the barrier which Henry erected but she didn’t let up, she kept on pushing the attack. She poured more and more energy into it, trying her very best to break his defences.

  “Darling, please, I’m Henry Montford. One of the greatest warlocks this town has ever—” he was cut dead when his shield collapsed and the magic knocked him to the floor. His face was one of complete horror. It was quite comical.

  “Like I said, I’m a Winters,” she shouted as she made her way towards him. Frankly, he was a disappointment. She’d heard great things about Henry Montford and he just hadn’t lived up to the hype.

  “Yes, but he’s not.” Henry pointed back at the wreckage. She turned and saw that he had Kegan on his hands and knees, gasping for air.

  “Stop it,” she ordered Henry.

  “Sure. As soon as you’re dead.”
>
  “I’ll just kill you,” Clara shrugged.

  “If I feel so much as a hint of magic then I’ll kill him in a heartbeat.”

  Clara turned back to Kegan. She considered trying to break the spell. Was she fast enough? Probably not. She had more power than Henry but not more skill.

  “Oh, Clara?” Henry called. She turned back and saw the athame come soaring towards her. She didn’t have time to stop it. She stuck her hands up in a feeble defence attempt. Moments before it hit her heart it curved and changed course. Clara followed its trajectory to where it was caught by a newcomer.

  “Adam?” she said in amazement. “I thought…”

  “You thought I was dead,” he said despondently. “I wish I was.” He looked nothing like the man who had been a close friend to her dad. His hair was longer and unkempt, his face coated in thick hair and he looked like he hadn’t washed in days. His eyes were void of any pleasant emotion, just pits of abject misery.

  “Well, well,” Henry said as he rose to his feet. “The plot thickens.”

  “Take your friends and go, Clara,” Adam said.

  “Adam, I can—”

  “You’re needed elsewhere,” he said fiercely. “Go and stop Nick. I’ll deal with him.” He nodded at Henry.

  Clara looked him in the eyes and she saw murder. She gave him a brief nod and then she helped Kegan and Dean to their feet and they headed off once more.

  “Where’ve you been, Adam?” Henry asked. He kept his eyes on his athame which Adam was holding on to tightly.

  “Nowhere far. After I woke up in Elizabeth’s house I went back to the museum. You should have left me in the hospital I probably would’ve stayed in the coma. Every time you brought the athame closer to me I got a little bit stronger,” he said. Whilst he spoke the look of absolute abhorrence never left his face.

  “My mistake. What were you doing at the museum?” Adam clearly had some sort of a plan in mind or else he wouldn’t have come here. Quite clearly Clara was more than capable of handling herself.