Magical Influence Book One

  Chapter 18

  Maybe it was the fact it wasn't raining out here, or there was no gale to try to rip at my clothes, but I made it down the storm pipe in good time and without once slipping and falling to my death. By the time I jumped down onto the soft grass by the side of the house, I was smiling. Because hey, I was more than a little proud at my epic feat. I may not have just walked straight through a door or blown up a demon with nothing more than a spoon and a jar full of magic, but I had scaled down the side of a building in a ripped Santa Claus sweater.

  I looked up, took a rattling sniff, and faced the clouds above me. Though the storm had been tame minutes before, in those few moments of climbing down the storm pipe it had changed.

  My forehead crumpled up in confusion. I watched as the clouds grew darker in a flash, as a wind whipped up from nowhere, and as a trail of drizzle started to blow through the garden.

  Storms didn't move that fast, right? More to the point, as I looked off to the horizon in the distance, I noted something far more worrying; all the storm's wrath seemed to be concentrated on one point: right above me.

  It had been the same with my house; the storm had been at its most ferocious right above our yard, and had tapered off dramatically the second we were out of the gate.

  “Right,” I said in a low and hesitant voice, “you really are after me, aren't you?”

  The storm answered with a clap of thunder somewhere off in the hills behind the house.

  I took that as a reason to run for my truck, gun the engine, and try my hardest to finally end this situation.

  I didn't get very far. Though I had been certain that I had been quiet enough not to draw Jacob's attention to my get-away plan, I suddenly turned to see a shadow emerge from somewhere close to a birch tree by my side.

  Frowning, I instantly realized it was no bunny rabbit or stray dog. The reason I was sure it wasn't a woodland creature or an innocent barnyard animal was that I was pretty sure it was holding a sword. Yes, that's right, a big black sword with fancy gold trimming.

  My eyes bulged at the sight of it. A strike of lightning erupted from cloud to cloud above me, and the burst of light appeared to concentrate along that blade, showcasing just how sharp and ready to stab someone it was.

  I backed off. As I did, a truly cold sensation passed across my middle and back.

  Then I saw it, or rather, I felt it first.

  My ankle and then my neck. A sudden pressure as if the wind itself had found a way to wrap around me and squeeze.

  Clutching my own fingers to my neck, I started to cough and splutter.

  Then the skeleton walked around the tree, its body appearing out of the bark and leaves.

  Oh... dear.

  Obviously it had followed us. Or maybe it was a friend of the guy my grandmother had trapped in the kitchen, and it was here to settle its brother’s debts.

  I put my hands up as if I were ready to reason with it, then I stopped.

  It was a blasted skeleton holding a huge sword; I really doubted it was going to listen to diplomacy.

  So there was only one thing for it – I had to scream loud enough above the storm to get Jacob's attention. Then my knight in a blue tie could come out and save me....

  Even though the skeleton took that exact moment to open its jaw and let out a silent but still terrifying scream, I didn't follow it up with one of my own.

  It stalked forward towards me.

  I backed off, my shoulders and hands brushing up against the brick of the house behind me. It was warm to the touch. Despite the cold and blustery day, it had its own heat trapped within. Because it was magic.

  This whole damn place was magic, and more than that, it was a freaking safe house. Jacob had told me that, and I'd very much felt it. The sense of security I got from being inside was almost addictive.

  Yet it couldn't be all that safe; there was a skeleton with a sword stalking me, after all.

  I still hadn't screamed. I still hadn't shouted out to Jacob to come and save me yet again. I just watched in pure terror as that eyeless, fleshless creature turned its head to the side, opened its jaw again, and let off another silent scream. It did not have vocal chords, so it could not yell or shout or curse. But what it did was so much more terrifying. It was just the action of its jaw dropping in a sudden violent move, its head jerking forward, and that eyeless face staring my way.

  Just the effect of it. Just the show.

  Well I understood the importance of a good show. Because, god damn it, I was an influence witch.

  I pulled up one sleeve and used everything I had, every ounce of training, to command my fear to stop.

  If I wanted to save my grandmother, then I would have to get through more than a just a magical skeleton.

  Perhaps it understood that I was going to fight, and it immediately brought its sword up, lunging forward.

  I ducked back, dropping to my knees, and rolling out of its way. Though I managed to doge it, just, it was the most ungainly, least appealing action move you could imagine. I was a mess of limbs, gritted teeth, and sweaty brow. Yet it worked, and that was all that really mattered.

  Punching to my feet, scrabbling until I got my balance back, I ran deeper into the garden.

  I had no idea what I intended to do. I could hardly sit this fellow down and subtly change the small details of his life until the influence they had on him was such that he gave up trying to kill me and wandered home. My type of magic took time, and I really, really didn't have that.

