Black Magick: A Sinister Romance

Black Magick

  A Sinister Romance

  by Yari Garcia

  Copyright 2015 by Yari Garcia

  Table of Contents:

  Black Magick

  About Magick

  Bryexe: She Lives in a Dollhouse FREE Preview

  About Yari Garcia

  Other eBooks by Yari Garcia

  ****

  Black Magick

  My entire being changed because of Ian. It was like I had been sleeping my entire life, and only when I met him, for the first time, I was awake.

  Back then I didn’t know he would change every part of me, down to a subatomic level, but I could feel it. He was the new guy. I didn’t talk to him for the first week he was here, I just watched. He intrigued me. He treated everyone with apathy, so much so that sometimes I wondered if anyone could even see him. He was like an invisible, powerful force that no one else could see but me—and every cell in my body was dying to know him.

  Who are you? I wanted to ask. No, What are you? was more like it. I wanted to know everything about him—did his pale skin feel as cold as it looked? What secrets lurked behind those grey eyes? What was he hiding? Because I was sure he was hiding something.

  I would start just by asking him his name. I didn’t catch his name when Mrs. Johnson announced it to the class. It was only when he walked past me and my skin prickled with goosebumps that I noticed he was there at all.

  The day I decided to talk to him, I searched the faces in the cafeteria for him, but I couldn’t find him. I walked outside and looked to my left—I saw the path to the back of the building, where no one ever went, and I just knew it would lead me to him.

  I found him leaning against a dumpster, smoking. The smoke wafted my way and it smelled of cinnamon.

  “Hey,” I said, immediately regretting my choice of words. A moment like this one deserved more than just a passing Hey. I hated myself for not having come up with something better.

  He looked me over and took a long drag. “Hey,” he just said.

  I took that as an invitation to get closer, to talk more. “What’s your name?” I asked. Again, I felt that the moment warranted a lot more depth than that. Stupid me.

  “Ian,” he replied. Even his name was perfect.

  I took advantage of the long silence to tell him mine. “I’m Violet. Where are you from?”

  “What does it matter?”

  I looked away, trying to gather my thoughts. I wanted a lot more control of the situation. Idiotic, nervous niceties would get me nowhere. So I asked “Can I bum one of those?”

  “These?” he asked, holding up the red cigarette he had clipped between his middle and index finger. “You don’t want one of these. Do you know what they call these?”

  I shook my head ‘no’.

  “Coffin nails. They’re clove cigarettes, and they’ll poke holes in your lungs. They’ll send you to the grave quicker than normal cigarettes, so they call them ‘coffin nails’. You’re too pretty to be smoking one of these.”

  I looked into his grey eyes. He had called me pretty. “Why do you smoke them, then?”

  “Because I don’t care,” he said and took another drag. This time the smoke came out through his nostrils. “Besides, I’m working on becoming immortal.”

  I would have laughed, but I knew he was serious. “How?”

  He flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, and red sparks burst from it. “You really want to know?”

  He took a few steps closer to me, his face only inches from mine. I looked up at him and could see the amusement in his smile. Was he playing with me? If he was, I liked it. I nodded.

  “Then you can meet me tonight at Hill Crest Park. I’ll be there waiting under the full moon’s light, at midnight,” he caressed my cheek softly, and walked away. My heart shivered. The bell rang loudly, and it had the effect of waking me up from the spell, like a magician snapping his fingers in front of my hypnotized face.

  I walked down my street at a brisk pace, with my hood pulled over my hair. I kept my head low. I worried that a neighbor would look out the window and think I was a thief—or worse, myself. They’d waste no time calling the neighborhood watch if they saw a sophomore walking the streets past curfew.

  Luckily that didn’t happen, and I made it to Hill Crest Park in the middle of the night. As he said he would be, Ian was there waiting for me.

  “Hey,” I said. I really needed to come up with something new.

  Ian just looked me over again. I felt naked the first time he looked me over, and I felt naked again then. I stood up taller to enhance my feminine figure as his eyes took me in.

  “I’m not actually hanging around here,” he said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and flipped it open. He pressed it to his face and, when he pulled it away, a red cigarette hung loosely from his lips. “I’m going deep into the woods. You want to follow me?”

  I’d follow him anywhere. Fearing I’d say something stupid or simplistic, I merely nodded.

  “Good,” he said.

  I followed him to the edge of the park, where he easily hopped over a small chain-linked fence. I waited on the other side—waited for him to turn around and help me, but he didn’t. I hopped over it myself and managed to tear my jeans open at the knee.

  Crap.

  I kept up, following the thin trail of smoke he was leaving behind.

  I watched in wonder as he stopped and started digging at the base of a thick old tree. He pulled out a shoe box. I wanted to ask what was in there, what he was doing, but just as abruptly as he had stopped, he started walking again. I followed in silence. When he tossed his cigarette butt aside, I stomped out the embers to prevent a fire—police sirens and lights could wake up my parents, and then I’d be the one burned.

  I caught up to him once more.

