Birthright - Book 2 of the Legacy Series (An Urban Fantasy Novel)

by Ryan Attard

  The room around her was a macabre mess.

  “Where’s Erik?” she asked the demon in front of her.

  “He left,” he replied. “Your brother couldn’t bear what he did and what he had become. He left before he could bring any harm to you. Be it himself or Alastair Crowley.”

  Gil’s expression clenched at the sound of that name. “I should have killed that rat when I had the chance.”

  “It’s no use crying over spilled milk,” said Mephisto. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face her father.

  The man was a bloody mess, nearly cut in two. Gil saw the extent of the damage to his internal organs. They had begun rotting from the inside out. No doubt a side effect of all the drugs he had injected.

  “But you can do something about him,” whispered Mephisto in her ear.

  She saw her father’s chest heave slightly and she realized that he was still breathing. Her father was still alive!

  “He killed your mother. He twisted me into torturing you all those years. He wanted to defile your mother’s corpse for a dark ritual. He sent Crowley after Erik and he nearly killed you. He drove Erik away from you. Master Gil, he is the one responsible for your sadness. Because of his actions, you are truly and utterly alone.”

  She stood there shivering while the demon whispered truths in her ears. Her contempt for this man swelled until it hurt her chest.

  “Kill him and liberate all of us from his diseased existence. Kill him, Master Gil, and relish in the closure. Kill him and Erik shall come back.”

  She bent down and picked up a large shard of glass. She had no idea how all the debris and furniture had gotten into a sealed area like the Arena. It must have been during the battle between her brother and father. A battle she should have joined. Maybe she could have saved Erik from whatever happened to him. But she was too weak.

  Not anymore, she decided. No more crying. No more remorse. No more weakness.

  Mephisto placed his hand gently on the small of her back, slowly pushing her toward the man she once considered her father.

  No more.

  She placed the glass shard on his neck. He opened his mouth to say something. Excuses most likely.

  “I don’t have a father anymore,” she said calmly. Her voice sounded foreign. “I don’t have a mother, either. I once had a brother, but he left. Maybe he’ll come back. Or maybe I will never see him again.”

  The glass sliced his neck open as the girl dragged it across. Blood splattered, and hot droplets struck her cheek. But she never recoiled. She never flinched.

  She just sliced the monster’s throat.

  “But it’s okay,” she continued. “I will make it work. I will make this house work again.”

  Once sure her father was dead, she dropped the shard. Her hand shook uncontrollably.

  But she never faltered in her words.

  “Come, Mephistopheles,” she said. “We have work to do.”

  29

  Now

  I paused as I refilled my glass. The whiskey bottle had been replaced and even the second one was steadily dwindling. I had no idea what I was drinking — only that it tasted bitter and burned my throat. And that it killed all emotion in my voice. That was the important bit. Sun Tzu sat quietly with his gray eyes fixed on mine. I suppose to an old-school Chinese general, patricide was a big no-no.

  Well, you asked for it, old man. Don’t judge me for not rolling over.

  “I am uncertain what to say, Erik,” he said.

  “Your silence says plenty,” I replied icily.

  He averted his gaze, aware that he was staring. “I am sorry, I did not mean to judge. Sometimes my upbringing makes it difficult for me to understand more modern social actions.”

  “There’s nothing modern about it.” I knocked back the amber liquid. “My old man was insane, and I killed him because I had to. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Either way, I apologize. I meant no offense.”

  “Save it.”

  “Erik,” he said. His stern voice was back. “Do not assume that pity is for weaklings. Friends cannot help but feel sorry for one another when one of them is suffering. I do feel bad for what happened to you, but make no mistake, I will not judge you for it.”

  I smiled and bowed my head slightly. “Sorry for being a douche.”

  “If you weren’t, I would start to worry,” he replied with a smile.

  “Yeah, this is cute and all,” interjected Amaymon. “But I’m more interested in how you managed to defeat your old man, Erik. You don’t remember anything?”

  I shook my head. “Just the usual stuff, I suppose. I remember feeling the same way I did when I went all supernova on the tanker. Other than that, nada.”

  Amaymon, now back in his cat form, shook his little feline head slightly. “So, that gives us nothing.”

  “Not precisely,” replied Sun Tzu. “Erik’s father did mention an artifact or a god hidden beneath the Mansion. Have you looked into that?”

  “I have. We have,” I corrected myself. “I’ve even had Amaymon check the entire foundation of the house for anything out of the ordinary back when Gil decided to renovate.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing there,” replied Amaymon. “Just dirt and a whole bunch of critters.”

  I nodded. “Dad was insane. He imagined crap that wasn’t there. That’s what crazy people do.”

  Sun Tzu nodded. “I understand. But do not dismiss this story, Amaymon. Erik’s past is directly tied to the events we are experiencing today.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “I do not know how,” he replied. “It is not in my nature to ask how. In my world things simply are, and neither reason nor justification is required.”

  “Must be some world,” muttered Amaymon.

  “It’s the same as yours, my friend,” said Sun Tzu. “Only you are both too blind to see it for what it really is.”

  “Oh. Right. That.” Amaymon made a growling sound. “What did you say you were again?”

