Raging Inferno (Delphine Rising Book 1), page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Raging Inferno
Delphine Rising Book One
Angela Sanders
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgements and Dedications
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 Angela Sanders
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used simply for the purposes of furthering the storyline and do not represent the institutions or places of business in any way. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or used for fictional purposes.
Chapter 1
Abigail Marie Blanque, at least I believe that’s my name. Flashes of my life blink in my mind’s eye: my mom, sister and I smiling. Flash—Mom shouting my full name to get my attention, her eyes glowing a harsh shade of green. She looks angry. I look like my mom: jet black hair, with eyes the color of emeralds, only I’m much taller. And my sweet, sister—
“Aaagh!” I scream out in pain.
Is someone jabbing needles in my head?
My mind’s so foggy and my body feels as if it’s being roasted alive from the inside. Pain. All I feel is agonizing pain, but why? My mind is a jumbled mess, not allowing me to access all of my memories; it’s too excruciating.
My hands feel something solid; what used to be tile is now crumbled and hot to the touch. The floor beneath me is like hot charcoal, torching my clothes and burning into my skin, yet there’s no fire dancing across my fingertips. This doesn’t make sense. The acrid smell of burnt hair engulfs my nose.
Yeah, I’m sure fire did that and I can’t wait to see the results. If I’m not dead, I’m gonna be so pissed.
Seriously. Why am I on this dreadful floor, unable to move? What’s that horrific smell, other than my hair? Dear God… am I dead? Am I in Hell?
All of a sudden, darkness overwhelms my senses and ravages my soul. My body feels as if it’s being ripped to shreds.
I must be in Hell…
It’s unbearable; a fire like I’ve never felt before consumes me. An unseen force restrains my body. All I can see is raven hair whipping across my face as unnatural gusts of wind bellow through what could only be described as an aboveground tomb of some sort.
Frantic, I take in my environment, searching for my captor. I’m lying on a concrete slab where a faceless, dark figure is elevated above me, clad in a crimson robe, chanting a spell in an unknown, ancient language. The chanting becomes louder as blue flames devour my entire being, yet do not burn my flesh. The intensity grows as does the fiery agony. The flames elevate to monstrous levels, licking the ornate, gold-encrusted ceiling.
I have to see his face. What is this evil and why is he doing this to me?
I twist and turn, screaming, trying to catch a glimpse of this monster’s face. Hollow, black eyes and a menacing sneer meet my jade green stare.
“Who the hell?” I croak.
CRACK!!
A sinister laugh devours my mind, making my head want to explode into a million pieces. And as quickly as it began, it is over.
I’m back, but how the hell did I get here?
I feebly attempted to move around and get a feel for my surroundings. After carefully peeling my eyes open, I realized I was in what used to be my family’s magic shop, Mystical Magic. It had been destroyed; everything—gone. Flashes of my life began to come and go. My parents, my childhood… Daddy, he was gone. My little sister, Elizabeth, and I playing in the backyard. Daddy bouncing us on his knee; my straight, black hair swinging around my face, while Liz’s dark brown curls bounced around her shoulders, and Mamma scolding him for spoiling us too much. It was just the three of us now: Mamma, Sis and me.
I gasped. “I’m a witch. Not just any witch, but from a long line of powerful, New Orleans witches.”
How could this happen? Who? Why can’t I get up? Better yet, why can’t I access my magic? Oh hell… Sirens? There must be a fire. How long have I been here? I need to move.
My only thought was the priceless heirlooms upstairs: my family’s Book of Shadows and great- great-grandmother’s talisman, said to hold untamed magic. No one dared touch the magic within, as it was passed down through generations. Anyone who attempted had gone mad and eventually met a painful, untimely death.
Our family had been entrusted to keep the talisman safe from those who wished to do harm or unlock the evil spirit who resided within the stone. The magic was alluring to those who were power hungry and had drifted away from the ancestors into dark, malevolent magic. Some said they’d heard their names whispered from the talisman, as to lure them into the stone itself. I wasn’t sure how much I believed of those stories, but I knew it was dangerous and needed to be protected from others.
“I have to be careful when handling the talisman. It’s up to me now. Wherever Mamma and Elizabeth are, I hope they’re safe,” I whispered to myself nervously.
Now is not the time to think about repercussions. I need to act quickly. If only I could get my stupid body to cooperate. Yes, I’ve been scorched from the inside out, but hey… I’m still breathing. That’s a plus. All my limbs are accounted for, another plus. Time to put on my big girl panties and move my ass. I’m a freakin’ witch. What’s a little pain? Right?
“If that’s not my new mantra of the week. Son of a—” I yelped in agony.
With that, I slowly tried to lift my elbows, pushing my weight up to get a better assessment of the damage around me, and a better look at what was left of the raging inferno that had become my freakin’ body.
