Through the Black Mirror

Blaise Ramsay

Description

"And it shall come, thy final day, when the last of the Witch Hunters cuts thy head from thy shoulders. The reign of the witch shall end when the Bishop’s cross runs red with blood…”


All Zayne Bishop wanted was to collect the money for the head of the latest witch he killed. Last in the Bishop line of Witch Hunters, Zayne was all that stood between the innocent and the creatures of nightmare. He could not have known the drunken man running into the bar screaming about his abducted daughter would be the tool of his downfall.


Finding himself the unfortunate victim of an ambush, Zayne faces the Grand Dark Witch. Prompted by an ancient prophecy, Carmellia hurls the Witch Hunter through the Black Mirror into the streets of San Francisco.


Nursed back to health by the handsome dhamphyre, Logan Myre, Zayne must fight for his life against a horde of witches and demons controlled by the very witch who threw him, half-dead, into another world.


As the search to return Zayne grows more dire, the new allies find there may be no easy way to get the Witch Hunter home. Unfortunately, being thrown through the mirror doesn’t offer Zayne safety from Carmellia’s influence as the witches are able to communicate across worlds through the mysterious Black Mirrors.


And one of them in this new world is just as dangerous.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Romance fantastique
• Bit-Lit
• Romance
• Romance Fantasy
• Paranormal
• Fiction
• Witch
• Witches
• Witchcraft

Informations

• Publié par: 4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
• Date de parution: 14 février 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 2
• EAN13: 9781644502075
• Langue: English

Extrait

Table o f Contents
Chapter 1
To Hu nt A Witch
Chapter 2
Rumble in the Bar
Chapter 3
The Mi ssing Girl
Chapter 4
Through the Bl ack Mirror
Chapter 5
First Brush with Technology
Chapter 6
Train Ride to the Below
Chapter 7
The Below
Chapter 8
My Shadow for Your Light
Chapter 9
Attacked by a Troll
Chapter 10
Across the Golden G ate Bridge
Chapter 11
Libra ry of Ages
Chapter 12
Slen der Demons
Chapter 13
Valakia’s Tentacles
Chapter 14
Baron’s Invitation
Chapter 15
Into the Dream
Chapter 16
Mahira
Chapter 17
Of the Plague and Pestile nce Demons
Chapter 18
Within the B lank Pages
Chapter 19
Arrival in Barcelona
Chapter 20
Sa cred Grove
Chapter 21
La Ro ca Village
Chapter 22
Vampire Masquerade
Chapter 23
Chamber in the Catacombs
Chapter 24
Hexes a nd Casters
Chapter 25
Sagra da Familia
Chapter 26
Beast Behind the Glass
Chapter 27
My Li fe for His
Chapter 28
“Finally, I Got to Kiss You”
Epilogue
About the Author





Through The Blac k Mirror
Copyright © 2021 Blaise Ramsay. All rights re served.


4 Horsemen Publication s, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Typeset by Sarah Ca sagrande
Edited by JM Paquette
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is book is meant as a reference guide. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All brands, quotes, and cited work respectfully belongs to the original rights holders and bear no affiliation to the authors or pu blisher.
Audio ISBN: 978-1-644 50-206-8
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-644 50-207-5
Print ISBN: 978-1-6445 0-208-2


