Behind the grey

Remnants of an ancient clan of witches, decide to resurface after centuries of persecution by an unrelenting enemy. The price of wielding dark magic is great. The witches are afflicted with a blood lust. There are abductions. What has become of the missing?. Other dark creatures of myth start to emerge from the woodwork. They pick an interest in a seemingly ordinary young man. The problem with that is, heaven wants him too. She looked intently at her reflection as she brushed her hair. She bent her head to the right. Her reflection did the same. She bent her head to the left. Nothing unexpected happened. She abandoned her childish antics and headed for the king sized bed. When she was away from the mirror, her reflection stood erect. Its eyes burned red like fire and it sprouted bulging veins on its temple. Its face was wrinkled and hideous like that of an old hag. It gasped like an old man on his death bed. Isabelle did not notice this strange event. She was fast asleep under the covers of a warm duvet. She certainly would not move an inch from the comforts of warm bedding caressing her skin. The graying, well built man was sat on a reclining brown leather chair. He lit an ornate, antique pipe. He didn't like the regular cigarette. It didn't quite give the buzz he got from burning natural tobacco powder. He had before him, a black bowl. It held inside it what looked like old cat bones. The dark skinned man started to chant. Then he blew smoke from the pipe into the black bowl. Something strange happened. The bones levitated like puppets on a strong. They started to align themselves in proper position like some sort of jigsaw puzzle. The lights in the house started to flicker on and off in an erratic fashion. The table shook violently but this did not disturb the bones. They remained suspended at a few centimetres above the table. The bones started to become wrapped in strands of flesh. Then ginger hair started to sprout from the naked flesh of the animated carcass. Its eyelids flapped open, revealing a pair of bright green eyes. Boris reached out and held the cats face. He looked straight into it's eyes. He became still like a wax figure. Everything in the house became still like a photograph. Through the cats eye, his astral body travelled to a point in time, in the past. It was but a frozen moment. A moment he could only observe but not participate in. He hovered above the ground like a weightless spector. He recognized the cold docks of the Tower bridge area. There were clusters of high rise buildings. Each build