  “I did not say.”

  “You Asians. Can’t talk straight, can’t drive straight.”

  “Hey, guys,” I interjected. “Can we stop the supernatural cat fight?”

  “Pun intended,” added Amaymon.

  “Very well, Erik. You have my attention,” said Sun Tzu. “You may continue your story.”

  I was about to, but stopped. I knew what was coming next.

  Him.

  I was going to divulge my history with the one man I considered a father, a mentor and a true inspiration. He was a good man, a decent person. And I had never told anyone about him.

  “Check up on Abi first,” I asked Sun Tzu. Truth be told, I was stalling for time - just enough time to drown all emotions in burning alcoholic liquids.

  Sun Tzu decided to humor me. “She is progressing well.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “Nothing physical. But I think she will have a bad migraine tomorrow.”

  “How so?” I asked. “What’s that monkey doing to her?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” relied Sun Tzu placidly. “Sun Wo Kung seems to enjoy riddles.”

  “Riddles?” I felt my face twist into a frown. Riddles? When I obtained my channel, the Jinn made me feel like garbage. It was a miracle I didn’t start cutting myself after the depression it gave me.

  Sun Tzu placed his fingertips together. “Abigale and the Monkey King have a lot in common, hence they are highly compatible. Both of their natures dominate the mind, rather than matter.”

  “Doesn’t all magic require the mind?” I counter argued.

  “Well, yes, from a human perspective. But there are different categories of magic, and theirs is the mind. The psyche, if you will.” Tzu exhaled and closed his eyes. He looked very tired and very old. “Your apprentice is a succubus, but also a witch. That means she has dominion over sensory magic. The Monkey King is a known trickster, specializing in perception alteration and gla
moring. They are a perfect complement to each other’s powers. Not every battle involves hitting, Erik.”

  “Just as long as she’s not in danger.”

  “There is danger, Erik,” replied Sun Tzu. “There is always danger. But your apprentice is more powerful than you wish to admit.”

  “Maybe.” Damned old man. Can old people read minds or something?

  “Now,” continued the Asian, “if you are done displacing your worries, my friend, I would be interested in hearing the rest of the story.” He poured more booze in my glass.

  I arched my eyebrows and tried not to appear too pissed-off at him. Still, I don’t like being called out. Especially by someone who’s a bigger wiseass than I am. But I supposed the old man had my best interest at heart.

  So, I took a swig, steeled myself, and resumed the story.

  30

  Approximately 8 years ago

  So, where is a sixteen-year-old runaway supposed to go?

  Eureka had served as my only connection to the real world since I was a kid. We went to school there, and sometimes we were allowed to accompany Mephisto whenever he went to town under orders. As I entered adolescence, Eureka was the closest town I considered civilized. After living in that close-quartered mansion for years, any small rural town was not to my fancy.

  Eureka was my best bet to connect back to society. I had a lot of firsts in that town. There, Gil and I managed to sneak inside a bar last year. Whenever I snuck out for a bit of nightlife, I went there. Hell, I even got laid for the first time in that town.

  So when I ran, I found myself running toward the only place I knew besides the forest. But the world is not kind to runaways.

  I looked like a hobo. Well, I guess I was one.

  I spent the first month or so just living off the forest, foraging like a Neanderthal. I suppose I subconsciously drifted back into civilization and got spat out in Eureka. My clothes were decrepit and decayed in some places. I hadn’t bathed in days, and I had signs of forest life on me. What that means is that I was covered in crap, most of it animal, leaves and sap. Not to mention sweat.

  My sole possession was Djinn, which I wrapped in a blanket I found lying around. At least I had something other than leaves and dirt to sleep on at night.

  So, in that state, I wandered into the city, wondering how to survive the next day. It was early evening, and I saw a convenience store manager shutting down his store.

  It was an opportunity not to starve. I took it.

  I waited until the guy left and made my move. With Djinn, I made quick work of the shutter door and cameras. I had enough mud and dirt on my face that even with facial recognition software my features would be too obscure. Besides, who was going to believe that video – some wild kid with a glowing blue sword and then a flash of bright light? Anyone who wanted to remain out of an insane asylum would chalk it up to a technical malfunction and move on with their life.

  I grabbed all I could and stuffed it in one of those handheld baskets. Anything edible within the first three aisles got dumped into the basket. I was about to exit with more than a hundred bucks’ worth of stuff when I saw the beverage display. Water was essential – the Jack Daniels was not.

  It still went in the basket.

  If anyone had a reason to drink, it was me. Maybe I would blackout and never wake up. Maybe then, I could forget.

  I slumped down in a corner in the first alleyway I found without any homeless people sheltered in it. I sat down, having nothing else to do, and took another swig from the bottle. The amber liquid burned my throat, and for a few seconds my attention was on the booze cascading into my system rather than despair over becoming a street urchin.

  So, that’s what depression felt like – a constant, endless stream of consciousness that would eventually lead to death. Only I couldn’t die. I never tried putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger, and the sad truth was that I was too broke to afford one now.

