At the Behest of the Dead by Timothy W. Long Read Free Book Online Page A

wouldn’t split in wet weather. The device came from a solid maple branch that was too large to wrap my hand around. There was a solid groove around the center where a hanging rope rubbed it raw over a couple of years of use. Those witches back then refused to hide their talents and paid the ultimate price. We have come a long way since then but this was a very rare piece. Not just any hunk of wood will do. It has to meet certain requirements.
    Then I grabbed my leather biker jacket, goggles, and motorcycle rider spiked helmet.
    Why the helmet? Because I’m a warlock and it looks badass.
    The sky was far from clear. I didn’t see a single star in the sky. The grey was so deep it had layers. Rain, clouds , and lack of light were going to make for a very cold and dismal flight into town.
    I stumbled over a new molehill and nearly went down. It would be a sad state of affairs if I fell and impaled myself on my own tines. A chuckle greeted me from the woods that hung over the back of my house. They provided a deep canopy of green privacy – except for some of my visitors.
    “That you Frank?” I called
    A hawk’s thrilling call answered
    “Where you going, crazy man?” he called. A shape fell out of the tallest tree, wingspan stretched so wide I thought it was a glider at first.
    Frank ‘Two-Feathers’ Black took form before the bird could land. Instead of the talons he had sported a few seconds ago , he landed on two very human feet. The rest of his body became a hazy black blur as he took shape. Before me stood a naked man with long hair that swept his back, some of it falling in front in a perfect cut that looked like he just stepped out of a western.
    “Hey Frank.” I greeted and leaned over to draw a quick hex on the little molehill I’d nearly tripped over. Nothing against the mole, he was just doing his job, which seemed to be making my life suck every time I t ried to mow this mess of a backyard. I just put a little dissuasion on his latest home so he would go burrow around the green belt.
    “Cursing the earth. What will you white men do next?”
    “Gee Frank, I don’t know, maybe sell you some fire water.”
    He laughed as if that was the funniest thing he had ever heard and came to stand beside me. Frank was slim and had grey hair at his temples. His skin was a honeyed brown that looked like he had an all year tan. I bet he never burned. Leave me in the sun for five minutes and I would sell my soul for a tube of aloe. I doubt anyone would take a tanned warlock serious anyway. What next? A supermodel witch with piercing blue eyes and a pair of fake Victoria’s Secret Angel wings? I thought of Glenda and sent the memory back where it belonged.
    He was a Makah, an old tribe that settled along the banks of the Columbia River over 3,800 years ago. They were excellent mariners that ranged up and down the coast of the Pacific Northwest. Once a large and proud tribe, there numbers had been reduced to under a thousand by centuries of ‘progress.’
    Frank had told me many tales of his youth over the years, including how he came to be a changer. It was an interesting story that combined him soul searching, smoking large amounts of hallucinogens, and finding his inner spirit animal. It was all bullshit. Changers just were. They didn’t learn it. Like witchcraft, you were either born with the ability or you weren’t.
    There were quite a few natural changers in the world , but most of them kept their secret safe for obvious reasons. Why go out of your way to tell people you are a freak of nature, able to assume an animal form whenever you choose?
    When we came out, so did the changers , but I can assure you that there are stranger things in the world than our races.
    “Looks like you are going out to raise hell. What has you so worked up?”
    “Murders in Seattle. I’m gonna go poke around.”
    “Ouch. When you poke around bad things happen. They have to call in entire fire departments. Stock markets crumble.