Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  “And what would happen after I was freed? Will I go to Valhalla? Will I remain here forever? Will I go to any sort of afterlife?”

  “I don’t know, you ungrateful wretch, I don’t know! But you at least would have been free to find out. And the ritual has been perfected, there is no wandering ghost anymore. We figured out that we need gems to have a better, deeper connection to the soul’s power, so we can keep just the power and let the person move on.”

  “You blind fool!” I screamed; my rage had slowly built to the point where I couldn’t hold it in check. “Look in your gems! The person is locked in with their power, you trap the power and the spirit! You haven’t separated the two, you have only locked in the power deeper.”

  “Brandur, at this point I don’t care. Efi died because of you!” Martillo sobbed, over his friend as he smoothed down Efi’s dark frazzled hair. “He had gone too long without eating, he started to get shaky and weak. Then after he moved the last load of books out of the shack he fainted, started shaking violently, and hit his head on a rock.”

  “At least now he will never kill and steal another person’s spirit for their power. Never teach anyone else the secret ritual. With the settlement burned down, no way to go home, and your supplies mostly ruined, it’s unlikely that anyone else, including you, will survive. A few fewer Delgados, a few less of Heliodoro’s descendants, to continue and pass along his work.”

  Martillo looked at me in jaw dropped horror.

  “This entire time?”

  “I wouldn’t have been able to do much in the heart of your family’s power, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could save other people, another culture, that has been labeled as ‘savages’ and less than human, from your family’s experiments. Help prevent the spread of your family’s influence and power.”

  His gaze dropped from my face and became unfocused. He shook his head from side to side in disbelief, his lavish and colorful clothing soot-stained and torn. Martillo got up and walked over to a pile of lead boxes, each of which held a patra with a ghost locked inside of it and searched through the pile.

  “You know,” he said, “it was because of the spread of the Arabs that Heliodoro was able to find the tome of the long-lost murus that initially discovered the trick to performing a sambadda. A son of an Indian man and his Roman wife, rich in the learning that both cultures offered, and then he delved into the mysticism of both. No one remembers his name, and his tome was damaged in the sacking of the Library of Alexandria so the name on the cover was illegible, but the murus’ tome was one that the Arab sect of The Golden Cup Society copied and traded with the Christian sect. Usually, the two cultures have nothing to do with each other, but The Golden Cup Society transcends all of the pettiness to achieve their goal: To remember all who have come before.”

  Martillo found the box he had been looking for and made his way over to the sooty anvil in front of a nearby pile of coals.

  “Funny, how things end up changed so drastically when twists in fate touch the world. If the Library of Alexandria hadn’t been destroyed so long ago, The Golden Cup Society wouldn’t have pushed so hard for centuries to copy and trade their saved tomes of people’s lives. Maybe you would have lived your life without Heliodoro’s interference. Maybe he wouldn’t have tracked down your wife and did to her what he did to you.”

  Gently, he opened the box and pulled out a Damascus steel valknut, the pair to my own. I would have recognized it, recognized its patterns within the layered steel, anywhere.

  He held Torhild’s valknut.

  “No.” Shock washed over me in an icy torrent. I pushed my Odin’s sight forward, towards the valknut. It radiated a bright, seafoam green and I smelled the salty sea and raspberries in that aura.

  My Torhild, trapped like me all these years.

  The seafoam aura was strong but sluggish. She had been locked away for a long time as I had, and it would take some time for her to become aware of herself again. But she was here, with me! My soul sang and cried at the same time because while she was here with me she also had been denied the halls of the gods.

  Then Martillo placed the valknut on the anvil ever so gently and picked up the blacksmith hammer that was next to it on the ground.

  “What are you doing?” I stumbled forward, all my ghostly skills gone in an instant, my entire being focused on her and her valknut.

  “You killed the only person that I ever truly loved, the only person that has ever understood me, accepted me, my best friend,” Martillo’s voice was flat and monotone. “I’m now going to destroy yours.”

  Martillo lifted the hammer high above his head with a grunt, then using his whole body brought the hammer down. It sailed through the air like an eagle descending upon its prey, then struck the Damascus steel resting on the anvil. With that one blow, the valknut shattered into pieces. Vines of seafoam sprayed out from under the hammer, the screams of pain she gave wrenched through my soul as I saw her aura shatter into pieces along with the valknut. The vines slowly retracted into their respective chunk of Damascus steel, and each piece glowed with her bright seafoam green, but her screams of horror and pain never stopped. They just continued in chorus with each other through the ruins of Libertad.

  “Smash mine next, like hers, please, please!” I sobbed. I dropped to my hands and knees in front of Martillo. “Please, I can’t bear to be whole while she is in pieces!”

