The Mage Tales Prequels, Books 0-II: (An Urban Fantasy Thriller Collection)

by Ilana Waters

  “Dennis!” Cunningham clucked her tongue.

  “RAF isn’t too fond of these.” Richard set his jaw and lifted his glasses off his nose.

  “Oh, El, he knows I’m only teasing.” Dennis waved his hand. “Right, Richie? Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find something else to make your family proud. Can’t all be big RAF heroes like Henry, can we?”

  “Apparently not,” Richard said under his breath.

  “All right, all right.” Cunningham smiled. “We’ve had our fun. Congratulations again to Arthur and Richard.” She pulled a third piece of paper out from her folder, placing it over the other two so squarely they seemed a single sheet. Then she began jotting some notes with her fountain pen.

  “Yes, congratulations, you two,” Dennis said. “And now, the treasurer will review any financial changes since last week’s meeting . . .”

  ***

  After the meeting was adjourned, members of the PIA stood milling around the credenza, sipping coffee and tea. Several of them cast disapproving glances at Abigail. Meanwhile, she scrutinized the volumes in a glass-fronted bookcase and pretended not to notice their stares.

  “Damned Yankees,” one of them muttered. “So arrogant.” He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and proceeded to pat his damp, receding hairline.

  “Now, Brex.” Cunningham stirred her tea, giving the spoon exactly two taps before placing it in its saucer. “You’re overreacting. Ms. Silver is harmless.”

  “I think she’s charming,” Arthur agreed. He rifled around the credenza till he found the sugar cubes.

  “Why’d the senior members assign her to London, anyway?” Brex sipped his tea, turning his head sharply when he saw Abigail glance at him. “Why not Rome? Or the States, for pity’s sake?”

  “I even heard she’s doing fieldwork. Unheard-of, for a novice,” Richard said, mostly into his teacup.

  “Oh, I sanctioned that,” Cunningham said nonchalantly. Everyone stopped drinking their tea. “What?” She shrugged. “Some individuals are ready earlier than others. I think she shows great potential, that one.” She lifted her cup toward Abigail, who promptly dropped the book she was holding with a loud “Oof!”

  Brex snorted. “Hardly. She hasn’t even memorized the files you gave her yet.”

  Richard frowned at Abigail, then squinted. He lifted his glasses to look again, as if it would help him see better.

  “You two know each other, Richie?” Brex asked.

  “What?” Richard turned to Brex. “I, ah . . . no. I don’t think so.” He squinted at her again, then put his teacup down and cleaned his glasses with the corner of his jacket. “Silly things must be smudged again.”

  “I don’t think she’s your type, old man.” Arthur winked at him. “And you don’t want to make that sweetheart of yours jealous, do you?”

  “Still with that same girl?” Brex asked. “The blonde one? A bit porky, though, isn’t she?”

  Richard put his glasses back on and gave the man a dark look. “I think she’s lovely.”

  “Of course, Richie.” Brex poured himself a second cup of tea. “Whatever you say. That one, on the other hand . . .” He jutted his chin at Abigail. “Too good to come over and have a drink with us, it seems. And the way she went on during the meeting! Americans and their bloody coffee. Why can’t they drink tea, like normal people?”

  “Calm down, Brex,” said Arthur. “We can’t all be made of Earl Grey, like you.”

  “If she doesn’t like what we serve, she can go back to her own bloomin’ country.” Brex took a large gulp of tea.

  “I knew Arthur was in charge of coffee,” Abigail said, standing directly behind Brex. He sputtered tea back into his cup. “I just like to tease him. Sheesh.” She picked a sugar cube up with tiny silver tongs, dropped it in her hand, and popped it in her mouth. Richard raised his eyebrows. Cunningham closed her eyes and shook her head. Arthur just smiled. “Can’t you guys lighten up? Besides, if you didn’t want me here, you shouldn’t have had Mrs. Ellis go into labor on the tube at eleven o’clock at night with no one around to help her.”

  Abigail plucked a compact out of her tasseled purse and watched herself wipe errant sugar crumbs off her lips. “One minute I’m on my way home from a late yoga class, the next, I’m helping a screaming Englishwoman to the ER.”