  Desperate, my breath shallow and trapped in my chest, I stumbled forward.

  Of course it started to rain at that point. And by rain, I meant a downpour.

  With a single crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, the heavens opened up. Or considering my day, hell opened up instead.

  I knew instinctively that the rain would bring with it more enemies. I could feel the magical tension in the air. It wrapped around my bones like that skeleton's hand had curled around my throat.

  Batting at my neck, trying to chase off the sensation of its grip, I very much tried to think.

  I didn't get the opportunity. Something slammed into my back, knocking me to the ground.

  Winded, gasping for breath, I slammed into the muddy grass.

  Then I heard a sound like a sharp, sharp sword being drawn back.

  I waited.

  I waited longer.

  At no point was I stabbed through the back and skewered into the garden bed.

  Slowly I turned around.

  The skeleton was standing above me, its sword raised above its head, ready to slam right through me at any second.

  I watched it. I didn't breathe, I didn't scream, and I sure as hell didn't suddenly figure out how I could defeat it. I just lay there as the rain drained over my face and clothes, freezing me to the core.

  In that moment, time stretched. I did not notice it at first, then I saw the rain slow down, I saw the leaves in the tree behind the skeleton suddenly slow their jerking movements until they sat completely still.

  My eyes grew wide. I moved my head up to see the clouds above; they were so still they could have been a painting.

  It was no trick of the mind. And I really didn't think the skeleton had just stabbed me and this slowed-down world was my version of the afterlife; I knew what was happening.

  A witch's version of bullet time. I'd read about it, but hell, I'd never once experienced it before today.

  Just before death, just before her final battle, a witch could draw out the time she had left. Though it wasn't really her; it was her magic. It were as if all the latent potential that had lived within her suddenly leaked out as a prelude to death.

  Well I was experiencing it now.

  I forced myself to look back at the skeleton above me. I could see its sword inching down ever so slowly. Right towards me. The magic equivalent of bullet time was, apparently, a legacy of the Sinclair family. Nearly every member could recount some experience where it had happene
d to them. Some kind of epic fight, some kind of noteworthy duel, you name it. Even Vinnie had experienced it once when he had been about to lose a high paying customer.

  I had, until now, been one of the only Sinclairs never to have had my own brush with it.

  Well now it was here, and all I could do was wonder at the beauty and magic of it.

  That, however, was not what you were meant to do. If time suddenly slowed itself down for you, the least you could do was reward it by clocking the skeleton on the nose or running away whilst you had the chance.

  Okay, I knew enough about this experience to know that I could not jump up and suddenly best the skeleton with the sword; any sudden movement would set time moving at a normal pace again.

  Bullet time did not afford you the advantage of taking down your enemy, or in the case of Vinnie, selling you an overpriced crappy car, whilst the rest of the world could not move. It afforded you one thing; time to think.

  For a witch like me, who relied on influence magic, and by definition required enough time to cast and weave and manipulate her spells, it was a godsend. And here I was wasting it.

  Immediately I stopped myself from being amazed by the scene of the rain dropping so slowly around me, and by the specter of the stilled clouds above.

  Instead I turned my head down and stared at the enemy before me.

  This would be my last chance. If I did not use this last time that had been given to me, I would die. I really didn't want that to happen.

  Yet what could I do? Pluck up a rock and chuck it at the skeleton's head? Pray to the heavens to send down a strike of lightning to blow the guy up?

  Frustration bloomed through me like blood from a bullet wound. The immediacy and reality of my situation was so unescapable. If I didn't find a way to defeat my enemy, to use the magic I had to its greatest effect, there would be no other opportunities. It was time Esme Sinclair got powerful. If she didn't, it was time she died.

  At that horrible thought, desperation numbed my hands, and I fell back.

  The sudden movement was all it took to break through the spell. Time sped up to its normal pace.

  I saw that sword in a single, brief moment. The glint, the way it sliced through the air on its way down to me.

  I brought my arm up.

  It was instinctive.

  The sword lodged into it.

  It did not slice through. But it sliced deep enough.

  I fell back. Blackness surrounded me. A scream that had been ready to erupt form my throat died as despair darkened what remained of my consciousness.

  I felt and heard the sword being plucked back.

  Yet as I waited for the final blow, it did not come.

  Lying there bleeding, the rain mixing with every drop as it flowed from my arm, I heard a sound.

  Bullets. This time the real ones. Not a prelude to time slowing down, but the kind that zoomed and zipped around at speeds magic could never slow.

  “Esme?”

  I heard someone call me name.

  Seconds later I felt them by my side.

  I spiraled down into the darkness that surrounded me. But not before I felt arms around my shoulders pulling me up.