and endorphins were released into the
bloodstream. The heart began pumping faster and harder, carrying
those crucial chemicals to the body’s muscles. And a hard, numbing
cold settled in the gut. Why it was there and what purpose it
served exactly, Dahlia was uncertain. It was simply an
accompaniment, like low ominous music, to the fleeting and nearly
imperceptible thought that floated through a person’s shadowy old
brain in situations like this: I might die
right here and right now .
Dahlia had lived a long time. But even she
would never get used to this feeling.
Thank goodness for the rare mercy of nature
in moments like these, and for the rather blurred form of
consciousness it afforded people when they had no choice but to
fight. What never once struck her as strange was the fact that she
knew it was the hooded figures and not the monster they’d summoned
that she would be fighting.
Magic flooded her arms,
pooling in her palms like a crackling, swirling heat. She felt her
eyes heat up and saw her vision shift from the already altered
shades of her vampirism into the hyper contrasts of magical battle.
She had barely decided upon her first offensive spell when she was
hurling it out in front of her in defense because the hooded figures
had managed to attack first.
They’d simply pulled up their red, caging
power and tossed it at her in a knee-jerk reaction to her sudden
appearance. Her equally fast spell was a burning, fizzing ball of
electricity that was one of the most basic and therefore easily
obtainable offensive attacks for her. It hurt more than usual to
use the magic; sizzling along her skin with needle-like pain where
it used to only tickle. But she ignored the pain. The ball of
electricity slammed into the pulsing red of their magic and
exploded.
Dahlia shielded her eyes for a second to
protect them from the blast. They were naturally sensitive to light
since she’d become a vampire, and it would seem that was even the
case for electric, magical light.
She gritted her teeth and lowered her arm in
time to see the hooded group of figures hastily dispersing,
spreading out in order to circle her rather than the creature
they’d summoned. The monster, a massive amalgamation of befanged
muscle and black fur at least eight feet tall, seemed to be
silently watching the unexpected goings-on. She had no idea what
kinds of thoughts could be going through its enormous mind. Not
that she had time to contemplate it at this juncture.
In the space of time that
exists during a life or death struggle, moments don’t lay flat for
you and let you fill them up with reasonable thinking. Instead,
seconds fly by or stand frozen before you, and coherent thought
moves aside for the subconscious babble of self preservation. That
babble usually sounds something like, “Oh shit – do this , wait, do this ! Holy fuck,
they’re everywhere , cast something! Move! dive! hide! RUN!”
She followed the life or
death instructions her fevered mind belted out, ducking low beneath
a hurled bolt of magic that looked like a thrown ribbon of black
silk. She recognized it as an ink
rope , called such because it was darkness
that would harden when it made contact with its victim, and coil
around them like a rope.
Dahlia dropped to the ground and rolled as
her hands once more filled with her own potent power. She came
agilely to her feet again in order to spin away from a third spell
directed at her and retaliate with her own blast of magic.
This time, she managed to include more than
one enemy in her efforts, using a spell she knew would span over a
wider space. A gust of wind raced through the warehouse with the
power of a bansidhe’s wail. Four of the six hooded figures were
knocked off their feet and sent flying. The beast inside the
summoning circle was unaffected by the spell, protected as he was
by the circle’s invisible wall.
Dahlia attempted to slide directly into
preparations for a third spell when she was side-swiped by
bloodstream. The heart began pumping faster and harder, carrying
those crucial chemicals to the body’s muscles. And a hard, numbing
cold settled in the gut. Why it was there and what purpose it
served exactly, Dahlia was uncertain. It was simply an
accompaniment, like low ominous music, to the fleeting and nearly
imperceptible thought that floated through a person’s shadowy old
brain in situations like this: I might die
right here and right now .
Dahlia had lived a long time. But even she
would never get used to this feeling.
Thank goodness for the rare mercy of nature
in moments like these, and for the rather blurred form of
consciousness it afforded people when they had no choice but to
fight. What never once struck her as strange was the fact that she
knew it was the hooded figures and not the monster they’d summoned
that she would be fighting.
Magic flooded her arms,
pooling in her palms like a crackling, swirling heat. She felt her
eyes heat up and saw her vision shift from the already altered
shades of her vampirism into the hyper contrasts of magical battle.
She had barely decided upon her first offensive spell when she was
hurling it out in front of her in defense because the hooded figures
had managed to attack first.
They’d simply pulled up their red, caging
power and tossed it at her in a knee-jerk reaction to her sudden
appearance. Her equally fast spell was a burning, fizzing ball of
electricity that was one of the most basic and therefore easily
obtainable offensive attacks for her. It hurt more than usual to
use the magic; sizzling along her skin with needle-like pain where
it used to only tickle. But she ignored the pain. The ball of
electricity slammed into the pulsing red of their magic and
exploded.
Dahlia shielded her eyes for a second to
protect them from the blast. They were naturally sensitive to light
since she’d become a vampire, and it would seem that was even the
case for electric, magical light.
She gritted her teeth and lowered her arm in
time to see the hooded group of figures hastily dispersing,
spreading out in order to circle her rather than the creature
they’d summoned. The monster, a massive amalgamation of befanged
muscle and black fur at least eight feet tall, seemed to be
silently watching the unexpected goings-on. She had no idea what
kinds of thoughts could be going through its enormous mind. Not
that she had time to contemplate it at this juncture.
In the space of time that
exists during a life or death struggle, moments don’t lay flat for
you and let you fill them up with reasonable thinking. Instead,
seconds fly by or stand frozen before you, and coherent thought
moves aside for the subconscious babble of self preservation. That
babble usually sounds something like, “Oh shit – do this , wait, do this ! Holy fuck,
they’re everywhere , cast something! Move! dive! hide! RUN!”
She followed the life or
death instructions her fevered mind belted out, ducking low beneath
a hurled bolt of magic that looked like a thrown ribbon of black
silk. She recognized it as an ink
rope , called such because it was darkness
that would harden when it made contact with its victim, and coil
around them like a rope.
Dahlia dropped to the ground and rolled as
her hands once more filled with her own potent power. She came
agilely to her feet again in order to spin away from a third spell
directed at her and retaliate with her own blast of magic.
This time, she managed to include more than
one enemy in her efforts, using a spell she knew would span over a
wider space. A gust of wind raced through the warehouse with the
power of a bansidhe’s wail. Four of the six hooded figures were
knocked off their feet and sent flying. The beast inside the
summoning circle was unaffected by the spell, protected as he was
by the circle’s invisible wall.
Dahlia attempted to slide directly into
preparations for a third spell when she was side-swiped by
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