  “Poor Barb.” Brex sighed and put his teacup back in its saucer. “Any port in a storm, I suppose.”

  “Hey.” Abigail pointed at him. “That lady had good reason to take a shine to me. It’s what happens when people help you out in a tricky situation. Not my fault those heavy drugs they gave her made her spill the beans about the PIA.” She popped the compact back in her purse. “Besides, I can keep a secret.”

  “See that you do, Ms. Silver.” Cunningham gave her a tight smile. “Your life may depend on it.”

  “Oh, enough with the ‘Ms. Silver’ business.” Abigail waved her away. “Just call me Ab—wait, what?”

  “Your life, Ms. Sil—Abigail,” Cunningham repeated. “I don’t think I need to remind you what happens to mortals when supernaturals find out they are being investigated. Many do not take kindly to such scrutiny.” She leaned forward. “Remember our motto: Close, but not too close.”

  “Yes,” Abigail said wryly. “Arthur told me. Very catchy.”

  “And don’t think that dossier we gave you on supernaturals contains everything there is to know about them,” Brex said gruffly. “It’s only the minimum you’ll need if you wish to have the slightest chance of surviving. And even that is not a guarantee.”

  Abigail blew an errant curl away from her forehead. “You make working for the PIA sound more and more fun every minute.”

  “It isn’t supposed to be fun, Ms. Silver,” Brex snapped. “This is serious business. You think one would show a little more respect to an organization as ancient as ours.”

  “Easy, old boy,” Arthur said. “No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

  “Ancient?” Abigail repeated.

  “As long as supernaturals have existed, so has the PIA,” Arthur explained.

  “Yes, and despite your jibes about vampires,” Brex motioned to Abigail with his teacup, “don’t assume other creatures are harmless either. It’s important to be wary of witches, for instance. They, too, can read thoughts, unless you block them. Sometimes, they can even bend others to their will, same as vampires.”

  Abigail played with the tassels on her purse. “And here all I thought I had to worry about was Nosferatu attacking me in the middle of the night.”

  “Maybe you ought to listen, Ab,” Arthur said gently. “Witches are physically stronger than mortals, though not as strong as vampires. But they don’t need physical strength to harm you. They can often accomplish great feats of strength with magic. Their IQs are off the charts. Though vampires are cunning as well,” he murmured.

  “Didn’t Mrs. Ellis go over all this with you?” Richard knit his brows together.

  Abigail shrugged. “Probably. But it’s hard to hear with a newborn screaming in the background. Besides, I prefer to learn on the fly.”

  “Still, you may want to give those files a good going-over.” Arthur drank the last of his tea. “Learning on the fly can be deadly in this business.”

  “Agreed.” Brex’s teacup and saucer clattered on the table where he put them down. “Well, as stimulating as this conversation has been, I really must be going. Walk you out, Eleanor?”

  “No, I’ve got a few little details to tidy up here.” Cunningham went back to the head of the table with her teacup. She put on the glasses from around her neck again and began flipping through her folder. “You go on, though.”

  “Night all, then.” Brex gave a sharp nod in the direction of the credenza. “Arthur, Richard. Ms. Silver.” He turned and left.

  Arthur yawned and stretched out his arms. “Guess I’ll be going, too. Lord, but middle age does tend to creep up.” He pointed at Ric
hard. “Don’t let it come seeking you out, young man.”

  “Ah, no, sir,” Richard said.

  “And don’t you forget to take the proper precautions during your investigations,” Arthur said to Abigail, looking over his shoulder at Cunningham. “But apart from that, don’t let the old goats get to you,” he whispered. “Most of us aren’t as bad as we seem.”

  “No,” she giggled. “Some are worse.”

  “Much worse!” Arthur barked a laugh, stopping abruptly when he saw Cunningham turn her head. He winked at Abigail and Richard, then waved goodbye.

  Richard returned to the table and put files and folders back into his briefcase. When he looked up, Abigail was standing a few feet from him, eyes closed. Her hands were raised in the air, thumbs to fingertips, and she was murmuring to herself. He sidled up to her, eyes darting toward Cunningham.

