by D B Nielsen
But all the dark mage did was laugh. “Because life has to be paid for. In blood. In souls. The past is nothing. Human beings are nothing. You are nothing. But you’re both still foolish enough to believe. Look at you. You come here with your piety and your desire for justice. When will you wake up and smell the corpses? There is no justice. Faith is a lie. Only power matters.”
Aislinn stumbled to her feet. “You’re wrong.”
“And you’re a fool.” There was a hushed, waiting stillness in the vast space of the empty church. The candlelight flickered as if blown by a breath of air and bright sparks swirled behind the Druid forming a semicircle. Half a dozen bulked-up minions employed by Styx stepped through. Three more slithered out of the shadows behind the altar. A faint, blood and drug-tainted scent wafted in the air.
Black Magic. These minions would be as fast and as ruthless as a pack of demons.
“Don’t kill them. They’re valuable,” the Druid snapped orders at the others.
Before either Aislinn or Nathan could react, the Druid cast a spell, turning invisible.
“We do this together. I’ll handle the others for you. But remember, Aislinn, it’s your choice. It has always been your choice,” Nathan said in deep, low tones of caution. “You can turn away from this path.”
Her smile was laced with sadness. “I can’t be like your God, no more than my Father. I am what I am. I am the daughter of Kayne.”
Aislinn felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, and she knew before she even turned that the Druid was releasing his dark magic into the taut night air. Nathan instantly threw up his enormous wings to shield them from the blast of the mage’s spell.
But instead of raging that his spell failed to work, a mad, elated cackle erupted from beside the pillar to their left. “Such a prize. You have an immunity to magic, archangel.”
“Know this, the necromancer shall surely be put to death,” Nathan’s stern voice commanded. “He and his brethren shall be stoned with the stones of righteousness. Their sin is upon them.”
The disembodied voice of the dark mage moved about the church. “Do you ever hear yourself talking? It’s ‘blah blah blah’, like an angel fucktrumpet. Why don’t you do us all a favor and zip it?”
The minions chose that moment to attack, and Nathan went into full metal jacket, warrior of God mode.
The first minion lost his sight. Where eyes used to be, there were only hollow sockets. The creature shrieked and stumbled about blindly, crashing into his comrade who, with no love lost, put him out of his misery by thrusting a dagger into the man’s heart.
Another clutched at his throat as blood welled between his fingers. When he tried to breathe, he emitted an eerie and shrill whistling noise between gurgles. Nathan stood, sword unsheathed, an Angel of the Lord in his Father’s house.
Aislinn whirled, searching for the Druid. Yet even as one of his minions lunged at her so that she was forced to defend herself—grabbing his head and twisting it to break his neck with a resounding crack—she sensed him. She could track him by his scent alone.
This was Kayne’s gift to her.
There was such clarity in that instant. The shifting of the air like the splitting of particles as he moved, the very puff of breath escaping from his lips, the foul stench of him—all could be plainly seen and felt.
She stood at the crossroads between life and death, and a path had to be chosen.
But there was no choice. There never had been for her.
“You may cut me down, but it would be a mistake,” the Druid said impassively, appearing before her. His fingertips glimmered and the air sizzled as he fashioned his spell. “I will rise stronger than before. There are more than enough souls to be shared with Satan.”
“There will be no part of you left to resurrect. No body to return to. The coming of your new god and your brotherhood will not save you. This Rapture will be the end for you, not the beginning,” she said, balancing the familiar weight of the skean in her hand.
“There is no need for new gods when we raise the Ancient One.” Bright sparks accompanied by bursts of actinic static flared at his fingertips.
“You will not be raising anyone because you won’t just be dead, you will cease to exist,” Aislinn said. While they were having their discussion, Nathan was busy dispatching the other minions. “I mean to erase you from history.”
“And how do you intend to do that, daughter of Kayne?” the Druid scoffed, his white eyes glittering feverishly. More energy gathered in his hands as he drew upon the lifeforce of his dying minions, their blood fueling his power.
