Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4) by Emma Hamm (scary books to read .TXT) 📕

He stepped into the house, crunching through broken furniture and crumbling pieces of human flesh. One of them had tried to escape. Its hands were reaching for the door as though someone might have been able to save them.

Magical creatures always hated Magicians. It was ingrained in them, the old dimension had nearly been torn apart years before by a group of Magicians who had gotten out of hand. Pitch and his siblings had taken care of the first round, the other Five taking care of the rest.

Still, he had always thought that the poor creatures deserved a chance. Those who were dark needed training, not condemnation.

He didn’t feel guilty as the hand of the charred skeleton pulverized into dust beneath his heel. An unnatural wind ran over his shield, searching for a weakness it could slither through.

“You are more powerful than I imagined,” Pitch called into the desolation. “Perhaps you will save me the trouble of finding you. I mean no harm.”

The boy did not answer. Considering that invitation enough, Pitch stepped over the body and into the remains of the stately home.

There wasn’t much left. Ashes drifted from the ceiling, some spots still burning. Angry coals flared as the wind from his passing stirred them to life. Strangely enough, a blue mist swirled at the floor, parting only when his shield pushed it out of the way.

Pitch didn’t want to frighten the child into destroying more. A Magician of this strength was likely capable of laying waste to the entire town. Avoiding that would be the best option for everyone involved.

He opened his hands at his sides, letting shadows drift from his body. They sluggishly twined down his arms, pooling in his palms, dripping to the floor with soft thuds. Released, they slid along the walls and disappeared into each room of the house.

Dozens of eyes searched each corner and crevice. They found every blackened lump, every lingering whisper of history, every lullaby once sung.

Smoke had stained the walls black. Pitch reached out a finger, leaving a long smudge of white behind as he walked through the corridors and into the dining room. There, he found the boy.

He sat at the head of a dining table with three blackened bodies. His skin was paper thin, blue veins starkly thrumming with power. His fingers were curled into claws. Pitch could see the carved lines he had left upon the charred wood.

Vibrant blue eyes locked with Pitch’s black ones.

“Hello,” Pitch quietly said. “My name is Pitch.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” The boy’s voice was a funeral dirge — elegant, but cold.

“Traditionally, people introduce themselves when they first meet.”

“My name is Wolfgang.”

“It’s a good name.” Pitch stepped up to the table, flipped the tails of his jacket, and settled on the chair opposite the boy. Though the table was long, and the chair had to be supported with magic, he thought it was a rather interesting dinner. “Your work, I presume?”

He had confused the Magician. Wolfgang cocked his head to the side, the slashes of his dark brows drawn down. Good. Confusion was easy to control, whereas rage or fear was not.

“Who are you?” Wolfgang asked.

“Who I am is not important. Please answer my question.”

“Yes. I did this.”

There was no flicker of guilt at all. Pitch wondered just how far gone the boy was. Not many people could kill all of their family without blinking an eye.

“How long have you been dabbling in black magic?”

“How do you know that?”

Pitch swung his booted feet up onto the table, crossing his ankles. “I know a lot about Magicians, which is what you are.”

“No,” Wolfgang shook his head vehemently. “I am not a Red Blood, not a Magician. I’m a Black Blood, like you.”

“I can assure you, boy, you are no Black Blood.”

“I am!” Lightning charges of blue magic scattered from Wolfgang’s fingers. They raced down the table at Pitch, a crackling mass of uncontrolled power, only to be swallowed by tendrils of darkness. Wolfgang’s mouth dropped open. “How did you do that?”

“I know you are not a Black Blood, because I am not one either. You are a Magician, and that is a very rare creature to be. There is more power in you than you are aware of, Wolfgang.”

“I don’t want to be a Red Blood,” Wolfgang whispered. Fear warbled in his voice which cracked as he spoke. “I just want to be a normal creature.”

“I’m sure that’s what your family told you that you wanted.” Pitch swung his legs to the ground with a resounding bang. “But that’s not who you are.”

“And if I want to be someone else?”

“You don’t. The most important lesson you will ever learn in life, is to be proud of yourself. Magicians haven’t been in this world for centuries and here you are. A living testament of magic. That blue lightning? That’s from mother earth herself, speaking through you.”

Pitch’s words drew the boy into a trance. His deep voice had caught Wolfgang’s attention long enough for tendrils of darkness to snake up from the ground. They hovered behind his head, weaving through the air and catching upon his ragged strands of hair.

“I’m a nobody,” Wolfgang said. “I’m nothing.”

“You’re more than that. You’ve always known it, I can see it in your eyes. You have always seen that you were capable of great things your family couldn’t even imagine.”

He caught the slight movement of the boy’s fingers. Even though the person seated to Wolfgang’s right was little more than charcoal, he still reached out toward its hand when he was afraid.

It was his mother, Pitch realized. He could see now the slight shape of a woman underneath the mess of her body. Her hand was reaching out to Wolfgang, as though she had been pleading with him to stop before all hell broke loose.

Shame that so many creatures of darkness found the same fate. They destroyed everything they loved long before they were able to be destroyed by them.

“Come