  “What the devil are you doing?” he hissed.

  Abigail opened her eyes and smiled. “I’m centering my energy before I leave. Always a good idea after a long and arduous encounter. You should try it sometime.”

  “You can’t do things like that here.” He placed the briefcase on the table and leaned over it. “People will think you’re magic or something. And you know what the PIA does when it thinks members are magic.” Abigail’s smile fell away.

  “Yeah, about that . . .” Abigail bit her lip. “When Cunningham mentioned supernaturals at the PIA being dealt with . . . Any idea what she meant?”

  “I suppose they could get kicked out at best or . . . I don’t know.” Richard ran his fingers over the top of the briefcase. “You don’t tend to hear about the worst-case scenarios. They just sort of disappear.” Abigail’s eyes widened. “And if you were one, I could get into trouble just for talking to you.”

  “How does the PIA expect us to investigate supernaturals if we can’t talk to them?”

  “Shhh!” Richard put his finger to his lips and dared another glance at Cunningham. “Of course you can talk to supernaturals you’re investigating. But only with the greatest caution. Weren’t you listening before at all? No member of the PIA can be in league with supernatural creatures. So, if you were, say, a witch, I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

  Abigail pursed her lips. “Well, I’ve been called a witch before, but that was in a completely different context. So, I’m pretty sure you’re safe. Though I really don’t see why talking to supernaturals is so dangerous. You’d think they’d be flattered mortals are interested in them.”

  Richard’s jaw dropped. “Are you daft? With the information the PIA has, the records it keeps? It could expose a supernatural. Break the masquerade.”

  “Oooh. I see.” Abigail nodded. “And then some lesser-minded mortals might break out the torches and pitchforks.”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that colorfully, but yes.” Richard lifted his briefcase off the table. “Look, I have to go. Father is expecting me to fill him in on what happened during the meeting. Then, I have forms to complete for university orientation. Paperwork.” He closed his eyes. “No matter where I am, it never ends.” He opened his eyes. “’Night, then. And do take care, will you?”

  “You too, Richard,” Abigail called after him. “And try not to work too hard. For Pete’s sake,” she muttered to herself, “he’s eighteen going on eighty.”

  “Oh, Abigail,” called Cunningham. “A moment?”

  Abigail plastered a smile on her face and walked over. “Ah, I hope my coffee joke didn’t cause too much of a stir, Madame Vice President.”

  “Not at all, dear.” Cunningham removed her glasses, her piercing green eyes fixed on Abigail. “And never mind what Brex said about not wanting you here. About you going back to the States.” She paused. “You can’t take every member at their word.”

  “Right.” Abigail nodded. “I mean, I was only trying to lighten the mood.”

  “Of course. I’m sure everyone knows that. You’ll settle in, in time. I only wanted to see how you were getting on.”

  “Oh, great.” Abigail widened her smile. “Everything’s just great. A little reincarnation research here, a little ghost-hunting there. You know, the usual.”

  “Splendid.” Cunningham returned the smile, but something about it failed to warm Abigail. “I trust you’ll have no trouble typing up the notes on tonight’s meeting, then. Not that I noticed you taking any notes during the meeting.” The last sentence came out in a mutter.

  “No need to worry.” Abigail tapped her temple. “It’s all up here.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Cunningham replied. “In that case, have a good night.” She replaced her glasses and went back to sorting her own notes.

  “Night!” Abigail said brightly. She’d almost made it to the door when she heard Cunningham’s voice again.

  “Oh, one thing before you dash off. Do be a love and help us out, won’t you?” She held up a sheet of paper without looking behind her. “I have a trifling little assignment for you at a local pub . . .”

  Chapter 3

  Titus was still panting heavily, hands covering his head, when the deafening boom from the explosion died down. The crackle of the fire was several yards behind him—so loud, it sounded like a distant hum—as he lay facedown on the ground.

  It took him several seconds to realize the woman was beneath him.

  “Um, excuse me?” Tentatively, she opened one eye; the other remained squeezed shut. “Is it safe for you to get off me now?”

