The Halloween Collection

by The Eclective

  “Now what?”

  She smiled. “Have faith.”

  She approached the side of the cliff and lay her palm flat against the cool stone. She could feel the damp grittiness against her skin. But beyond lay something else. She closed her eyes and let her mind latch onto that something. It sparked in recognition.

  Amara stepped back from the cliff and waited, Jack at her side. He fidgeted a bit, which surprised her. For an immortal warrior he was awfully impatient. Then again she supposed he was a man of action, not used to waiting around.

  Then it came; the grinding sound that told her the portal was about to open. Slowly the entire rock face slid back, revealing the dark cavern beyond.

  She nearly laughed at the expression on Jack’s face. She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the cavern. “Come on, Sunwalker. Welcome to my world.”

  * * *

  “Welcome, Sunwalker.”

  The low voice rumbled through his chest. Jack opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Beside him, Amara laughed.

  “I think he’s speechless, Mavryn.” She tilted her head and gave him a curious look. “I though you said you lived in Dragon land?”

  Jack finally found his voice. “I do. I’ve just…ah, never seen a dragon in dragon form.”

  “Would it be more comfortable for you if I appeared in my human form?” The deep voice held a touch of laughter.

  “Only if you wish it,” he said politely.

  A little puff of smoke accompanied uproarious laughter. Then in a shimmer of color, the great winged beast disappeared and in its place was a woman, bent with age. Her snow white hair reached nearly to the floor and milky eyes gave away her blindness. She was very old indeed.

  “Come closer, Sunwalker.”

  He moved closer and the dragon reached unnerringly for his hand. She turned his hand over until it was palm up and drew a symbol in the center.

  “An interesting path you have taken and still have yet to take.” Her blind eyes peered at him as though she could see his face. “The Bloodline you seek is not here. Not in this time. Not in this place.”

  Her answer took him by surprise. He had told no one of the vision which had sent him south, searching for the descendent of a long dead race. “How did you know?”

  “I know many things.”

  He’d heard there were those of dragon-kind who had the power of soothsaying, but he’d never met one. “Are you certain?”

  She cackled at that. “Yes, quite certain. You have been brought here for another purpose. It will soon make itself known.” She turned to Amara. “Come, child.”

  Amara and the old dragon embraced. Jack felt a pang of sorrow for Amara. It was clear the old one didn’t have much time left on this earth. Her body was fading as surely as her sight had done.

  “Listen well, Dragon Child. I have taught you all I can. The time has come for you to take a different path. This is the last time we will see one another.”

  “But Mavryn…”

  “Hush, child. This is the way of things.”

  Tears trickled down Amara’s face. It was obvious she knew the dragon was speaking of her own death. Some idiocy had him reaching over to take Amara’s hand.

  She clung to it like a lifeline.

  “Mavryn, you are my family,” she pleaded.

  “As you are mine. But life is life and there is no stopping its transition. You bear my amulet, and so all dragon kind will know you as my kin.” She turned to Jack.

  “You have met Sir Reginald?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Her expression was grim. “He is an evil man with a dark purpose. He is not the first of his kind you will meet, nor will he be the last. He blames my Amara for the death of his wife.”

  He turned to Amara. “This is true?”

  She nodded, sorrow etched on her beautiful face. “She died in childbirth. I tried to help, but there was nothing I could do. He blames me and claims I used black magic to steal her soul.”

  Jack barely refrained from rolling his eyes. It was sheer ridiculous superstition, and more than likely it had been just the excuse Sir Reginald needed to hunt her down.

  Mavryn turned to Jack. “You will protect her, Sunwalker.” It was not a request.

  “With my life.”

  She nodded. “Then my work here is done.” She kissed Amara’s cheek. “Now go and leave me in peace.”

  Jack dragged a sobbing Amara from the cavern. It shut behind them with the finality of a tomb.

  * * *

  Jack lay staring at the ceiling. He didn’t dare move lest he wake Amara. And more than anything she needed the healing power of sleep.

