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  Levi Phillips is a warlock living in the woods of rural Ohio. With his apprentice, Matthew, Levi operates one of the most ferocious covens in the world, known as The Black Fang. Managing the coven like an international corporation, Levi controls its enormous wealth while running a moonshine operation as a front. But when a plot to assassinate Levi is exposed, the warlock decides it's time to destroy The Black Fang and the destruction could create a new beginning.

  “I’d highly recommend this novel, you won’t be disappointed.”

  Robert Pettigrew, reviewer

  “I managed to read this within 2 days (6yr old permitting) and couldn't wait to see what the next author had to offer.”

  Tara Lane, reviewer

  ***WARNING*** The Black Fang Betrayal is a fast-paced, dark fantasy thriller full of violence and profanity and it is intended for mature audiences only.

  The Black Fang Betrayal

  A Collaborative Novel By

  TW Brown, Michaelbrent Collings, Mainak Dhar, J.C. Eggleton, Glynn James, Stephen Knight, David J. Moody, T.W. Piperbrook, J.R. Rain, J. Thorn

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  Bonus Short Stories

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  Table of Contents

  The Black Fang Betrayal

  A Collaborative Novel

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2014 by TW Brown, Michaelbrent Collings, Mainak Dhar, J.C. Eggleton, Glynn James, Stephen Knight, David J. Moody, T.W. Piperbrook, J.R. Rain, J. Thorn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Proofread by Laurie Love

  Cover Design by Kealan Patrick Burke

  For more information:

  http://theblackfangbetrayal.com

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  The Beginning

  The Empress

  The Emperor

  The High Priestess

  The Lovers

  Wheel of Fortune

  The Devil

  The Tower

  Death

  Strength

  The End

  Behind the Scenes

  Bonus Short Stories

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  Introduction

  The story in your hand is the culmination of an extensive collaboration of ten authors. The Black Fang Betrayal is unique, eccentric and like nothing I've ever worked on. I didn't know the writers involved, though I knew of them and am a fan, and we've never met. In fact, none of us have spoken to each other. Through the wonders of the new publishing revolution, we were able to write a novel together, crafting a story from several different cities in the United States, the United Kingdom and even as far away as Mumbai.

  That's not to say it was easy and in the “Behind the Scenes” section, I'll detail how we pulled it off.

  This introduction is more about the story, one I'm proud to say could not have happened without the contributions of my conspirators. In no particular order, they are TW Brown, J.R. Rain, Mainak Dhar, Stephen Knight, Glynn James, David Moody, T.W. Piperbrook, J.C. Eggleton and Michaelbrent Collings. This is an eccentric collection of accomplished writers and I am humbled to have my name beside theirs on the cover. These men write in many genres, from horror occult to zombie apocalypse, and so everyone was a bit out of their comfort zone in this tale of supernatural deception and war. But nobody gave up. In fact, they met the challenge and the result is a diverse collection of stories all feeding a brutal and thrilling conclusion.

  The Black Fang Betrayal doesn't capitulate or chase trends. It does not contain sparkly vampires or werewolves in love. The story is rooted in the esoteric. It taps into the fear and exhilaration felt in a secret group, whether we are part of one or experiencing it vicariously.

  It is fiction. However, several aspects of the story were inspired by real life and real places. Covens, or clubs of witches or warlocks, certainly exist. These are not necessarily the pointy-hat witches of Halloween or men smoking long pipes in robes, like Gandalf from Lord of the Rings. However, the Wiccan belief system is real and like-minded folks gather as they do in any faith.

  The Great Serpent Mound in Ohio is also real. Historians and archeologists have studied it extensively and it appears to be a ceremonial structure, although massive. Its purpose and date of origin are somewhat murky, but most studies believe the ancients thought the place had a mystical significance.

  The Book of Abramelin is the story of an Egyptian mage who taught a system of magic to Abraham of Worms, a German Jew living in the fifteenth century. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the book was translated and became the cornerstone of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and was used in 1904 by the infamous Aleister Crowley. The book is believed to contain powerful magic and spells, a grimoire, and is written as an autobiography describing Abramelin's magical secrets and their sharing with his son, Lamech.

  The idea of reassembling the gold florin is entirely fictitious. The use of the pentagram in The Black Fang Betrayal is subtle and any reader who can find the hidden way it was used in the story should email me for a special prize.

  Limestone caves in Ohio were used during Prohibition by moonshiners as distilleries. The caves were dangerous as ventilation was not adequate. They ran the risk of a vapor explosion. Because of this, only expert moonshiners set up shop inside the caves. Although most people believe rural Appalachia is the place where moonshine is made, it was and still is produced throughout the rural South and Midwest.

  The state of Ohio is not entirely farmland and forest. Cincinnati, in the southwest corner, is a thriving urban center and the state capitol, Columbus, is alive with the youthful energy of Ohio State University. I live in Cleveland, Ohio, where an upsurge in community spirit is taking place and the city is finally climbing out of its own Rust Belt shadow. I assure you, Ohio is not as rotten as Levi would have you believe.

