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

by Ilana Waters

  “Vampire friends?” Titus blinked at her. “We’re not a social club that meets for tea and crumpets every second Tuesday. There is one witch I know—”

  “And?”

  “And he’s a necromancer.” Titus’s voice was steadier now, but he still sounded irritated. “So, unless we need to bring back the dead, I can’t see what aid he could offer us.”

  Abigail glanced at the broken statuettes behind them on the floor. “If things don’t go well, we may need his services by the time we’re through with this.” She turned back to Titus. “Look, no offense, but you are part witch. Why don’t you know more useful spells? Things that can help in situations like these?”

  “You may find this hard to believe, but before I met you, I rarely encountered ‘situations like these.’ ” Titus waved his hand. “I seldom run into a predicament that can’t be resolved with fists or fangs.”

  “Well, as we’ve seen, those may not be enough to get us out of this mess.” Abigail tugged on one of her curls. “So, if you’re out of magical and mundane ideas, do you think we at least have enough information to go to the Council?”

  “We can try,” he replied. “And we must. We have to face facts, Abigail.” His gaze followed hers to the broken statuettes.

  “It’s our last hope.”

  Chapter 15

  “Yes, Prime Minister, I’m quite certain.” Cunningham wound the telephone’s corkscrew cord around her finger. “Yes, I know no one else saw them. But I was there, ma’am, so I should know. They flew away before the guards arrived.” She paused. “Oh, yes, just up there for a quiet night with some friends.” She nodded reassuringly at Arthur and Richard on the opposite side of her desk. They both sat at the edge of their wooden seats, eyes locked on Cunningham, bodies tense.

  “Need to get away from it all, above the city.” Another pause. “Yes,” Cunningham chuckled. “I know you understand how it is. I never knew they could be so destructive either, but then again, these aren’t sparrows we’re talking about. They came crashing in; simply enormous birds. No, I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you which kind. Not much of a bird-watcher myself. Wasn’t there that wake of vultures that destroyed a Welsh abbey last year?”

  Cunningham played with the chain dangling from her desk lamp, watching its shadow flicker against the masks on the dark walls. “Goodness. Feathers, you say?” She raised her eyebrows. “At that warehouse, too? Bird flu? Do you really think . . . yes, I’m sure you have your best men on it. No, no, I won’t say anything to the press. Wouldn’t want to start a panic, now, would we?” Richard picked up a clear-glass paperweight in the shape of an elongated skull. Cunningham frowned at him. Richard quickly replaced the skull.

  “Indeed, thank heavens no one was hurt! Yes, I’m sure the guards did their utmost. Oh, I imagine it’ll take weeks, if not months, to repair.” Cunningham examined her fingernails. “Yes, such a shame when these things happen to national treasures. Icons, really. But we must buck up. Carry on, and all that. I mean, it was due for a renovation soon, anyway. Yes, and you as well. Terribly sorry about all the bother. ’Night, then!” She replaced the phone in its cradle. “Well, thank goodness that’s settled.” She poured herself another cup of tea. “We cannot have the mundane world knowing about the supernatural one.”

  “Indeed.” Arthur sipped his own tea, his face drawn. “Once again, Eleanor, your connections saved the day.”

  Cunningham smiled. “One does what one can.”

  “Though I wonder what did cause the clock face to break.” Arthur positioned his tea next to the sugar bowl on Cunningham’s tea tray. He spooned a white lump into the china cup and gave it a stir. “You really think one of the supernaturals went through it, El?”

  “I can’t imagine what else it could be.” Cunningham replaced the tea cozy over the pot. “Any one of them could have turned invisible and flown off, using the clock face as an escape route. And since no bodies were found at the scene, well, we must draw our own conclusions.”

  “Jesus.” Richard lifted a teacup to his lips with unsteady hands. “I still can’t believe it. Real vampires.” There were stains under the arms of his shirt where perspiration was drying. “Magic, spells whizzing through the air, nearly taking a body’s head off. Never seen anything like it,” he murmured.

  “You handled yourself very well for a first-timer, Richard.” Cunningham moved a tiny silver spoon in a circle around her own cup, though she took no milk or sugar.

