Suddenly Sekiel’s body twisted in agony. Bit by bit his outline began to dissolve, becoming less substantial. Gripped tightly within Empeth’s power, Vain struggled to pull free. Sebastian knew within the Dark Man dwelled a great force, but he feared to let it loose, lest he lose control of it.
Sekiel screamed, and Empeth laughed. “I hope you enjoy oblivion, demon. With the ritual almost complete my powers are such that I can now absorb you utterly.”
The demon writhed even more within Empeth’s power, but could not liberate himself. Slowly he dissipated until he was no more substantial than a thin smoke...
... and then he vanished.
Empeth now focused his attention on the Dark Man and grinned maliciously. He moved closer to the assassin and gazed closely at his face. “What’s wrong, Dark Man? Can’t you control the powers of the Glimloche?”
Vain gazed calmly into Empeth’s eyes until he glanced away. “I pity you, Empeth,” he said softly. “For all of your power you’re nothing but a little puppy dog, running to pick up the scraps from your master’s table.”
Empeth flew into a rage, hurling waves of blue flame which surrounded Vain. The assassin cried out in anguish. Burning slowly within the conflagration, his mouth open in torment, the Dark Man reached instinctively for the Glimloche and it suddenly exploded out from within him.
The two powers raged against each other, and Sebastian sensed the Dark Man’s control beginning to slip as he poured more and more of himself into his own dark flames. The assassin’s features began to swell and his skin grew darker. Sebastian reached out with his own powers and touched Vain’s mind.
Don’t give up! he pulsed. I believe in you! This seemed to bolster Vain slightly and his features shifted back to normal, but Sebastian knew he could not hold his concentration for long.
Instantly, the look of torment upon the assassin’s face changed to one of incredible serenity. A strange feeling of utter acceptance suddenly flowed from within Vain.
Withdrawing his own blaze, Vain instead drew Empeth’s power into him, using the Glimloche to absorb the flames, destroying the malice contained therein. He opened his arms wide in acceptance, gradually dragging Empeth closer and closer to the assassin.
Realizing the danger too late, Empeth tried to withdraw his own power from the fray, but the Glimloche held him too strongly now, and he felt himself being slowly drained. Panic began to grip the leader of the Souls of Sordarrah, and he fought with renewed ferocity against the dark embrace, but with each pulse of force he threw at Vain, the hold grew stronger, and Empeth drew inexorably closer.
Finally, the two were pressing together, and Vain closed his arms around his enemy. Empeth shrieked with fury, but all to no avail, his power draining from within, his physical body fading much as Sekiel’s had.
Sebastian watched the Dark Man, awed by the force that tore through him. It should have flayed his soul, but the power of the Glimloche held it at bay. At the same time, Sebastian realized, the Glimloche was burning out. Used in a non-aggressive role, it had nothing to feed upon and was starving itself. Little by little, both Empeth and the Glimloche deteriorated until they were both almost gone.
Vain opened his eyes and looked at the wispy figure of Empeth still flailing uselessly within his embrace. A silent scream stretched his mouth, and Vain’s expression turned to one of sympathy. After a desperate surge, Empeth finally surrendered, but before he disappeared completely, his face suddenly adopted a look of utter peace. He smiled faintly at Vain before fading entirely.
The Dark Man slumped slightly as the power of the Glimloche disappeared from within him and he turned toward Sebastian. The boy rose from the floor and then ran to throw himself into the Dark Man’s open arms. “You saved me!” he cried.
Vain smiled warmly at the young boy. “Let’s get out of here,” he said tenderly.
Together the two descended the stairs and entered the partly demolished hallway. Through the windows, Sebastian could see the now empty courtyard outside and the gates to the mansion stood wide open. In the distance, the blaring of sirens approached, and the Dark Man’s eyes narrowed with concern.
“We’d better go out the back way,” Vain suggested calmly.
The two moved through the hallway toward the rear of the house and into the large kitchen situated there. Out front, they heard the sirens cease, and several cars screech to a halt in the driveway. Uncertain shouts sounded, the police noting the huge splatters of blood staining the courtyard, the various piles of ash and strewn limbs, as their voices echoed closer to the main doors.
Vain’s features hardened and he paused. “I’m sorry, Sebastian,” he apologized. “I can’t come with you.”
“What?” cried Sebastian. “What do you mean?”
“They will always be searching for me, do you understand? They’re going to try to blame me for the deaths here, and if they capture me you’ll probably get caught up in it too. Stay here and make out that you’re just some innocent kid who doesn’t know what’s going on and you’ll be okay. It’ll be safer than if you come with me.”
Tears began to stream down Sebastian’s face. “No! I don’t care! I just want to be with you!” Even as he cried the words, though, he realized the Dark Man spoke the truth. His destiny lay elsewhere, and he could not find it if he was always running.
“I’ll make sure that somebody comes to look after you Sebastian. And don’t worry, if you ever need me, I promise I’ll be there.”
As he moved to the door, Sebastian called out to him, “Thank you, Dark Man!”
“That’s not my name,” he said without turning.