  By the time they’d returned to her cottage she’d been exhausted from sorrow and tears, but she had refused to let him go. So, he’d curled up in the bed with her. It was not proper, but then nothing much in his life or hers was proper.

  She stirred in his arms. “Jack.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you mean what you said about protecting me?”

  “Yes.” He meant every word. She was a Dragon Child. A being of peace, meant to bring unity and healing to the world and to dragon kin. It was up to men like him to protect her kind.

  “Thank you, Jack.” Her soft lips pressed against his.

  Caught off guard, he froze for a moment, then a wave of want hit him so strong it would have knocked him off his feet had he been standing. Instead, he kissed her back with everything he had, everything he was.

  * * *

  Hours later Jack woke. He frowned. Something had woken him, he just wasn’t sure what.

  Amara was still asleep, her naked body cuddled into his. He smiled, remembering their lovemaking. Her body was probably sore, but he had a hard time feeling bad about that. He hoped she felt the same.

  There was a strange orange glow outside the window, though it was still night. He frowned and untangled himself from Amara, stalking to the window.

  Fire. The cottage was on fire.

  Men swarmed about the little house, torches held aloft. One man sat proudly on a bay horse, surveying the destruction.

  Sir Reginald.

  Somehow he’d not only found Amara’s cottage, but he’d gotten through her wards. Wards in dragon tongue, nearly unbreakable. It was obvious he planned to burn them alive.

  He ran back to the bed and shook Amara awake. “Amara, wake up. We have to leave.”

  She stirred sleepily. “What?”

  “Amara, the cabin is on fire. Sir Reginald found us. We have to leave now!”

  She came awake then, shock and horror written across her face. “How did he find us?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Get dressed quickly. We must leave.”

  Without a moment’s hestiation she jumped out of bed and threw on her clothes. He also dressed quickly, then grabbed his sword and sheath.

  “I have to get something.” She ran from the room, returning a moment later with a leather bound book which she quickly wrapped up in a shawl. “I’m ready.”

  He nodded his approval. She was so incredibly strong.

  He peered out the back. They were completely surrounded. Sir Reginald wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter them. There were at least thirty of them. He couldn’t fight all of them and still protect Amara. “There’s no way we can get to the woods without being seen.”

  She smiled. “I think I can help with that.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Have at it.”

  Clutching the mysterious book to her chest with one arm, she wrapped her free hand around her pendant. The pendant which had once belonged to Mavryn. Closing her eyes, Amara began chanting softly. He recognized the sound of it. Dragon tongue.

  Within minutes a heavy fog descended. Jack literally couldn’t see two feet in front of his face.

  “Come,” she whispered, “but keep quiet. They can’t see us, but then can still hear.”

  She led him across her garden and between two of Sir Re
ginald’s men. She moved as though she could see perfectly, yet both he and the men surrounding the cottage were nearly blind from fog.

  He could hear their panicked shouts and Sir Reginald bellowing orders. No one saw them slip past and into the woods.

  They did not speak for nearly an hour as she led them, swiftly slipping in and out of deep thickets and groves until Sir Reginald, his men and the burning cottage were far behind them. Finally they stopped to catch their breath.

  Her eyes looked haunted. “Where shall I go? Sir Reginald will never stop hunting me. Anywhere I go on this earth he will follow.”

  “There is one place he dare not go.”

  She frowned. “Where? Where can I go that will be safe?”

  He smiled. “Beyond the Wall.”

  * * *

  Check out Shéa's Sunwalker saga:

  Kissed by Darkness

  Kissed by Fire

  Shéa MacLeod lives in London near a cemetery. Which explains a lot. Fortunately the neighbours are quiet.

  https://sheamacleod.wordpress.com/

  Magickal Vendetta

  Heather Marie Adkins

  I let the dried dragon’s blood trickle through my fingers and into my cauldron. Well, the bright pink “Emeril” saucepan that pretends to be my cauldron, at any rate. The red particles separated and spread across my potion, forming curlicues around the bubbles. The liquid inside was the nasty green color of boiled toads, but that meant I was doing something right, so I wasn’t going to complain.