  “Yes, well done,” agreed Arthur, taking another sip of tea. “Reading about supernaturals is quite different than seeing them up close. There are few who’d manage to keep their heads the way you did. But what about you, Eleanor?” He replaced the teacup in the saucer on his lap. “Are you sure you’re all right? That vampire—Titus—almost killed you!”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” she coughed weakly, putting a hand to her throat. Blue and purple bruises were beginning to form where Titus had tried to strangle her. “Takes more than a millennia-old monster to get the better of Eleanor Cunningham.”

  Arthur pumped his in the air. “Attagirl!”

  “But we nearly didn’t get away. I can’t believe you were actually considering saving Abigail back there.” Her lips were pressed into a line. “Really, lads, where were your heads? When I think of what could have happened . . .” She shuddered.

  “I know, I know.” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s just . . . you’re sure there isn’t a reasonable explanation for her behavior?”

  Cunningham’s jaw dropped. “Reasonable? You saw how she was partners with that vampire. Who joins up with an unspeakable brute like that? No one with pure motives, I can tell you.”

  “True enough,” said Arthur ruefully.

  “Such a shame.” Richard stared ahead blankly. “She seemed nice. Barmy, but nice.”

  “It was all an act,” Cunningham said. “Surely you can both understand that.”

  “I do, I do.” Arthur rubbed his face with his hands. “You were absolutely right about Abigail, Eleanor. I see that now. I’m so sorry for any part I played in this, getting you into trouble with that awful lot in the clock tower.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Arthur.” She gave him a sad smile. “She had us all fooled.”

  “You should’ve told us you thought she was up to something, Ms. Cunningham.” Richard took a long sip from his cup. “You didn’t have to investigate her on your own. We could’ve helped.”

  “I didn’t want to get you involved,” Cunningham said tearfully. “I wanted to protect you two.”

  “Dear, dear Eleanor.” Arthur reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief. “And the way she tried to turn it around, to convince us it was you all along.” He shook his head.

  “Horrid, isn’t it?” Cunningham dabbed at her eyes before handing the handkerchief back to Arthur. “How conniving some women can be.”

  “And that appalling mirror.” Arthur tightened his grip on the cup. “Truth spell, my arse. That thing probably had a death ray coming out of it. Thank God Richard and I got there when we did.”

  “Indeed.” Richard nodded. “Definitely something the PIA needs to be warned about. Where do we file our final reports?” he asked Cunningham.

  “Final . . .” Cunningham blinked. “Oh, no, Richard. I don’t think we should file a report at all. Any of us.”

  “Not file a report?” Arthur stared, incredulous, at Cunningham. “But Eleanor, that’s unheard-of.”

  “Well, we’ve never been in a situation quite like this, have we?” she asked. “What if the senior members thought we’d been hiding—or protecting—a supernatural in our midst this whole time? They’d be furious. There’s no telling what they’d do,” she said ominously.

  “But we weren’t hiding or protecting Abigail,” Richard said.

  “Now Richard, I know that,” said Cunningham. “And you know that. The question is, whether the senior members will believe the truth. No, I
have a better idea.” She held up one hand. “Before you two arrived at the clock tower, I overheard the witch—Sybil—and two of the vampires talking. It seems something big is going to happen at the docks tomorrow night. I’m sure Abigail and that other vampire, Titus, are involved, too.

  “I managed to find out the address.” Cunningham put on her reading glasses and plucked a crisp, white sheet of paper from the desk tray. She jotted the address and time down and handed the paper to Arthur. “I suggest the three of us go there and document what they try to do. Perhaps even stop it.”

  “Eleanor, that’s sheer madness!” Arthur looked from the paper to her and back again. “We’re lucky to have escaped the clock tower when we did.”

  “Yes, absolutely,” said Richard. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead. Not to mention the PIA motto.” He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Rather precludes us from trying to stop anything.”

