Shadowbound: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Realm Protectors Book 2) by Spencer DeVeau

Author:Spencer DeVeau [DeVeau, Spencer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Perhaps Press
Published: 2016-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

“They really did a number on her,” the woman who looked like a corpse said. Known as Cindy in the seventies. But Harold knew Cindy wasn’t the only name she had gone by for however long she’d been decade hopping.

Harold now knew her as the Grand Witch. Though, like his friend’s parents as a child, he didn’t know what to call her. He just avoided calling her anything at all. She frightened him, and asking questions that seemed so pointless in the grand scheme of things, like what he should call her, would only piss her off. And Harold had no intention of pissing off what looked like a really intelligent Zombie surrounded by a legion of mutants.

“The venom surges through her body attacking her cells. This is not good. Not good at all,” the Grand Witch said. “I’ve not seen such a case.”

The persona of Cindy had vanished with the mutton chops and a much younger version of Chet, the bartender. Harold had a hard time looking at her. That pale, swiss cheese-skin, those sunken, black rimmed eyes. Thankfully, she didn’t smell as bad as she looked. And outward appearance didn’t matter; the only thing that mattered was if her brain was as rotten as her flesh.

Harold reckoned it wasn’t. Sahara was a smart woman even in death, and she wouldn’t direct Harold here without good cause. But the oddity of the entire experience — the time travel, the mutants, the idea of seeing, feeling, smelling, tasting, everything in the entirety of Existence — did much to persuade him to just tuck tail and run.

But he had to remember he was not the old Harold anymore. And with each passing moment the world pressed heavier on his shoulders, he grew stronger and weaker at the same time.

The Grand Witch leaned in closer to the open black Audi. Sahara looked like a soaked piece of cardboard stuck to the leather backseat. Her red hair had seemed to lose its vibrant color; it had faded to an ashy, shell of its old self.

How it might look in a nightmare, Harold thought.

Sahara’s hand flopped into the Witch’s. She brought it closer to her face. Fingers traced the black snakes running along her forearm.

She sighed, turned her head to Harold.

Harold recoiled without knowing. Something…just unsettled him about the Witch.

“You can call me Roberta, Harold. Roberta Washington. That is my name. I know you are wondering.”

Harold narrowed his eyes. Had she been able to read minds, too? All along?

“It is the first name I remember. A name that burned in Salem with the rest of my coven. 1693, but I remember it vividly.”

“Roberta…that’s a nice name.”

“Thank you, Harold. You are too kind.” She turned her head back towards Sahara. “Come we must purge her of the venom.” She snapped her fingers, and two of the green mutants — Squeebs, she called them, he thought — reached into the car and pulled Sahara out as if she were a bag of groceries.

One of the green humanoid things had a dark mark near its upside down lips.

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