The Bloodless Witch (Merging Worlds Book 2) Read online

  THE

  BLOODLESS

  WITCH

  Merging Worlds – Book 2

  I. C. Shadows

  This novel is a work of fiction—except for the parts that aren’t.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously—except for those that weren’t.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental—except where it isn’t.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Cover Design By: Melony Paradise of Paradise Cover Design

  Copyright © 2022 by I. C. Shadows

  For the escapists.

  Table of Contents:

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TO BE CONTINUED

  There once was a time when science and magic shared the same world. It was an age of heroes and monsters, myth and legend—and one where both sides lived in delicate balance.

  But everything changed when humans decided in favor of science, shunning magic and creating great war machines they used to hunt down all sources from the land. To spare war that would destroy both sides, a plan was devised to give magic and all its creatures a new homeworld, separated forever from humankind. Their mass exodus was called the Great Exile—and the world they went to was named Avalon.

  Not all went to this new Eden willingly—and others refused outright. And within the void, the black matter separating the two realms, many of these damned souls reside, intangible and full of hate, waiting for their chance to take vengeance on those who imprisoned them—and upon the humans who started it all.

  ONE

  “Help!”

  A scream echoed through the night, causing a nearby pair of closed eyes to twitch beneath their heavy lids. And though the body they belonged to stirred, it did not move.

  Screams were a regular thing in dark alleyways.

  Usually, it was a bunch of drunk idiots choosing to entertain themselves by playing pranks on the homeless. Sometimes it was the other way around. Either way, it would take much more than a single shrill cry, even in the dead of night, to get Markus up.

  “Help me, please!”

  The second cry, authentic and desperate in its urgency, did just that. It was an unsteady rise before he fell back into the trash heap. Slurring as he cursed, Markus tried again. This time, he dropped the half-empty bottle to use both hands to secure himself against the wall he’d been convalescing against. It took a few seconds for the spins to die down.

  “Take whatever you want. But, just please don’t hurt me,” a high-pitched voice begged.

  “Shut up, bitch,” a not-so-friendly one hissed back. “You walked down the wrong alley tonight.”

  Markus focused on where the sounds were coming from. He saw two figures, one hulking over another, not more than ten feet away. Markus nearly fell again just picking up the glass bottle. Looking down into its spout, he sighed—and swallowed what remained in a single swig. It burned the whole way down. He liked it.

  Then, shuffling his way over to the disturbance, Markus did his best to stay quiet—and failed miserably. The man turned his head almost immediately, eyeing Markus dismissively. The woman he held against the wall went to scream for help—but her mouth was plugged with a firmly-placed hand.

  “Yo, man, this has nothing to do with you. How about you be a good boy and go back to sleep—”

  Markus swung the bottle with everything he had, connecting with the man’s face and sending him reeling. The woman screamed as she moved out of the way. The mugger collided with the wall, his eyes rolling back as his knees gave out. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “You first,” Markus garbled.

  “Oh my god,” the woman cried, grabbing Markus’s shoulder and giving him a big hug. It took everything to keep his balance. “Thank you, thank you. You saved my life.”

  “Sure,” he mumbled. He just wanted to lie back down.

  “Can I give you something? Something to repay you.”

  Markus tried to look at her—but his eyes saw four of the same person. “I could use some more…” he motioned to the bloody bottle still in his hands.

  She didn’t say anything. It was better that way; Markus didn’t want her pity. Rummaging through her purse, she produced a few bills. He grabbed them and began the lonely march back to his chosen spot in the muck.

  “You’re a godsend,” her words trailed after him.

  He laughed hysterically at that. If only she knew.

  Practically falling back onto the cardboard bed he’d laid out for himself, Markus promised himself he’d use the money she’d given him when he woke up, whenever that was. But he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Sleep was calling.

  And with it, the nightmares he’d been running from for months.

  The dream started as it always did, with a blood and fire background that frothed and mixed. Bones reanimated, the leering skull of the necromancer chasing Markus no matter how far or fast he fled. Sometimes he’d get a glimpse of Holger—and other times, the Viking warrior wouldn’t appear at all. But always, the Necromancer would hunt Markus. Only, it was what Markus would see at the chase’s end that would have him waking each night drenched in sweat and howling to the heavens.

  Dalia. She was always there, always at the very last moment. She would appear just as Markus remembered her; knee-length black hair with eyes to match, a sarcastic half-smile on her face that showed off dimples—and Angurvadal, the black runesblade, buried in her chest. The blood was hers, the fires of her anguish swirling together to create the setting Markus always found himself in. Dalia never spoke to him; she didn’t have to.

  This time, she did. “Markus!” Her voice was weak, her pale lips splattered with blood. “You must help me!”