  “You shall stay whole, and you shall continue your existence knowing that you were responsible for your ghost staying a slave and your wife’s ghost being shattered. Efi and I wanted to free both of you, and we didn’t know what sort of mental state she would be in, so we left her in the box. You though, you’ve always been strong, and you could have had information that Heliodoro didn’t write down. Efi and I wanted to take down the family. Now…

  “Enjoy eternity in a box, my ‘friend.’“ He pulled off my valknut with one hand and in the other, he concentrated his aura until it looked like dense green bolts of Thor’s lightning, then he held the hand with the green lightning and directed the bolts into the patterned steel of my pendant. It felt like I had been struck by lightning, every piece of me felt like it was within one of Thor’s bolts. My spirit’s strength then was pulled, gulped down in large swallows, through my connecting line and valknut, into Martillo. He switched from the assault to the drain so fast I had no time to react, and soon there was only darkness. Again.

  Broken by his failed revenge and years of isolation, Brandur is deemed too dangerous and is locked away in a vault by the family who killed and trapped his ghost within his valknut pendant. Centuries later the vault that has become his tomb is accidentally found, and Brandur is reintroduced to a world that he can’t fathom. Brandur finds his hope in a young girl who unknowingly becomes a target for the family, and Brandur refuses to allow her to be killed and used. He must find living allies to help save her, but who can he trust?

  If you enjoyed “The Rebellion” and Wayward Magic, continue following Brandur’s story in “The Meeting!” part of Forgotten Magic.

  About the Author

  A small-town girl from the Adirondack Park in Upstate New York, Gwendolyn Woodschild surrounds herself with horses, critters, family, friends, and trees. Always the avid reader, she used books to escape out of her school life and into worlds where the good guys win in the end.

  This led to an excessive amount of daydreaming as she lived within her imaginary worlds, which ended up evolving into her art in its many forms. From a run down Ferris wheel becoming the latest focus of her photography to a dream inspiring a series of novels, she tells stories of adventure, challenge, and growth across the genres of paranormal fantasy, science fiction, and high fantasy.

  “Reality is up for grabs. One man’s reality is another man’s fantasy.”

  Trapper John McIntyre

  This quote resonates with Gwendolyn as she turns her imaginary worlds into reality for your reading pleasure. Her current past times are avoiding having spare
time, mucking stalls, writing one of her numerous projects, being “volun-told” by her nieces when and where she is taking them and a carload of friends, hiking with her husky/white shepherd mix, crocheting, and pestering her beloved grandfather.

  For more information about the author, please visit: www.Ghost-Stalkers.com. Get “The Meeting” in the last installment of the Magic Underground Anthology trilogy, Forgotten Magic. Buy your copy today!

  The Watcher

  H. B. Lyne

  This short story showcases the terrifying effects of magic gone awry. The shamanistic magic in my urban fantasy world can do great and terrible things. In the first part, “The Hunter,” we followed army veteran, Felix Jones as he desperately searched for his sister, Julie. In this part of the story, we see the shapeshifter pack, The Watch trying to undo the magic that broke the city and Felix’s further efforts to find his sister in the face of the darkest magic. I loved writing about The Watch, one of my favourite packs in Caerton. Felix is also becoming one of my favourite characters to write and I see a novel series in his future.

  H.B. Lyne

  One shifter pack. One wayward human. A city in denial.

  Felix Jones wants nothing more than to be reunited with his sister, but one pack of inhuman creatures stands in his way. He'll do anything to get past them.

  The Watch, the oldest shifter pack in the city, reeling from the mysterious shooting of one of their members call on every resource they have to try to fix the broken city before somebody else gets hurt.

  Will The Watch save the city? And will Felix find his sister before it’s too late?

  Chapter One

  Ragged Edge huffed and puffed as he tried to keep up with his younger pack mates. Warden, his Alpha, was at the head of the charge towards the edge of St. Catherine’s. He would follow her wherever she led. His tall staff thumped on the rough ground as he ran. In his youth, he had been formidable and for a moment he lamented the loss of that energy and exuberance, but he had no time now to indulge in reminiscence.

  His pack mate had been shot. They had all heard the gunshot and felt the impact through the bond that united them as a single unit. Black Rat was healing, but in pain and the rest of them ran back to where they had left him guarding an intruder.

  The decaying city around them was full of threats. Ragged Edge heard the scurrying of clawed footfalls behind the glassless windows of derelict buildings. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and felt as though they were being watched. His pack, The Watch, rarely ventured into this part of Hepethia. Their territory lay to the south of St. Catherine’s and they kept a firm grip on it so it didn’t end up like this place.

  When St. Catherine’s disappeared from the human realm, he had half expected its counterpart in Hepethia to have vanished too. But here it was, left much as it was before. It made the events of the day even more curious. But the biggest mystery of all was how a human had come to step into the realm of shapeshifters. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of, but he had never known it to happen in his lifetime on or so close to his own territory. Ragged Edge was older than he looked and far older than he was ever likely to admit. His grey hair was thinner now than it used to be and hung in a knotted straggle over his shoulders. He had lost some of his considerable muscle as he had aged and now had a bigger belly than he felt entirely happy with. He didn’t really need the staff to walk, but he rather enjoyed giving the impression that he did.

  He had been a member of The Watch his entire life. He had seen five Alphas take their place at the head of the pack and had never fought for the position himself. He much preferred the back seat. He had been a child by modern standards when he changed for the first time, but even before that, he knew what he was and what he was likely to become. It seemed an age ago now that he had lacked the ability to change his form. He barely remembered it at all. The whole world had changed since then. There had been two World Wars, huge advances in technology and even a shapeshifter Civil War. He had seen it all and he had survived.

