Every Witch Way But Dead Read online

  He couldn’t go to Lenora and Walt like this. The old Victor was dead. The new Victor was…not something he wanted to be.

  In the torn sod and scattered dirt of what had been his grave, he tried to find answers.

  Perhaps in reality he wasn’t here at all. Perhaps he was actually in some insane asylum, cloaked in a straightjacket while staring at some featureless wall. Could he be experiencing pure insanity at its highest delusional form?

  But the answer was already at hand, as if it had been ingrained into the fabric of his new mind.

  Not insanity… Death.

  And death can put some changes on a body, brother.

  He walked, amazed at how easy the movement came to him.

  He almost glided above the ground.

  He used to be a physician. He knew the human body. Fact: The brain needs blood and oxygen to stay alive. Yet he felt no blood coursing through his veins. He looked at the backs of his hands in the moonlight as he glided through the cemetery toward the destination that pulled him.

  His hands were dirty from his grave. He rubbed the dirt and clay from them. The backs of his hands were completely smooth. In a quick series of motions he jerked the threadbare, soiled suit jacket from his body and let it fall to the ground as he walked. He pulled the tattered sleeves of his shirt upward, the cuff buttons popping off to glint in the frozen turf.

  He turned the undersides of his forearms to the pale moon. There again, smooth. In his previous life there used to be a network of protruding veins through which oxygen-rich blood flowed. The wind pushed at Victor, blowing his sleeves until they flapped against his upper arms. As he strode onward, he scrutinized the moonlit world.

  There were patches of snow here and there among the gravestones and monuments. The massive trees lining this access road on which he traveled were completely stripped of foliage. The grave robbers had worn coats. It must be cold out, yet he felt no sting from the wind that blew the branches overhead. They swayed back and forth in a rattling, bone-dance melody.

  Victor knew he’d died in the springtime. It was cold now. Winter. He’d been in the grave nearly a year.

  Victor halted. The wrought iron gates of the cemetery stood before him, a hundred feet away. The wind caused the gate to slam shut and open. Evidently the grave robbers hadn’t taken the time to secure the latch. The sharpened heads adorning the iron shafts in the gate looked like an arsenal of spears. But he hadn’t stopped to observe the motion and fine detail of the gate.

  Tobias had said something when they brought Victor to the hospital. They would remove…

  Victor’s pale hands flew to his shirt. He whipped the ragged tie from around his neck. He grasped the decayed material that was his shirt and yanked. Buttons popped off as he ripped his shirt open to expose his bare chest to the moonlight.

  He stared at his chest. A raised scar ran from his clavicle to his navel. He saw no signs of a heart beating within his breast. Desperately, he felt for the carotid artery in his neck. Nothing. No pulse. They’d sliced him open and taken his heart and God knew what else.

  What was he?

  This time, he had an answer.

  He was something that did not belong in the world.

  Monster.

  He clenched his fists and raised them to the leering moon, so bright overhead.

  “No!”

  This couldn’t have happened. He couldn’t be here like this. Imagine Lenora and Walt’s revulsion and horror if they ever saw him. He should be nothing. This should be the body of a man dead and buried in a grave.

  “No…!”

  How could he go to Lenora and Walt as a monster? They would shun him. They would be terrified and confused, and it might drive them insane.

  What good was he?

  Tobias had taken his heart and some other organs. But he had said that the stomach was essential…so they must have left it in.

  The instinctive drive to feed that he’d felt earlier had to be linked to the way this new—old—body processed food. Victor raised his fists and cursed Tobias.

  He knew what he had to do.

  And it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  Past, present or future, a man is a man. The beast never changes.

  Evolving Man

  © 2007 Bonnie Dee

  You think men have changed over the centuries? Forget about it! Scratch the surface of any twenty-first century male and you’ll find a cock-wielding caveman underneath.

  In this time travel comedy, three roommates discover the truth about men as each becomes involved with a special lover. The friends also learn a little about themselves. Skeptic Chrissy sets her logic aside and allows her libido to run free with a primitive barbarian named Gareth. Scientist Lila experiences the testosterone hidden in her geeky cyber-buddy, Zach. Free-spirited Taylor brings sexuality and fun into the life of John, a repressed businessman from the future.

  As they unravel the tangled knot transporting people through time creates, the women all come to realize a man is a man. The beast never changes.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Evolving Man:

  “I’ve taken it a step further than simply viewing moments in time. Not only can my machine show images in time, but it can literally ‘capture’ a frame and materialize a figure contained in it in the flesh. Right here in this booth.”

  “Oh, I get it. Like in Star Trek. ‘Beam me up, Scottie’.” Taylor laughed. “It’s amazing, Lila.”

  “Yes, just like Star Trek.” Lila’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  On the screen, the marauding Vikings anchored ship and rowed small skiffs toward land. Lila fast-forwarded with a click of the mouse, making the boats race across the water. She slowed the scene again, and the men climbed out of the boats to splash through the shallows toward the beach.

  The sailors were tall and muscular, dressed in hide shirts and leggings, their faces almost hidden behind full beards and moustaches. Long, blond hair flowed from beneath their helmets. The Norse warriors brandished swords, pikes and other assorted pointy things as they charged onto the pebbled shore.