  He knew he was dreaming. That realization would typically be enough to jumpstart himself out of it—but something unseen held onto Markus, blocking his brain from resetting itself. All he could do was watch in horror as an impaled Dalia drifted closer towards him.

  “Find me, Markus,” she cried, tears of torment rushing down her face. “I need you.”

  Chills ran through Markus’s body. The nightmares were getting more and more convincing. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

  Dalia reached out, hands rushing in to grab his. He didn’t move out of the way. But, as was the way of dreams, Markus figured he would wake up the moment before she touched him. Instead, her warm fingers enveloped his, giving them a squeeze that electrified Markus’s whole body. She was real.

  “Avalon,” she gasped. “You must come. Please, Markus!”

  Markus was about to respond when Dalia shoved him back. Then, barely catching his balance, his mouth and heart dropped as he watched Angurvadal disappear from Dalia’s chest, exposing a wound hemorrhaging fount
ains of blood. The crimson spilled towards him, rushing to drown him beneath a red ocean. All the while, Dalia watched him, covered in black garments stained and sticky, a look of pain mixing poorly with what appeared as a devious half-smile.

  “Seek the doorway!”

  The dream world began to fade—and right when Markus didn’t want it to. He knew this was no mere nightmare; it was a message. Dalia was alive. He tried to resist being faeried away, to keep his subconscious right where it was. But, as was the way of dreams, he was never in any real control.

  The image of Dalia swirled into nothingness, the blood inferno with it, as Markus was transported back to cold and uncomfortable reality. His eyes were caught unprepared by the rising sun, his lungs still trying to catch their breath when a voice, instantly recognizable, sounded from right over him.

  “Markus Trygg,” Laura Lund jeered. “At last, I find you.”

  It had been ten months since Markus last laid eyes on Laura Lund, a Major of Denmark’s Department of National Security. However, looking upon her with dark hair immaculately slicked-back and sharp eyes that shone blue, it could’ve been only yesterday. She hadn’t aged a day—but Markus doubted she thought the same of him.

  “You’ve been a hard one to track down,” Lund cut through the silence. “No phone, credit cards, or social media. I was starting to think you didn’t want to be found. Now I know why.”

  Rising into a seat from the cold concrete, Markus thought better of brushing his unkempt face into something more presentable. He thought he’d be happier to see Lund, but just the sight of her brought back skin-crawling memories. “What do you want, Major?”

  “Oh, I’m afraid not,” Lund replied, kneeling beside him. “DSIS stripped me of that title after sending me off to the loony bin. They didn’t even let me say goodbye to Benson.”

  The mention of Benson McDermott elicited a wide range of emotions. On the one hand, it had been because of the actions of the obnoxiously loud Special Agent that Markus had found himself involved in something that would forever alter his life. But on the other, he felt great regret for how the large man had met his end. In his head, Markus recalled the emaciated body of McDermott lying in Lund’s lap, a smoking gun in her hand that she’d just unloaded at Holger. Markus shivered.

  “They never called me about a funeral,” he said, rubbing his eyes with dirty fingers.

  “There wasn’t one,” Lund responded bitterly. “Because none of it ever fucking happened. At least, that’s what they tried to convince me. But you and me—” She paused, catching Markus’s eyes. “We know better, don’t we?”

  He didn’t need to respond. Lund’s answer was written all over him, spelled in all the dirt and grime he’d accrued battling sleep for the last several months.

  “Nelson was awfully worried about you. He couldn’t stop saying your name.”

  The name of his friend lit up Markus's ears. He hadn’t spoken to Nelson since he’d left town. And though it pained him anytime he thought about it, Markus figured the old man was better off not knowing anything. The truth was too painful. “How is he?”

  Lund frowned. “He’s dead. You didn’t—oh, that’s right. No phone or any way to get in touch with you. Guess that’s what happens when you decide to take yourself off the grid.”

  Markus’s ears were starting to buzz. He looked around for something to drink and lamented when he found only empty ones. “How?”

  “Cancer,” she sighed. “He put up a good fight for what it’s worth.”

  His head pounded, a hammer striking the anvil of his skull with growing ferocity. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to drink?”

  “Actually—” Lund winked as she extended a covered cup. “I do.”

  Grabbing it and taking a big sip, Markus regretted he hadn’t checked first when the jolting kick of black coffee hit the back of his throat. He spewed it all over the ground, making his head feel worse. “What the hell—are you trying to kill me?”

  She snatched the cup back before he could toss it away. “What happened to you, Markus? You saved the world and even visited a different one. Couldn’t handle it?”

  “I’m doing just fine.” Markus coughed defiantly. “It’s just been a rough—”

  “Don’t bullshit me,” Lund reprimanded. “Look at you. For someone who was never a big drinker, you sure are polishing off bottles like no one’s business. So tell me, what happened to you?”

