Mad God Walking by Connor Drexler

Author:Connor Drexler [Drexler, Connor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy, dark fantasy
Publisher: City Owl Press
Published: 2016-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

When I woke up in my bed in Brooklyn, a beautiful woman with pale skin and sad eyes was pressing a cool cloth to my forehead.

“Vera?” I asked.

“Who the hell is Vera?” an angry Sarah shouted, smacking my head.

“A ghost,” I said, sitting up. My skin was paler than normal, much like my Sideways self. I flexed my hand and ran my extended fingers over the bedding. My hand had already healed itself and felt as good as new. Just as I started to move around, warmth entered my skin, banishing pinpricks—I was starting to feel human. Scared of what might have happened while I recovered, I lifted myself off the bed to look in the mirror. Before I could get a good look at myself, I felt Sarah’s strangely strong hand on my chest, shoving me back on the bed. She flipped a leg over me, pinning me firmly to the bed

“In case you’re wondering, your eyes and hair changed back ten minutes before you woke up,” Sarah said, looking hurt.

Fuck.

“Yeah, it’s screwed up, isn’t it? I find a nice bloke who seems like, maybe, he could learn magic, if he applied himself. Some strange shite happens, but not by spells, and I think, ‘Ah well, you know maybe it’s a form of wild magic I don’t know about, but with this bloke, really weird shite happens—sometimes he calls flame, lighting the whole kitchen on fire. Sometimes he walks into the fire, and I get deathly afraid that he’s been arsed; but I find out that flames don’t harm him, whatsoever. Or they do, until he heals himself—and others.

“I finally realized that he’s obviously been lying to me, but also I’ve been lying to myself. I so desperately wanted a logical explanation that I was willing to suspend belief. You know, in the real world, fire hurts you; no one gets to ignore it till it goes away…and nice American blokes do not have silver fucking hair or get burned by gripping a fucking iron ring in their hands—”

“Um,” I said, lifting my hand, trying to stop her barrage of words.

“And I learn that this bloke here,” she paused to thump a finger against my chest, “he doesn’t have to learn spells. He just makes them happen, because he feels like it.

Now that just doesn’t happen in the real world; that is some wicked storybook shite.”

“Can I say something, in my defense?”

“Nope,” Sarah answered, momentarily thrusting a pillow over my face, and then removing it. “A gentleman always lets a lady finish first. Where was I? Oh yeah, now these things don’t happen in just any story. There’s no princess to rescue or no unicorn farting rainbows. No, what we’ve been witnessing is a specific type of story.” She clamped the pillow over my face again. “Do you know what kind of story this is, Damon?”

“Muhhhh,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by the pillow.

“I am sorry; that’s rude of me.” Sarah lifted the pillow off my face. “Now,

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