Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1)

by Margo Bond Collins

  “Vampires.” He coughed and cleared his throat before saying, “I can smell them already. If they’re younger than we are, we can handle them. If they’re older then we probably can’t, especially as Mercer is a mess right now. I think we’re in for an unpleasant night, little one. So do your best.”

  His body had already vanished as the last word hit her eardrums. All that remained in his wake was a draft of cool air. She dropped the needle in shock, but did not bother to pick it up. If these two vampires were going to fight her war, she decided it was her duty to make sure that they stood a reasonable chance of success. Judging by the earlier scene at the hotel, her life was beginning to look like it had a lifespan shorter than the average butterfly. She was going to need all the help she could get in order to find a way through this predicament and if that meant losing a few secrets along the way, then so be it.

  Glancing around the room and finding herself still alone, she placed her hands just above Mercer’s back and splayed her fingers. Concentrating fiercely, she cleared her mind and delved deep inside the vampire’s body. Her hands immediately filled with the white-hot force of healing and she channelled it through his body with unrestrained aggression. Pulsing little bursts of white light over sinew and bone, she healed him from the inside out, pushing his blood up to each bullet hole and helping his cells multiply and renew.

  She marvelled at how much easier it was than trying to heal a human. Due to the elevated speed of blood within his body, everything happened much faster and it gave her the feeling of being in fast forward mode. She could feel his skin coming together mending the gaps in his back, gluing itself back to its former glory in mere seconds. Pushing another burst of heat through him to help knit the muscles and tendons together, Lainey ensured that he would have full mobility and movement when she had finished. Her hands worked tirelessly, spreading her energy everywhere to repair the damage wrought while he had been protecting her.

  Beginning to feel dizzy once more, Lainey knew that she should pull back and stop, but her determination to ensure that Mercer was once again back to full fighting fitness wouldn’t let her. She needed him, and somehow they would get through this—together.

  “Lainey?”

  Although the voice was right next to her, she paid it no heed far too intent on what she was doing.

  “Lainey, can you hear me?”

  Though the words were louder this time, they made little difference to her. It wasn’t until a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist and shook her, that she finally opened her eyes and snapped out of her healing spell.

  “You’re awake,” she whispered in wonderment blinking at Mercer, who was now perfectly fine, bar the fact that his image was swimming around in a revolving room. The window spun upwards towards the ceiling, the wooden panels of the floor began darting off in all directions, and the large oak framed mirror above the fireplace began to break into a thousand pieces.

  “You’re shaking.” A soothing hand came around her back, stroking up and down but it did nothing to dispel the splinters in her head. Everything was cracking, breaking, and disintegrating into dust. Her head swayed along with the room, bile rose in her throat and an intense, throbbing pain began behind her eyes.

  When he suddenly pulled away from her, she wobbled on her feet and clutched desperately at the table for support. She wanted his arms back and his warmth wrapped securely around her.

  “My back,” he croaked. There was a pause as his arms began making funny shapes, and she guessed he was checking his wounds. Then there was a loud roar in her ears, and everything began to echo. Light danced before her eyes, and blackness came out of nowhere in a large tunnel that began swallowing her up and spinning her round.

  “You’re a witch,” he spat suddenly, and to hear him say it that way, it sounded like she was the devil incarnate. Well, she hadn’t exactly expected anything else, had she? Thankfully, she didn’t have to endure his contemptuous stare or face another round of battering questions because her body chose that moment to give in to exhaustion. She embraced the darkness gratefully.

  ***

  “What the hell have you done to her?” Guillaume stormed into the room, took one look at Lainey and gave him a long, hard stare. Mercer did not like the accusing look in his friend’s eyes.

  “Nothing. She fainted on me.” He held both hands in the air in a gesture of surrender and wondered if his jaw was shortly about to meet his eye socket.

  Guillaume sucked in his cheeks and narrowed his eyes at him. “What the hell are you even doing awake? You should have been comatose for another hour at least.”

  Mercer kept his hands in the air and suddenly turned around, showing Guillaume his once again flawless back. “She’s a bloody witch. She healed me and then collapsed. I caught her just before she smacked her head on the floor, which is the second time today I’ve done that incidentally.”

  Guillaume rolled his eyes. “It sounds like you’ve had a fun day.” Flicking a tendril of brown wavy hair out of his eyes, he appeared to consider the new piece of information. “If she is a witch, and you’re only making assumptions at this point, you’re lucky you’re still alive.”

  Pursing his lips, he went over to the corner of the room where an antique wrought iron wine rack stood and gently pulled out a high-shouldered bottle. Taking two clear wine glasses from a wooden display cabinet, he held them up to the light and examined their shine before placing them down on the dining table. Withdrawing a corkscrew from his pocket, he went about the task of opening the bottle.

  “Claret or Bordeaux?” Mercer asked, as he picked up Lainey and moved her unconscious body across to the sitting room. Dropping her on one of the damask sofas, he found a blanket and threw it over her. Guillaume followed him in.

  “Claret, of course…with a little bit of rhesus negative.”

  “Then you really are spoiling me,” said Mercer standing with his back towards Lainey, and the expression he wore was not a pleasant one.