  “I don’t think you lads understand what’s happening here.” Cunningham removed her glasses. “Whatever they’re doing is going to be big. From what I gathered, it could even involve killing PIA members.” Arthur’s and Richard’s eyes bulged. “I mean, why do you think Abigail joined our organization in the first place? You know supernaturals avoid us like the plague. She obviously wants to destroy us all. She’s clearly a threat: one we need to take care of.”

  “But if Ms. Silver is really as threatening as you say,” Richard placed his teacup on the edge of Cunningham’s desk, “shouldn’t we be out looking for her? All the more reason to tell the senior members. To organize a search.”

  “Quite, quite.” Arthur nodded.

  “Good thinking, Richard,” said Cunningham. “Except,” she took a deep breath, “we’re not dealing with an ordinary witch here. This is Abigail we’re talking about. She could be more dangerous than anyone we’ve ever encountered. For one thing, she’s in league with an ancient vampire like Titus Aurelius. She’s managed to infiltrate the very foundations of the PIA. Lord only knows what kinds of information she has on us. On our families. Or your girlfriend, for instance.” Richard paled. “No, we must be especially cautious with this one. Let her think she’s in the clear, that she’s got the upper hand. It’s the only thing that might make her drop her guard. That might allow us to defeat her.”

  “Defeat her?” Arthur echoed. “Blimey. You really think she’s as bad as all that?” He placed his teacup and saucer on the small table next to him.

  “I do,” Cunningham said firmly. “What’s more, it’s clear to me that we’re the only ones who can do it. We’d be putting the rest of the PIA in harm’s way if we involved them. And we’re running out of time. Whatever they’re plotting—whatever Abigail’s plotting—will reach its culmination tomorrow night.” Cunningham pounded a fist on her blotter.

  “I still don’t know, Eleanor,” Arthur said. He and Richard looked at each other uneasily. Cunningham rose from her seat and walked to the other side of the desk.

  “All I’m asking is that you put off making your report for one day . . . if we live that long.” She looked down at the two men, eyes filled with worry. “If I’m wrong about all this—and I hope to God I am—you can file it straight after. Does that sound fair?”

  “I suppose, under the circumstances.” Arthur stroked his chin. “But if what you say about Abigail is true, aren’t you concerned about the kind of spells she can do? The kind of power she has?”

  “Right,” Richard said. “What if she shows up tomorrow night with something more than a magic mirror?”

  “I’ll admit we were caught off guard in the clock tower,” said Cunningham. “But this time will be different. This time, we’ll be prepared.”

  “Prepared how?” Arthur asked.

  “And what if Ms. Silver—or one of the other supernaturals—comes after us before tomorrow night?” Richard tugged nervously at his collar.

  “Well, Titus is a vampire. He isn’t going to do anything during the day.” Cunningham moved Richard’s empty teacup and saucer from her desk to the tea tray. “Same with the two other blood drinkers we saw.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s nearly dawn now . . . miracle I was even able to get the prime minister on the phone. Then again, she never stops working for our country, does she?” She smiled, a faraway look in her eye. Richard blinked several times. Arthur scratched the back of his neck and glanced at the floor.

  “Anyway,” Cunningham continued, “I think if we stay here, at headquarters, we’ll be safe from any witches, including Abigail.”

  “Are you sure our only option is to go on a witch hunt?” Richard shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “This is not why I joined the PIA.”

  Cunningham’s eyes went wide with determination. “Good God, man!” She took Richard by the shoulders and shook him. Arthur nearly dropped the paper in his hand in surprise.

  “Steady on, El!” he said. Cunningham ignored him.

  “Heaven only knows how many people Abigail’s already killed to get where she is.” She leaned over Richard, pinning him with her gaze. “Do you want any more people dying? Well? Do you?”

  “No, of course not, but—” Richard grimaced as Cunningham’s fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his upper arms.

  “Think about Dennis,” she said. “Think about Brex. And what of Barbara and her new baby, Angelina? Not to mention your father—and girlfriend, remember? We have to protect our own, Richard.” She sighed and lowered her arms. “In times of struggle and uncertainty, great men have always been called on to come to the fore. Don’t you want to be a hero, Richard, like your father?”

