Dracula Hearts of Fire Book two of Dracula Hearts
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ACHAK CARRIED THE DEAD DEER, having drained its blood into the large black pot over a robust crackling fire. He was satisfied with himself and his deeds, looking forward to a future where no one could stand up to him. Achak cut out the animal’s heart, liver, and lungs with his curved boning knife and tossed it in as if making a statement. Nature didn’t have a chance with his supremacy over the elements. The organs joined others in the pot that was now half full. The wizard was tired from lack of sleep but determined to complete the spell before lying on his bed inside the wigwam. There was nothing more important than his work.

He had to search through a hundred pages of changing spells until he found one he considered suitable. Staring at the round domed wigwam and getting lost in his thoughts, he finally went to the Blood Book on the small antique table and gazed at its red pages with the black lettering. Each page contained over seven hundred spells that were rotated through, magically appearing and disappearing, showing only the enchantments possible with his level of wizardry. He knew that as his power was augmented, so would the number of spells that appeared. The sorcerer with the most potent spells always had an advantage. Once the enchantment was selected, he had to touch the page for it to remain. Depending on who stared into the tome, the knowledge released was different.

The more Achak delved into black magic, the more it consumed him. Once past the halfway point, there was no turning back, and unfortunately for him, he had just passed it. He may as well have tossed his soul into the nether regions because the result was the same. It would not be fun battling other evil entities for eternity when his spirit finally left his body. He would be sorry then, but it was already too late, or if his soul got black enough, perhaps he would enjoy battling the other devils.

A large raven landed on his left shoulder, squawking. He looked at its black plumage and big beak. It was a bird in which he had put some magic, and now it worked for him as a sentry. “I know I’m tired, bird; you don’t have to tell me. And yes, I’m careful with the ingredients.”

Although the wizard knew a lot about magic, he didn’t know as much as he thought. Achak was unaware that the caustic fumes from his spells were changing vampires worldwide. The vapors drove a few insane; others only slightly altered by augmenting their magic levels. Some were losing IQ points while others were being made more aggressive, and some were becoming more fertile. His caustic stew was changing the very nature of certain vampires.

The raven squawked once again. “You are going to make me make a mistake if you continue. Now shut your beak!”

Dark magic sometimes had a way of taking on a life of its own. Achak’s black magic was slowly accumulating like centuries of pollution. Some of it intensified as it took to the wind, combining with the elements in the air. It had no effect whatsoever on humans, but vampires gradually were affected by the remnants of the black magic spewed. Winds carried it for thousands of miles, and as its levels increased, the consequences were unpredictable. This particular spell was meant to lure a red sheriff with high levels of magical ability; it was intended to pull as much magical essence out of a sheriff as possible.

The bird flew on top of the wigwam and watched, like a teacher watching a student with a science project, hoping that the pupil wouldn’t blow himself up. He tore a page out of the book as required by the spell but ended up with a paper cut. Where one page had been in the book, another appeared. Crumpling the red paper, he threw it into the pot as the spell required. However, a drop of his blood also fell into the pot. An attempt was made to stop that single drop from falling, but it was too late. A small puff of gray smoke combined with the other ingredients.

“Oh no, all that work lost! No, no, no.” The raven shook its head as if to say that it had warned him. “I know it’s my fault. It’s too late now. Still, it could work?” But the wizard knew that he was fooling himself. It would be some kind of spell but a different one. He upset the pot and all its contents.

Blood-red snowflakes floated down from the sky. They were pretty enough as they descended but turned to blood as soon as they touched something. The area became saturated in blood. Achak stood bloodied and angry at himself, but there was nothing that he could do about it now. He would have to start the process all over again. All that time and effort was wasted. He entered the wigwam and tossed and turned for hours until he finally went to sleep.