Chapter 8

The kid was eerily quiet in his mother’s arms while Eron listened to the truck roaring up the dirt road to the house.

Baby Harris stared at Eron to the exclusion of everything else around him.

“Why is your kid looking at me like that?”

“He doesn’t see a lot of yo—”

“My kind?” Eron snorted. “Of course he hasn’t,” he sighed.

Worried shouts came up from the first floor.

The rest of the Harris family came charging up the stairs. Armed and ready to commit violence.

Eron wasn’t surprised that the guns were pointed directly at him.

“You said Tony made it back… so, how do explain that?” Eron gestured at the bloody body on the bed.

“That’s—” Old man Harris didn’t have the words.

Brett retched and ran for the bathroom.

Mason and Wytchraven were at least familiar with the sight and smell so they held it together better.

“That’s the same body from Tony’s place,” Wytchraven said.

“The same watch,” Mason whispered.

“Huh… I totally missed that. Need to pay more attention,” Eron muttered. “Before you ask. There’s no sign of your two guards or anyone or anything else in the immediate area. I haven’t checked the barn or processing building and now that you’re here I’m going to go do that. Unless you can cast a spell to point me in the right direction?” he looked to Wytchraven.

“Um, yeah. Now that I have the body. I can try something.”

“London, no!” Mrs. Harris hissed. “That’s the devil’s work!”

Wytchraven rolled her eyes. “Let me grab my stuff from the truck. I’ll be able to see what the body—” she suddenly froze. Her eyes went wide.

“What is it?” Eron felt a chill. He hadn’t felt temperature extremes since the early days before he came into his power.

“I-I don’t know.” She looked around frantically. “I’m feeling— something’s wrong!”

“Where?” Eron’s instincts screamed at him to do something. He didn’t know whether to run or fight.

It felt as if the world slowed down.

Eron’s enhanced perceptions made the entire Harris family appear to move in slow motion. With one exception.

Little toddler Harris, Eron didn’t even know his name, winked at him. His tiny hand slashed out at his mother’s throat.

“Nooo!” Eron shouted.

Mrs. Harris blinked in slow motion. A thin red line slowly appeared across her throat. Blood sprayed out with agonizing slowness.

Eron took a step.

The toddler jumped out of his dying mother’s arms and launched himself at Wytchraven.

Eron was too far away.

A small, bloody knife glinted in a tiny hand.

Eron wasn’t going to make it in time.

Wytchraven slowly turned at the sound of her mother’s shocked gurgles.

Mason seemingly appeared out of nowhere as he bodily shoved Wytchraven out of the way.

His little brother plunged the knife into his heart.

“What the fu—” Brett emerged from the bathroom. Vomit on his lips, his gun hanging from a shoulder strap.

The tiny arm lashed out.

Eron barely saw the knife as it stuck into Brett’s eye.

The young man fell back screaming at the top of his lungs.

Eron reached out to grab the toddler.

Baby Harris rocketed from the dying Mason’s chest and punched Eron in the nose.

Eron felt tiny hands grab his head and pull him down to the ground before tiny feet kicked the back of his head.

He spun and watched the toddler run into the guest room and slam the door shut with unnatural quickness and agility.

Eron wiped his nose. He was surprised to see blood on his fingers. He definitely had his bell rung. He stood in shock. He hadn’t felt real pain in a long time.

He looked around. Old man Harris had his hands on his wife’s throat. The man had eyes for nothing else.

Wytchraven hovered over Mason. Her hands frantically waved around the knife in his heart.

Eron knew it was over by the way Mason’s eyes stared up at the ceiling.

Brett’s screams had turned into whimpers.

There was too much sensory input. He tried to focus on the closed door. In the guest room. Nothing. He couldn’t pick up anything even though he was only a few feet away.

“Raven. Raven!” Eron snapped.

The young woman looked up at him with tears pouring out of her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I need you’re help.”

“I don’t know if I can do anything,” she wailed.

“There’s some weird magic going on and you’re the only magic user here. I need you to counter it if you can or at least give me an idea of what’s going on. Something is messing with my perceptions.”

“I-I-I need my cauldron to do that.”

“Okay. I’ll keep it busy. You go get your gear.”

“Wait… please don’t hurt my brother. He’s just a baby.”

“I don’t think that was your brother anymore.”

Eron plowed through the door in a shower of splinters.

“Shit!”

The adult body in the bed was gone. A much smaller one, a child’s, was in its place.

“Fuck!” Eron snapped.

“What is it?” Wytchraven called out.

“You don’t want to see this.” Eron rushed out in the hallway to keep her from seeing what was presumably her little brother’s skinless body. He grabbed her by the arm and gently, but firmly ushered her down the hallway. “Let’s get your stuff. Can you cast other spells?”

“I think so. My magic is based on my emotions. I can’t really put it into words, but my magic responds to my feelings and stuff like that.”

“Okay… I have an idea.” Eron couldn’t track the… whatever it was… then maybe Wytchraven could attract its attention.

Eron had barred Wytchraven from entering the guest room.

“I need a bone from the body.”

Eron grimaced. “I’ll get it. Does it matter what I get? Or is like a finger bone okay?”

