The Cursed Blood, стр. 86
“I meant you no evil, daughter.” Gideon coughed and growled though bared teeth as he bore down on his staff. “You forced my hand. Do not test me further.” She said nothing intelligible in retort, merely screaming her rage as her adopted father forced her to her knees with waves of purple flame.
“Desist this nonsense, child,” he demanded as he advanced, fury lining his face beneath his hood as her flames were slowly extinguished, yet she still refused to submit as he drove her to into the ground. Morgan’s eyes, blazing and full of loathing and hate seemed to tell him everything he needed to know, and he hung his head in genuine sadness as he continued to bare down.
“You leave me no choice,” he whispered in a voice thick with grief as he raised his staff to club her only to shriek as my arms wrapped about him and the chill of the Darkling gift took hold. With a howl of pain and rage he flung me off only to have to redouble his efforts to contain Morgan, who rose with a smile and again loosed her powers.
“Enough!” he roared as he once again slammed his staff into the earth, warping the matter about him in a wave that washed over me like an electric upsurge that merely ruined my jacket and clothes while leaving me breathless and trembling. I stared at him with black eyes that left him clearly unsettled as Morgan, who had only been forced back a step lowered her hands. The demonic fire flickered out as she too stared as the Wizard laughed and shook his head.
“You make a formidable pair,” he congratulated acidly with a slight bow of acknowledgement. “But this idiocy is at its end. First, I will send you, my treacherous daughter, where you belong. And can no longer vex me.” He raised his hand. “You have brought this on yourself, child.”
As he was about to snap his fingers, I leapt onto him and there was a horrible ripping explosion as my Darkling gift mingled with the Wizard’s formidable power in a locally cataclysmic force that did something unexpected, at least to me.
The last thing I heard was Morgan’s horrified scream as I was sent through a brilliant vortex of swirling, spinning star like fields only to unceremoniously land on my back as if I was making snow angels with a lung emptying crash into white sands on a seemingly endless shore that was lapped at by the emerald waters of a vast, peaceful sea.
I lay there blinded by the warm light of a sun nestled in a perfectly white fluffy clouded baby blue sky that I blinked up at and gasped for air in utter confusion.
“Well, are you just going to lie there all day?” Grandmother Mary smiled down at me a bit sadly, wearing a white dress and open toed sandals with a string of white pearls about her neck as she sipped at an iced glass of lemonade with a tiny red umbrella in it through a cocktail straw.
“Am I dead?” I asked weakly.
“I’m afraid so, dear. Few get to inconvenience a Wizard like that and live to tell about it. Even pureblooded Darklings, I’m afraid. Though there is someone who wants to talk with you that may have something to say about whether or not you stay that way.” She sighed with a mix of approval and sadness as she offered me a white gloved hand up.
White Owl’s Halloween Ghost Story
A cozy fire crackled in the fireplace, sparking and dancing as White Owl sat sipping at his hot cocoa, popping candy corn into his mouth from the bowl in his lap, and staring into the glowing embers with a distant look. “Have either of you ever heard of the Click-Clack?” He inquired as he stirred the whipped cream into the steaming drink with his spoon and continued to stare unblinkingly at the fire. Manx, curled up by his feet on the floor stared up at him with dark watery eyes, hoping after treats.
“Oh hells, not that bloody nonsense again. There’s never been a shred of evidence the damned Click-Clack or anything like it has ever existed.” Gramps snapped with a shake of his head with a scoffing snort.
“That’s what it wants you to think,” White Owl retorted seriously after tapping his teaspoon clean on the side of the cup and taking a sip, smacking his lips and sighing contentedly. Gramps set his mug down and threw up his hands in disgust, rolling his eyes and busying himself with his pipe.
I glanced from one to the other in confusion. I had an idea any answer I gave was going to be a doorway into a disturbing Halloween story. I was deeply torn between looking forward to the chill of a good seasonal scare and not being in the least bit interested in enjoying myself.
“Ok, I’ll bite. What’s this Click-Smack?” Gramps snorted in amusement and White Owl glowered at each one of us.
“It’s ‘Click-Clack.’ And moreover, it’s not wise to belittle such darkness, as it has a way of finding out and making sure those who mock it never do so again,” the old Master scolded as he gulped down the remnants of his cup and again started fishing in the bowl for a handful of candies to munch on.
“So, what is it?” I asked.
“No one knows for sure,” White Owl replied mysteriously. “All that’s really known is that it comes with the mist three days before October 31st, and when it leaves at precisely midnight on Halloween it takes heads with it. Not just any heads though. It has a particular and strict taste.”
“Oh good, here we go.” Gramps sighed as he lit his pipe and shook his grizzled head in tired