Rise of an African Elemental: A Dark Fantasy Novel (African Elementals Book 4)

by Alicia McCalla

  “Hello, slut,” her other uncle Jefferson said in his coastal southern drawl. The tall, tanned, stocky but athletic one. Gluttonous wolf with a geeky crow’s peak, the two points meeting at the center of his forehead. Shave it off! He dug into her, every chance he got. His way of controlling her.

  “Fuck you, Uncle Jeff.” Stacey slid her middle finger in the air. She was sick of their bull and wanted to get on with it.

  “Children, let’s welcome our lovely daughter home. It’s been so long since we’ve seen her.” Her grandmother adjusted her 1960s glasses, trying to appease the men but make herself seem fair, but she was always on their side.

  Stacey wished she could give the chunky old woman a makeover. A knit sweater with a flower shirt! Take that off, Grandma!

  Stacey plopped down on the chair in front of them. She was irritated with the fact they’d summoned her like a child, to be reprimanded for not marrying or having an heir. Cruel trick or what?

  “We call this meeting of the Pike family to order.” Her grandmother smiled painfully as if anyone cared.

  “Yes, do,” her Uncle Button said.

  Stacey allowed their words to drone in the background. She got what they wanted. She’d already researched it. Her brothers would get the majority of her magic when they reached adulthood. She’d already decided that she was going to starve out her uncles, and make sure her brothers had the magic they needed to survive. To hell with those assholes. She studied her manicured fingernails. She wasn’t listening to their crap.

  “It is her duty to further our bloodline.”

  Blah, blah, blah.

  “She must mate with a male from the ancient gods.”

  More blah, blah, blah.

  If Stacey had her way, her uncles would drop dead.

  “Are you listening, young lady?” Her uncle Jeff was terse.

  “This is of dire consequence to our survival. A male witch with limited magic is a target for all sorts. We must maintain our rankings. If we lose them, our family will suffer.”

  Stacey yawned and stretched. A coup that overthrew her bloodthirsty uncles would be okay with her. All they’d done to her over the years. Them and their rankings. A bunch of male witches walking around wearing pointy white hats—just plain stupid. Power-hungry white men up to no good. If she allowed nature to take its course, certainly the universe would be better off. Karma would eat them alive.

  Stacey gave them a flat smile, then allowed venom to leak through her syrupy sweet response.

  “Certainly, Uncle. I hear your plea, but I simply have not been able to convince the one with the royal bloodline to mate and marry me.”

  Stacey patted her mouth, a true Southern belle, even though she professed to be far from it. She didn’t care about Deacon, anyway. She’d befriended him, but she made herself a little sister to him. She didn’t love him. Deacon was a nice enough man, but really, he didn’t do it for her.

  Her heart belonged to someone else, and that’s who she intended to mate and marry. Just like Deacon, her Ryan was a descendant of Tyr and his blood wasn’t as powerful, but it would maintain the magic of her brothers which was all Stacey cared about. She folded her arms and crossed her legs.

  “We see,” her uncle Jeff barked. “I believe that you have not had the incentive to do what we believe is in the best interest of our family.”

  “Yes-s-s,” Button slithered, showing the snake that he was.

  “Your heart has never been in building magic for the ones who took care of you for years, especially after that debacle with your mother,” Jeff said.

  Stacey couldn’t allow the snide remark about her mother to slide off. She wanted to smack that smug wolfish grin off his face. She knew they’d pushed her mother over the edge for their own benefit. Stacey waved her hand, and her uncle’s glasses broke in half.

  “Finally, she shows moxie,” Jeff said, removing the remnants of his glasses. “Impressive. You’ve been holding back on us.” Her uncle bared his teeth. He snapped his fingers.

  Stacey was tired of them. She leaned forward and was about to tell them to go to hell, when the door creaked open and someone hobbled behind her.

  “What you requested.” The servant slid across the wood floor, his bum leg clumping and trudging. His scaly face with large crooked nose and permanently dislocated jaw constantly looked disgruntled.

  Stacey hated her uncle’s minions; the demon hybrids with sunken eyes and graying skin made her cringe. Probably easier to do the dirty work.