  Fall air seeped through the small opening under the kitchen window. It was refreshing on my skin against the heat coming off the stovetop. Outside, the late afternoon sunshine illuminated my garden where it still clung to a semi-state of life. The first frost would destroy it, but until then, it gave me something to watch as my potion boiled.

  I grabbed a wooden spoon—the one with the carved owl—and gave the pot a stir, whistling.

  Aura sat on the bookcase above my head in her position of power, eyeballing the proceedings with narrowed yellow eyes. “You look ridiculous. Where is your ritual robe?”

  Frowning, I pulled the spoon out of the pot and glanced down at my clothes. Okay, so I was still in the tiny purple tank top and red plaid sweatpants I had slept in, and maybe I had Scooby-Doo slippers on my feet, but there wasn’t a dress code for magick.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I sat the spoon on the plate in the center of the stove, lifting my eyes to my fluffy, black cat.

  She cocked her head. “Hmm.”

  “Whatever.” I opened the pantry above the sink and shuffled through the mason jars until I found what I needed. Unscrewing the lid, I pinched out an eyeball and turned back to the stove.

  “Don’t add that. You’re going to ruin the formula.”

  I shot her a glare with the eye of newt dangling above the boiling pot from between my thumb and forefinger. “Why?”

  “It calls for eye of iguana.”

  Rolling my eyes, I answered, “I don’t have eye of iguana, I have eye of newt. They’re both lizards.”

  “Gretchen,” Aura sighed. “The newt is an amphibian while the iguana is a reptile. Different entirely.”

  I pursed my lips. “Who here has opposable thumbs?”

  “The brute with half the brain of her cat,” Aura answered smoothly, before licking the pads of one paw to show how much she was ignoring me.

  I sighed and added the eye anyway.

  Of course, the explosion rocked the foundations of the neighborhood.

  “You know Tibbett is going to call the cops again,” Aura murmured as I opened my eyes to the smoke settling around us. She flicked her tail, dropping the force field she had thrown up like a giant protective bubble. The cat had reflexes that were, well, cat-like. She had saved my ass more than once.

  I could care less about my nosy neighbor, Old Man Tibbett, and his penchant for dialing the authorities. My once-green concoction dripped in black, burnt clumps down the stove. And the walls. And my cookie jar. “Damn it.”

  “Why can’t you just go after him with a bespelled sword like a normal, vengeful witch?” Aura leapt gracefully from the bookcase to the kitchen counter and jumped the rest of the way to the floor, narrowly missing a potion crater.

  “Not enough,” I muttered, reaching for a dish towel and recoiling when I realized it was covered in goo. “I want his balls to fall off or his eyeballs to shrivel…”

  “You are infinitely twisted,” Aura sighed, waggling her fluffy butt as she picked her way carefully across the floor, headed for the living room.

  “You could help me clean this up, you know,” I called, still looking for a clean rag. I couldn’t remember where I had last seen the paper towel roll.

  Aura turned just enough to narrow her eyes at me over her shoulder. “Who here has opposable thumbs?”

  Shot down by a cat.

  * * *

  I met Elery at The Coffee Shack a couple hours later still reeking of lavender scented bleach.

  “You stink, Gretchen,” she greeted me, wrinkling her small, pert nose. “Did you blow something up again?”

  I sank wearily into the chair across from her, letting my brown canvas satchel fall to the floor. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s still on the ceiling. If I don’t think about it, it’s not there.”

  Elery had been my mentor since I first began exhibiting magickal powers. She was a beautiful woman, with ethereal blonde hair that reached her lower back and a pixie-like face harboring ice blue eyes. She was also immortal, which was a sore point for me. Every minute I spent with her, I could feel the age lines battling over my face.

  “I taught you better than this,” she sighed, shifting in her seat and letting her palms rest gently on the table. The woman had the best damn posture of anyone I’d ever met. If there hadn’t been a fluffy white puppy on the front of her crimson sweater, you would have thought she was some kind of regal princess.