  I let my eyes shift through my surroundings, taking note of every shop and every detail on the buildings. I saw it just two blocks down, a clinic, or so said the sign. It was dimly lit and most of the street was dead. I couldn’t see the moon from where I was, but the street lamps shed enough light for me to examine it.

  Thoughts went wild in my head. Should I rob that, too? Surely there must be valuable stuff in there. I could sell the meds on the black market, if I could ever find a buyer. Or – and this scared the living hell out of me – I could just pop every pill I found and hope it killed me once and for all.

  I saw a couple emerge from the building. The man had his arm in a sling, with his wife holding him steady. Judging by the way he walked, it was clear the poor guy was still feeling woozy from the anesthetic. I got a better look at them.

  The woman was smiling and saying something, probably words of encouragement, or perhaps something to take his mind off the procedure he just had. The injury must not have been serious. Either that, or clinics were really short on space. I saw a nurse peek outside at them; so nice to find a worker who genuinely cares for her patients.

  “Take care of yourself, Mr. Landis,” I heard her say.

  The man muttered something and the woman relayed a thank you. She draped an arm around his good arm.

  “Come on, Collin. Let’s get you home.”

  The scene nearly broke my heart. Why the fuck weren’t my parents like that?

  My thoughts went from one crime to another, and soon a plan formed in my head. They must have paid the clinic, so there must be money inside the building. I could always overpower the staff inside. Perhaps even throw a couple of magic shots just to make sure.

  I threw myself against the wall, slamming the back of my head. What was I thinking? Was I really going to use my skills – skills meant to hunt down monsters – to rob some small-time clinic?

  Was I really going to use magic against the sick and injured and the people who wanted to help them?

  I crouched down, hugging the sword and the bottle. I broke down in tears and wanted nothing more than to die.

  I was truly a monster, just like my father. I was just like him, harming innocents just to eat.

  The bottle went flying. Glass exploded, showering me with bourbon.

  I deserved to die. Monsters deserve to die. I killed people, like my father, who were monsters. Now I had become one.

  Where was my killer?

  I didn’t notice it at first, but soon my senses picked up on it. The wall opposite me darkened, and my body shivered in the sudden cold. It emerged like a shadow, slowly solidifying into a living nightmare.

  It was a humanoid dressed in a tattered cloak of darkness from head to toe, hiding all of its features except for a set of three large claws, each the size of Djinn, emerging from each sleeve. Mist gathered as it exhaled. The creature took its first step toward me, and I heard chains rattle. I could hear its rasped breathing and saw moisture glinting on the cloak as the creature salivated from its wide mouth. Each breath held a low whistle to it, like the wail of some creature from very far away.

  My body shook in fear. I had never seen one of them but remembered reading about them, because they featured in a lot of my nightmares.

  A wraith, a phantasm born out of hatred, fear and sadness.

  Wraiths are rare enough for most wizards to avoid ever seeing one. They are usually found haunting traumatized people, slowly feeding off their negativity and growing stronger. Until they grew strong enough to become real. Then, they used those claws of theirs and devoured their victim one strip at a time, and thus sealing their bodies in reality forever. Once they touch flesh, they become physical creatures. And the one before me was very, very real.

  I forced my head to turn toward the clinic. All that pain must have called the wraith. Something glinted off the sidewalk.

  Blood. I saw their bodies lying in the shadows, but their clothing confirmed who they were. The old couple, or whatever was left of them, lay dead and ripped apart on the street like road kil
l. This Wraith must have fed off them. But what was it doing here instead of at the clinic? Surely there must be a fuller meal there?

  Then it hit me. It wasn’t the suffering at the clinic that had attracted this wraith. Sure, that’s where it may have been created, but it would still need a major boost of energy in order to solidify enough to interact with physical objects. The kind of energy that comes from extreme emotions.

  Like wanting to kill yourself.

  Like realizing that you are a monster, just like the ones you were taught to kill for your entire life.

  Like wishing that someone would just kill you so that this misery would finally be over.

  I realized this wraith had nothing to do with the clinic. I had fed it and made it manifest into reality. I gazed at the tattered bodies – I might as well have killed them myself.

  The wraith inhaled deeply and let out a satisfied exhalation. The wails and rasping of its breath intensified. I heard the rattling of chains as it shifted and raised a hand. The three wicked claws caught the streetlight and cast a macabre shadow over my body.

  I didn’t move. What was the point? Wasn’t this what it wanted? This Wraith was my sadness and fear and anger, all meshed into one monstrosity. Now, it was going to kill me. From where I stood, that was only justice. I prayed for my punisher and it had arrived. I closed my eyes and hoped that the damned thing would at least give me a quick death.

  I saw a burst of light and instinctively opened my eyes. The wraith was shrinking, backing up against the wall, seeking refuge in the shadows. But the new apparition offered no shadows, only light. It moved like water, as if liquid had solidified into a dynamic creature. After my eyes adjusted to the intense luminosity of the creature, I recognized some features.

  A thin mane along a powerful neck. Four powerful legs that stomped the ground and showered the gravel in sparks. A tail flicking to and fro. A muscular body with a belly like a barrel. A long head with two luminescent eyes on each side and a snout from which the creature whinnied.