  The bonus short stories are not related to The Black Fang Betrayal. They are stand-alone shorts from aspiring novelists and you're sure to enjoy them if you like horror and dark fantasy. When you finish a short, follow the link to find out more about the author.

  Will this turn into something more? That is a question for you, dear reader. Your response to The Black Fang Betrayal will determine whether or not we do a sequel, a spin-off or another multi-author collaboration. Like Levi, you ultimately hold the power in the palm of your hand.

  Peace.

  J. Thorn - http://jthorn.net

  July 14, 2014

  The Beginning by J. Thorn

  I killed them all. Every last motherfucker. You have to destroy everything before you can start over no matter how loudly they scream.

  ***

  “Have you checked the stills? We've got four cases of moonshine to deliver by next Tuesday.”

  I knew he hadn't been in the cave to check on the operation. I'm not even sure why I asked. Matthew sat in the rocking chair with a piece of straw hanging from the side of his mouth, wearing that stupid fucking farmer's hat and a redneck grin. He had the face of a boy and the body of a young man. Matthew's eyes were dark and his eyebrows always suggested worry, anxiety. With denim overalls and a flannel shirt, I was concerned Matthew was becoming too involved in his role. We had the locals fooled, believing us to be nothing more than uneducated moonshiners. This ruse helped us to
hide from the witch hunters, but I didn't enjoy it. I wanted out of rural Adams County, Ohio.

  “Yep.”

  “Don't lie to me, son.”

  I hated that my own speech was tainted with a rural, Midwestern accent.

  “I'll do it tonight,” Matthew said.

  I stroked the thin, white hairs of my moustache and smelled the tobacco staining my fingertips. My joints felt as though someone shoved burning needles into them. I lost all of my hair years ago leaving nothing but liver-spotted, leathery skin over my skull. The wrinkles on my face were the result of each challenge to the coven, every contest I faced. My nose remained red, years spent drinking my own product. I hated getting old and vowed never to do it again.

  I sighed and looked into the forest where the setting sun was sending shafts of light through the trees like focused spotlights on a mystical stage. The front porch of the rickety cabin was my only respite from the worries of The Black Fang. I was beginning to tire of leading this coven.

  “You're getting complacent,” I said.

  “You're getting old,” he said.

  “You best be minding your respect.”

  Matthew stood. I could see the fear in his eyes. His mouth was loose but his heart was still in my grip. We spent hundreds of years together, a sliver of time in the life of a warlock. Our dungeon beneath the Place de la Concorde at the eastern end of the Champs-Élysées was my favorite home. It was a few feet below the executions of the French Revolution, amidst the chaos, the violence. The blood from the guillotine ran down our walls like sweet, red wine.

  Living in this cabin in rural Ohio was like being a prisoner in an outhouse. We each had our own room but I couldn't turn around without smacking my knee off the wall. The main room was the kitchen, dining area and living room combined. We spent most of our time there and on the porch.

  I felt the power of the coven fading. The Black Fang existed longer than I could remember and was headed by a long line of lethal warlocks. But where they all failed I would not. Before destroying the coven and starting over, I would use my warlocks to acquire the pieces of gold florin, the coin rumored to have belonged to Abramelin the Mage. Reassembling the ancient coin would give me power beyond imagining.

  “When are we leaving?”

  “To go into town?”

  “No,” Matthew said. “For good. I hate this fucking state and its damn hillbillies.”

  “Then maybe you should start yer own coven?”

  Matthew looked at me, raising his eyebrows as he used his thumbs to extend the straps of his overalls.

  “Maybe I'm ready to lead The Black Fang?”

  I laughed, but inside I knew I would have to deal with this willful and ambitious apprentice.

  “I'm getting tired of this shit,” I said.

  I looked deep into Matthew's brown eyes where I detected a glint of hope.

  “Might be time to consider a successor,” he said.

  “We've got nine experienced warlocks who would kill for that opportunity.”

  I could see Matthew doing the math in his head and coming to the realization he was not one of them, not a full-fledged warlock.

  “Yep,” he said.

  He wasn't a fool. I was privy to more than what he said or the shallow thoughts he left open to me. He was hatching a plan deep in that manipulative brain and I knew it would be best to let it unfold.

  “Go check the stills.”

  Matthew nodded and walked to the edge of the porch. The 12-gauge double-barrel shotgun rested against the railing.

  It would be dark soon and I would need the time to telepathically drop into the heads of my warlocks. It was easier to do without distractions and sending Matthew to check on the stills and look for witch hunters kept him out of my way. Of course, the patrol was totally unnecessary as I could defeat the hunters from four counties away. But Matthew didn't need to know that. He didn't need to know many things about The Black Fang.

  “Need anything?” he asked while tucking the shotgun underneath his left arm.

  “A baguette and a new blade for the guillotine, s'il vous plait?”

  He smiled and tipped his straw hat towards me, amused by my request. It was the last honest gesture that fucker would make.

