Page 3 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘We’ll see,’ he challenged tartly, but I could see the slight tremble in his fingers, the distant panic in his eyes. He’d already let it tempt him.
He wasn’t going to listen to me. Couldn’t. Not anymore. He was too far gone. The pull of the dark was always strongest to those with weak minds and desperate hearts. His bloody hand moved back to that book and – by the panic in his eyes – he wasn’t controlling his fingers as they reached out for it.
‘Don’t !’ I threw out a quick enchantment that was meant to send the book flying off the table, but my spell simply simmered on contact, like water on a hot stove. The lavender aura of the spellcasting scattering uselessly.
Thankfully it shocked Finneaus enough to stumble back from the book.
‘You almost hit me !’ he spat.
‘That book is cursed.’ I sneered my warning, struggling to rein in my temper.
‘This is my family’s text,’ he jeered, tipping his chin in defiance, despite the bright pink flush on his cheeks.
‘A lineage just as idiotic as you to curse their own books,’ I replied sharply.
Outraged, he charged towards me, despite the fact I was at least a foot taller. ‘You impudenttroll.’
‘Listen you little—’ I began, resisting the urge to throttle him, only for the words to catch in my throat. A strange rattling came from the table, stopping Finneaus mid-stride. Bookcases began to tremble around us, the uneven floor shifted beneath my feet as the rusted gates gave a weary groan.
It was too late.
The buzzing of a hundred sets of tiny wings echoed through the chamber as a dusty wind ripped past us. Finneaus curled into himself with a shriek.
The dust sprites were fleeing, deep into the cracks of the stone arches high above, some diminishing into plumes of dirt in their haste as they brushed past my skin. Becoming unmade. There wasn’t a moment to mourn them. Not when my rage kept my gaze fixed on that table.
That cursed book started coming alive as it bounced and shook, trying blindly to open itself. It knocked the eternal lamp off the desk, glass shattered, and the flames spilled across the floor; devouring abandoned papers that littered the ground. Illuminating the horror of what was about to happen in that sickly-green hue.
‘What did your heathen spell do !?’ Finneaus squeaked, stumbling away from the mess.
‘This was you !’ I hissed.
The book thrashed desperately, moving nearer and nearer to the small pool of blood from Finneaus’s hand. It was then I understood.
Before I could act, the book finally landed on the droplets it sought, stopping its savage dance as black smoke seeped from its pages. Wisps of darkness twisted together to form a clawed hand that slipped from between the yellowed pages. It crawled upwards towards the cover and broke the lock with a careless flick.
A horrid, shrill screech tore through the room, reverberating off the arched ceiling as the book snapped open. Smoke burst forth from its pages in an almighty powerful storm that sent dust and ash swirling around the room, pulling my braid free and stinging my eyes.
I felt it on my skin: a pinching and twisting coldness. Lungs full of the sulphuric stench of dark magic.
The book gave another bone-chilling screech that left a ringing in my ears, and in response, magic burned molten in my veins, willing me to set it free, to fight whatever was trying to tear its way out of those pages. The tips of my fingers glowed with their own soft lavender light.
I curled my hands into fists to resist it. Sweat beaded on my temples. I couldn’t lose control again, not here andnotin front of the Dean’s son.
There was a cracking of ancient bones, as a shadowed hand reached out of the book and dug its nails into the tabletop. A dark, gelatinous substance spilled from the pages, dripping onto the wooden floor as the creature unfurled, dragging itself out of the text.
‘Bloody saints,’ Finneaus whispered, his voice breaking with fear, as if the useless words could help. The stench of the coward’s urine quickly followed, which helped greatly in catching the fiend’s attention.
It was eyeless, with rows of sharp, yellow and uneven teeth that clicked together as it crouched on the desk. Long spider-like limbs stuck out from a dark, humanoid body, only slightly bigger than Finneaus’s narrow frame. Its slitted nostrils flared as it scented us, large sharply pointed ears twitching with every sound. One flap of its dark sinuous wings sent a gust of wind so powerful that it knocked the dilapidated bookcases to the ground and sent papers flying through theair. Its long leathery tail snapped out behind it like a lethal, barbed whip.
Finneaus tried to run, but stumbled over his own feet, landing on the floor. The creature snapped its head towards the sound, launching itself at him within the space of a panicked heartbeat.
‘Woodrow !’ he cried as the creature tore across the floor.
My magic flared viciously in my palms with no spell or incantation leaving my lips. This was blood magic, forbidden and relentless.
Kysillian fire, bright blue and purple flames roared from my hands to form a blockade between Finneaus and the beast, twining effortlessly with the flames of the eternal lantern, turning them deep blue, commanding them to do my bidding.
The creature recoiled from the heat, screeching and clawing at the floor as it was denied its feast. Lethal claws making deep gouges in the damp wood.
