The End at the Beginning
Interstate Highway 1-5
The road was too close, Matt had to twist through the air to avoid smashing into a truck. Rain poured down on him, but despite the mild cover he knew he was visible. Flying higher in this weather was out of the question. Even with the goggles he wore the rain would make following the road nearly impossible.
“Give them a show,” he told himself spinning again his gold aura flaring around him.
During the motion he looked back at Chark. The Necromancers cold aura was barely visible through the fog, and not for the first time Matt wished he was as lucky with Auras. He stood out, bright as gold, even in this weather.
They were an hours exhausting flight from Portland. Matt knew he was not Chark’s real target, or he would be dead already. Chio was brave, but Matt could feel the necromancer had broke her. The codex meant more to him than anything. The mage had known when they took his brothers pieces there would be hell to pay.
He just wished he was the one who picked up the check.
With the Aidanian gone, Matt, Nicole, and Cowell were the only ones who left in the Path’s inner circle. Chark thought he was heading for the weak link.
Slowing his flight, he flared his aura further, enveloping himself in the golden light.
Chark prepared a blast, as he approached, and Matt looped above him, coming down onto the Necromancers back.
The mage had expected his brother to let the orb go, but he held onto the magical explosive. Matt had meant to grab his arm, but they were slick with moisture from the fog, and his grip ended up on the necromancer’s shoulder. Something else went wrong, an air current that pushed them Matt thought later, and they spun off course.
Neither they, or the the driver of the gas truck ever really knew what happened.
A Dream of the Willamette River
The Washer knew it was a kindness to deliver the news to Nicole. Even so the old woman hated this sort of thing.
“He said he loved you, and that he was a bad penny. Not to get too down,” the Washer said, holding a bottle of gin to the leprechaun. Nicole ignored it, eyes on the horizon.
“What a prick,” Nicole said, as she collapsed onto the muddy bank. The leprechaun sat cross legged, and spent a lot of time staring at the water.
The Washer took a heavy pull from the bottle herself, enjoying the burn of the aromatic booze, as it slid down her ancient throat.
“Can I see him at least?” Nicole asked after a few minutes.
“Not enough left to see. I didn’t even wash his clothes, he’s just ether now.”
“He’ll be back though.”
“Put it in a prayer dear. If nothing else at least we can listen.” The Washer felt a tug, as Nicole gathered magic. She was preparing a shrinking spell, but the energies kept pulling away from the grieving leprechaun.
The Washer offered her the bottle again.
“Never bring glasses do you?” Nicole asked. She took the bottle anyway, making a good effort at it. She choked after a moment, part of her last swallow dripping from her mouth.
“Free booze is free booze. Your pa would be ashamed,” The Washer said.
“He’ll come back.” Her voice harsh from the alcohol, the old banshee tried not to notice how similar they sounded.
“Anythings possible. I was hot once,” The Washer told her, and then looked down at her own body. “Look good for three centuries though. Damn good.”
Start of a new Tale guys. It’s later than I normally post, but it’s been a long day. Next part out soon. I’d love any feedback, but all comments, and reads, are greatly appreciated. Have a great day, and thanks for dropping in.