  “Ahh, just what we’ve been waiting for. Your incentive, dear niece.” Her uncle Jeff bared his fangs as he ripped open the box.

  The old wolf drooled while he pulled out a fistful of brown hair, attached to a head. The head’s fear-filled eyes were frozen in one last moment of terror. Blood dripped on the table as her uncle waved the head around as if it were a mannequin. He howled in delight, holding up his latest prize—her lover’s head.

  Stacey rapidly blinked, flinching, her stomach rolling as she screamed and smashed her fist into her mouth. How could they do that to Ryan? Bastards! Her chest became heavy with grief. Hard to breathe. The sour taste in her mouth made it difficult to swallow.

  “You killed him!” The words flew from her mouth, but inside her thoughts scrambled.

  Her body shuddering with growing rage made the house shake. There would be new ghosts in the old mansion for the local ghost hunters—soon. Mirrors exploded.

  They killed her Ryan! They murdered the love of her life to further themselves and their own dark power. Ragged intense breathing gave way to dangerous laughter. Power streamed throughout her body, causing her hair to stand on end. Her teeth clenched. She stood, staring her uncles down, pulse pumping in her ears.

  Stacey should kill them now. She lifted her hands and her staff of power revealed itself, always ready to materialize when she called. The ceiling fan, family portraits and books all shook. Stacey began a deadly incantation, unleashing her fury.

  Her grandmother didn’t flinch. The old woman thwarted the attack by raising her staff and forming a protective wall around her sons. Stacey’s magic ricocheted, exploding, sending her body flying across the room. Stacey crumbled as she smashed into the parlor’s wall. Her grandmother gritted her teeth, tapping her staff on the ground as if preparing for battle. That old bat was strong!

  Stacey’s back cried in pain. She nursed her neck, collecting herself. Her fallen staff of power receded as she lowered her chin to her chest. She gave a long, low sigh until she went quiet. She refused to cry in front of them. She wouldn’t give them the joy of seeing her weakness.

  Her grandmother dropped the yellow protective wall. Stacey finally stood, holding her head high, marching as she returned to her tribunal chair. She refused to sit down.

  Uncle Button put his handkerchief by his nose. “Take that away.”

  The minion removed the head from the table but left the bloody container. The demon-hybrid gripped Ryan’s head as if he carried a bowling ball, blood splattering on the wood floor. Clump, slide, thump until he exited the room. Stacey’s eyes burned as she held her tears. Fuckers!

  Her uncle Jeff yelled dismissively, “Don’t take it too far; I have a spell that I’d like to work with it.”

  Stacey wished she could use her mother’s watermelon-ball maker to plop his eyes out. Could she make his head explode? Her rage shuddered.

  Her grandmother smiled. “Dear, don’t do anything you may regret.”

  Stacey hated them. She hated them all. She wanted to be rid of them for good.

  “Now, we seem to have your attention,” Uncle Jeff said. “If you don’t mate and marry Deacon Kilgore, we will kill your baby brothers.”

  Stacey allowed his words to penetrate. Her heart sped, and her mind went into overdrive. “You would kill your own flesh and blood to further your lust for power?” She drew back and spit in her uncle’s face.

  He growled while wiping his face. “My nephews show promise, but their need for magic wou
ld supplant my own needs. We know you’d willingly supply your brothers but not us. So, you have incentive.” He waved his hands toward the container, sat back in his chair, looking coy.

  Stacey wanted to yell. She stared at her grandmother. The woman dropped her eyes. She was going to allow her sons to do what they felt was necessary to stay in power. She would allow them to murder their own kin.

  The story of her life. Her uncles, in the end, would get everything they wanted. Forever their cow. She was still furthering their cause. She didn’t want to. She wasn’t interested.

  “She’s in shock,” her grandmother said. “Let me talk to her alone.”

  The two got up to leave, but her uncle Jeff stopped next to her.

  “I don’t care what Mother says.” He bared his wolfish teeth meanly. “Killing your two brothers is the first step. If you don’t supply us with the magic we need, we’ll make your eternal soul pay.”