  Placing a filled glass in his friend’s free hand, Guillaume said, “Don’t even think about it.”

  Mercer took a long, slow sip of the rich blood-infused claret, and silently breathed his appreciation. “This is magnificent.”

  “Stop changing the subject.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Mercer looked behind him to the sleeping figure on the couch, and his mouth furrowed up in distaste.

  “That you’re not going to kill her. That would be a good start.”

  Mercer shook his head defiantly, knowing he would promise no such thing. “You know what happened to my brother. I have good reason to hate all witches. The best thing I could do right now for all of us would be to destroy her.”

  “Not all witches are bad, just as not all clergymen are good.” Guillaume picked up the blanket that had landed haphazardly over Lainey and began to tuck it in around her properly.

  “A witch killed my brother, Guillaume. I don’t think anyone could blame me for not wanting to take that chance with this one. Besides, vampires are supposed to hate witches, it’s in our blood.” Deciding he was done with elegant little sips, he lifted the glass to his lips and glugged the lot. He’d missed the taste of alcohol. Wine was all very well, but what he could really do with was a great big bottle of vodka. As that wasn’t an option, he’d make do with the wine.

  “How many times have you taken her blood?”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Mercer had begun pouring himself another glass, but ended up splashing most of it across the floorboards.

  “That’ll be more than once then,” said Guillaume, passing his own glass over to Mercer who was now one very agitated vampire.

  “Twice…but now that I know what she is, there’ll be no possibility of a third time.” The second glass of wine went down the same way as the first.

  “Make sure there isn’t. Or you’ll be in the same position as Gaius was.” Guillaume walked towards the window and flicked the curtains back, scanning the surrounding countrys
ide from left to right. When he turned back around there was a grave expression upon his face. “They’re coming and my infallible sense of smell tells me they’re bringing vampires.”

  “Damn, my day just keeps getting better and better.” Mercer rubbed his face in his hands while he considered his next move. Steepling his index fingers over his lips, he began to process a lot of information quickly.

  “You need to get her upstairs, and back in the safe room. I’ll take care of things down here.”

  Guillaume instantly obeyed the order, pulling both Lainey and the blanket up into his arms. “And here I thought you wanted her dead.”

  “Oh, trust me…if I discover she is a witch, when I kill her I’m going to take my time.” Mercer looked up and gave his friend an evil grin.

  “Let’s concentrate on killing other things for the time being then. Oh, and for the love of the goddess, plan your attack out on the grounds and not in my home. I know how messy your methods can be.”

  “You’re no fun, you know that, right?” Mercer had already brushed past him and was heading down to the basement where he knew his friend kept the supplies.

  In response, and even though he was fifty or so metres away by that point, Guillaume snorted knowing his friend would undoubtedly hear it.

  Chapter 9

  Death and Destruction

  The journey to the basement was over a series of thick limestone steps, which had seen more than a few centuries of use. Thousands of pairs of footsteps had worn a slick path through the middle, and he almost skidded down them in his hurry to reach the bottom. Mercer had already forgotten his concerns regarding Lainey, so now there was nothing left but the desire to annihilate everything and everyone who came his way. Stripping off the pair of jeans and shoes he had been wearing, he replaced them with leather pants and heavy, steel-toed leather boots. He then pulled a bulletproof vest over his arms because he didn’t fancy the idea of adding more holes to his body today, and shrugged a thick black sweater over top of it.

  He had many things to be thankful for, his body was freshly replenished and whole, he’d had a good, albeit drug-induced rest, and the adrenaline running through his system was now at an all-time high. He couldn’t wait to snap some necks and get to the bottom of this infernal mess. Why HQ would want him to protect a witch was anybody’s guess, and unless he received some answers soon, things were going to get rather interesting around these parts.

  Placing a tactical belt around his waist, and a pair of black Kevlar gloves in the waistband of his trousers, he was now fully dressed. He didn’t have a lot of time to consider equipment and ammo, but the usual rules applied. He would carry as much as he could. Hanging a series of throwing stars off his belt, he strapped two full-tang combat knives on each lower leg and holstered two Sig Sauer P226 Blackwater pistols around each thigh. He finished by adding an HK416 assault rifle which he hung diagonally across his back. That was the easy part.

  Outside, he placed the sprinkler system on full whack letting it spray for three minutes, before he used two slates tiles from the roof to rip up the lawn. He was creating a wet and muddy playing field. Anything that might hinder his attackers’ movements would give him the precious seconds he needed in order to defeat them. Finishing that off, he took stock of the grounds searching for an advantageous hiding place. His eyes settled on a steep dip to the ditch at the rear of the garden, which would give him an excellent place to set up his rifle. Though his body would be half in the water, the cold wouldn’t affect him, and it would help disguise his smell. When or if he managed to get through the first wave, he could then start the wet work. He’d just have to hope he was in a good enough state to take on a few vamps and still live to tell the tale.