  Ian had come to a stop in a small clearing, and he kneeled down with the box. Although the box was ordinary—just a cardboard shoe box of some no-name brand of shoes—I thought my mind would explode if he didn’t open it soon. I was dying to know what was inside.

  Feeling ignored, I knelt down next to him to remind him I was there. Our shoulders were merely inches apart, and I could feel the heat of his skin on mine. Then he slowly lifted the top off the box.

  Inside were various items—a few candles, a knife, a wine glass, a mostly-empty bottle of whiskey, and a book. I stared, transfixed, as he took the items out one by one. The last one to come out of the box was the book—it was a black leather-bound book with one word on it: Necronomicon.

  I had read some things about the Necronomicon on the internet. I knew it was some sort of malevolent grimoire, but that’s about it. I knew it had creepy rituals and spells in it, but I never thought it was real.

  “Is it the original one?” I asked.

  “I wish,” Ian replied. “I was able to look up some of what the original Necronomicon contains, and I copied it onto this notebook.” He pulled it away from me when I reached for it.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he said with a sinister smile. “I’ll let you look in it when you prove yourself worthy.”

  At that moment, I would have done anything to seem worthy in his eyes. So when he asked me to draw a triangle on the ground with a stick, I made the most perfect isosceles triangle imaginable. The full moon shone down on his face, and I saw approval in his eyes.

  “So, the million dollar question is…” he said, “Do you want to take part in the ritual, or just watch?”

  “Take part,” I said without hesitation.

  Again, that wonderfully hot sinister smile appeared on his thin lips.

  “Good,�
�� he said. He placed the candles around the triangle and lit each one with his cigarette lighter. Then he stood at one point and asked me to stand across from him. I did as told. He told me to close my eyes. I did.

  “Don’t open them until I say you can,” he said, and I nodded with my eyes closed.

  I heard Ian start a low humming from deep within his throat, then the chant started. It must have been Latin, or Italian. I wasn’t sure. All I knew is that his voice was hypnotic and enchanting, soothing me with a language that I couldn’t understand, but that I could feel. Each word sounded beautiful as it emerged from his being, softly and expertly spoken.

  The chanting drew closer and closer. I could hear his steps, crunching dead leaves on the cold ground, approaching me. Then I could feel his breath near my face. I jumped when his hands gripped my arms, but didn’t open my eyes. Then it happened.

  The chanting stopped, and he leaned in to cover my mouth with his lips. He kissed me fully and passionately, making my mind spin. My heart fluttered wildly, even as he let go of me and I could hear him backing away, back to his place in the triangle. My arms seared where he had touched me, and I willed my heart to slow down by pressing my hands to my chest.

  “You may open your eyes now,” I heard him say.

  I blinked my eyes open and saw him bathed in moonlight, pointing his knife towards the sky. Lightning flashed in the distance behind him. “It is done,” he said, then he stabbed the knife deeply into the ground.

  I couldn’t wait to see Ian the next day, to talk to him again. Would he kiss me? Would he hold my hand? Were we something now? I left the cafeteria without eating any lunch and eagerly followed the trail to the back of the building. When I reached the end, he wasn’t there.

  I checked a few more isolated places around school, with no luck. When he didn’t show up to Mrs. Johnson’s class, I felt a panic rise up inside me. I wanted to see him more than anything. I needed to see him. Where was he? The day seemed to stretch on forever without him, until it was finally over.

  But I didn’t want to give up. That night, I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep until I had satisfied my curiosity—would I find him in the woods at midnight? I once again shielded my face with my hoodie and made my way to Hill Crest Park in the dark. I hopped the fence and followed the trail as best as I could recall. My memory served me well, as I found the clearing where he had kissed me the night before.

  I approached carefully, walking among the trees, making sure that the dried leaves beneath my feet wouldn’t give me away. I stepped carefully and slowly, hiding behind tree trunks, peeking out to make sure Ian hadn’t heard or seen me. But I could see him. He looked beautiful under the pale white moon.

  From a distance I could see that Ian had already drawn a triangle on the ground, and he sat at one of the points with his legs crossed. The candles were lit, their flames dancing and flickering with the soft breeze. He was mumbling a chant, over and over. I wanted to get closer—to listen, and to simply be closer to him.

  I stepped behind a thick tree, and stepped on a dry branch—it snapped loudly. Ian’s head turned, and I pressed my body to the tree trunk. I froze. After a moment, his chanting continued. I peeked from behind the tree to see that he was back in his trance. I held my breath to better listen to the words.

  “All-powerful Manol, bestow me your power. In this triangle, in this hour. Bring me Violet, bring her in time. She will serve me, she will be mine.”

  My throat seemed to close up as Ian repeated the words, over and over. I shivered as realization hit me like a cold bucket of water: He wanted me. He wanted me to be his. I backed away from the tree slowly, making my footsteps as light as possible, leaving him alone with his chant. My mind buzzed.

  He wants me.

  He wants me to be HIS.

  Step by step, I carefully walked away. When I was far enough from the clearing in the woods, I broke into a run. I barely slowed down and hopped over the fence—and it ripped a little more of my jeans away. But I didn’t care. Ian wanted me.