  Wordlessly, Titus rose and offered her his hand. Abigail took it, stood up, and brushed herself off. They stared at the cloud of smoke that mushroomed up from the pub before folding back into itself. The red and orange of the fire looked strangely beautiful against the black night sky.

  “Holy shit,” the woman murmured. “I can’t believe we made it out of there.” Soot smudges and dirt littered their faces and clothes. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He stopped staring at the fire and blinked at her several times. Concern for a vampire’s well-being was not a normal mortal reaction. If she is mortal.

  “I . . . am quite well, thank you.” The woman’s clothing was as torn as his own, and singed in several places. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, she seemed unharmed. “How did you fare—”

  “What are we going to do about the bar? I mean, pub.” She pointed urgently. “We can’t just leave it burning. It could spread. We have to call the fire department or something.” Abigail looked around fruitlessly at the empty gravel lot that surrounded them, and at the trees beyond. “Maybe there’s a pay phone . . .”

  Titus held up his palm to her and turned back to the inferno. “No need. I am the fire department.” He raised his hands toward the pub and concentrated. Slowly, the flames sank until they disappeared, leaving only an enormous pile of smoldering ash. He knew that soon, the dampness of the ground would cool that off as well. He turned back to the woman, pleased to see her mouth hanging open.

  “Okay,” she said. “This is the part where I ask how the hell you did that.”

  Titus smiled. “Every witch has an affinity for a particular element: earth, air, fire, or water. One they find easier to control than the others.” He motioned to the still-smoking pub. “You can guess which is mine.”

  “Every . . . witch?” Abigail’s brow furrowed. “I thought you were a vampire. You’re saying it’s possible to be both?”

  “It’s a lot less glamorous than it sounds.” His gaze wandered to her throat. “Especially when the latter has certain needs to consider.”

  “Hey!” She leaned back and put one hand on her hip. Not exactly the display of fear I was hoping for, thought Titus. “I just saved your life!” she said indignantly.

  Titus snorted. “Hardly. In case you failed to notice, I just saved yours. You nearly got us both killed in there with that stunt of yours.” He jutted his chin toward what was left of the pub. “Besides, if you had saved me, you’d have served your purpose, and I’d have no
more need of you.” He gave her a pointed look.

  Abigail placed both hands on her hips now. “Why did you save me, then? After my ‘little stunt’ took care of those other vampires, I was useless, according to you.”

  Titus laughed. “You . . . I . . .” He stopped laughing and stared at her. “Well, you are the most interesting thing to happen to me in a long time. I suppose there’s that.”

  Abigail made a face. “Glad I amuse you. I—ow! Dammit.” She pulled one hand off her hip, and Titus caught the sweet scent of blood wafting up from it. “Stupid glass from the pub.” She began digging around her purse with her good hand. “Where did I put those tissues . . .”

  “Allow me.” Titus strode over and covered her bleeding hand with both of his. Abigail looked at him strangely, but did not pull away. Surely, she must realize she is dripping with the very thing vampires crave most, and that there is nothing to stop me from taking it. Maddening!

  Nonetheless, Titus closed his eyes and felt healing magic flow through him into her. Abigail gave a surprised jerk, but still did not pull back. Finally, he released her. She stared at her hand, marveling at how the wound had closed and disappeared, with only a few flakes of dried blood littering her palm. Titus gave a pleased smile.

  “Hot damn.” She turned her hand over, then back again before looking up at Titus. “How’d you do that?”

  “You’d be surprised what you can learn on the battlefield.” He glanced around nonchalantly. “You never know what skills will come in handy.”

  “Battlefield? You were a soldier?”

  “General,” he corrected. “In the Roman emperor’s army.”

  “Wow,” she said. “You’re, like, really old, then.”

  Titus sighed. “Ancient.” It was no lie, though he knew he only appeared to be in his forties. Young enough to be attractive, but old enough to be taken seriously. And, naturally, power tended to make one more attractive to mortals.

  Except this one. Now she knew how ancient he was, the things he could do. Yet she did not cower or defer to him as most others did. Why is that? He was beginning to think the woman was brain-damaged, or missing some sort of fear gene.