Raven Miller Project

Chapter 1-2

“No, he’s not,” I replied, attempting to harness my mental focus. “I am working as fast as I can.” Stupid cunt never takes my job seriously. “You can put the baby in her car seat if you like. You know, to gain full use of both your arms.”

“You know that’s the one skill I lack,” Annie muttered.

“Are you kidding me? So you’re not even going to try?” I shook my head and groaned. “Such bullshit.” Annie was the older one, the wannabe super-soldier who never actually enlisted. Some might even call her a terrorist since blowing up buildings that don’t belong to you is considered a crime. (Even if they do contain evil military, political or local government figures.) I knew for a fact; all her balls came from her work as a wannabe superhero or Robin Hood. She had skills (like that one Liam Neeson character), but I was the one with powers.

“Roberto Gian Reyes,” I said as I placed my hands on his chest. I was feeling for a nice b****y open wound to use as my entry point, to unite our life forces. “You’re about to make a deal with the devil. But don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your time.”

My curious fingers found the perfect spot; an injury just below his clavicle where a shard of bone was protruding through his skin. Using the sharp broken bone as my cutting tool, I made an incision across my palm, along my lifeline. Whenever he flinched, I held him close, forcing the bone further and further through my hand, until at last I was impaled to the point of being immobile. The pain was not too unbearable. I imagined it was what normal people felt then they got implant piercings, except they got a little jewel or an odd-shaped piece of silicone. (Or devil horns, those were also pretty cool.) That’s all this was; body modification. The first few times had been the worst. No matter the prize, the human body still has nerves and tendons to deal with. But much like all body modification, piercings, implants, gauges, or tattoos, it only gets easier with practice.

“Bobby Reyes, I give you my hand, in exchange for your life.” If I was a bad witch, I would’ve just fully sacrificed one finger. I’d bleed until my body absorbed his life force like a sponge. Once the spell was complete, I’d be down one finger but have gained a slave. And I mean it in the worst sense; he would be a living doll who bent to my will. But I kind of like having two complete hands. (Plus, what the heck would I even do with ten slaves?)

I watched cautiously as his skin regrew and his body healed. “Yes!” With each new layer of cells, his features started to become more human. As bones fused and rebuilt, I could see the man was tall, with light skin and dark brown hair. His hair had previously been cut or burned off. To see it regrow like the most beautiful grass was truly awe-inspiring. To disfigure such a beautiful human was just criminal. “I can see why you were identified as a freelance model.” I couldn’t actually remember where I’d read that. Oh, well. I’d figure it out once we got back on the road.

I carefully moved him to our trailer, with my hand pinned to his still exposed bone. Lucky for me, the wheels on the bottom of my handmade gurney made the process a lot easier. “Ok, Miss Annie, let’s get the f**k out of here.”

“Mama Raven said f**k!” Lola giggled, clapping her hands.

Annie rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s about time, Mama Raven.” Holding Lola with one arm, she jumped into the driver’s seat and took off before I’d even fully closed the door. I could hear Lola laugh with delight as Annie made a sharp turn onto the highway.

“I can hold the baby while you drive,” I said as I made myself comfortable in the back with Bobby. If I broke off the bone in my hand, the spell would fail, and with the extent of his injuries, my poor patient would likely die in my arms. But I had faith in my daughter, that she would not interfere with my process or our fragile connection.

Annie groaned. “Maybe when you’re finished. For now, I can handle a toddler.” Her strong arm clutched the baby, who clearly wanted to see what Mama Raven was up to. “Lola’s at that stage where she puts everything in her mouth.”

“No!” Lola cried. “I want Mama Raven!”

“Fair enough, Annie.” I locked eyes with the struggling toddler. “Hey, Lola, I need you to listen to me, ok?”

“Mama?” She looked at me with a pouty, quivering lip.

“You need to calm down so Mama Annie can drive.” I wanted to ask Annie to pull over, to at least try and put the baby in her car seat. But it was more important for us to put some miles between us and the previous location. “Okay?”

Lola nodded and went limp in Annie’s arms. “Ok, Mama.”

With that issue resolved, I started chest compressions. To the untrained eye, it looked like I was performing CPR on Bobby’s wilted body. And in a way I was. One two three, press. One two three, press. Blood covered my hand, feeling warm, soothing, powerful. “By the Goddess, the primal queen.” I took a breath, focusing my thoughts. Words filled my mind from languages lost to time. “Dear one, I ask for your blessing in my time of trial.” I felt a ripple of energy. My request had been granted.

“I pray to you, the legends and queens, the daughters and mothers, I call your names: Angelina, Scarlett, Miley, Elizabeth, Tanya, Ann, Olena...” This was the hard part. I had to name famous, powerful women. Luckily it seemed to work with only first names (a fact that I’d learned through trial and error.) As long as I could visualize a face to match the name (meaning no making up random names that meant nothing to my history or soul.) Each name was meant to invoke the power of a woman; old, young, living, or dead. Because we are all goddesses walking this earth until our heavenly mother calls us to her side. The trick was to use as few names as possible for the strongest dose of magic. And to also use a wide variety, as to not draw from one person too often. To do so can lead to bad luck, such as the death of Princess Diana. But the ritual is usually quite efficient since the majority of powerful women don’t realize they have an excess of power. (Let’s just say this ritual is why Queen Elizabeth is pretty much immortal.) I could only wonder what kind of power my name carried.