  Having been alive for more than two thousand years, and having fought in numerous bloody and gruesome wars, his conscience never troubled him. He’d seen death and destruction in all of its glorious and ghastly forms, and he’d spent the better part of a hundred years practising the art of killing. He’d moved on from shields and swords, but the mechanics were still the same. Never take your eye off the enemy and plan ahead whenever possible.

  Moving around the dark garden with only the light of the moon to guide him, he added a few last minute touches before secreting himself in his hidey-hole. Guillaume would be down to help him soon but for now he was on his own, and the only thing he needed to do was stay still and wait silently.

  Looking up at the chateau, he noted Lainey’s room was closeted in darkness. He couldn’t puzzle her out. Why would she risk dropping from exhaustion in order to heal a vampire? Was she concerned for her own safety? There weren’t many people left in the world capable of killing him, but he guessed she didn’t know that. Had she healed him to protect herself? Maybe she just needed to do her good deed for the day.

  He didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t care. He’d deal with the witch issue later, when he didn’t have more pressing concerns—liking surviving. Blessedly, he didn’t have too long to mull over the intricacies of the female mind because the first platoon of goons had appeared and were marching down the drive. Firing a bright white flare up into the air to guide them straight to him, he was strangely anxious for the games to begin. Looking up into the sky, and admiring the luminescent full moon, which resided over the area and would bear witness, he decided it wasn’t a bad evening to die.

  When they came at him, it was from all directions and all at once. There were swarms of them with a familiar look of hunger in their eyes that would never be sated while they remained half-alive and half-dead. Once again, he became the cold-blooded monster that centuries of death, disease and heartache had created.

  Even though he could hear them coming, their feet squelching through the wet mud as they began churning up the ground, he waited. His finger was perfectly still on the trigger and his body was rigid as stone. He wanted to get them all in one place and neatly herded up because that would be the easiest way to kill them.

  It wasn’t until they were about five feet away from him that he released the first barrage of bullets, watching with indifference as a large group of bodies went down. He didn’t care about killing them at this point, he could do that later but he most certainly wanted them incapacitated. It worked exactly as planned. The first men hit immediately fell into those behind, and they created a Mexican wave effect. The resulting chaos stilled the onslaught for a second, which was all that he needed. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the tall iron electric gates clanged closed. Perfect, Guillaume, thank you. Now the real work could begin.

  Flicking the switch of the small remote detonator in his pocket, he counted to three and then watched as the ground before him spewed up in giant geysers of mud and flames. The shockwave of the blast jerked his body upwards accompanied by the smell of nitroglycerine and burning ash permeating the air. Bits of shrapnel flew everywhere and the gushing earth briefly blinded those not taken down directly. Firing off round after round, his rifle took care of the survivors. As soon as the earth returned to its resting place and there was no one visible left standing, he holstered the gun and with lightning fast speed climbed into the trees behind him.

  The Kevlar gloves he wore kept the bark from shredding his fingers as he raced his way to the top of the nearest tree, narrowly avoiding a bullet from an enterprising minion perched above. All he needed to do was pluck the guy from his perch with his superior strength, which he did letting the body fall heavily to the ground below. Taking out his pistol, he finished the broken body off before weaving in and out of the treetops as he took care of the stragglers. Thanks to his vampiric sight, the smallest movements were like bright red beacons to his senses and when he’d finally cleared the giant garden, all he had to contend with was one pair of glowing green eyes.

  Approaching the vampire with a good degree of caution, he kept his arms out at his sides with his palms facing outwards. At the moment, he wasn’t a threat to the monster but he suspected that would change very soon. T
he vampire flashed a bright white smile in return, and there was a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes. Lifting his hand up to his shirt collar, he straightened it out and smoothed away a few imaginary creases.

  Finally, he clucked his tongue in annoyance and said, “I had hoped my little army would tire you out somewhat. After all, I had heard you were shot and wounded several times just a few hours ago. You seem to have made a miraculous recovery. What a shame.”

  Continuing on his path forward, Mercer walked straight to the vampire until he was a mere three feet away, and began to examine him. His surprise guest was of Russian decent and almost certainly younger than he was by at least five hundred years. If he’d come on his own, he was playing a very dangerous set of cards. That alone sent several alarm bells ringing in Mercer’s head.

  “Athanasius. To what do I owe the pleasure?” His tone was brusque.

  “That was years’ of hard work, you’ve destroyed in less than ten minutes. I think I should be slightly offended.” Athanasius surveyed the massacre all around him, but his smile belied the comment. He didn’t waste any more time on pleasantries. “We need the witch. She has developed something a little unsavoury for our tastes. She needs to be questioned and then destroyed. I have to confess I’m a little surprised at you protecting her. Didn’t the witch, Kalliope, kill your brother?”

  “I believe so but that doesn’t make me accountable to you, does it?” Mercer narrowed his eyes and bared his fangs. He was muddy, wet, sticky, and covered in gore. His patience was wearing a little on the thin side and the thought of unsheathing his combat knives and carving up the vampire was all too tempting. He hoped his eyes reflected those very thoughts, which were now bearing down into the Russian’s own with unpleasant ferocity.

  The vampire’s lips twisted. “I was hoping you’d see reason. Many people want her dead. I thought you would be one of them.”