Witch's Hunger. Deborah LeBlanc
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words caused an immediate transformation in the man. Her intended cried out in pain as fur covered his entire face, and his mouth and nose elongated, creating a snout. His body seemed to explode in width and height. His teeth were no longer those of a man but the fangs of a wolf.
The sisters appeared unaffected by the transformations taking over the men.
The man-wolf howled, confusion obvious in his eyes, and he, too, ran for the woods.
Julianne’s intended had evidently seen enough for he, too, began to run. Even if he had gained twice the speed, it would not be fast enough to escape Julianne’s spell.
She pointed at him, “You claim your excuse for unfaithfulness to the mindlessness that comes with drink, so you shall remain mindless. Always controlled by another. No longer will you have a mind of your own that allows free will, and you shall hunger for the bone marrow of the man you once were before engaging with that harlot.”
Instinctively, Tenebrus knew the sisters had no idea about the seriousness of what they had just done.
When Julianna completed her spell, the sisters joined hands. They raised them to the heavens and proclaimed that by the power of three and every element that made up the universe, no witch or sorcerer could break their spell, no matter how powerful he or she might be.
The mutation of the third man did not appear as hideous as the former two. Oddly, he simply grew taller, thinner, but something in his eyes went empty, like the life within him had drained away. Not even fear registered in them.
Tenebrus wanted that kind of power. Absolute control over the elements of fire, water, earth and air. Over all who existed on this planet.
He had studied the triplets for years and for the past ten years, Tenebrus had become obsessed with finding a way to combine their power with his own. A sorcerer could not drain the power from this special breed of witch. But if he studied them, then took what he learned and joined that with his own superior power, he’d be ruler over every being on earth. His power would be supreme. Ultimate.
* * *
Sensing Tenebrus’s presence even stronger caused Magda’s anger to boil in her veins. If for nothing else but spite, she would stop this event immediately. But she couldn’t. As head Elder, she had to set an example for the fifteen-hundred plus witches she, Bayonne and Palmae were responsible for.
Magda cleared her throat. “Should you or your siblings, including the generations to come, shirk their responsibilities, that Triad shall lose her powers. And the creatures they are responsible for will be freed upon the earth to kill and destroy at will.”
“But you are condemning us to be alone for the rest of our lives,” Lisette cried. “If we cannot marry nor live in intimacy with a human, nothing remains. Our lineage will die. Who will we marry? Who will father our children?”
Bayonne nodded in agreement and looked over at Magda. “Who?”
Magda pointed the staff of judgment at Lisette, giving her a stern look. “You will have at your disposal what remains. Fae. Sorcerers who have transcended, or one of the creatures you have created.”
Palmae gasped so loudly it sounded like she’d nearly swallowed her tongue. “Magda, no! This is far too harsh and—”
“Enough!” Magda proclaimed. “It is done.” She struck the stone table once more with the staff of judgment. “Isonno, funjusa, orlato—so it is said, so shall it be done and so shall it ever be!” Then under her breath, Magda recited another incantation, only this one was for that nosy, good-for-nothing Tenebrus, who dared to eavesdrop on such a sacred meeting. After slamming the shaft of judgment on the table for the last time, the bloodstone atop it shattered. Everyone in the cave gasped in shock, and the collective sound reverberated throughout the hollow space.
The shattered bloodstone came as no surprise to Magda. In fact, she’d half expected it—for she had just done the very thing to Tenebrus that she had placed judgment for on the triplets who stood before her.
Only this time no one but she would ever know.
Vivienne François stood behind a forty-foot gate that was topped with silver-tipped barbwire, watching blood, fur and some chunks of flesh fly in every direction, and wondered where she’d gone wrong. The air smelled of dirt, blood, urine and musk.
It was mid-October in Algiers, Louisiana, but witnessing this much brutality made her break into a sweat like it was high-noon in August.
Wearing jeans, boots and a light blue pullover work shirt, Viv took a fighting stance. Feet spread apart, fists at her sides. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, then said loudly, “I bind thee now, powerless until released by my word. So shall it be. So it is by my command!”
She opened one eye slowly and groaned. The blood and fur still flew.
“I don’t understand what the hell is going on,” she said to Socrates, who sat beside her right foot. “That’s the fifth damn binding spell I’ve tried and it’s like everyone has gone deaf, including the universe. Either that or I have turned into a frigging toasted marshmallow.” She kicked angrily at the ground with the toe of her boot.
“Do you always have to be so abrasive and surly when you’re upset?” Socrates asked. He was a pompous Bombay with gold eyes and had been Viv’s familiar since her birth. He yawned and gave a swish of his tail. “Truly, Viv, can you not see why your spell isn’t working?”
“No.” She huffed. “The way it works is I do a spell and the recipient responds immediately. This isn’t a show-and-tell game or three-card monte. I’ll be damned if they’re not going to listen.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Socrates said with an exasperated sigh. “Must I point out every detail to you?”
“With that attitude, buddy, you’re lucky if I don’t ship you off to Siberia.” Not that Viv would really ship Socrates anywhere, but she was so frustrated she didn’t know what to do with herself.
She stood out here alone, behind a gate that served as the compound entrance to a fenced-in, five-hundred acre lair. The compound held the North End pack of Loup Garou, whom she watched over herself, since she didn’t live far. Just north of the compound was another three hundred acres that served to feed and grow livestock she and her sisters used to feed the breeds they were responsible for.
Viv was one in a set of triplets, the oldest by ten minutes and responsible for the Loup Garou. The middle triplet, Evette, took care of the Nosferatu, and the youngest, Abigail, dealt with the Chenilles. All breeds were netherworld creatures that she’d had to work hard not to resent over the years. For Viv, it was like babysitting a gigantic pack of prepubescent teens.
To feed their factions, they raised cows, goats, pigs and mules specifically for that purpose. Fortunately, Viv had three humans whom she trusted to handle the cattle in the farm area. One of them was Charlie Zerangue, a fifty-two-year-old cowboy who’d worked with her for the past ten years buying cattle. He made sure his two hands sent that cattle through the feeding shoot that led them directly to an area south of the Loup Garou compound. This was the feeding territory.
Once the cattle were sent through the shoot to the feeding area, the Nosferatu were ferried from New Orleans near the river bank to Algiers. There they were loosed upon the cattle to gorge on as much blood as they wanted. The idea was to have each so satiated that they would be easier to manage around humans during their daily or nightly chores.
Once the Nosferatu were ferried back across the river, the Loup Garou from the North, West and East packs were allowed into the feeding area to rip through as much meat as their stomachs could handle for the exact same reason.
And lastly, the Chenilles, Abigail’s brood, were ferried across the river to the compound and allowed to feast on the marrow of all the bones that remained.
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