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

by Ilana Waters

  “We can,” Ashdown toned. “And we will. In due time. Meanwhile, you will keep the Council’s official recommendation in mind.” He leaned forward. “Now, if you will both excuse me, as I mentioned, I am very busy.”

  “With what?” Abigail demanded.

  “Anything,” Ashdown said. “Good night, Ms. Silver, Mr. Aurelius.” The swirling smoke vanished, and Ashdown with it.

  Abigail stared at the glass, now an ordinary set of doors again. “He’s not going to look into anything, is he?”

  “Not in the least.” Titus brought his fist down on one of the desks. When he lifted it, there was a circle of indented cracks.

  Abigail swore. “And he can just make a recommendation on behalf of the whole Council like that?”

  “He can.” Titus forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly.

  “Great.” Abigail threw back her head and let it hang over her shoulders. She closed her eyes. “Just great. There goes our last hope. I can’t believe he won’t take us seriously! Talk about a disappointment. I really thought a high council of witches would be more . . . I don’t know.” She straightened her neck out. “But I swear, if that guy looked down any further at us, you could see up his nostrils.”

  “Welcome to what it means to be a half-breed.” Titus patted his breast pocket for a cigarette, then remembered he hadn’t smoked since the 1950s.

  “I thought you said they had a problem with witches killing witches.” Abigail jabbed her foot at a stain on the carpet. “Didn’t Sybil try to kill me? And Gregson tried to kill both of us.”

  “I’m afraid they don’t consider you a true witch, my dear. At least, not yet.” Titus held his hand over the dent he’d made in the desk. Slowly, the cracks came together, the indentation smoothed out. “And they think I am something that was a witch, now an abomination.”

  “Man, the world is a shitty place to live, sometimes.” Abigail threw fake punches in the air. “Do you think that’s why Ashdown won’t help us? Because he feels we’re beneath him? Would he have helped someone he considered witch enough?”

  “Possibly.” Titus stared out the windows and into the night. “But the Council is usually willing to put such things aside for the greater good. Meaning all witches, in this case. No, I think it’s because, if this were a court case, you’d call our evidence ‘circumstantial’ at best. Damn.” He kicked at a desk leg, only just remembering to hold back his vampire strength so it wouldn’t break off. He glanced one last time over the darkened library. “Come. We should return home.

  “There’s nothing left for us here.”

  Chapter 17

  The sky was clouded and heavy, threatening rain, as Titus and Abigail trudged back to his house. As soon as they entered the drawing room, Abigail flopped down on the high-backed chair in front of the fireplace.

  “All that schlepping around for nothing.” Her forehead rested in her hand as one leg dangled over the arm of the chair.

  “Oh, it wasn’t for nothing.” Titus laid his key on the fireplace mantel. “We did walk away with the valuable warning not to involve ourselves further. ‘Remain as far away from Eleanor Cunningham’s enterprise as possible,’ I believe were Ashdown’s exact words.” The key’s blood-mimicking metallic scent, so often comforting to him, was now just a reminder of how badly he wanted to tear open Ashdown’s throat.

  Abigail lifted her head. “He can’t honestly expect us to listen to that. At the very least, ‘lives are at stake,’ remember? Tonight, someone may die, but we don’t know who, how many, or how to stop it.” She leaned her head back again and closed her eyes.

  “Perhaps that’s as it should be.” Titus’s gaze wandered to the glowing wall sconces and the long shadows they cast. “I mean, what’s the difference, really? Whoever they are, if they’re mortal, they’re just going to die, anyway.”

  “Then you love the crap out of them until they’re gone,” Abigail snapped. “That’s how that works.” She shot up from the chair, pushing it back so hard, it made a scraping sound on the stone floor. Titus turned to her in surprise.

  “Love them?” repeated Titus. “I don’t even know them.”

  “I meant in general. Yes, everybody is going to die, eventually. The point of living is to love them while they’re here. But forget other people for a second,” Abigail continued. “Obviously, putting them first isn’t your forte. Aren’t you worried the Council’s being a bit too casual about this? That whatever Cunningham has up her sleeve is dangerous for you, too?”

