Page 70 of Dragon Compelled
I gasp as recognition slams into me.
Constantine.
He looks a bit younger than the version of him standing beside me now. But it’s obviously him. And the power rolling off him seems to command the darkness that rides at his heels.
He strolls into the village, and people emerge from their homes, panicked and fleeing.
He lifts his hand, and they stop in their tracks, their bodies suddenly pulled taut as some invisible force traps them where they stand.
The dark clouds coalesce into a plume of smoke that the young Constantine shoves down their throats. Bodies jerk. Some scream, but the sounds are cut off as the smoke steals everything including their breath.
When the smoke slithers free, the villagers fall to the ground, limp and lifeless.
I watch in horror as the young Constantine strolls through the village, consuming life as he goes.
More villagers emerge, each one desperate to escape.
Then I see a man and a woman lurking behind a tower of barrels, an infant clutched in the arms of her mother.
I don’t even realize I’ve drifted so close to the chaos until a horse storms into my path. I shriek, trying to sidestep it, but there’s no time.
Bracing for impact, I suck in a breath—and then let it out again as the horse passes right through me.
“Nothing of this memory world can harm you,” Constantine says, though I don’t miss the threat lurking in his words. The creatures and people here are from this world, but he does not belong in a memory.
He is living, breathing, flesh and bone, and he can do whatever he wants.
I swallow hard and exhale, watching as the animal races off, leaving me a clear view of the family huddling out of sight of the evil threatening their lives.
The man and woman whisper to themselves, and I can feel their desperation in the heart-wrenching way they glance at the infant. Her own fear is palpable, and my heart squeezes as I watch them dart out from their hiding place and make a run for the edge of the village toward the forest behind me.
They don’t make it far before the young Constantine’s cloud finds them.
The woman screams and tosses the infant into a cart full of hay. The baby wails, her cries heartbreaking as the man and woman are sucked dry all while the infant watches from the cart. The pain and anguish on her young face is tragic, and my rage turns molten as I glare at the man responsible.
He stalks toward her, determination etched into his features. I rush to intercept him, hoping I can find a way to become solid enough to intervene.
“You won’t change what happens here,” Oliver says from close enough beside me that I jump.
“Watch me,” I growl, rushing forward.
But young Constantine has already come for the girl, his cloud swirling closer and closer. Just before it reaches her, she screams. Her tiny body goes rigid as power explodes from it.
Bright, white light erupts, shooting from her body like a star. I shut my eyes against the brightness, and when I open them again, I can only stare in amazement at the transformation.
The darkness is gone. So is the young Constantine. The villagers’ bodies are nowhere to be found, and there isn’t a home or structure in sight. All that remains of the village is a beautiful meadow full of wildflowers and a perfect, picturesque blue sky.
On the ground now that the cart, too, is gone, lies the little girl.
“What just happened? Where is everyone?” I ask.
“You’ve always been more powerful than you realize,” Constantine says, coming to stand beside me as he glares at the little girl.
“Me?” I look back at her, wanting to deny it, but the truth is there. In the shape of her face. The color of her hair and eyes. And in the familiarity I feel in my heart. “I did this?” I whisper.
This was my home. Until Constantine took it all away.
And then my magic did the rest.