Eron glanced at the scene in the hallway. Mr. Harris was tending to Brett’s eye injury. Eron had moved Mrs. Harris’ and Mason’s bodies into the adjacent bedroom to spare the remaining family members the sight. It was for the same reason that he didn’t want Wytchraven to see her little brother’s skinless body. At least not right now.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Eron tried not to think about it as he tore a tiny finger from a tiny hand with a piece of cloth ripped from the bed sheet.

Wytchraven began her spell in the hallway. The cast iron pot sat on the portable stove. Water boiled as the young woman softly chanted and added ingredients one by one. Her body swayed slightly. It didn’t look like she was conscious of her movements.

Eron watched spellbound as the steam slowly turned into smoke.

Wytchraven hand shot out toward Eron. Her body continued to sway to the rhythm of whatever she was chanting.

A shiver ran up Eron’s spine. Her arm was as steady as a rock.

He placed the bloody cloth in her upturned palm.

She quickly dropped the tiny finger into the pot.

The smoke slowly took on a different hue, but for the life of him Eron couldn’t tell anyone what color he saw. It hung in the air and it billowed across the floor and down the stairs as if it was alive.

Eron forced himself to stand still as it engulfed his feet. His body had wanted to flinch against his own will as he tried to bury the fear.

“It is done…” Wytchraven’s voice had a dream-like quality to it. Airy and spent.

“What did you do?” Eron almost didn’t want to know.

“Forged a connection.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Me, it, him, her… is, was Mari… is, was Tony… is, was Ethan. So many different people, but none of them.”

“Ethan? Your brother?”

“Poor, poor Ethan. Is, was him… is, was nothing…” Wytchraven choked out a sob. “Can’t hide now… feel what it, him, her feels… it, him, her feels what I feel,” she giggled, “hungry? Want more? Want to hide? Sorry, bad, being bad. Will not let you vanish again… I see you,” she giggled again.

Eron heard a round being chambered before he saw Old man Harris point the assault rifle at him.

“What’d you do to my girl?”

“Nothing.”

“My family… you… everything was fine till you showed up.”

Eron heard the old man’s finger squeeze the trigger a fraction.

“C’mon, man. You saw the same thing I did. I don’t know how you can blame that on me.”

“Your kind,” the old man spat. “You come to our country and ruined it. That’s all you do. Like locusts or rats.”

“First of all, I was born here and secondly… you now what. I don’t have time for this. I have to fight whatever this evil entity that actually did this to your family. Do you realize that I can just leave anytime I want and let you deal with it?”

“Good… we’ll take care of our own.”

“Right, cause you’ve been doing so well already. Put the gun away, old man. You’ll just hurt yourself or your daughter with the ricochets.”

Old man Harris almost squeezed the trigger. Something pulled him back from the brink. He lowered the gun and looked at Wytchraven as she mumbled incoherently.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Magic,” Eron said.

“My son?”

Eron moved away from the door. “You can see for yourself, but I don’t think that was your son anymore.”

“No, I don’t think I’m ready for that.” The old man moved to stand protectively over Wytchraven. “What happens now?”

“Well, judging by Raven’s rambling she’s somehow magicked up a connection with this… thing… I’m guessing it probably won’t like that, so—”

“It’ll come back for her… you can stop it?” the old man sounded hopeful.

“Yeah.” Eron had no idea if he could.

It had hurt him. Made him bleed. That meant it could kill him.

The sound of sudden gunfire made him flinch. He relaxed a moment later when he realized that it was coming from far away.

“Sounds like your boys got impatient.”

Old man Harris scowled then perked up in recognition. “The Mex— west side must’ve opened fire first. I left specific orders to shoot second.”

“Hope everyone’s taking proper cover. That way all you’re doing is wasting ammunition.”

“I should go, stop it before it gets out of hand.”

“Probably too late for that, but be my guest.”

“You take care of London.”

“I’ve already been doing that without your say,” Eron said. He shook his head. Dominance games.

Old man Harris dragged one-eyed Brett to his feet and help him get down the stairs.

Eron listened as they got in their truck and drove off.

“Dad doesn’t care about me. I’ve always been a disappointment. Didn’t want to be a cheerleader. I treated the gays and the illegals like people.” Wytchraven’s words were full of bitterness.

“Sounds like they were the disappointments. Not you.”

Wytchraven rummaged in her backpack to pull out the same piece of wood Eron had seen earlier.

“I’ve been wondering… is that a magic wand?”

“Yes.”

Wytchraven then pulled out a handful of black feathers before putting the backpack on.

“I don’t what it was or who. It feels like a person and not at the same time,” Wytchraven’s voice shook. “I can feel it and it can feel me.” She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

“Your spell worked then. You can lead me to it.”

“I won’t have too. It can’t stand the connection between us. I can feel it out there. It wants to subsume me. I think— I think that’s how it gets stronger… by taking other people, monsters and animals. It takes a part of their strength into itself.” Wytchraven wiped her eyes. “What am I even saying?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve said some crazy sounding stuff since the spires popped up. You just have to accept that stuff won’t make sense.”

“The only reason I’m still alive is because of you. It’s wary.”

“That’s fine. If it won’t come to us then we’ll go get it.”