  Titus’s jaw tensed. “Possibly,” he replied in a dark voice. “Which is why I brought it to the Council’s attention. But without their help in further investigations, pursuing this on our own isn’t only foolhardy; it could be suicidal. It would be ironic if the very actions I took to prevent my demise led to it. What’s the Yiddish proverb? ‘Do not cause what you seek to avoid’?”

  There. He’d bested her in her own language. That should be the end of it.

  “Schmendrick,” Abigail spat. More Yiddish rolled off her tongue, faster than Titus thought possible. “If you don’t want to do something, one excuse is as good as another,” she shot back.

  End of it, my ass, he thought. Should’ve known better.

  He folded his arms across his chest and stared her down. “I don’t want to do something that will bring about my untimely death, which is perfectly reasonable. Even your Darwin observed the self-preservation instinct in nature. Survival of the fittest. Only good point Ashdown brought up all night,” he grumbled.

  “Horseshit,” Abigail retorted. “There’s no natural or logical order to what you’re doing. You’re just looking for an excuse to be an asshole. Really, is your ego so large it can be seen from space?”

  Titus’s cheeks grew warm, despite his vampire nature and the draftiness of the room. “If you think I’m such an egomaniac, why are you spending so much time with me? No one stapled you to my side.”

  “Maybe I think there’s good in you. Enough to be worthwhile.”

  “Goodness?” Titus echoed. “This is no time for insults. And what about these people, whoever they are, that you’re hell-bent on saving tonight? What if they aren’t good? What if they’re evildoers, like Cunningham? Like me? Do you really care about them, then?”

  “YES!” Abigail yelled. “Okay, I care a little less if they’re like Cunningham. But what if they’re not evil? We’ve already seen how that woman is willing to mow down guilty and innocent alike to get what she wants. And hey, I do care if something happens to you!” she blurted. “I mean, don’t you ever think about . . . you know . . .” She gestured vaguely, developing a sudden fascination with the mantel.

  “About what?” he asked. “Us?” Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. It was the closest they’d ever come to saying how they felt.

  How do I feel? Titus asked himself. I don’t even know. He was a man of action. Emotion did not sit easy with him.

  “Maybe,” Abigail said, “your being in that pub with me wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “You’re saying it’s kismet we were there?” he scoffed. No. He would not soften for this woman. The hardness that had kept him alive all these years wasn’t going down without a fight.

  “I’m saying you might have been set up there, same as me. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone wanted you dead, dumbass,” she snarled.

  Titus hesitated. This could be true. Then again, he was a vampire. He didn’t care if people died. He just didn’t want to be one of them. But now, he had an irritating complication:

  He didn’t want Abigail to be one of them either.

  “Admittedly,” he cleared his throat, “it’s feasible.” The ivory fangs of animal heads on the walls gleamed in the low light. “But it’s safe to say that someone, somewhere, probably wants me dead at all times. That isn’t new. Nor it doesn’t mean I need to risk my life for people I don’t even know. Neither should you.”

  “What’s wrong with that?
” Abigail asked.

  Titus’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean besides everything? It’s brainless, for starters.”

  “You did it.” She pointed at him. “When you saved me at the pub. In a couple of places, actually. Maybe you’re not as evil as you think.”

  Titus shook his head. “That was different. I was saving myself, at least at the pub. Wasn’t that much more trouble to take you with me. And what if the ‘final shipment’ Cunningham is planning tonight is just another trap for us? One we don’t manage to avoid?”

  “What do you want me to do, then?” Abigail held out her hands. “Turn my back on my fellow man? On everything I believe in?”

  “Run away. That’s what mortals do, isn’t it? Just run away.”

  Abigail squeezed her eyes shut and balled her fists. A few feet to the right, a small sculpture crumbled into dust. Abigail opened her eyes and looked at Titus.

  “But I’m not exactly mortal any longer, am I?” she asked softly. “And I’m not running away. Or are you just a coward, like the folks at the PIA?”

  “I am not a coward.” The anger in Titus’s voice surprised even him. “But I am a vampire. What did you expect me to be?”

