Tearing The Shroud
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Authors: JM Bray
Tearing the Shroud
J.M. Bray
Tearing the Shroud
J.M. Bray
Fall in love, be possessed, hunt a sorcerer and save the world — and Vincent thought calculus was tough.
1984 — Vincent expected college to be about freedom and girls, but then the nightmares of sorcery, monsters and other worlds began. Not even the surprising attention from his dream girl, Julie, could shake them.
Before he’s even nailed his second date with Julie, he’s possessed by Coleman, a warrior from another realm. Coleman is hell bent on defeating the monstrous Kafla who threatens to tear into Vincent’s reality, changing both his and Coleman’s worlds forever. They have one chance to stop them: Vincent must allow Coleman to share his body and wage war against the sorcerer.
Now it’s up to them, the women they love, and Vincent’s rag-tag bunch of role-playing and gaming friends to save the world, or see 1984 descend into the apocalypse.
J.M. Bray lives in Southern California with his college sweetheart and their two dogs. After a lifetime together, they are happier than the moment they met. In his spare time, he races an old Porsche named ‘Tuffy’.
Nothing lives in a vacuum; this is especially true for stories. The words don’t fall, fully formed from the tips of my fingers like magic seeds of thought. They are the result of many lives that influenced me, and people who supported my efforts.
Flea and Knife (yes, they are real) generously let me re-imagine them for this tale. Ruth Young, the first person to read the rough draft and subsequent versions. My writing partners, Amy Cavenaugh, Stacey Nash, and Lindsey Frydman, amazing authors who helped sharpen the story and talked me off ledges when I felt like jumping. Morgan McGregor and Ahna Hall, are my grammar Warriors, saving me from countless disasters. Steve Parolini, editor extraordinaire, cookies are in your future. Editor Belinda Holmes slipped on her velvet superhero gloves and challenged me to take the story to another level. My family that still loves me after endless late nights and 3 a.m. idea scribbling.
And…
Life.
Kari, you are the best part of every woman in this story.
Contents
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Connection
Despair scalded Vincent like boiling oil.
He rubbed his eyes. Dreams of mutilated bodies piled like cordwood and razor-clawed monsters chasing him plagued his nights.
And now
this
.
He leaned his head onto trembling hands. A minty odor caressed his nostrils then slowly dissipated. After a long moment, Vincent glanced at his wristwatch and blew out. He couldn’t be late for the appointment with his advisor, the fourth this month. As the thought brought another surge of panic, stillness descended on the world around him. The back of his neck tingled like a spider crawled up it.
Vincent gazed around his dorm room, happening to glance out the window and saw it coming: the fog. It marched across the ocean waves like an invasion of cotton soldiers. A wall of billowing white from north to south as far as the eye could see. The swirling mass crept over the building and he opened his window, letting its cool embrace wash over him. As he did, the crushing weight on his chest lifted.
Despite his shortcomings, which he considered numerous, Vincent had an enormous imagination. The scenes he played in his mind rivaled any movie he’d ever watched. This talent had carried him through many nights, when the screams of his parents’ fighting or passion came through the walls. The fog played an important role, blurring the edges of the world. It made reality seem thin, as if his dreams came to life.
Vincent’s career at Pacific Coast University wasn’t going as he’d hoped.
Maybe it was time to ignore Mom and Dad and do what he wanted.
The idea made his stomach roil as he climbed the stairs outside his dorm.
But
...
what
did
he like
?
He breathed in the water-laden air as the fog chased him up the hill. That was easy. He
loved
this weather.
The storm front had come through a week ago, with screaming winds and drops of rain so heavy it was almost dangerous to be outdoors. After the deluge passed, the campus had let out a collective sigh of relief. Everyone looked forward to a return of the usual sunny days, except for Vincent. He had always felt at ease in weather that concealed him — having it back brought a smile.
He glanced up from the sidewalk as a pretty blonde passed, tilting her head and smiling back at him. His looks tended to push women’s buttons. Not that he did anything about it. Ducking his head, blushing, he kept walking along the road through campus. He’d once gotten up the nerve to ask his roommate, Flea, about it.
‘Blue eyes, long dark hair, and your build? Are ya kidding me?’ Flea had replied.
Vincent didn’t get it then and still didn’t.
Maybe he’d start a career at the coffee house. He just had to pierce his ear and get some tattoos.
Vincent shook his head.
Tattoos…he wouldn’t be able to decide what to get, let alone where to put it.
Vincent stared at the floor of his advisor’s office, his stomach tying into knots. Mr Fisker
had to be
frustrated with him.
‘Vincent.’ Mr Fisker took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Yep, frustrated.
Vincent held in a sigh.
‘You do well in all your coursework.’ He flipped through the papers on his desk. ‘A solid four point O, but you can’t major in everything. This is what?’ He held up one of the sheets of paper and shook it lightly. ‘The sixth time you’ve switched? Or are we on number seven? This is your third year. If you want to graduate with the class of eighty-five, don’t you think it’s time you settled on a direction?’ He cleaned his glasses and slipped the dark frames back on. ‘Unless, of course, you want to be a professional student?’ He smiled.
‘No, sir. I need to figure something out, I agree, it’s just...’
‘Vincent. What’s really the matter?’
‘I...I’m sure you’re tired of seeing my name on the appointment sheet.’ His sigh finally escaped.
‘My dad wants me to go into law; well, at least he does now. My mom is on this new health regime and thought that sports therapy would be a good field.’
‘Yes, Vincent, it’s good that your parents are involved but it is, after all, your life. Not theirs.’ He glanced at his watch and patted his hand on the desk. ‘Our time’s up, I’m afraid. Take a look at your options, and let me know what you decide.’
‘Thank you, Mr Fisker,’ Vincent said, as he stood.
‘My door is always open.’ The advisor waved as Vincent left. Walking quietly down the hall, he lowered his head as he passed the secretary’s desk, hoping she wouldn’t make eye contact with him.
7493 AR, 9th Cycle
East of Callendel
Mutilated bodies stood in piles like cordwood around Coleman. Looking for a way out, he staggered when a severed hand clawed at his boot. As he straightened, something darted from the fog — another beast. It leaped at him, razor-edged claws extended. Narrowly ducking the swipe meant to decapitate him, Coleman let his momentum carry him where his strength could not, and fell into a forward roll. Slashing the creature’s leg off at the knee, he got to his feet and ran. The other beasts howled in frustration and took up the chase.
His earliest training as a Warrior of the Oaks was not how to handle a sword. He’d learned to run. The Warriors named the highest form of it after the activity itself: The Run. If needed, a Runner could use every resource his body contained in order to keep moving. Coleman called on his reserved energy, added the adrenaline impending death brings, and bolted into the fog.