  ***

  He wants the coven.

  The voice in my head broke through my memories of casting spells in the alleys behind the Champs-Élysées while having my pick of the French street whores.

  “I know,” I said. “I know what he's thinking.”

  It was not a stretch for Matthew to think he deserved the coven. My apprentice for hundreds of years, he always stayed while warlocks within the coven came and went. I had to acknowledge that, but it would not be enough to spare his life. The plan was still a vague thought, but I knew it was time. I would have to destroy The Black Fang in order to start over. My warlocks became too ambitious, too egotistical. They all believed they should succeed me, as though leaders of covens retired to Florida like accountants or teachers. Warlocks never gave up control. They had to be overthrown. Ruling a coven was like running a dictatorship where every citizen was a serial killer.

  I didn't need to remain in my ruined vessel. I used this body for close to seventy years. On the rare occasions when I went into town, it helped to dispel suspicions amongst the townsfolk. Old men were never seen as a threat, which is why coven leaders often remain inside of those creaky, painful bodies. In a way, I believe my shell lulled Matthew into a false sense of security. He believed my powers were deteriorating like the body I chose to inhabit. That would cost him. Matthew underestimated my abilities, experience and attention to detail.

  “I can use him,” I said to the voice in my head. “He'll be my pawn. I'll turn his ambition upon him.”

  He is devising a plan right now.

  “Good. That's what I was hoping would happen on his way to the stills.”

  ***

  “Did you sleep well?” Matthew asked.

  The smell of applewood bacon and black pepper filled the cabin. I inhaled and walked to the wood-burning stove, where Matthew melted a hunk of lard in the cast iron pan. The roiling water in the coffee pot whispered like an old lover. I couldn't remember the last time Matthew awoke before me to prepare breakfast. He couldn't possibly think I would be fooled by his transparent act of camaraderie.

  “Yes. And you?”

  An early summer thunderstorm moved through during the night but the stove kept the cold dampness from seeping into the cabin. I heard the birds chirping back and forth. It almost felt normal. Almost.

  Matthew nodded, the straw hat eternally perched atop his matted, greasy hair. His overalls were covered with layers of grime. Matthew's clothes smelled like hard labor and sour sweat.

  “Been thinking,” Matthew said, “about some stuff. Something you mentioned yesterday.”

  I knew where his thoughts were headed and I let him believe the ideas were his own.

  “About?” I asked.

  “The Black Fang. The future of the coven. . . Its leadership.”

  He paused to see how I would respond. Matthew was using bacon grease and carefully chosen words to loosen me up for the pitch. I would play along, especially if he was going to start on the omelet next.

  “The warlocks. The men are experienced. Lethal. What if we devised a competition of sorts? Make them prove they're ready to take leadership of the coven. When you're ready to step down, of course.”

  “I'm not,” I said, trying to be as authoritative as possible. I wanted to give him the impression I would not even consider such a transfer of power. I was able to lock my innermost thoughts away from Matthew. He practiced mind-prying but it would be decades before he would be able to use his telepathic techniques on me.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “But we could at least have the successor named. That dude in England, he's been waiting for the queen to die for decades so he can be the new king.”

  “You've been thinking deeply about this,” I sa
id.

  “I want what's best for the coven,” Matthew said.

  “And you don't want a shot at the throne?”

  Matthew turned to face me, one hand wrapped around the spatula, flipping the strips of bacon.

  “Like you said, I'm probably not ready.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  “I was ranting yesterday. I'm not retiring anytime soon, Matthew, but thanks for the suggestion on protocol. I'll think about it. Is that bacon done yet?”

  I could feel the disappointment building inside of him like water behind a dam. Matthew was embarrassed I would not consider him ready to lead, and hurt because I would not sponsor his proposal to the coven. The plan was coming together inside my head. The bacon and a fresh pot of coffee would help me focus.

  “A few more minutes,” he said, turning his head back to the stove. “I know you like your flesh crispy.”

  ***

  The impatient fool went to work that same afternoon. The salty aroma of bacon was still in the air by the time Matthew formulated his plan. When I looked into his mind and saw what he was about to do, I chuckled. I didn't believe he was ready to lead and yet here was my apprentice coming up with a scheme to rival the cunning moves of some of the most powerful warlocks who ever lived.

  Matthew had murder in his heart. I could see the vile, red emotion pumping through his veins like blood. He was going to murder me, believing he would be able to harness my power to lead the coven. I decided to let the plan unfold and see how Matthew would do it.

  I wasn't surprised when he circled back to the idea of sending the warlocks on a quest, having them compete with each other to prove their leadership potential. He wisely played to the collective ego of the coven, knowing each warlock in The Black Fang would feel as though he should be the next leader, knowing each one would seize the chance to prove it. I gave the boy credit for that. It was the single determining factor to bring the coven together. Matthew knew by proposing a high-risk quest, some warlocks would fail and thin the numbers. The fewer warlocks he had to deal with, the better. I agreed with his assumption.