  “I can’t help it.” I pouted, crossing my arms over my black long sleeve t-shirt. Twenty-eight-years old or not, when she berates me, I revert to nine once more.

  “Is this about Slane?”

  “Don’t you dare say his name!” I snarled, scaring the tiny waitress who had sidled up to the table. With her dark chestnut eyes wide as saucers, the teen took my order for a white chocolate mochaccino before hurrying away as if demons were at her heels.

  “Your behavior has already gotten us banned from Starbucks. Could you tone it down?” Elery asked wryly, taking a dainty sip of her steaming Chai. “Did you bother to brush your hair before you left the house?”

  My hands shot up to where my mass of curly, bright red hair was tugged into a messy ponytail. “Um, no.”

  Elery pursed her lips but let the hair slide—unusual for her nature. She loved to preach about how a woman should “always look her best!” She went on. “So, what did you blow up this time?”

  I fiddled with the napkin on the table, tracing the name of the shop with one finger and searching for a way out of her question. No exit signs in sight. “A potion.”

  “What kind of potion?” Elery prompted, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

  Sighing, I gave in. She always won, anyway. “A hex.”

  “For Slane?”

  “Quit saying his name!” I hissed, reaching across the table to pinch her arm. Glancing around fervently, I whispered, “He’s going to hear you.”

  “Dear goddess, Gretchen, he’s a witch, not omnipotent.” She smiled at a young, long-haired busboy as he placed a plate of crumb cake in front of her. I never saw her order it, so either she had him completely under her power or she was telepathic and had never told me. Turning her brilliant eyes back to me, she went on. “Gretch, we need to address this Sla—”

  I glared at her, clearing my throat.

  “This man issue.” She raised her eyebrow again, which provoked the sullen teenager in me.

  “There’s nothing to address.” I might have slumped
in my seat and crossed my eyes. I probably stuck my tongue out at her. Maybe I even stomped my big black boots on the floor.

  Elery reached down to where her gigantic leather purse sat next to her chair and shuffled through it. Her hand emerged from it with a book which she laid on the table between us.

  “No.” I shook my head vehemently, scooting my chair away from the table as if it were diseased. “Not happening.”

  She gave me a harassed sigh, one hand pushing the book closer to me as the waitress ran by, depositing my mocha. I reached for the coffee, ignoring the book.

  “It’s time, Gretchen. Just buck up and do it.”

  * * *

  Aura turned her head nearly upside-down to stare at the book on the kitchen table, her nose wrinkling. “So, this is it? It’s rather small.”

  “I’m NOT doing it.” I had seated myself a good four feet away from it, my chair jutting out into the walkway between the stove and table. No matter how much I willed the book to disappear, no luck.

  “You knew it was a matter of time. Elery gave you all the years you needed to prepare for it.”

  Pouting, I muttered, “But, I hate him.”

  “You barely know him. It’s unethical to hate someone you barely know.”

  “It’s unethical to build potions with the intent to shrivel someone’s testicles, but I do it anyway,” I responded cheerfully.

  She managed a pinched and irritated look that closely resembled Elery. “Gretchen, you’re missing the point. Open the book and get it over with.”

  “I don’t want to. It’s stupid.”

  “I understand that, but sometimes you just have to do things the way the Universe has planned for you.”

  “The Universe can shove this book up its ass.”

  “That’s going to come back on you three-fold, missy. You better shape up and just do it.” On that note, my supposed best friend and familiar slipped from the table and left me alone.

  With my destiny.

  I leaned forward in my seat, reaching tentatively for the book. Using a single finger, I angled it to better see the cover and shivered. Just a nonchalant black leather book with my mother’s name printed on it in gold.

  I’m a blood witch. 7th daughter of a 7th daughter. My magick is supposed to surpass that of any witch who isn’t a 7&7, though because of the rate at which I blow things up, I guess maybe I’m just a dunce. As a 7&7, my destiny is pretty much laid out like a well-drawn map—I will marry, I will have 7 daughters, and I will die young as my power ultimately consumes me.