Read Jackson 05 - The Immortals for Free Online Page B

always.
    The boy was his closest friend and his occasional lover. He was handsome, with tousled blond hair and brown eyes, short and stocky and incredibly strong. Their youngest member had dark hair too, uncontrollably curly. She was a good physical match for her mate, small and solid, with thick calves and a cleft chin.
    He trusted them with his life.
    The four shared blood; through sacrifice, through a common vision, through the Great Act. Sex was their most powerful union, the blessing on their worship. They had been handfast, in the tradition of the Old Ways, declaring themselves for one another. They were looking for a Wiccan high priest who would do the official ceremony, legalizing their marriages in the eyes of the Goddess. They would go as couples, then as a quadrant.
    While his magick was powerful, with his corners he could shift the very earth. His corners were his friends and lovers. His coven. They would follow him anywhere, and he would sacrifice himself for them in turn.
    So when he told them the nonbelievers must die, they believed. They were The Immortals, and the night was theirs.
    They had come tonight, the first night of the new moon, to cast a spell to Azræl, the Angel of Death. The last new moon, they had congregated, taken earth from the graveyard, said their spells and magickally charged it to allow the earth time to open, to allow a rift in the universe to form. Tonight they sought Azræl’s blessing; a celebration of their wondrous evening.
    Samhain, what the Christians and Jews called Halloween, was a sacred night, when the veil between the two worlds was at its thinnest and spirits walked openly between the afterlife and the living. Samhain marked the Wiccan New Year, a sober celebration, a time for reflection. Messages were sent, ancestors honored, blessings bestowed. He had chosen Samhain as the night of the cleansing, the night when they would rid the world of their enemies. If they received the proper blessings tonight, he could put the rest of his plan into action.
    It was nearly time. They had a great deal of work to do. He led the four to the oak.
    â€œWho comes to call Azræl?” he cried.
    They stepped forward in turn, beginning with the tall girl.
    â€œIt is I, Fane. Blessed be.”
    â€œI am Thorn. So mote it be.”
    â€œIt is Ember, the bright spark. Blessed be.”
    He stood with them, head thrown back to the sky, speaking slowly and carefully. Their names conjured great power—he could already feel the ripples of energy coursing through the air.
    â€œI am Raven, leader of this coven. In the name of the God and the Goddess, so mote it be.”
    He struck a match and touched the flame to a stick of jasmine incense, then lit twelve black candles, three for each of them. The clearing began to glow. They’d already set out the stones: a violet amethyst, melanite, dark tiger’s eye and a piece of jet. The elestial stone, their record-keeper—a jagged piece of milky quartz—sat on top of the pile. It would be buried near the site after the ceremony, a permanent archaic tie to the earth.
    Contact with the netherworld was meant as a silent meditation, but Raven had written a beautiful oral spell in his Book of Shadows, had copied it out neatly three times for his coven. They’d memorized it silently on the way over, each poring through the letters until they’d committed the words to heart.
    They shed their clothes, kicked the dark stacks of clothwell out of the way of the candles so there was no chance of fire. They worshipped skyclad, naked in the cool night air, never feeling a moment’s embarrassment. Their bodies were astral temples, and beautiful despite any superficial cultural flaw.
    They drew cords from their bags, each nine feet in length, and took up their athamés and wands. They shuffled a bit, from foot to foot, shaking away any last bits of energy that would disrupt their ritual. Focusing.
    Raven glanced at his