The Dark Gifts Birthright Read Free Page A

lifted
from her mind, and in its place, a feeling of invigoration and
strength began to fill her. Not her normal strength, this was
something else, something alien to her. If not for the fire in her
throat, she would have felt wonderful. For a moment, the scents in
the air caused her to pause. Raising her head, she sniffed. The
place smelled of wood, both burned and freshly cut. A dusty unused
smell permeated the air, but underlying there was something else.
An unusual musky, sweet scent that seemed familiar, but she
couldn't place it.
    Elizabeth crossed the room to the kitchenette
before she even realized she was moving. Confused, she turned and
surveyed the room. My mind must be playing tricks on me , she
thought as she opened one of the cabinets. The cold metal pull felt
strange in her hand. Running her finger over it, she felt a slight
electrical discharge. Gently, she opened the cupboard door and
reached in for a glass. As soon as her hand wrapped around it, the
glass shattered into hundreds of pieces, sending shards flying
across the counter. What the hell?
    Dusting the shards of glass from her shirt
and hands, she attempted to pick up another glass. This time she
was successful. A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she
came to the conclusion she'd had too much to drink last night.
“That is the last time I go out drinking with the girls.”
    The fridge was stocked with drinks. There was
a six-pack of cheap beer, a crystal decanter of dark red wine,
milk, and orange juice. The vegetable keeper housed a single
package of moldy bologna.
    "Not much to choose from," she said as she
decided on the juice.
    She patted her gurgling stomach. “You have to
wait. I don't care how much noise you make, I'm not eating moldy
lunch meat.” The handle of the plastic quart jug crunched and
flattened as she grabbed hold of it. She hastily sat it on the
counter beside the glass. Hundreds of thoughts and emotions
skittered through her mind. What is happening to me? On the
verge of being overrun with fear, she brought her hand to her
forehead. It didn't feel unusually warm; in fact it felt cool to
the touch. I wonder if someone slipped me acid? Maybe I'm
hallucinating?
    The events of the previous evening toyed
around the edges of her mind. She forced them back. It simply could
not have happened that way, and she refused to waste any more time
on delusions.
    Slowly, she picked up the juice and drank
straight from the container. She gulped down half of the jug before
her stomach clenched and her throat closed. The juice was rancid.
She dropped the container and ran to the sink. Standing there, she
rested her head on top of her arms, waiting for the nausea to run
its course.
    How long has this stuff been in here? Her mouth and eyes watered as her mind fought to control her body's
instinct to heave. Once she was certain that her stomach would
obey, she returned to the open refrigerator. Stepping over the
spilled juice, she grabbed another container before glancing around
the small kitchen for anything to wipe up the mess. Liquid fire
erupted in her throat. The mess would have to wait.
    Gingerly sniffing the milk, she decided it
didn’t smell right either, so she popped the top of a beer and
guzzled. It was disgusting. It tasted like someone had pureed shoes
and put them in a can.
    Her thoughts centered on the aching burn in
her throat. Need. Thirst. She needed to quench it, before she
spontaneously combusted. She grabbed the unused glass and poured
fresh water out of the tap. It didn’t taste any better than the
other things, but at least it was cold and wet. Three glasses
later, there was no relief and her stomach clenched again. She
leaned over the sink as her stomach emptied its contents. A watered
down orange color swirled down the drain. Something was terribly
wrong. Whatever had been done to her, she needed to get to a
doctor.
    Liz took one last look around the cabin,
headed for the door, and stepped outside.
    Evening had