  And I wanted to be his.

  In the morning, I couldn’t stop dropping things. For the first time, I felt like I couldn’t get to school fast enough. My heart screamed at me to find Ian as soon as I got there. But two things held me back—first of all, I didn’t want to seem as desperate as I was. And second, I wouldn’t be able to look for him until lunch, at noon. So I went through my morning classes staring at the clock so intensely that I didn’t just see the second hand move, I could see the minute hand move too.

  I pretty much ran over students to get to the cafeteria at noon, but then I thought better of it. I played it cool by sitting around for a bit. Once I could stand it no longer, I grabbed a couple of drinks from the vending machine and went around the building.

  And there he was.

  His tall frame leaned against a wall, looking through his phone with one hand, carelessly flicking a lighter off and on with the other. My blood pumped to the rhythm of the flickering.

  “Got you one of these,” I said, and he jumped. He quickly stuffed the phone in his pocket and smirked.

  “You are such a good girl,” he said, taking the cold soda from my sweaty hand.

  “Where were you yesterday?” I asked, thinking maybe I sounded motherly.

  “I was tired,” he replied. That was the first time I’d heard of someone skipping school simply because they were ‘tired’.

  He took a swig of his drink and looked at me for a long while. I wished I had rehearsed what I wanted to say. What did I want to say? Everything I wanted to blurt out at that moment would make him realize that I had spied on him the night before. What to say, what to say, what to say…?

  “I think you have real potential for magick,” he finally broke the silence. “You should come out with me again tonight. Help me become immortal.”

  Real potential? I was honored. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  “I feel like I need you,” he said, further rendering me speechless.

  We drank in silence until the bell rang. He tossed his empty bottle on the ground and took out a pen from his back pocket. He looked at me, smiled, and placed his hand on my shoulder. It was still ice-cold from the drink.

  He slid his cold hand down my arm until he reached my hand. He turned it to expose my palm, and carefully wrote his phone number there.

  “Tonight. Midnight,” he said. He turned my hand and kissed my fingers gently. He also looked up at me, licked my fingers, and gave me that sinister smile before walking away. I pressed my fingers to my lips, feeling the warm moisture he had left there.

  He definitely wants me to be his.

  I felt like my fingers tingled the rest of the day. In Mrs. Johnson’s class, I switched seats and sat behind him. Anything to be closer to him.

  That night, I left the house too early and had to wait for him to arrive. I stared at the moon as I waited. It wasn’t completely full this time. It looked like a little part of it was sliced away with a butter knife. I sensed Ian behind me before he spoke.

  “Are you ready?”

  Of course, I was.

  We did a lot of the same things we had done that first night—hopped the fence, retrieved the shoe box, took out all the items one by one once we reached the clearing. He had me draw the triangle again, and once again I did a perfect job. And, again, he wouldn’t let me touch the book.

  “Have I not proven myself worthy?” I asked, my eyes itching to look in the Necronomicon, my entire being longing to be worthy of it in Ian’s eyes.

  “You’ll have the chance to, tonight,” he replied. He was all seriousness as he sat me down in the middle of the triangle. He sat across from me and placed the candles near us.

  He placed a fat pillar candle between us. Then he handed me a small black candle while he kept a small white one. He lit his with his cigarette lighter, then mine.

  “Just repea
t the words I’m going to say,” he said. I nodded.

  I expected the words to be in English, but they weren’t. I tried my best to repeat everything he was saying, syllable by syllable. I very carefully imitated the mystical accents with my tongue and was surprised to see how natural it all felt.

  “Now, we light the pillar candle together,” he said after we were done reciting the words.

  The two of us held our lit candles to the pillar candle’s wick. I glanced up at him, and the warm fire illuminated his face with an orange glow. I looked back down to see our flames combine to make one on the pillar candle.

  “It is done,” he said.

  “What is done?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the whiskey bottle and the wine glass.

  “This chalice represents the depth of the earth,” he said while pouring the liquid in the glass, “and the liquor represents the fire.”

  He handed me the chalice and instructed me to give him the drink. I leaned forward, mindful of the candle between us, and reached the chalice to him. He opened his arms to the sky while I pressed the glass to his mouth and he took a sip. “Now we are one,” he said once he was done. Then he kissed my mouth.

  I sat back in my place. Yes, we are, I thought, and downed the rest of the whiskey.

  The next day, he wasn’t at school. I thought I would find him in the woods that night, but he also wasn’t there. I hated that panicky feeling of missing him. I texted him late into the night, and he simply replied that he was tired. I was starting to think that doing those rituals zapped him of his energy. I, on the other hand, felt fine.

  So when he invited me out for a third time, I was thrilled. I had been reading up on magick online, and was ready to truly prove myself worthy. I was ready for my potential to shine through. Maybe I would be the one to make him immortal.

  So as we headed through the snaking trail into the woods, I told him just how much I had learned.

  “I’ve been studying up on everything, and it’s fascinating,” I said. I sounded like a child, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know that I was serious about this.

  “You’ve read up on magick for one night, Violet. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”