Anyway, I watched my blood flow into Bobby’s chest, sharing my magic, my strength. It felt soothing, like taking a drink of ice-cold water on a hot day. To do this for a male was unheard of. But I’d done it successfully six times. And if the goddess power didn’t want me saving the lives of males, I assume they would have cut off my ‘prayer supply’ a long time ago.

Although it was clear Bobby had lost consciousness due to the graphic nature of his injuries, once he’d borrowed enough of my power, he awoke with a blood-curdling scream.

Annie nearly swerved off the road, causing Lola to cry. “f**k, Raven! Make your patient get his damn s**t together!”

Bobby glanced in her direction, spewing forth a statement that drifted between nervous stuttering and profanity. It was as if he were trying to defend himself or beg for his life. He was speaking what I assumed to be Spanish or maybe French. I wasn’t fluent enough to be able to decipher what he was saying in his current mental and emotional state. But I could tell by his body language he was (understandably) terrified.

“Hey.” I gripped his shoulder with my newly freed hand. My wound had healed over nicely, leaving behind only a thick, numb scar. I looked him in the eyes, forcing eye contact as I took deep breaths. “Inhale, exhale, just breathe, you’re safe here. Do you understand me? Do you speak English at all?”

Bobby nodded and appeared to calm down. He placed a hand to my cheek, as if trying to get a better look at my face. His lips parted to speak, but the only thing that came out was more foreign gibberish before he fell backward. Bobby started to convulse, seizing, with a noticeable amount of blood and spit oozing from his open lips.

“Crap.” I had known this was going to be a bad one. He’d been missing body parts, but there were also noticeable signs of organ damage. “You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.” I sucked in my stomach, placing my hand on his throat. You got this, Raven. You’re so much stronger than your mother ever was. With the scar tissue over the open wound, I had to focus my power on his airway. But even with the blessing of the mother goddess, I had to be ready to make another physical sacrifice. And this time I didn’t get to pick. Luckily today’s events were not the first time I’d faced down such a dilemma, so I was mentally prepared for what was going to happen. Partially, anyway.

I was hoping against hope that the mechanics of the spell would draw from my fat cells (as opposed to cells that I actually needed.) Although I was in no way medically savvy enough to sway that outcome. In the past, I had sacrificed muscle and bone and even suffered organ failure on more than one occasion.

The process was always uncomfortable, and today was no exception. The magic chose to go after my stomach, giving me the equivalent of a series of ulcers. My arms trembled with pain as my body threatened to go into shock, but I did not dare let go of Bobby. “Deep breaths, just keep breathing.” It was worth it for the end result.

I could feel my patient’s chest rise and fall as breath filled his lungs. And then he screamed again, followed by more stammering in a language that I did not understand. I notice he was only screaming when his eyes were closed. When he could see me, he seemed to know I was not his assailant. “Bobby, just look at me. You’re safe here, I’m a doctor.” Sort of, anyway.

“Médecin?” he asked.

“I don’t know what that means.” By the tone of his accent, I was leaning more towards French than Spanish. I turned to Annie, since research was her department. “In your investigation, did you find anything about Bobby Reyes being French-Canadian?”

“I think so,” she said in an uncertain tone. “Um, parlez-vous English?” She shouted the question slowly, as if speaking to a dog.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Are you f*****g serious right now?”

“Sorry, Raven, it’s the only phrase I know.”

Lola cheerfully laughed at Annie’s French-Southern drawl. “Polly-vou!

The laughter seemed to calm Bobby enough for him to realize he was, in fact, safe. “W-who are you?” He spoke slow, broken English, but it was clear he understood well enough. “What am I doing here? And, um, how?”

“The name’s Raven; my partner and I are trackers. That means we follow instances of paranormal activity.”

“Par-ra-nor-mal ac-tiv-ity?” he repeated, enunciating every syllable. “Like the show with the two brothers?”

I was not surprised that the long-running television show Supernatural had more of a following than the Paranormal Activity movie and its ungodly amount of sequels and prequels. “Yeah, actually.” I was thrown to the side as our trailer screeched to a halt. “Ow! What the hell?”

Annie chuckled. “Well, well, look what we have here.”

I stood up to take a peek out of the window. There I saw a red, late-nineties-model Ford truck parked diagonally across the road. At least I thought it was red. As I squinted my eyes, the vehicle seemed to shimmer with a holographic glow. Oh, no, this is not good.

There was only one type of creature who had a car like that. Well, technically two, and I was really hoping for a hipster millennial with an expensive paint job. “Come out come out whoever you are,” I muttered playfully, trying to show more balls than I actually had. I honestly hoped I would not be getting my wish.