This is ridiculous.
By the ancestors! It’s worse than I thought.
What used to be a beautiful, majestic place of peace was nothing but a broken shell. Tears stung my already burning eyes as I glanced over generations of life gone in an instant.
How? I have no idea, but I’m damn sure gonna find out.
With no time to mourn the loss of the shop, I desperately tried to get to the attic before the fire department and EMS arrived. All of a sudden, searing pain shot through my abdomen and legs. Every move felt like the fires of hell had engulfed me once more.
“What the hell? Not now!” I growled.
I pushed through the pain onto my knees, then crawled through charred debris and smoldering embers to what used to be the attic door with only moonlight guiding my way. I finally reached the first landing of the stairs and sat on my butt, trying to catch my breath. When I finally took a good look around, I recognized half of Magazine Street was immersed in flames; New Orleans history and the tiny shops and cafés I’d grown up in were gone forever. Unshed tears I’d been trying to rein in streamed down my face as I began to sob, not fully understanding what was going on around me or why.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt, preparing for more self-talk.
Now’s not the time for pity parties. Get up those damn stairs and save your family’s heirlooms…and yourself for that matter. You can cry tomorrow.
“Geez, Miss Crazy Pants, just get up the stairs,” I said, not believing I was actually talking to myself again.
Pain radiated down my legs as I pushed myself up each step. The attic was mostly untouched by fire, with the exception of the entryway. Old paintings and boxes of inventory near the main office were black, soaked with water and soot from the sprinkler system. Sparks of florescent lighting were flickering on and off.
I have to find a flashlight and get the hell out of here. These steps could give way at any moment. If I don’t get my hands on grandmother’s talisman and our Book of Shadows, this was all for nothing.
I shuffled around the main office, searching the old metal desk for a flashlight. I knew exactly where the heirlooms were, but it wouldn’t do a bit of good if I couldn’t see to get them. Not to mention, the smoke from burning buildings throughout Magazine Street was beginning to permeate the air, burning my eyes, nose and throat.
“Finally!” I squeale d, after locating a pocket flashlight in the bottom drawer.
I crawled, dragging myself over to the far corner of the attic, past the ruined altar, to my family’s trunk. With bated breath, I cracked the lid open and heard a faint whisper, “Abigail.” I jumped back, kicking. My now cat-like eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
Could it be the voice of my great-great-grandmother, Marie Delphine LaLaurie? That woman was evil, not just evil, but evil incarnate! Impossible…
Chapter 2
Nearly hyperventilating, I knew I had to find my center in order to locate my magic. Now was not the time to panic. The voice could be a product of my recent trauma, nothing more. Yes, others had mentioned hearing whispers, but no—just no. It couldn’t be. If the evil spirit of Marie Delphine could whisper through the talisman’s magic, that would be even more disastrous than anyone could have ever thought possible. No other family member had lived to tell the tale if the magic in Marie’s talisman was unleashed.
“God help us all,” I breathed.
I sat on the floor, cross-legged, letting my hands rest on my knees, palms up. I inhaled deep breaths, and focused on clearing the air around me to rid the area of smoke. I felt the familiar sensation of my magic warming me from the inside, a healing balm to my mind, body and soul. It pushed forth throughout my body until my palms began to glow a bright yellow hue and the smoke began to clear. At last, I could feel my center; I was whole.
With renewed strength, I stood and moved toward the trunk once more. This time, I wasn’t afraid. I had my power, the power of the ancestors to guide me. I would not be tempted by the talisman like so many before me. As I lifted the top of the old, wooden trunk, I grabbed our Book of Shadows first. Then I heard it again: a husky, yet feminine voice—“Abigail”—much louder than before, as if calling from the grave. A chill ran down my spine with a sense of foreboding. I snatched a purple, crushed velvet sac and slipped the talisman inside, drawing the strings together.
I dashed toward the attic stairs, heirlooms in tow as a wave of dizziness slammed into my consciousness. Blackness descended upon my vision, in and out at first, then nothingness.
***
I opened my eyes to a scene I wasn’t familiar with. I was in New Orleans, but definitely not present day.
“What in the actual hell? Could this day get any worse?” I said under my breath.
Horse-drawn carriages on cobblestone roads? Women dressed in elaborate, puffy dresses with strange hats? Men dressed in what looked like coattails and top hats? It was hard to see everything from a distance, but I was definitely in coo-coo town. Then I looked down…
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I screeched. I was dressed in nineteenth century clothing and jewels fit for a queen.
A freakin’ corset? Whose boobs are these? Um, these are not my hands and this is not my body. I’m in the Twilight Zone.
