Issue # 21- A Shattered Clasp

A Shattered Clasp
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Mikel stands in his ante-chamber making more of the sacred rounds that he knows may shortly be needed for his next excursion. Dante lifts his obsidian head from under a wing to blink at the witch who enters the room off the master`s bed suite. His nap upon the oaken supply cabinet resumes as Ephra moves in haste across this unsettling room.

“Did you sleep well witchling?” he inquires keeping his attention on the modifications to the Hornaday 230 grain hollow points he uses in both Glock 45 ACP`s. She patters up to stand beside her lover huddled still in the rich teal bruin pelt, her tiny feet glad for the well woven area rug. She nods silently finding his work disturbing to say the least.

Each round waits for a drop of his blood to fill the small hollow-ended reservoir to then be sealed with a drip of ebony wax from a candle wound with human hair.

Such dark magic ran against her upbringing. Her coven dealt with light and good, healing and homage to the earth mother. But he WAS a Rayvenwing she acknowledges trying to ignore the signs of dark sorcery he still employs.

“I got cold,” she replies sketching a fast protective charm on her forearm. Silly? Perhaps, but the ancient skull that holds the onyx candle chills her soul. She raises her gaze to find him looking down at her, the roaring fire illuminated in his eyes of silver.

“I shall try harder to keep you warm then witchlet.”

Her lips tug up as his head lowers for a lingering taste of her mouth.”Your tongue is sweet,” he whispers over her lips then turns his thoughts back to his work. The winter sun would soon set.

“Mikel is this all necessary?” she queries wondering if he would allow her to charm him as well against the insidious aura of such malignant powers.”Using your own blood, it`s very….”

“Shadow realm?” he asks lifting the candle with a steady hand to seal one last round.”I am what I am, or was Ephra. This ensures my aim is as true as possible” he explains. She knows all this but as he whispers the words of a satanic prayer the fine hairs on her neck rise just the same.

“Your cousin?” she asks quietly burrowing deeper into the were-bruins fur.

“Has left to begin his end of our arrangement,” he says licking the residual blood from his finger. “I too am leaving within the hour in search of Gallo.”

Her gasp doesn`t surprise him, nor does her thin finger running with blatant disregard as she draws a protective charm on his bare back. He fears soon his entire body would be nothing but her glowing marks but perhaps he would need them.

Tracking down Gallo was dangerous enough. Having to go to Sister Mary to begin the search was suicidal but as Guardian he was bound to protect the realm gates or die trying.