  Stacey felt the curse go up her spine. He meant every word. They left, slamming the door.

  Her grandmother stood, using her magic to drag her chair next to Stacey’s. “Darling, we need to talk. My sons mean business. You must force a mating with Deacon, and I have an idea.”

  Stacey studied her grandmother’s face. She appeared almost innocent with her wispy gray curly hair, but that old woman was dangerous.

  Stacey didn’t want to hear, but she studied the blood droplets on the side of the container that previously held her boyfriend’s head.

  “What idea?” she whispered, grinding her teeth into her lower lip.

  “I know of a dark spell that works on the descendants of Tyr who are unmarried and have no heirs.”

  Stacey’s stomach somersaulted. Her existence, like her mother’s, was over.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Shania

  Shania drove with her vision stuck between two worlds. Women’s feet stomped red dirt underneath a huge tree. Cowry shells adorned their ankles. African women warriors stood in a circle, wielding machete-like swords to a downtempo rhythm. Their headdresses, cowry shell shirts and colorful skirts swayed. Beads rattled. The lead warrior cried.

  “Call forth your war swords!” the woman’s voice boomed inside her mind.

  Warmth spread within Shania’s being as her perception switched from focusing on the yellow lines of the road, to the frantic movements of Adinkra symbols on the skirts of women warriors dancing. War beads shook harder. Her heart recognized the internal warrior’s song and dance. The symbols prepared her for battle.

  Shania’s mind slipped into an imagined reality. Not now. I must be lucid for my child. Sweat rolled down her back, and she gripped the wheel tighter. The women warriors summoned her to join their dance, but she gazed at the speedometer and knew her SUV was racing down the morning highway at a hundred miles per hour. Mind and body disconnecting.

  The slow-moving warrior’s song carried her away. Little green and gold machete-like Akofena war swords clashed on her window. Her mind’s eye focused. She imagined a younger version of herself, but it didn’t feel like her. Is this my memory? She saw herself practicing with two Akofena war swords. The smoothness of the hilts in her hands felt comparable to home. She moved with grace and dignity, as a warrior. Beautiful, gorgeous, and deadly. I was powerful.

  The dance went on inside her mind. Drums beating. She saw herself dressed in stunning kente cloth. The beads on her ankles rattled as she turned her body to the sway of the battle. The warrior dance was exhilarating. Her heart raced, her pulse boomed, but most importantly, she was in control. She connected to her inner source, to the power within. This warrior spirit was the same one all the women in her bloodline possessed. In this sacred space, she wasn’t disconnected from the strength of those women like she’d been in the real world. She belonged there…rightfully.

  Shania’s mind continued in the dance until it became frenzied. The beating drums rolled away, and her heart ached. The radiating power of the women withdrew. She found herself huddled alone in a cold empty place. An unnatural barrier blocked her connection to her source. The parasitic darkness swirled inside the pit of her being. Now, she hated herself. She hated who she was. The self-hatred caused her to abandon a man she adored, to lie to him. It also caused her to discount her beautiful dark skin and her dignity.

  Shania’s life unfolded in front of her in layers. Her desperation. Her desire for self-loathing. The dark depression ruled her when she didn’t even understand where the self-loathing came from. Was it living off her life force? Did it enjoy her anguish? She screamed. The image of her warrior self smiled back, but it was angry. Why had she done this to herself? Why had she become this weak, fractured fool? She lost who she was forever!

  “Mama! Wake up!”

  Shania’s consciousness was at two places at one time.

  “You’re driving too fast!”

  Baby girl?

  Shania was trapped between the dancing symbols on her car window, and the face of her disappointed warrior woman as she floated away like a dream.

  Her mind slammed back into her body. She glanced down and realized she’d been driving like a possessed mad woman. Her stomach dropped, and she took her foot off the accelerator.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she shrieked. “I didn’t realize...”

  Shania slowed down, cutting across the road. Horns blared as she snipped someone off. A very angry man rode her tail, honking like a maniac. She’d really pissed him off. She sent a sorry wave. He gave her the finger. Thank God there was only the one angry driver. She could’ve killed lots of people today.