The dress was maroon with vertical golden stripes, hugging my—not my—corset-drawn waistline with a thick, gold ribbon of sorts draped and tied at the waste. The top portion was decorated with ruby-looking jewels just above alien breasts that belonged to someone else. Who? I have no idea. A gaudy, ruby necklace with delicately inlaid diamonds was perched upon the intruder body’s collarbone.
Whoever this person is, she has a ridiculous obsession with rubies. Wait… My voice—what’s wrong with my voice? I don’t even sound like myself.
I grasped my throat just as a young, blonde woman dressed in a beautiful, glimmering teal dress, with a gorgeous golden broach settled at her neckline, walked my way. “Good day, Madame LaLaurie. Are you feeling well?” she asked, as concern etched her striking blue eyes.
“Um…”
What do I say? How do I act? She thinks I’m my great-great-grandmother!
I’m not the fainting, dramatic type, but at that very moment, I could’ve passed the hell out or fainted like Aunt Pittypat from Gone with the Wind.
This cannot be happening.
I did my best to gather my wits about me in order to come up with an appropriate response. “Why, yes. It’s just the heat. It’s sweltering today and I’ve spent too much time outdoors. I must get inside and lie down,” I said, hoping I was convincing enough for this woman to walk away.
“Well then. You must go and rest. We wouldn’t want you sick from heat exhaustion, or worse. I’ll walk you to your door. You look pale, Marie. Is there anything I can do to help, darling?”
Well, crap balls! Not so easy to get rid of. At least she’s guiding me “home.” Then what?
“Thank you, dear. That would be lovely,” I lied.
It’s not like I can ask for her name. She obviously knows who I—I mean the wicked witch of New Orleans is, and they’re obviously well acquainted. Oh, this could end badly…
As we walked toward the mansion on Royal Street, I recognized it immediately and my heart skipped a beat, then started thundering loudly in my chest and echoed in my eardrums. I wondered if she could hear it. That house was the place of nightmares, of horrors unimaginable—unspeakable! I didn’t want to walk through the door for fear of what I might see. Of what might be waiting for me inside. I wondered if that woman knew Marie Delphine was a blood witch who tortured innocents, mutilating their bodies, and stored their innards for sick, twisted pleasure and dark magic. She was a murderer!
The closer we walked toward the door, the weaker my legs became. It felt like I was being led to my death—powerless. I began to sink to the ground, breathing heavily as tears streamed down my face. The young woman stooped beside me and tried her best to catch my attention, but all I could do was stare at the door. My eyes were blank and unfocused.
I’m really going to faint.
“Marie!” I heard her shouting, but it seemed muffled over the loud thump of my heart.
“It’s me, Juliette Lafontaine. Can you hear me?” she asked, as she gently grabbed my shoulders.
“I think the sun has done you in for the day. Maybe I should call on the doctor at once.”
As sweat poured down my back, I finally met her gaze and attempted to speak. “I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down. Help me up, will you?” I asked with a scratchy, foreign voice.
I instantly saw relief wash over Juliette’s face as she helped me to my feet. I slowly launched into a death march toward that dreaded door.
It’s now or never. Obviously I’m here for a reason and I have to face what’s in there. I can’t let fear override what could possibly be my only way back home.
When we made it to the door of the chamber of evil, I looked into Juliette’s eyes and told her I’d be fine. I could make it from there; no need to fuss over me any more than necessary. She hesitantly took a step back, worry stretched across her face. With a small smile, she said, “If you must, but I’m only around the corner if you need me.”
I bid her goodbye and with an unsteady hand, grasped the door handle; a steady pull of magic thrummed through my veins as I turned the knob. It wasn’t my magic; it felt dark, dirty and tainted. I gulped down my fear, took a step over the threshold and closed the door behind me.
Well, she had expensive taste, that was for sure, but at what cost? My eyes traveled past the crystal chandelier in the grand foyer into an opulent sitting room, decorated with the most ornate furniture I’d ever seen. Another extravagant, crystal chandelier hovered from the high ceiling and the walls were decorated in what seemed to be painted, green-tinted, hand carved crown molding, giving the room an even more luxurious appeal. A huge, expensive-looking, Persian rug with carefully designed floral patterns, each vine weaving in and out of an assortment of hand-sewn petals around the edges, stretched over most of the expansive room. A fluffy sofa, three love seats and several Victorian high-back chairs, with equally luxurious throw pillows etched in gold trim, lined them perfectly. The furniture was spread evenly throughout the room, giving it an almost inviting feel. An ornate fireplace stood against the far wall; its black painted mantel looked like something you’d see in a renovated Victorian home, only this was the real thing. And the windows: floor to ceiling with red and gold-lined velvet drapes, graceful, yet elegantly designed, adorning each of them. I stood at the entrance with my mouth gaping open.
