The Cauldron Coven

Chapter 2 - Death's Shroud

Roger glanced at the sword again, still not comprehending. “I don't understand. Why am I here?"

The other man sighed, shaking his head. “I just told you. I am here to give you a chance to be the warrior you dream of being, but can only live through the characters of the books you read."

Whispers started filtering from the back of the tunnel, harsh whispers of guttural snips and cries, along with the scraping of nails on the tunnel floor. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Panic wrapped its icy fingers around Roger's heart, his eyes going wide as he jerked his attention behind him at the sound.

The other man grinned, and for the first time, Roger saw the other's ominous red eyes glowing as his lips turned up into a smirk. “I am Tharon, a revenant serving Death, and I'm doing this because I can."

“You will leave this man's mind, Tharon," another voice snapped, causing Roger to spin as an older man with graying hair stepped out of the tunnel from behind Roger. Blue fire sparked around his bony fingers as he walked past Roger, ignoring him, and confronted the revenant. The man's eyes seemed to glow with the same blue fire that smothered his hands. “His dreams are not your playground." The newcomer wore more normal attire: jeans, a brown sports coat over a yellow button-down shirt, grungy white sneakers. He was definitely not a character from Roger's book. What the hell is going on?

Tharon laughed, the sound scraping on Roger's nerves, his fear making him want to vomit. “You are so very wrong, dear Nazareth," the revenant said. “All dreams are my playground, and this man wastes his life in them. He doesn't dream to accomplish any true purpose, no grand scheme rests behind his fantasies, merely an escape from life, a life deprived from others. Why should I not give him a chance to see those fantasies come true?"

Roger watched as the newcomer slid in front of him, a barricade between Tharon and Roger. How is this happening? What kind of dream is this? Roger could not remember ever having such a nightmare, but a nightmare this was, one from which he desperately needed to wake.

“His life is his life, just like the lives of the others before you killed them," Nazareth said. “This is going to end. Today. Now. Hekate demands it."

The revenant tilted his head back and roared his laughter to the tunnel's ceiling. When he faced Nazareth once more, Roger could tell Tharon couldn't care less about whatever Hekate said. “I serve Death, Nazareth, and you well know this. Your precious goddess has no hold on me. I serve the brothers three: Death, Sleep, and Dream. Your goddess may guard the Underworld with her hounds, but Death rules it." Tharon tilted his head, looking around Nazareth to Roger. “And tonight, Death will have one more for his chamber."

The fire around the gray-haired man's hands flamed brighter, hotter, so hot Roger could feel the heat from where he stood. “No, Tharon. Tonight, Death will lose."

Tharon laughed once more. “As if you could accomplish that, old man," he sneered. “Your time is almost up, and we both know it. You grow weak, your power fading. Your time as a necromancer, a walker between realms, is almost at an end. Don't make tonight your last battle."

“I have more left in me than you know, revenant." The gray-haired man shot his arms out in front of him, blue flames erupting from his hands as he sent the power into Tharon.

Tharon blocked the attack easily enough, sending his own red flames of magic back at Nazareth, who barely managed to block the bolts of power in time. The two kept hurling magic at each other, the tunnel filling with the sizzling smell of sulfur and something else Roger couldn't identify. The air filled with smoke, and then Roger watched as Nazareth missed a block and Tharon's power struck him in the upper arm, spinning him into the tunnel wall. The revenant didn't let up his attack, but kept sending bolt after bolt of magical power at the gray-haired man, pinning him to the wall.

Roger clenched his eyes shut, willing himself to awaken.

Wails erupted inside the tunnel, jerking Roger around, eyes wide as he held the sword in front of him as best as he could. Golems poured out of the opening, screaming as they reached out for Roger, their bony fingers scratching at everything around them. They appeared just as Roger imagined from the book, and that sight froze him in place. The sword remained fixed in front of him, but it remained a useless weapon in his hands. The first wave of golems hit him hard in the chest, a scream ripping from his throat as they knocked him backward, their sharp claws ripping at his flesh, tearing him to pieces.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Squatting down, one hand resting on his knee, Officer Mark Rochester stared at the body in the recliner, the book held with limp fingers in the man's lap, a glass of whiskey half drank on the table beside him, the fear etched onto the man's face, his mouth wide as if he died in mid-scream.

“What the hell was he reading?" Tricia Pierce, the city's medical examiner, stared at the man in the chair, a one Roger Sanders, her brows raised as she stood there, hands on her hips. “The latest Stephen King novel?"

Mark ran a hand through his dark hair as he blew out a sigh. “The 911 call said someone heard screaming from inside this house." He shook his head. “But there's not a mark on the body anywhere. Look at him. He's sitting there, a book in his hand, a drink beside him. He was relaxed before whatever happened. There are no signs of a break-in, no doors unlocked or windows open. By all signs, he was alone, enjoying a quiet night of reading." He glanced up at the M.E. “Could something do this? Some…disease…condition…" He arched an eyebrow at him. “Could whatever he read have caused this?"

Tricia stared down at him, her lips turned into a soft smirk. “That's one author who could be a hit man without ever leaving his house if that were the case." She turned her attention back to the body. “To be honest, I have no idea what could have caused this, and I won't until I get him back on my table. Then, I'll tell you what killed him. It'll be your job to figure out how and by whom. Now, if you've finished getting your notes, I'll get my people in here to take the body."

Mark nodded as he pushed himself to his feet. He had seen some crazy things over the past couple of months since meeting Rhychard Bartlett and his magical friends. Mark wondered if perhaps what he stared at was more in their wheelhouse than his. He looked at every case that came across his desk with different eyes now, knowing that somehow demons and creatures with power walked his town. The problem was knowing what was from the world of nightmares and what was just plain human evil.

Turning the crime scene over to Tricia and her team, Mark walked back out the front door into the dark Tuesday evening, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging at his side. Flashing lights circled their colors over the nearby houses and trees. How in the world would he investigate a death of what appeared to be such a passive man? Who in the world would have wanted this man dead?

An animal scurried deeper inside some nearby bushes, drawing his attention to the side. Another man from the medical examiner's office passed by, pushing a gurney into the house. Mark followed him with his gaze, hoping Tricia discovered natural causes and he could wrap up this case. He sighed, worried he had become too cynical thanks to everything he had seen over the last month. Not everything was some demon wanting to destroy the world.

God, I hope it's not a demon wanting to destroy the world.