  Abigail put one hand on her hip. “I expect you to be a man.”

  Titus’s jaw dropped. It was several seconds before he could form a reply.

  “Do you want me to be the kind of man I was?” he growled. “The kind you read about? Conquering whole nations and doing with their inhabitants what I pleased? Is that what you want?”

  “I want you to be the kind of man that only you can be.” Her eyes were pleading, her face pained.

  “That doesn’t make any bloody sense!” he exploded. Abigail didn’t even flinch. Why can’t she be like other women? Why won’t she back down?

  “Of course it does,” she insisted. “What I learned about you in the history books wasn’t all blood and swords and gore. There was genuine courage there, too. Especially when you tried to rescue—” Her mouth soundlessly started to form a name. But her eyes met Titus’s, and the name died on her lips. She coughed into her hand. “The point is, I expect more from you. Other men aren’t as strong, or as brave.”

  “I told you, I am not a man.” He pounded a fist into his palm. “I am a vampire.”

  “Then be more. You have to leave this earth better than you found it.”

  Titus barked a laugh. “Nonsense. You say that now, while you’re full of youth and vigor.” He jutted his chin at her. “Wait till you’ve lived a few millennia. Then see how easy you find it. You’ll be exhausted, dragged down by the hopelessness of it all.”

  Abigail rubbed her throat. “I won’t let that happen to me.”

  “It is inevitable,” Titus said. He stared at the grandfather clock across from them, its ticktock so much louder to him than to Abigail. “The crushing weight on your shoulders, the despair, then the apathy. It’s as immutable as the march of time itself. You don’t have a choice.”

  “Everything is a choice.” Abigail moved in front of Titus, forcing him to look at her. “Maybe having those feelings isn’t, but the decision not to fight against them? To just roll over and let them take you? That is a goddamn choice.” Her voice was thick with imminent tears, but they seemed to Titus tears more of fury than sadness.

  “Fight against them . . . well, I’m afraid you’ll find very few people with that kind of fortitude.”

  “Why do you think I chose you?” she exploded, throwing her arms out. “Are you a warrior, or a weakling?”

  Titus felt himself go cold with outrage. He fought to keep his voice steady and measured. “I’m sorry if you thought I was going to go share this life with you as one half of the Champions for Good. If that’s the case, you will be gravely disappointed. Real men do not—”

  “Do not what?” Abigail asked. “Do not petrify? That’s what happens to the ancient witches, the vampires, isn’t it? They let their hearts turn to stone while the rest of their bodies walk around as dry, empty husks.”

  “If your intention was to defeat my argument with mixed metaphors,” Titus countered, “you’re doing splendidly.” It was a feeble argument, puerile and sulky. But he couldn’t help it. She was hitting too close to home.

  “Don’t try and use a straw man, Titus Aurelius, unless that’s what you want to become.” Abigail held her chin high. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re not stone, not yet. Your heart’s like a raging bull, trapped in a pen. Snorting, pawing at the ground, with no way out and nowhere to go.”

  “And I suppose you’re the one to set me free?” he sneered. “Perhaps you think I am less bull-in-pen, and more princess-in-tower. Rest assured, I hold no such romantic notions of myself—or anyone else.”

  “What about you and Sabine?” she blurted out.

  Titus’s eyes went wide; he trembled with fury. The warmth he’d felt in his cheeks earlier spread through his body. He’d swear his blood was boiling. “Don’t you dare bring her into this,” he hissed.

  “You were in love with her, weren’t you?” Abigail tried to look at him, but he refused to meet her eyes. “In your own way. You tried to save her, but . . . is that why you’re so reluctant to stick your neck out for anyone? Are you afraid of losing someone again? Or are you afraid you’ll fail to save them?”

  “You do realize I am not the postmodern man who has a problem with striking a woman, yes?” His voice was the low rumble of thunder.

  She ignored him. “You couldn’t stop yourself from loving Sabine, no matter how much it hurt you. It’s the same way with me and people, Titus. I can’t make myself stop caring.”

  “It’s a matter of will.” He walked toward the door that led to the hallway, still not looking at her. “Mortals do it all the time.”

