Blood & Magic

Blood & Magic

INK CHRONICLES BOOK 1

George Barlow

For those who need to escape to another world from time to time and for Liz, for joining me in mine.

With infinite gratitude to Liz, Carolyn & Neil.

Edited by Elizabeth Phillips.

- Chapter 1 -

Decisions

“Choices are the hinges of destiny.”
- Edwin Markham

His wounded and bleeding body failing him, Mark propped himself up against the gate. There was no escape, nowhere left to run to. How had he let this happen, to him of all people? He had been ignorant for so long. Finally, he understood.

Dipping his finger in his own blood, Mark wrote on the stone pavement a message for those who would find him, a single word that had been both his obsession and his undoing. Finished, he withdrew his knife and forced the world into focus once again. For his next move to work, he would need to act quickly and without fear.

From the depths of the shadows, a pair of bright blue eyes stared out at him, unblinking. Mark smiled to the creature and, in a single fluid motion, spun the knife and plunged it deep into his own chest. There was the sound of his ribs splintering, footsteps rushing toward him and then… nothing.

One hour earlier…

- Chapter 2 -

Nightshift

“You're such a boring bastard,” Dixie said, taking another mouthful of canteen spaghetti with a noisy slurp and whip of tomato sauce. Henry replied with a familiar eyebrow raise, which was about the limit of emotion most people thought he could muster. Dixie smiled back, red sauce dripping down his chin.

“So what if I am?” Henry said. “Someone has to act as the responsible adult between the pair of us.”

Dixie wiped his face clean and opened his phone to check his reflection. Dixie was built for basketball, with the kind of high pitched whining voice that made him sound constantly outraged. He had joined the hospital the same week as Henry, both starting as junior biomedical scientists in the haematology department. Over time, and nobody could quite figure out how or why, Dixie had been gifted with the unfortunate title of being Henry’s best friend.

“Henry, you need to relax a little. Try new things,” Dixie said.

“I relax just fine, thank you.”

He didn't, but there was no point in admitting it. Henry remained adamant that he was fine how he was, at least, that is what he told himself. For the past two weeks, Dixie had been attempting, with ever decreasing hope, to get Henry to participate in the annual Byron-Day charity run. However, with the fear of looking like a giraffe on ice, Henry had repeatedly declined.

Taking another spoonful of what claimed to be moussaka, Henry found himself focusing on the mindless chatter of the doctors and nurses on the surrounding tables, trying to decode what each person thought of the others in their group and more importantly, if the others had any idea what their friends thought about them. It was a strange game Henry liked to play, an obsession almost, to watch the root of so much stress in his life.

“You've got that look on your face,” Dixie said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Distracted, caught up in your own little world. You've been zoned out for the last five minutes. Do you have any idea what I was talking about? It's not healthy, you know, to analyse everything. Now me, I just-”

“-Take the world, one mouthful of spaghetti at a time?” Henry said, as Dixie crammed more pasta into his mouth, reinforcing his resemblance of a hamster.

“I hate being on call,” Dixie said, “but you can't complain about the pay. You should go on the list.”

“I should.”

“And you should come down the gym with me, plenty of girls down there.”

“I should.”

“You shouldn't be wasting all your energy on her.”

“You're right.”

“I mean, you think about the time you spend flirting away, she's just playing with you. You know that, right?”

“You are one hundred percent correct, as always.”

Henry had pushed it too far. There was a pause as Dixie realised what was happening.