“I’m sorry – Vain.”
Turning back around, he once again swept Sebastian into his arms and whispered into his ear, “Call me Martin.”
He put the astonished boy back down and, without another word, walked back to the door...
... and finally stepped out into the light.
Epilogue
A thorough investigation by police failed to find the reason behind the massacre at the mansion. Eventually chalked-up as a mass suicide by followers of a cult erroneously labeled the ‘Sons of Sordarrah’ by the press, the fact that several members of the cult were torn limb from limb or reduced to cinders, left many people still asking questions. Nonetheless, the investigation was eventually closed by the police commissioner some six months after it began.
Sebastian Dunn ended up placed into foster care, never revealing what had truly occurred at the mansion. He claimed to be suffering from shock due to his ordeal and had no memory of anything that had happened to him. It proved no hard task to convince physicians that he was distraught, and with no living relatives they temporarily placed him into the foster care ward to await adoption.
A giant of a man named Tobias came forward to adopt Sebastian, alongside him, his new wife Gloria and her two sons: Tony and Mikey. Apparently Tobias had been sent an anonymous message stating that the woman required his assistance regarding a personal issue. Arriving at the house to see what she required, an unlikely romance had swiftly bloomed between the two. Both of Gloria’s sons loved the gentle giant, and the pair were wed a mere three months after their first meeting.
Tobias never found out who the message had come from.
For several years the family lived in bliss. Gloria had apparently inherited a large amount of money not long before she’d met Tobias, and the family never wanted for anything. Tobias continued his charity work, and eventually Sebastian came to help him at Chapel.
Sebastian aged and his powers grew within him. He was always careful; he couldn’t be sure that all of the Souls of Sordarrah had been killed, and he feared another attack by the fanatical cult.
As his powers expanded, so too did his instinctive need to use them to aid people. He began simply helping Tobias with his work at Chapel, but he soon found himself moving throughout the city, aiding the poor and indigent wherever he could.
Sebastian gradually established a new organiz
ation, named ‘The Martin Roberts Foundation’. By the time he’d reached twenty-seven it had expanded nationally, eventually becoming one of the most successful charitable organizations in the country.
Several hospitals were erected providing treatment free of charge to anybody who needed it. Funding derived through the aid organization, but also in part from an anonymous contributor who, during a single fund-raiser, pledged millions of dollars toward the various charities created by ‘The Martin Roberts Foundation’.
Sebastian began to turn his attentions overseas. Poverty stricken countries in Africa and South America received much needed aid, but more than this, Sebastian turned his skills to negotiating tenuous cease-fires between several warring nations while the rebuilding of their countries took place.
Without the need to fund their wars, third-world nations began to divert more money into other areas. Housing, education and healthcare gradually started to receive much needed attention as a result.
The rest of the world was watching.
Governments began to see increases in their productivity throughout their rapidly expanding workforces. New doors were opened, other countries gradually commencing trade with them.
The world embarked toward a horizon of renewed hope. Although wars were still being fought throughout several parts of the world, the fact that countries that had been bitter enemies for decades could finally put down their weapons and live in harmony brought hope to millions worldwide.
All of this began to crumble when Sebastian – the lodestone holding many of the treaties together – suddenly disappeared some weeks before his thirty-ninth birthday. He had accomplished so much in such a short time, but his significance only became recognized once he was no longer there. Many nations began to doubt the wisdom of this man with no real ties to any of the countries involved. Several of the tenuous treaties were sundered in bloody battles; old wounds reopened and old hatreds re-emerged.
Fearing his son had once again been kidnapped by the Souls of Sordarrah, Tobias hurriedly travelled to Washington DC. Sebastian had been trying to organize a cease-fire in the Middle-East when he had disappeared. He sought out his son’s aide, Vincent, questioning the man thoroughly about Sebastian’s movements during the days before he went missing. Unfortunately, Vincent was of little use, and appeared terrified to tell Tobias anything other than his son’s registered itinerary.
“What is it that you’re not telling me, Vincent?” pursued Tobias softly.
“N-nothing sir!” stammered the thin, slightly feminine-looking assistant.
Tobias stood up and towered over the quivering little man. “My son has gone missing,” he growled, “and you know something you’re withholding from me. What is it?”
Vincent sat silently, racked with indecision. “Another man came asking about your son just before he disappeared,” he said softly.
Tobias sat down again. “Who was he? Police? FBI?”
“Nobody like that. He was like nobody I’ve ever met before.”
“What do you mean?”
Vincent sat motionless for what seemed like an eternity. The man had never appeared brave to Tobias before, but neither had he been the trembling mess now before him. Somebody had obviously terrified Sebastian’s assistant and he was reluctant to name him.
“I don’t know who he was,” said Vincent softly, looking away. “He never gave a name. There was just something about him.”
“Something? What?”
Once again Vincent seemed unwilling to talk, and Tobias crashed his fist into the table between them in frustration. “What was it?” he thundered.
