I’ve decided to discontinue this novel, but I will leave the excerpt up. Feedback is still appreciated.
The mayor had left Rosalia’s, and she was alone now. Malachi had gone back out to the bars to either gain some perspective on the situation, or mourn the loss of his friend, Rosalia didn’t know.
She sat in her living room; she stared at the blazing fire in the fireplace. Watching as the flames licked the wood, listening as the wood crackled and sizzled.
So much had gone wrong, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Since the amulet was stolen, she was beginning to lose hope. If Fiona made it back to Lucia, assuming that Fiona was working with Lucia, then Lucia wouldn’t hesitate to use her new power on anyone she could.
She would probably go straight for the conclave, taking over their minds and controlling them; using them to do her bidding. With the power of the conclave, Lucia would be able to do anything her heart desired.
* * *
Malachi sat alone at a table in The Golden Cannon. The pub was close to empty. A few of the regulars sat quietly at the bar, sipping at whatever their preferred drink was.
Malachi stared into his half empty drink. He skipped the beer and went straight for the hard liquor this time. A full glass of whiskey called his name the entire walk to the pub.
“What’s gettin’ ya down?” a voice asked. Malachi raised his head. Standing across from him was a short, fat man. His head was bald, but he had a thick black beard. He wore a stained apron and cleaned a shot glass with an old dirty rag as he waited for an answer.
“Things seem to be falling apart all around me,” Malachi answered, looking back down into his drink.
“Care to explain?”
“No, not really.” Malachi took a sip of his whiskey, shivering as the bitter taste burned his mouth and throat as it slid down.
The bartender shrugged and walked away.
Suddenly, the pub door burst open and a skinny man rushed inside.
“Fire!” the man shouted.
Malachi looked up. If people’s lives were in danger, there was no reason for him to continue sulking around. He quickly stood up, tipping his chair over backward.
“Where?” Malachi asked. There was great urgency in his voice.
“The Gates Manor!” the man shouted.
Malachi and the man ran out of the pub, followed by a few stragglers.
The group ran down the street. Malachi could see the raging fire.
Malachi ran as fast as he could. He panted, trying as hard as he could to keep going, to keep putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing from exhaustion.
When they finally reached the house, a group of firefighters was on the scene getting everything ready as quickly as they could to combat the fire.
“Get out of the way!” Malachi yelled.
Two police officers grabbed him, but Malachi broke through their grip and raced into the house.
The building was filled with smoke, and he immediately began sweating from the immense heat. “Rose!” he called out.
The fire was loud and masked his voice. “Rose!” he called again, dodging a falling piece of flaming debris.
He ran into the living room. Several of the bookshelves were tipped over and were engulfed in the raging flames, but there was no sign of Rosalia. “Rose!” he called yet again. But there was still no answer.
He ran through the living room and down to the basement, hoping to find her taking refuge in the training room.
However, when he reached the bottom of the stairs, there was no way to get in. The fire had caused the portion of the house in front of the door to collapse, blocking the doorway. “Rose!” Malachi called. He got as close to the door as he could to listen for an answer.
“Malachi!” a woman’s voice cried.
“Rose! Are you okay?”
“Yes, for the most part.”
“Stand away from the door; I’m coming in to get you!”
Malachi stood back. He held his hands out in front of him and closed his eyes. The debris in front of the door began to glow, and suddenly it vanished. Malachi then whipped around, throwing his arms towards the top of the stairs. A massive rush of wind flew up the stairs and dissipated throughout the rest of the house. He then grabbed the doorknob, but immediately pulled his hand back, grabbing his hand and waiting for the pain of the burn to go away.
He took a step back and kicked the door. The door cracked at the hinges, which were weak and malleable from the fire. Malachi kicked the door again. The top hinge broke from the door, causing the door to hang awkwardly. Malachi kicked the door one last time, causing it to go flying into the room.
“Malachi!” Rosalia shouted. She was sitting in the back corner of the room, arms wrapped around her knees. She rocked back and forth, her eyes wide and staring.
“Come on!” Malachi demanded. “We have to get out of here!” He ran over and grabbed her arms, pulling her to her feet.
She followed him up the stairs and into the kitchen. But then a piece of the roof collapsed, blocking the way into the living room and out of the house.
Malachi held his hands out again and closed his eyes. The debris blocking their exit began to glow again.
Suddenly, part of the roof collapsed, landing on Malachi and burying him.
“Malachi!” Rosalia shouted hysterically. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she desperately tried to pull the flaming debris from Malachi’s body.
Rosalia began to choke and cough. Smoke was building up in the room and Rosalia was beginning to feel faint. But she persisted. She pulled flaming pieces of wood and flung them behind her. The harder she tried to unbury Malachi, the more exhausted she became.
The smoke began to build up in her lungs. She coughed and choked, almost vomiting. She then fell onto her back, continuing to choke on the thick smoke. Her eyes slowly closed and the world, so bright from the flames began to grow dim from her perspective. She held her hands up to her mouth and nose, doing anything to try and filter some of the smoke away from her. But the more she coughed the more smoke she inhaled.
Slowly the room faded to black as she closed her eyes. Her hands slowly fell down to her side, and she lay motionless; helpless.