CHAPTER THREE #2
"I belonged to a coven on the East Coast; it was wiped out in a war over territory and supplies.
I survived, and Master DuCane offered me a home here at Coven DuCane.
" Wyatt was careful with his words, not wanting to burden the man with his troubles.
Atticus abruptly stopped and turned to look up at Wyatt, his eyes soft with empathy.
"I am sorry that happened to you." His words, his tone, cut right to Wyatt's heart, and he had to quickly steady his emotions.
“It was a long time ago.”
"That doesn't make it any less significant.
" Atticus reached out and placed his hand lightly on Wyatt's forearm.
The contact shot up his arm like it was electrified and burned through his soul.
His touch was exhilarating. Wyatt stared at the connection, and even with his sleeve in the way, it still lit a fire.
He wondered if Atticus had felt anything, and when he raised his gaze to meet Atticus' eyes, Wyatt knew that he had.
"There is something here between us, Wyatt." He stated and continued to hold Wyatt's gaze. "I will figure it out." He said with considerable emphasis on the word 'will'. He moved his hand back to his side and began walking once again with Wyatt at his side.
Wyatt did not comment, and his silence seemed to speak to Atticus. Wyatt noticed him look up at him several times as they approached the oldest cemetery in the county. It was located at the end of the narrow road that dead-ended at its gates.
Their walk slowed as Atticus took in the sprawling graveyard filled with mausoleums and stones old, broken, worn smooth. It was early evening, and the shadows had begun to draw long across the tree-covered space.
Oaks and cedars and pines, tall and ragged, threw dark shade over the markers, and the wildflowers and the scarred earth.
The place had a definite feel of death and darkness that even Wyatt could feel.
He looked down at Atticus, and his expression was silent and tight.
His mouth was a firm line, and his eyes were on fire; they possessed a back glow that radiated power.
They entered and started down the center walkway; it was wide, with large headstones positioned on either side.
Wyatt noticed Atticus looking side to side and appearing to communicate .
. . with something. He raised his hand, nodded like he was giving direction, and then turned back to the path and kept walking.
Wyatt wanted to ask questions, but Atticus was consumed by the mood of the atmosphere. Talk would get in the way; this was a watching, feeling, and reacting situation, not a let's discuss it situation. Talk would come later.
He stayed close and drew his sword, then swept the area back and forth with his eyes while listening, feeling, and even tasting the changes and the gradual shift in air pressure.
They continued forward, their steps synchronized and their hands nearly touching.
The energy passing between them was real, and it flowed, strengthening and invigorating.
The bond was giving them what they needed to deal with whatever was coming, even if neither of them had openly acknowledged the bond between them.
The first solid sign came from the trees off to their right; the movement of the thing was jerky but forceful and violent.
Wyatt pushed Atticus behind him and met the grotesque thing head-on as it came at them.
He cut it down, but it didn't stop moving until he removed the head.
Another followed that one fast and stronger than expected for a ragged bag of bones.
This wasn't natural, and these things were not of this realm.
Atticus was behind him, and Wyatt kept him in his peripheral vision. He saw him moving and speaking; he was pushing these things back, forcing them under his control, but there were too many. One came from the left and grabbed Atticus by the arm, and Wyatt swiftly cut the thing's hand off.
Nothing was allowed to touch this man; he would defend him to his death if needed. Wyatt turned back as another dug its nails into the back of his hand, attempting to take hold of his sword, but it was not faster or stronger than Wyatt.
He pulled out his dagger and, with a deft swing of his arm, he took off its head. The hoard was pushed back by whatever means Atticus was utilizing, and then they suddenly disappeared into the mist. They were gone as quickly as they had appeared.
They stood still for a few minutes, listening and sensing the atmosphere.
The things were gone; the air had shifted, and what was left of the sunlight brightened the area.
The shadows remained, but the soul darkness was gone.
Atticus rushed to his side and grabbed his hand when he noticed the blood.
"You're bleeding." He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around Wyatt's hand, holding it in both of his hands. Wyatt was surprised for a moment by his urgent care, his warm touch, and the feel of that silk handkerchief wrapping his wound.
His mind was racing, and his body was doing the same. Atticus bent and pressed Wyatt's hand to his nose, taking a deep breath, and then he looked up at Wyatt with those electric green eyes, holding a look of both surprise and excitement in his expression.
"I finally figured you out, my friend." He said with a growing smile.
Atticus looked back over his shoulder at the destruction and shook his head.
"Revenants." He said, and then added. "They usually are not this strong; their power is weak.
They tend to have difficulty holding themselves together while moving, and attacks are quite rare.
These were stronger and resolute; they had a purpose and were following that purpose. "