  Waiting to meet the assault was a much smaller group of men, dressed in fur and leather hides. Remembering a little history, Chrissy guessed they were northern European or Briton villagers facing the marauders. The obvious leader of the defending army was taller and bulkier than his men. His shoulders and chest strained his deer-hide jerkin. Black hair was caught back in a leather thong at the nape of his neck. White teeth flashed against tan skin as he shouted encouragement to the other men, most of whom seemed on the verge of breaking and running before the attacking Vikings. The leader held his sword high and urged his men forward.

  Although the moving picture was silent, Chrissy could imagine the man’s cries to defend the village and the women and children. She felt sorry for the young leader, in charge of a timid group of fishermen with lame-looking weapons, facing a pack of huge, fierce Norsemen.

  The two sides clashed. The fishing folk were definitely outmatched by the invaders. Chrissy cringed as limbs flew and blood spurted.

  “Nasty,” Taylor murmured. “But, man, that guy’s kind of hot.” She pointed to one of the Norsemen with flowing gold locks and bared teeth.

  Lila frowned and froze the scene. “Typical, Taylor, I’m talking about assembling a think tank to solve the world’s problems and you’re ogling the men.”

  “No harm in looking.” She shrugged, tossing back her curly, blonde hair.

  Chrissy stared at the frozen image of the battle. It was crystal clear down to the details of sunlight glinting off the sharp edges of weapons and blood welling from an open wound. Despite her disbelief, she was intrigued at the prospect of a time-traveling think tank. “How would you communicate with them? Da Vinci didn’t speak English, and I’m sure if you talked to one of these guys,” she nodded at the screen, “you’d get some incomprehensible dead language.”

  “Ah.” Lila went to her work table and came back with an ear-piece much like a hearing aid.
“I’ve also invented this translating device. It works by reading thought patterns and deciphering them into words the listener understands, rather than translating one language into another. Cool, huh?” Lila beamed, pleased with her own cleverness.

  Chrissy stared, feeling terribly guilty she hadn’t even noticed her friend was cracking up. Lila spent days holed up here alone on the third floor of the house in her attic workshop. Her friends had always thought of her as an innovative genius with her many, ongoing experiments and inventions, but clearly her train had derailed.

  Chrissy looked from her insane friend’s exultant face to the frozen picture on the screen. The Viking leader and the head defender of the soil were engaged in combat, swords poised ready to thrust. Their mouths were open, shouting. Blood and sweat streaked their bearded faces. The charge of testosterone in the air was almost palpable, and she was embarrassed to feel her crotch tighten simply from staring at the image of the two primitive warriors.

  “Well, it’s an amazing idea. I can see you’ve worked hard on it.”

  “So, exactly how would you do it?” Taylor traced a finger over the Viking seaman’s bulging biceps. “I mean, actually pick one and bring him to life?”

  “It’s like computer animation,” Lila explained. “You choose the figure you want to work with, then, instead of manipulating the image as you would in movie making, you press this button and bring him to this moment in time. Your Star Trek analogy actually isn’t that far off the mark. Basically we’re deconstructing molecules and reassembling them here.”

  “Very cool.” Taylor nodded as if it made perfect sense.

  Lila did a point and click thing with her mouse and soon the dark-haired barbarian was outlined in red. “See? I’ve ‘cut him out of the picture’, so to speak. He’s the target now.”

  Chrissy decided it was time to break the spell. The only way she was going to reach Lila’s addled brain was to demonstrate that the machine didn’t work. “Then you’d press this button?” She reached out and pushed a black button on the left side of the control panel.

  “No! Chrissy, don’t!” Lila yelled, grabbing at her wrist.

  There was a high-pitched, whining sound and the air shimmered then became as opaque as a dark cloud. Chrissy actually felt a change in the density of space around them, a thickening that made the air almost palpable. Suddenly an extra body crowded into the booth with the three women. Chrissy was pressed up against solid muscle, hot, sweaty skin and rank, half-cured animal hides.

  The big, bearded man was still roaring his battle cry. Momentum brought his arm down with a mighty slice of his sword, right past Taylor’s face. The sword cleaved the monitor screen in two, sending jagged glass shards and electric sparks flying.

  All of the women screamed and scrambled to get away. The barbarian bellowed and drew his sword out of the wreckage of the monitor.

  As she stumbled from the booth, fighting to keep her balance and run away at the same time, Chrissy caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes.

  They were wide and confused and they zeroed in on her. He lunged and grabbed her wrist, holding her fast in his powerful grip while yelling something in a language that sounded like pebbles being ground in a cement mixer.

  Chrissy screamed at the top of her lungs, a piercing, fire engine wail.

  The man dropped her wrist immediately.

  She fled across the room.

  The barbarian raised his sword, knocking the control panel and sending it crashing onto the floor. He backed out of the booth, holding the sword up in front of him and turning in a slow circle, assessing the room around him.

  Shrieking, Taylor ran out the door and clattered down the stairs.

  Lila froze near the open door, holding her hands up in a surrendering posture.

  Chrissy sidled over to stand shoulder to shoulder with her. It was imperative they didn’t let this guy out of the room. She pictured the barbarian hacking his way through the city, maiming pedestrians and stabbing shopkeepers, probably getting run over by a car or shot by the police. They must contain and calm him then send him back where he came from.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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