  Abigail ran in front of him, and he stopped. “Not this one,” she said. “It’d be like trying to put out a house fire with a teaspoon. All this pain and misery around me.” She gestured helplessly. “I can’t not see it. And I can’t stop trying to do something about it.” She stood next to a life-size marble sculpture of a woman, the statue’s anguished expression mimicking the pain in Abigail’s face. As if both were pleading with him, or berating him.

  “That’s who I am, Titus,” Abigail said. “I can’t change that. It’s not a matter of will; it’s a matter of atoms.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, why go on trying to make things better?” He ran his hands over his face. “You’ll never save every person, dry every tear.”

  “Because this is what happens when you don’t even try,” Abigail screamed. She pointed to a painting by Doré. It was one of his lost pieces: a depiction of the apocalypse that never reached public hands. Titus had acquired it at a considerable sum. Trapped within the gilded frame was a chaotic scene of devils, demons, and grim reapers ravaging humanity. Maidens lay prostrate, dragged away by foul beasts, hands clasped in prayers that would go unanswered. Sinners suffered unspeakable torments under the gleeful gaze of bat-winged captors. It was a scene Titus knew all too well. After all, he had caused enough of it.

  Abigail’s face glistened with perspiration. Her chest heaved. Her eyes had a wild look about them. Hysterical, thought Titus. But he knew that look. He’d witnessed it in himself, many times, when he felt strongly about something. When he’d been a passionate young man. It seemed so long ago.

  “Is that what you want, Titus?” she demanded. “For everyone—you, me, mortals, vampires, witches, and the rest—to devolve into this?” She gestured adamantly at the painting. “Well, do you?”

  He tore his eyes from Abigail and the painting to the hallway a few yards away. He could see thin rays of light spilling onto the floor from the windows. He felt a familiar heaviness grip him. Dawn was approaching. Abigail followed his gaze to the encroaching sunlight.

  “This is insane,” he said finally. “You don’t even know how many—or what kind—of enemy you’ll be facing with Cunningham. You have no weapons. And if
you think your budding magical powers are enough to take her down, do yourself a favor: see one of those mind-doctors mortals visit these days.” His shoulders sagged. Suddenly, he felt far older than two thousand years.

  “I’m going to see this through, Titus Aurelius, with or without you.” Abigail’s voice was steady once again, her eyes full of resolve.

  “You do whatever you like,” he replied. “I’ll be generous, and let you spend the day in the safety of my home. But,” he growled, “you’d better not be here when I wake up.”

  He left the room with such speed, he knew it would be impossible for Abigail to tell which direction he went, let alone follow him.

  Chapter 18

  The air felt even damper than when Abigail had returned with Titus to the townhouse. It was thick now, almost like soup. Although that did make it warmer, it did not improve Abigail’s mood. Thunder rumbled overhead as angry thoughts did the same in her mind.

  Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? I mean, I knew he wasn’t Mother Teresa, but I never expected Titus to shy away from danger. Guess my intuition about him was off. Maybe I’m no good at this witch thing after all. She nervously turned her just-bought bracelet over and over on her wrist. Well, better hope you are good at it, girl, she told herself. Your magic is the only thing standing between someone and certain death. And that someone might be you.

  She’d ditched her long vest at Titus’s house. She wasn’t about to give Sybil—or anyone else—the opportunity to snatch at it, or nearly pull her into a set of gears again. Instead, she’d bought a white tank top, worn under an off-the-shoulder lace top with fringe on the sleeves and hem. It didn’t keep her very warm, but the dampness and anger were doing that sufficiently.Abigail had done as much magical preparation as possible. She only hoped it would be enough. Truth spells weren’t the only ones she’d learned about when browsing the PIA’s arcane books. She’d also managed to skim several volumes about the magical properties of stones. Apparently, you didn’t have to wait until you chanced upon a mystical ring at a flea market; you could imbue gems and other things, like leaves or liquids, with spells. In a way, she had Sybil to thank. It was her amulet that gave Abigail the idea. She figured jewelry would be the perfect thing to fill with magic: easy to carry, and inconspicuous in case she was questioned by mortals.