Vincent’s wide gaze shot up and he let out a tiny squeak of terror. “There was something evil about him. Something very....” he paused, searching for a word to describe the man who had aroused such fear in him. “I don’t know. There was something very dark about him –”
“He was a Dark Man.”
Terror flooded through Tobias as he looked through the window and out into the night...
If you enjoyed this novel, be sure to check out Luke Romyn’s other books here:
LukeRomyn.com
Go back to the Features Index
Go back to The Blurbs
Thirteen to None
Claude Bouchard
Copyright © 2013 by Claude Bouchard
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
Dedication
It seems strange, even somewhat surreal to say it but, I have fans, or at least my books do. As a writer, there is little more gratifying than having someone tell me they enjoyed my book, loved a character I created or are impatiently waiting for my next work. These same people help spread the word about my writing, simply out of the goodness of their hearts because they liked what I had to offer.
That said, I dedicate this book to my fans which include fine folks like Mark Aaron Carlisle in the U.K., Maria Hoffer in Germany and Norway’s Janne Olsen. Obviously, I’ve gained my fair share of American supporters with the likes of Gracey Castro, Leigh Dudenhoeffer, Ann Doherty Jurmain, Yvonne Taylor, Lee Carey, Eric B. Thomasma and Amber Norrgard, to name but a few. And no fan base would be complete without Canada’s Catherine Croix or France’s Anne de Forsan.
So, to all my fans, I thank you because without you I’d just be a guy who writes stuff instead of being an actual author.
Prologue
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Butch Kincaid turned off the shower, grabbed a thick towel on the rack by the glass door and got busy drying himself off. The others had already left but he had been unable to resist taking advantage of the expansive marble shower before heading back to the campground at nearby Presqu’ile Provincial Park. His delay wasn’t a bad thing as it would give his crew time to take down the campsite and load up their gear. After all, he wanted them to hit the road early to get some decent mileage out of the day and get to their next location.
Done with the towel, he dropped it to the floor as he stepped out of the shower then searched for and found a deodorant stick which he was certain his hosts wouldn’t mind his using. He took a couple of minutes to brush back his long, damp hair before tying it into a ponytail then slipped into his jeans, boots and a new golf shirt he had found in the adjoining bedroom.
His bathroom activities completed, he left the master suite of the lavish home and strolled down the hallway to the kitchen. Amidst the jumbled array of mostly empty liquor bottles on the granite-topped kitchen island, he noticed that the bottle of Grand Marnier – Cuvée de Centenaire which he had favoured the night before still had an inch or so of liqueur in it.
Smiling, he ambled over, pulled the cork top out and drained the last few ounces in one hearty swig before heading down the stairs to the spacious den in the basement to join his hosts.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he announced as he entered the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bathroom as fancy as yours and when I saw that shower, damn, it’s bigger than most of the hotel rooms I’ve ever stayed in. Do you realize you have four showerheads in there? Anyhow, I couldn’t help myself and once I got in, I kind of lost track of time a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”
Fred Copley, the sixty-something year old owner of the home, peered up at Butch with his remaining good eye and shook his head before rasping, “When are you leaving?”
“I have overstayed my welcome,” Butch admitted, “But don’t you worry, I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Are you planning to leave us like this?” asked Copley, gesturing to the duct tape with w
hich his wrists and ankles were bound to the armchair.
Butch shrugged. “I can’t really set you free, can I? You just might find it in you to go get some help before me and my crew get out of the area. I don’t want any trouble so I can’t take that risk.”
Fred turned his head slowly, his neck stiff, and gazed at his unconscious wife, her naked, bruised and battered body spread-eagled on their central coffee table, her wrists and ankles securely taped to the legs.
“Can you at least get a blanket to cover my wife?” Fred asked, “Just to keep her warm?”
“Don’t worry, good buddy,” Butch replied. “I’ll make sure you both stay nice and warm.”
He headed down a hallway to another staircase which led to a side entrance and returned shortly with two five gallon canisters of gasoline which he proceeded to splash on furniture, throw-rugs, wood paneled walls and pine flooring in and around the den and down the hallway, ignoring Copley’s whimpering pleas as he went. After all, he prided himself in being a cold-hearted son of a bitch.
Within minutes, he was back at the side door, pouring the last of the second canister onto the pine steps. He threw the empty container downstairs then pulled out a full book of matches, striking one with which he lit the others. As the matchbook flared, he tossed it onto the gasoline soaked steps and watched the flames quickly rise and spread.
In no time, the fire was progressing to his satisfaction and he left the house, leaving the side door open to ensure sufficient air for his growing inferno. Without looking back, he climbed onto his motorcycle, cranked the engine to life and headed back to the campground to hook up with his waiting crew.
Chapter 1
Monday, June 17, 2013
Captain Dave McCall shook his head in disgust as he read the National Police Information Network’s new activity report, a compilation of data regarding recently committed crimes across the country. Though he concentrated mainly on the goings-on in the Montreal area, he generally scrolled through those in other regions, particularly elsewhere in Quebec, in the neighboring province of Ontario and in other major Canadian cities, to keep abreast of present-day criminal activity.
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