  His chest ached as he ran, and his breathing became a rasp. It was a huge relief when the pack slowed to a halt at the prone body of their pack mate, Black Rat. Ragged Edge knelt down beside him and checked him over.

  “What happened?” he asked, wheezing slightly.

  “He shot me. He had a rifle.” Black Rat sat up and patted his side. He lifted his black shirt and Ragged Edge saw a red scar, fresh and bruised.

  “That’s going to be sore for a day or two.”

  “Tell me about it. It’s my first gunshot! Fancy a gunman showing up here of all places. How the hell did he get here?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Warden was stood over them both, her hands on her hips and a deep scowl on her brow. Her dark hair was starting to fall loose from its bun. Her shirt had come untucked. She was positively disheveled compared to her normal appearance. A hand was extended to Black Rat to help him to his feet and Ragged Edge heaved himself up on his staff. His breathing was almost back to normal, but he still ached. This was a young shifter’s game.

  “He must have followed us through the hole in the veil,” Mjolnir said. He was a tall, broad man with a thick, braided beard and long hair. He was one of Ragged Edge’s closest friends, they were like brothers. Even more so than the rest of The Watch. Ragged Edge nodded in agreement.

  “But how did he get close enough to the hole to be able to pass through it? All of the other humans we observed were turned around by whatever magic caused this chaos.” Black Rat was frowning and rubbing his injured side as he spoke. Realisation dawned on Ragged Edge and he turned his head towards the black, star-speckled sky and let out a low groan.

  “What is it?” Warden asked.

  “Chaos. I’ll bet my life that The Spiral Hand are behind this.” His gravelly voice broke into a strained laugh, although there was nothing funny about the situation.

  “There are no Spiral Hand in Caerton,” Warden snapped. She turned and marched away towards the hole that they had entered Hepethia through.

  The rest of the pack fell into line behind her. Ragged Edge brought up the rear, tapping his staff on the ground with a little thunk on every alternate stride. Warden was the most level-headed shifter he knew. Their kind tended to be hot-headed and impulsive. She never was. But she was in denial about this and he wondered if there would be a price for it somewhere down the line.

  Felix slammed the door to his flat and locked it. He leaned heavily against it and dropped the bag with his borrowed guns onto the floor. He had never shot a civilian before. But damn, that thing hadn’t even been human. It was a wolf when he pulled the trigger and a man by the time he fled the scene.

  “Shapeshifter,” the silky voice in his head told him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped back.

  “How else would you describe it. Werewolf, perhaps?”

  “Shut up.” Felix pushed away from the door and stormed to the kitchen. He reached for a bottle of whiskey, but hesitated. No. He had come this far without taking a drink. Now wasn’t the time to crumble. He had to keep a clear head. He still hadn’t found his sister, Julie. Was he even any closer? He had discovered the city was playing host to those creatures and that there was some sort of rip in the fabric of reality, one that he had managed to cross through into some other world.

  He had no idea what it all meant or where his sister had ended up. Crucially, he was damned if he saw any way to get her back.

  “The drink might help, after all.”

  Felix looked longingly at the bottle on the kitchen counter. He had been through some trials in his time, especially in Afghanistan, but this was a whole new level of insane. This voice that had started talking to him made him uneasy, to say the least and he resisted its silky lure. He put the bottle into a cupboard and stalked back to the living area of his small flat. He scooped up the bag of guns and took it into his bedroom. He hoisted up the mattress and tucked the bag into the void under his bed, hidden from sight. He dropped down
onto the bed and it groaned under his sudden weight.

  It was late. Later than it should be. Time had passed in a peculiar fashion in that other place, he was sure of it. Felix tugged his phone out of the tight pocket of his trousers and turned it over to see the illuminated display. He had a missed call from Emma. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Pretty Emma with the red hair and freckles. A frown crept over his brow and he chewed the inside of his cheek while he tried to decide whether to call her back or not. It was nearly 1 am. She would surely be asleep by now. The call had been attempted while he was… away. Clearly there was no phone signal there.

  He sat bolt upright and thought of Julie again. The strange call he had got just after coming back through the hole sprang back to mind. He had been near the hole at the time. Maybe a small signal from that place had been able to get through.

  “You might be onto something there,” that small, sly voice purred.

  Where was Peter through all of this? His phone had rung earlier, unlike Julie’s. But he hadn’t answered or called Felix back. Felix called Peter again now. He didn’t care what time it was. If he was in this world then he damn well ought to be awake and as worried as Felix was. It rang to voicemail. Felix hung up. He called Emma instead and shoved aside that niggle of guilt about the prospect of waking her. It rang a few times before she answered.

  “Felix? What time is it?”

  “I’ve woken you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I was worried about you. I wasn’t properly asleep yet.”

  “I’m fine. I remembered where Julie lives. Its St. Catherine’s.”

  “Where?”

  “St. Catherine’s, north of Old Town, south of the docks where they build the really big ships.”