  “It’s okay, Mama. Can we stop? I need to tinkle.” Lydia’s voice kept Shania stable, even though her breath hammered inside her chest. The child was the only good thing she had in her life. Shania bit down on her quivering lip as she squinted. Then, she saw a rest stop ahead.

  “Let’s go over here.”

  Shania pulled into the rest stop and turned the SUV off. She closed her eyes and rested her head backward. Geez, her life was moving fast.

  “Can we go to the vending machine?” Lydia’s eager eyes resembled her father’s. Shania’s soul squeezed. If anything ever happened to her baby, she’d die.

  “Just give me a minute, honey, then we can go.”

  Shania rubbed her hands together. She cracked her window to get fresh air. She needed to calm down. She peered at the seat next to her. The box was there, glowing again. Her heart lurched. No, no, no. Her lips shook. She was going to put that thing back in the trunk—right now.

  Shania unlocked the doors and was about to pop the hatch when another car skidded in the parking space almost right on top of her. What the…? A thirty-something light-skinned brother in a suit leaped out the car.

  “Bitch, where did you get your license? Don’t you know how to drive?” Gosh, he looks and acts like Corbin. Shania’s core somersaulted, but she wouldn’t let him punk her.

  “Excuse me?” She allowed the words to roll out with much attitude. She pressed the automatic locks. Thor snarled behind her.

  “I didn’t stutter. You cut me off!”

  Oh, it was that man. Shania’s shoulders slumped. She spoke through the cracked window, her tone soft. “I apologize, sir, I was having a small problem.” She was about to ask him about any damage when the Adinkra symbols bobbed along the windows—again.

  The man’s face flashed demonic with blazing eyes. “Open your car door! Corbin sent me!”

  Her phone buzzed again, over and over. Fangs and drool dropped down as puss filled his mouth. The man’s body grew, morphing in front of her eyes.

  Not again! Shania shoved her fist in her mouth, and her eyes grew wide. She had to be hallucinating. Get it together, girl!

  Thor growled protectively behind her. Shania squeaked, rolling up her window.

  “Put your seatbelt on.” Shania’s mind raced. She tossed the buzzing phone in the backseat. Drums thumped crazily and symbols twirled to a warrior’s song. Shania’s hands warmed as if two invisible
swords materialized in them. She wiped her hands on her jeans.

  The man pounded her front window and the hood. “Come and get what you deserve!”

  He smashed her hood again with his huge fat fists. Were those claws? Sweet Jesus!

  Shania crossed her arms, squeezing her sides into a tight hug as she rocked back and forth. I’m losing it!

  She jumped. The weakling side of her wanted to do what the man asked. She knew this was a sign of her people-pleasing. She heard a mantra inside.

  And though the path I follow is fraught with danger, I am not afraid.

  The man’s bashing made her glove compartment fall open. Her grandmother’s Bible tumbled out. She had to be strong like Nanabaa.

  “Look at that man’s face.” Lydia’s screams made her mother’s instinct kick in.

  “Put your seatbelt on!” Shania unfolded herself, reaching for the gear shift to put the car in reverse. Her hands shook. Fear immobilized her.

  “Ho, I’m gonna kill you for Corbin!” The man went nuts. He unzipped his pants and peed on her car. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes darted looking for escape. What should I do? She couldn’t just sit there.

  After he relieved himself, he fondled his manhood and chanted. “Die, bitch. Die, bitch. Die, bitch.”

  The woman warrior’s voice boomed. “Call forth your war swords!”

  The drums beat fiercely. Adinkra symbols bobbed along her windows.

  “Get out so we can finish this!” The man’s size continued to grow as he pounded his way up her vehicle. Shania backed up but had to push the brakes, hard.

  Chunk! Her SUV rolled up and over. He’d put something back there. She squealed.

  The warrior in Shania cried to fight back, to chop his fucking head off, but the frail her wailed in fear. The symbols twisted, and she had a vision of how she could get away. She mashed the accelerator as the man was about the bash the middle of her window. Shania put the SUV in gear and sped forward onto the lawn, sending the road-rage brother flying. Oh my God! Oh my God!