Chapter 1
To Hu nt A Witch

Z ayne Bishop’s father always said he was born to hunt witches. Zayne remembered his father teaching him how to hold his heavy metal rifle when he was young. He never forgot the ornate runes carved into the deep black surface of its muzzle or the vines and leaves woven on the stock. The whistling sound of the arrows flying from the crossbow stayed with him into young adulthood.
After Zayne’s father died, his legacy fell to Zayne. All the weapons and duties laid upon him by generations of Witch Hunters becam e Zayne’s.
For the next six years, Zayne wandered the countryside chasing the next source of payment, hoping he might find the witch responsible for his father’s murder. It was a decision Zayne regretted every single time he landed himself in an awkward situation.
Much like this one.
Breath flew from Zayne’s lungs when the branch slammed into his chest, knocking him screaming through the air. He landed on his stomach wi th a thud.
Growling, he placed his hands on either side of his skull, eyes blinking multiple times against the blurring in his vision. In front of Zayne, the metal rifle lay only a few feet away.
Looking behind him, Zayne watched the hag bend over at her waist, tongue licking lips cracking under dark green lips. Sunken eyes the color of emeralds shone with a wicked delight at Zayne’s pathetic condition.
Sprigs flew every which way from the frazzled hair hidden benea th a hood.
In her right hand, she held a wand resembling a gnarled oak branch. At its handle, a purple gem filled with a liquid glowed each time the witch attacked. The Hunter didn’t know what it was, nor did he think he wanted to.
Zayne hated hunting woo d witches.
Once someone found themselves in their domain, the poor victim discovered captors who had every tree, root, and rock in the damn place at their disposal.
They moved fast and could summon wood spirits or call up a wolf or bear to back them up in case they needed it. It was rare, but sometimes they liked to screw around with their opponents by suspending them in the air with tree roots and tearing them apart. Other times, the witches impaled their prey one jab at a time, killing th em slowly.
Their screams carried for miles.
Loudly cackling, the witch raised her wand above her head. Below Zayne, the ground rumbled. Sounds of wood snapping and crackling rang out amid the pattering rain and thunder. Out of the dirt behind the witch, roots sprouted, undulating like crack ed snakes.
Give me a break , Zayn e thought.
On a rushed breath, he scurried across the debris of the forest floor toward the gun, grabbed it, and turned around while seated, sending off a shell in time to shatter one of the “fingers” before it struck him in the face.
Zayne cocked the barrel, freeing the spent round, lips drawn in a tight line as he prepared to fire another bullet. He was too late. The witch disappeared, reappearing with a branch as mangled as her wand. Zayne’s training had taught him what that meant. She planned o n running.
Another cackle rang out in the air. “So long, Witch Hunter!” she yelled from her spot on th e “broom.”
I don’t think so, Zayne thoug ht smugly.
In a single movement, the Hunter put his hands on the ground behind his head, thrust his entire body to get his feet underneath him, and grabbed the grappling hook from his belt.
He wrapped one end of the rope around the thick black riding gloves covering his hands to avoid getting cut, swirling the other end around. It whipped through the wind, creating a high-pitched whistling sound that continued when he threw it with enough strength to wrap around the back of the witch ’s branch.
Damn, that was n’t smart.
Zayne screamed when his feet left the ground. His body whipped and rolled, yet he hung on. Grunts and groans left his lips each time Zayne’s body struck a high pine or branch. At one point, he crashed into a bird’s nest, throwing feathers and sticks everywhere, including inside his mouth.
While the trees battered and knocked Zayne spinning, the witch looked back, asking if he enjoyed the ride or if he had a place she could drop him off. Zayne got sick of it and started looking for a chance to shove the smug bitch’s words back down her rott en throat.
Luck was on Zayne’s side—a tree with a fork grown into its higher roots came into view. He started counting to ten, waiting for the right time to plant his boots on the branches.
Both hands wrapped around the grappling wire gave Zayne the leverage he needed to pull the branch out from under the witch, sending her screaming and flailing her arms through the air, crashing into what sounded l ike a log.
Zayne thought he finally caught a break when he realized the flight was the only thing keeping him in the air. With it gone, all that he had left to do was fall screaming to the waiting ground, hitting every damn branch on the way down. Zayne landed on his back with a hard grunt. Gritting his teeth, Zayne squeezed his eyes shut a few times, opening them wide, wondering if he might have suffered a minor he ad injury.
Dizziness swirled around his skull. Still, Zayne found his feet and stalked toward the place where he saw the witch hit the ground. Like Zayne, she stumbled and faltered, her wand nowhere in sight.
“Hey,” Zayne said, raising the barrel of the gun. No emotion in his voice.
The witch turned on him, shaking her head, eyes blinking to get her footing. “Next time you steal someone’s kid, do me a favo r: don’t.”
The wood witch’s scream didn’t last long. A single bullet sang through the air, piercing her chest. Its power sent her body flying back into a thick trunk of a n earby oak.
Zayne’s father always told his son the best way to make sure a hunter killed a witch was to set her on fire. Zayne planned on doing that as soon as he collected the proof of the corpse. Removing the silver knife from its holster on his belt, Zayne took the time to saw the head from the body, placing it in a le ather bag.
The Hunter set the remains on fire with a combination of holy oil and a few sticks rubbed together. Roaring flames engulfed the body, sending a sickening green fog into the air. For good measure, Zayne tossed her wand on the flames. It exploded, intensifying the already str ong blaze.
One thing about witches that normal people who thought toying around with black magic didn’t understand had to do with how much rot set in once you sold your soul to the forces responsible. In all the years he hunted them, Zayne saw some of the most beautiful people warp and distort into monsters on a night where they drank too much beer.
“Finally. Now, all I have to do is find where I left that damn horse,” Zayne said, slung his gun over his shoulder, and turned to limp in the direction he last saw his horse.
In his hand, he carried the bag containing the wit