  “Yes, but—” he started.

  “Remember how the witch, Sybil, said she’d ‘deal with us later’?” Cunningham said. “We have to take her and the rest out—before they take us out.”

  “But what about our motto?” Richard insisted. “ ‘Close, but not too—’ ”

  “SOD THE MOTTO, RICHARD,” Cunningham shouted. Richard’s hands gripped the arms of the chair; Arthur leaned back in his seat. “Our lives hang in the balance!” Cunningham said. “What part of that don’t you understand?” Her shoulders moved up and down with every deep breath.

  “Calm down, Eleanor.” Arthur put one hand on her wrist. “I’m sure Richard’s just being thorough. Examining all the options.” Cunningham went back around her desk and sat down.

  Arthur turned to Richard. “But I’m afraid I have to agree with her at this point. It seems we don’t have much choice. God, I wish this weren’t happening.” Arthur rubbed his face with one hand, suddenly looking like he hadn’t slept in days. He turned to Cunningham. “But all right, Eleanor. I trust you. You’ve never led us astray before.”

  Cunningham made a noise that sounded like a giggle, but ended in a cough. “Beg your pardon.” She took a long sip of tea. “Sorry I was cross with you, Richard.”

  “It’s all right.” Richard suddenly developed a keen interest in cleaning his glasses with the hem of his jacket.

  “Something did occur to me, though, Eleanor.” Arthur folded the paper she’d given him into the pocket of his sweater vest. “What if Sybil—or the vampires she’s working with—finish off Abigail or Aurelius before we get there? Or vice versa?”

  “Yes, they didn’t seem entirely happy with one another when we left.” Richard put his glasses back on. “Maybe there’s dissension in the ranks. Half their number could be dead already.”

  “All the better for us, then.” Cunningham removed the tea cozy and poured herself another cup. “Let them argue amongst themselves. Maybe even kill each other. The fewer freaks to deal with, the greater our chances of survival.”

  “Yes, ah, about survival.” Richard adjusted his glasses. “Are you sure you’re in any state to go up against supernaturals tomorrow night, Ms. Cunningham?”

  “Yes, why not let Richard and me handle it?” Arthur asked.

  Richard’s voice rose in alarm. “Actually, that’s not what I—” />
  Cunningham let out a long sigh. “Honestly, Arthur. When are you going to learn I’m not some delicate flower that needs protecting?”

  “It’s just . . . you seemed pretty upset in the clock tower,” Arthur said gently.

  Cunningham waved him away. “A moment of weakness. After all, I feared for my life. For all our lives. But it won’t happen again. No, I’ve got to put the greater good ahead of my own petty desires.” She placed one hand on her heart. “I’m sure you two feel exactly the same.”

  “But how are we going to defeat them?” Richard asked. “Crossbows won’t do. And what if there are more immortals than just the ones we saw in the clock tower? There could be a whole army of them, for all we know.”

  Cunningham smiled. “Leave that part to me. I have a plan.” There was a long pause.

  Arthur coughed. “Ah, are you going to tell us what it is?”

  Cunningham held up one hand. “It’s too complicated to explain. It’ll be easier for me to show you when we get there.”

  “I don’t know, Ms. Cunningham.” Richard ran his thumb over and over the end of his tie. “What plan could we devise that would be enough to combat an army of immort—”

  “Mr. Grant, England does have its own army, you do realize,” Cunningham said wearily. “And Mrs. Thatcher is not my only friend in government. If you give me a few hours, I will get in touch with my contacts at MI5.”

  Richard’s eyes bulged. “MI5?” he echoed. “Crikey!” Arthur whistled.

  Cunningham gave a satisfied smile. “Precisely. They’ll make sure we have all the supplies we need.”

  “Well, I’d say military-grade weapons ought to do it.” Arthur rubbed his hands together. “Don’t you think so, Richard?”

  “If they don’t, I can’t imagine what will,” Richard said. “But won’t the supplier want to know what they’re for? You said we can’t have anyone knowing supernaturals exist.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Cunningham assured him. “MI5 owes me a favor. The kind that precludes asking questions.”