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

left the comfort of the blocks he controlled. But he was curious to find the creature who had licked his senses and left the lingering taste of mulled wine.

Pitch didn’t notice her at first. He wasn’t looking for an imposing figure, a twisted body, or even a mass of magic. He hadn’t expected the little girl huddled at the very end of the alley.

She was scrunched up so tight that many people might have thought she was a pile of garbage. Ratty clothing hung from her body in threadbare strands. Her feet were bare and bloody. Her fingernails dug into her arms, dirty and broken nails he knew would cause infection if she broke skin.

He wished he was as evil as he liked to pretend. Sighing, Pitch slid down the wall of a neighboring building until he sat upon the ground. A cigar appeared out of thin air in his hand, already glowing at the end.

A deep inhalation of the magic smoke did little to calm his nerves. Since when had he become a babysitter? He wasn’t the best choice to look after the next generation.

But here he was. Seated on the ground next to a frightened little girl with a cigar in his hand, wondering how he would approach this conversation.

“Why are you afraid?” Pitch settled on starting with.

She sniffed and tucked herself into a tighter ball. Her hair was as black as his shadows. The length of it reached her waist, but was so tangled he wondered if she might need to cut it all off.

“It’s far too pretty a night to be afraid.” He took in a deep breath of smoke, releasing it with controlled puffs. Rings floated into the air, dissolving when he sent a shadow to twist through it.

“I don’t know where my home is.” Her voice was so tiny he almost didn’t hear it.

“Ah,” he nodded. “That is frightening indeed. Do you know where you came from?”

She clenched her arms so tight they turned stark white.

“Or not. You don’t have to answer my questions now. You can wait until you feel comfortable.”

The whisper of his own magic tingled on his skin. Pitch frowned, turning his head to stare at the little girl. She was muttering to herself. Or perhaps not to herself at all since the other voice coming out of her mouth was far too deep to be a little girl.

“Do you have someone else with you?” he asked.

“No.”

“It sounds like you do.”

Her posture changed. Slumped shoulders squared, she released her hold on her arms and planted her fists against the ground. She looked over her shoulder with such a rage filled expression he might have missed her eyes if he hadn’t been looking for it.

White eyes.

There was no creature in the world quite like that, at least, he had thought there were none left. This tiny girl housed a creature inside her who was so rare, even Pitch didn’t know it existed.

“Ah,” he muttered. “So that’s what you are.”

“You do not know who we am,” the voice was one of thousands. Layers of tormented voices piled on top of each other, screaming, crying, shouting, and whispering. Each a fragment of a person who had once been alive. Each a soul caught within the vast expanse of its mind.

“I didn’t think a little girl could house you.”

“And what do you think we are?”

“I am not so old that I have forgotten you. Legion.”

The girl blinked. He saw the faintest hint of her natural color before her eyes flipped back in her head once more and he stared into milky whiteness.

“Who are you?”

He didn’t have to answer the question. Pitch was satisfied that the little girl was well taken care of. Thousands of souls could keep one little one safe. But the Legion inside her was a call to a different time.

Thick tendrils of shadow coiled from his body and reached for the little girl. They slithered upon the ground, wrapped around her ankles, and seeped underneath her skin. He knew what the creature inside her gleaned from him.

Pitch had more memories than any other creature alive. He was one man, but had lived hundreds of lifetimes. It would feel the death the loved ones, it would feel the rage of battle, but most importantly, it would feel the exhilaration after creation.

“Father?” The ragged whisper was stained with the lingering taste of his own magic. “All Father?”

“No one has called me that for a very long time.”

“You all died.”

“Not all.”

She skittered forward, moving on all fours like an animal. “We watched you die.”

“You watched four gods and goddesses die. I survived.”

“Creator?” She reached forward and touched her fingertips to his arm. “Is it really you?”

He hated hearing that tone. The reverence was something he did not miss from the ancient past. Too many creatures of Light had called their creators gods. The Dark Five had not cared for such terms. They had made life from nothing, yes, but they could take it away just as easily.

They were not gods.

Her eyes were watering and through the tenuous connection with his skin, Pitch could feel her emotions. Legion was so happy that it was no longer alone in this world. It was relieved that it had finally found someone who understood it. Not just someone, but the one who had given it breath.

For a creature who had thousands of souls, it was incredibly alone.

He sighed and opened his arms. Though Legion was not a child, it curled into his lap as though it could finally come home.

Tiny hands fisted in the lapels of his jacket. “You were dead, and we were alone for so long. Where did you go, All Father?”

“I’ve always been here,” Pitch ran his hands down her spine. “I never promised to watch over you. In fact, I believe I did the exact opposite of that.”

“You wanted us to live our own lives.”

“And did you?”

“Thousands of them.”

He hummed. “Good, that is the choice I would have made for you. I am proud.”

The words