Witch Clan: Warriors!, John Stormm [books to read in your 20s female TXT] 📗

to help him save the lives, or afterlives of the people he was called upon to help. He wasn’t so alone. Saturday night came and Shabriri stood again at the foot of his bed.

“You’ve done well,” the Sidhe Master said.

“I did the right things and passed the tests?” he asked.

“There was no real right or wrong in your tests,” the Master said. “They were tests to see whether you would draw upon your power or fold within yourself. Truly, I never expected you to care so much about these creatures as you have done. You found the power within yourself to deal with events as you’ve faced them, and it did not unhinge you.”

“Unhinge?” he asked.

“It didn’t drive you insane,” Shabriri supplied. “It seems your human half has lent you a facet of strength we don’t share in Sidhe realms. I will be leaving you for a short while to study a bit more on this as it will be important in your future lessons. But, I believe I owe you a treat my little witch, a night of flight. You will need to dress for this. I can’t have you getting sick on us, now can I?”

Johnny dressed in his jeans, hooded sweater and sneakers and then followed the mysterious Sidhe to the alley beyond his play area in the backyard. A single light bulb over a garage door lit the alleyway near his backyard. Shabriri turned from him, lifted his arms and then faded from sight.

The sense of a friendly presence on the wind, or maybe it was the wind, caressed his face and whispered its secrets in his ears. Lifting his own arms, he began to rise like a kite on a string. Leaning into the wind, he moved forward up the alley towards the street. For over fifty yards he sailed up the alley at a height of about six feet and landed lightly just before the corner.

"If you don't come up with some money, I'll beat your damned brains out with this pipe," came a man's snarling voice from the bushes near the corner.

"I haven't got any money," insisted another male voice.

"Don't tell me that," the first voice growled. "You just got paid yesterday."

"I paid the rent with that," the man said.

"Then give me what's left and I'll let you live," the first voice rasped.

"Leave him alone," Johnny roared indignantly, "and I'll let you live."

"Who said that?" the snarler demanded.

"A ghost," Johnny said, in a moment of inspiration and began rising into the night breeze and floating over the bushes towards the voices.

"I'll make you a ghost, kid," the man insisted. "Now get outta here."

As the street lamp on the corner cast his shadow over the two men struggling in the lawn near the hedges, the mugger looked up at him and his eyes grew wide.

"Holy shit," the man exclaimed, dropping his weapon and bolting for safety down the street. The man on the ground quickly found his feet, did a double take at him through the glare of the street lamp and dashed back into his house, slamming the door shut. Johnny laughed in exhilaration and flew after the running man, quickly overtaking him.

"I've come for your soul, thief," he declared mockingly.

The man screamed in terror and ducked into a yard and over a low fence. This won't do at all if he attacks someone else in their yards or homes. He kept himself at about ten feet from the ground so he could clear fences and duck the phone and power lines. He also didn't want to be in the man's easy reach or he might figure that someone so solid could not really be a ghost.

"Trespasser," he called out in his most spooky rasping voice. "I have come for your evil soul before you can claim another victim. You can't escape me. Only Jesus can save you from me, and he doesn't like you either." The man glanced at him over his shoulder and tumbled over a tricycle in the shadowy backyard.

"Oh Jesus," the man pleaded desperately from his knees, "I swear I'll never rob another soul as long as I live and if you let me live I promise I'll go to church and be the best Christian man in the city. Please give me another chance to make right."

From deep in his shadowed hood Johnny smiled and looked up to the stars and spread his arms wide, pretending to argue with a voice only he could hear.

"What is THIS?" he bellowed at the stars. "You actually believe this filthy sinner?"

"Oh, thank you Lord," the man exclaimed in relief. "Don't let this demon take my soul to Hell. I'm a changed man. I will be the poor man's greatest friend. You just watch me." Johnny turned from the stars and lowered a few feet towards the man, pointing at him.

"Oh, you WILL be," he said in his most menacing voice. "I'll be watching you. If I see you cause so much as a frown on an innocent soul again, you will be MINE. Now go home and pray for your miserable salvation." Johnny looked up again and shot into the night sky out of view of the man and watched him scrambling over the fence for the street.

He felt so good. A little bit wicked for deceiving that wretch, but good. He exulted in the cool night air and toured the city for a while, enjoying the special freedom he had. Below him, a man staggered out of Norwell's Tavern into the street and was set upon by a belligerent stray dog. Johnny swooped out of the sky, howling with glee at the astonished pair. The yelping mutt scurried up the street with his tail tucked as the sobering drunk watched after them. It seemed that this would be a night that more than just he would remember.

Johnny rose to a height of about twenty feet or so. Now and again he touched down on the pavement and bounded into the air to be lofted on the gentle breeze as if he were light as a balloon. He stayed pretty much in familiar neighborhood and was floating down Augusta Street when a girl he knew from school called out to him from an open second floor window.

"I know you," she said. "You're Johnny from Mr. Chaika's class. I must like you better than I thought."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, lowering himself to the porch roof outside of her window. It was amazing how nonchalant she behaved about seeing one of her classmates flying by her house.

"I'm having one of my romantic dreams," she explained, "and you come flying out of the night sky to see me. I always thought you were an okay kid, but since I'm dreaming about you like this, I think it's telling me that I'm obviously having deeper feelings."

"Do you always interpret your dreams?" he asked.

"Only the ones I can remember," she said. "Sometimes my mom and I will talk about our dreams. My dad thinks it's all silly, but mom says that it shows the real you because in your dreams, you can be anybody or anything your heart desires. So, I'm dreaming about you."

"Have you ever dreamed about me before?" he asked.

"I think once I dreamed we were dancing together at a Valentine's Day party at school," she said, "but then you turned into someone else and I started to have a different dream. I never knew how it was going to turn out"

"My grandma would say that's a 'passing interest,'" he said.

"Your grandmother interprets dreams too?" she asked.

"Every morning at breakfast," he replied. "She says that's when we're still most likely to remember them."

"Do you believe in dreams?" she asked.

"I'm only a dream myself," he answered mischievously. "This is the only world I know."

"Oh, that's right," she said. "You just seem so real, sitting here by my window. Would you like to come inside for a while?"

"I, uh, really have to be going," he lied. "I promised Peter Pan and the boys that I'd go play with them tonight. I'll be late if I don't hurry. It was nice sharing your dream with you." With that, he flew off to the east. The second star to the right and then straight on till morning. He was really beginning to develop some bad habits with all the lying and deceiving he had done this night. It was curious how all of it seemed to be the right thing to do, and yet he felt guilty for it. By the time he got past the end of the block and certain that he was out of view, he turned south and then west back to the alley behind his grandmother's house. He had some fun tonight and didn't want to ruin it by doing or saying something he might regret later. Besides, the night air was making him sleepy and he didn't want to wake up in the morning on somebody's roof.

Sunday morning was warm and sunny. Johnny had much he wanted to talk about at breakfast.

"Did you ever fly before?" he asked his grandmother.

"Often," she replied, "but mostly in dreams."

"I mean really fly," he said. "Like in the real world."

"They are all real worlds, boyo," she answered. "Were you dreaming, or awake in those places Shabriri left you? If they were real, why weren't you seen or felt? If they were only dreams, then whose blood was that on your feet when