  A growl in his stomach reminded Markus that he hadn’t eaten in far too long. It was easier not to notice such things when he was drunk. “I left everything behind; quit my job, sold my apartment—even my car. I thought I’d start over, someplace new,” he drawled. “It seemed like a good plan after—everything that happened. But the dreams—they’re always following me. Alcohol, the numbness, is the only thing that gives me even a little peace.”

  Lund leaned in, smelling of unknown intent. “Dreams? Of what?”

  When Markus didn’t answer, Lund did it for him. “Of her.”

  “I may be a drunk,” Markus stammered as he rose unsteadily. Lund joined him. “But you didn’t track me here just to talk about Dalia, did you? There’s something else.”

  “I remember you having a quick wit.” Lund smiled, something that had looked good on her at one point. Now, it only suited a motive. “You are right. But first—” she paused, digging into her pockets and pulling out a white keycard. She handed it over to a confused Markus. “I booked a room at the hotel whose wall you’ve been passed out against; room 314. All the amenities. Go, shower, and meet me at the café across the street when you’re done.”

  Markus went to hand the card back. “I don’t need your—”

  Ignoring him, Lund started to walk away, turning her head just as she turned the corner. “Don’t take all day. And brush your teeth. I don’t want to sit downwind of you while I tell you how we may be able to get to Avalon. Especially with your breath stinking like a donkey’s ass.”

  It took Markus a moment of standing there by himself to filter her words through the haze of blurry vision and even murkier thoughts. But even then, he had to replay them several times before he was sure she’d said what he thought he’d heard. Avalon, the very mention of the word sent chills through his body, though he wasn’t immediately sure whether that was from fear—or excitement.

  Then, possessed by an inexplicable vigor, Markus hobbled up the steps into the hotel entrance and made it to the room number Lund had given him. He stepped into the room, turned the corner to the bathroom—and made it to the toilet just in time to vomit.

  Markus wouldn’t allow himself to spend long under the hot water. If he did, he’d never leave.

  Instead, taking only enough time to cleanse his body and detangle his hair, he put his dirty clothes back on before walking to the small eatery Lund had directed him to. Thankfully, they didn’t waste time as Markus’s belly, devoid of numbing drink, called out for sustenance. At the same time, his mind toggled all the options on an expansive menu that was savagely also too small. He was so hungry that he considered ordering one of everything, and it was with some difficulty, and a lot of disappointment, when he eventually settled on only three.

  Lund sat opposite him in the booth, watching Markus knife through a stack of powdered French toast. She wore a smirk that reminded him of McDermott’s. Thankfully, the delectable hangover food kept much of his attention, and Lund was gracious enough to wait until he’d finished.

  “You said something in your final statement to DSIS,” she said, producing a Manila folder from her bag and placing it in front of her. Markus saw a tumble of papers as the contents swished into spotty view. “One of the last things Holger said to you was that there was another way back to Avalon. Do you know if he found it?”

  Markus tried not to squirm in his seat. He’d never told anyone the truth, that Holger had somehow found a way back to his homeworld—and he wasn’t about to start now. “I don’t know. I told them everything I knew.”

&
nbsp; “Of course you did.” She nodded disingenuously.

  It was already getting untenable to keep playing coy with her. After all, interrogation is what she had been trained to do. “I can’t help you, Maj—” he attempted.

  “I already told you it’s not Major anymore,” she growled over him. “And I think you can help me. I just need to hear you admit that you know Holger made it back to Avalon. Then, I will tell you what I know.”

  Markus sighed as he wracked his head for a reason to hold the line. She knew—he could tell. Markus never expected anyone to come asking any more questions—and, even if they had, he thought he’d sunk low enough that they’d never find him. But here they were. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “You’re right, okay?” Markus threw up his arms. “He made it back. I don’t have any proof—it’s not like Holger and I are pen-pals from across realms—but I just know he did.”

  Heads turned and glared in their direction, reminding Markus they weren’t the only ones in the restaurant. Lund didn’t seem to care or notice, folding her fingers together on the table. “Thank you. Now, my turn. I believe I’ve found a way to Avalon.”

  Markus held back. “Go on.”

  Lund cleared her throat, making sure no one was eavesdropping before she spoke again. “There’s a tower not too far from here. It’s rumored to contain information that might lead us to some kind of passageway into Avalon.”

  Markus pressed on. “Are you going to tell me where this tower is?”

  “Come with me and see,” she replied—too casually.

  He thought about it, wishing he had a drink handy to make his deliberations easier. “It’s a wild theory. What proof do you have?”

  “Like you, it’s only a feeling.” She grinned and shrugged. “I could use a partner for the ride. Interested?”