Read Online Harvest of Changelings by Warren Rochelle - Free Book Online Page B

twinge at Samhain, a brief spark, a rush of energy in the ether. It was his first time with the Glenwood coven and he had thought it was just the excitement of being there with the others, naked before the God and the Goddess. But then he had felt the energy rush a few days later, when he had gone home to retrieve some more of his books and ran into Malachi Tyson. In fact he had surprised Malachi in the backyard and Thomas was sure if he had surprised the boy a few minutes earlier, he would have seen magic in action.
    â€œHey, Malachi, what are you doing?” Thomas had yelled over the chain-link fence separating his father’s and the Tysons’ backyards. Malachi had jumped, startled, and then had run over to the fence to shake Thomas’s hand. In that touch he had felt the charge again—almost like touching an electric fence. And he remembered: when he was thirteen and home for the summer and Valeria had touched him—the same charge.
    There was no doubt now, Thomas knew: here was a tool provided for him, a way to access power, power that he had only dreamed of. That had been the only good thing he had gotten from the three years he had lived with his mother: power was essential.
    Thomas pulled into the parking lot at the entrance to Clemmons State Forest at 11:36. Tonight was the Third Challenge. Once passed, Thomas would be a full initiate in the coven. He would be
a high priest of the mysteries of the Old Religion, the hidden knowledge of the God and the Goddess, knowledge older than Christ, knowledge those weakling Christians had suppressed and then denied ever existed. Fools. Now, tonight, the power that had been surging in him, simmering like water almost ready to boil, would be finally and fully awake; Thomas was sure of it. And with this power, taking Malachi and the greater power should be easy.
    11:42.
    Thomas got out of the car and walked across the graveled lot, the blue stones crunching beneath his shoes. He had timed this walk twice before as well. It was exactly 11:50 when he could see the flames flickering through the trees. The air was redolent with incense and smoke. He could smell the heat, as he inhaled, drawing fire into his nostrils. When Thomas could see the others, their bodies white and dark shadows around the fire, he stopped and looked for the shelter someone had told him would be nearby. Thomas undressed carefully, neatly folding his pants and shirt, then his underwear and socks, and everything in a tidy pile at the end of a picnic bench. Then he took the binding cord he had been given and wrapped the braided and knotted red cord around his waist, just as he had been taught, so that he could pull the frayed end through the loop.
    There. He was ready.
    Now he could feel the heat of the fire all over his naked skin. The fire’s shadows bathed the bodies of the others and he could feel them, at the periphery of his aura, which shimmered all around him. The others were waiting for him, waiting for the high priestess to call Thomas for the Third Challenge.
    Thomas.
    Thomas walked down the last stretch of the path leading to the clearing and the fire and the coven. This time he could feel the sharp gravel on his feet. He took deep breaths as he walked; Thomas had never felt more alive in his life, more aware. The hot, perfumed air, heavy with incense, the insane insect chirping, the sweaty smell of all the bodies, and yes, even the trees, he could feel their awareness, old, profound, slow.
    Thomas stopped walking three paces outside the circle. He felt the air shift when the others stepped aside and let him in to face the priestess and the stone altar.
    The priestess’s face was hidden behind a white mask; all Thomas could see were her dark, dark blue eyes, watching him, her black hair loose and curling with sweat. He focused on her and her alone,
her body shining in the firelight and candlelight, a single pale shadow. Everything on the altar between Thomas and the priestess