“Simple. Like this.”
She did not hesitate. She could not risk a return stroke.
The Druid’s milky eyes widened. The cold hard gleam of fanaticism was wiped from his expression.
Aislinn’s right hand drew back in a lightning-quick move, fingers curled around the bright hilt of her skean, woven through with Sorcha’s fiery hair. The dagger flew from her hand, picking up momentum.
It struck true.
“Justice.”
The skean hit her sister’s murderer, the orchestrator of her doom. Striking his chest with audible force, lodging in his dark heart. Blood and flame fountained out of the visibly widening gash.
With a wraith-like cry of anguished disbelief, the Druid released his spell as a blinding wave of power roiled through the church. Again, the Angel of Light parried the blow.
Shifting into Aether with an arc of white lightning, the air shimmered around Nathan’s otherworldly figure as he demanded of her, “Finish it.”
Thunder pealed as a blinding wave of energy engulfed the interior of the church like a conflagration. Aislinn threw her arm across her eyes as ultraviolet light lanced brilliantly; snapping whips and coils that limned the altar with radiance.
Unhesitating, she moved forward.
Grasping the hilt of the skean, she wielded it with superior skill.
In that moment when she slashed his throat, the Druid’s head flew backward. Decapitated, his head spun. His whitened eyes were wide open and blind, dazzled by the demand for justice. Yet already, like poison spreading, the flesh wilted as white lightning forks jagged over his body, snaking down in writhing, twisted arrays from the cauterized wound.
Squinting against the harsh glare, Aislinn saw his body seared by the celestial light contained in the blade, consuming viscera and sinew. Incandescent light shot through his melting flesh like stars in the night sky, pouring forth from his gaping orifices. Skin and muscle and bone perished. Grey ash fluttered down in motionless air until there was nothing left.
“It’s over,” she whispered with a finality, facing Etherean’s emissary.
Nathan shook his head sadly, his beautiful face a mask of anguish, knowing she had not won the victory over herself. She had lived for one thing alone and with no other plan for her immortality.
“You chose your path.”
Aislinn saw the naked truth in his eyes. It cut her to the quick.
She leaned her head upon Nathan’s shoulder and wept for what she had begun.
The End
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Author Note
Dear Reader,
Writing is often a solitary process but, within the Seven Sons world, there are seven different species from Human Hunters to Elves. And behind each species is a wonderful, dedicated author and several more world builders whom I’ve had the pleasure of working with to bring to life my own Vampire world. In Black Magic, this world expands beyond the London Coven, so you can get a real understanding of its immensity.
When we started world building, I had Kayne creating twelve disciples who formed eleven covens across the globe. It was great fun introducing not only Aislinn’s brothers in this novel, but also having Cooper going on vampire boot camp in Marduk’s territory. Together with the seedy Underground wor
ld of criminal organizations, you can see that the Vampire world is much like our own, but far older. A world within a world.
Though I’ve travelled extensively, there are many places still on my list, including going on safari in Africa and visiting the pyramids in Egypt. The wonderful thing about being an author is that I, at least, get to travel to these places in my imagination and I get to bring you along, as readers, for the journey. Thanks for being my travelling companions…
Dee
About Seven Sons
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About The Author
DB Nielsen was born in British Hong Kong and immigrated to Australia in childhood. See likes to travel the world with family; dividing time between residing in Sydney and visits the cathedrals, crypts and museums the world over, doing research for new projects. The author is a university lecturer in Linguistics and Semiotics and continues to teach English Literature and Language whilst writing. Dee’s passion Is for throwing elaborate dinners and themed parties (such as medieval banquets) and reading anything and everything. Dee’s dream project is to do a series of book tours in the Champagne region of France.
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COPYRIGHT
Black Magic
Bad Moon Rising Book 3
Copyright © DB Nielsen 2019
First published in US as a paperback and ebook. This imprint by BrixBaxter Publishing & LMBPN Publishing 2019
Cover Designer: Moonchild Ljilia
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are all either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.