Magician's Heir
Page 1
Magician's Heir
Dark Mage Series, Volume 1
D. Bruce Cotton
Published by D. Bruce Cotton, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MAGICIAN'S HEIR
First edition. August 16, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 D. Bruce Cotton.
Written by D. Bruce Cotton.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Magician's Heir (Dark Mage Series, #1)
Prologue
Chapter 1, Unexpected Encounter
Chapter 2, Awakening
Chapter 3, Lakeshore
Chapter 4, Prisoner
Chapter 5, Interrogation
Chapter 6, Early Departure
Chapter 7, Codtown
Chapter 8, Attack
Chapter 9, Recovery
Chapter 10, Logen’s Tale
Chapter 11, Seir
Chapter 12, Assassin
Chapter 13, Council of Mages
Chapter 14, Academy of Magic
Chapter 15, Somber Farewell
Chapter 16, Eastern Road
Chapter 17, Familiar Companion
Chapter 18, Escape
Chapter 19, Ambush
Chapter 20, Pursuit
Chapter 21, Dark Mage
Chapter 22, Hunted
Chapter 23, Flight
Chapter 24, Reunion
Chapter 25, Search
Chapter 26, Healing
Chapter 27, Confrontation
Chapter 28, Second Chance
Chapter 29, Ultimatum
Chapter 30, Rescue
Chapter 31, Surrender
Chapter 32, Siege
Chapter 33, Captive
Chapter 34, Struggle
Chapter 35, Defiance
Chapter 36, Home
Epilogue
To my loving wife, Cindy. Thanks for believing.
Prologue
Eight-year-old Adam Gray walked with his head down, eyes locked on his shoes. With shoulders slumped, and both arms drawn tight around his books, he made himself as small as possible. After all, as one of the school’s smallest third-graders, he didn’t find it too hard.
Still, few of the younger kids at Mount Walker Elementary felt safe. No matter how big you were, a bigger fifth grader lurked right around the corner. Even in the halls of education, the law of the jungle still applied. Only the biggest and baddest felt no fear. All the rest walked with care, trying to keep themselves off the radar.
Not much further, he thought. In a few minutes, I’ll be in Mrs. Humphries’ class and safe until recess.
He rounded the hallway corner and stopped as though running into a wall. Eddie Parker, Mount Walker’s resident bully and bane of Adam’s existence, stood next to the lockers, surrounded by two of his cronies, Seth and Dale.
They haven’t seen me yet, Adam thought, backing up behind the corner. If I go upstairs, I can come down the other way and avoid...
For the second time in as many seconds, Adam hit a wall. And this one proved far less forgiving. Two big hands slammed against his back and shoved him into the hallway. He sprawled on the floor, books flying, and slid to a stop as his head smacked against a metal locker.
Dazed, Adam looked up. In a yellowed t-shirt, patched jeans and heavy black boots, stood Mount Walker’s second most notorious bully. Though only 10, Dudley Wilson already had a face cratered with pimples and a reputation twice as nasty. Eddie was his best—and only—friend and there seemed to be nothing the two fifth graders enjoyed more than making Adam’s life a living hell.
“Watch where you’re goin’ you little creep!” sneered Dudley.
Eddie walked over to join the fun. “This kid causin’ trouble again, Dudley? Guess we oughta teach him a lesson!” He leaned over Adam with a big grin.
Oh, man! Adam thought. I almost made it.
ADAM LOOKED DOWN AT his desk, fingers tracing over the graffiti gouged deep into the wooden surface. Tissue stuffed both sides of his nose, so he had to breathe through his mouth. His nose hurt, but not as much as his pride. It might have been worse though. If Mrs. Humphries hadn’t left her room to make copies, he’d be nothing more than a skid mark in the hallway now.
Adam squirmed in his seat. No way would he make any bathroom trips though. What if he ran into the bully patrol again?
Mrs. Humphries stood up from behind the big wooden desk at the front of the classroom. She had sharp gray eyes that missed little and wore her silver-streaked brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. Gold-rimmed glasses hung on a thin silver chain around her neck. A paisley blouse with a dark brown skirt reaching her ankles completed the outfit.
Adam supposed she must be ancient, 35 or 40 at least, but he didn’t care. Just like him in one very important way, Mrs. Humphries loved to read. His teacher said it allowed you to explore the world and expand your horizons. For Adam, it provided a means to escape the daily torment of life at Mount Walker Elementary.
“Attention, class,” announced Mrs. Humphries. “The new book order is in.”
Adam sat up straight, bathroom forgotten. Every six weeks, students got to order books from a new list passed out by the teacher. Something always caught Adam’s eye, and this time had been no different. When Mrs. Humphries handed over his newest book, he centered it on his desk and stared with a look of awe.
The black book came with a silver-foil title. Below, in much smaller type, he read the author’s name, Max Hendricks. One hand slid over the title’s bright, silver letters.
“The Real Book of Magic,” he murmured. “That’s so cool!”
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Daydreams of real magical powers danced before his eyes. He imagined flying circles around Dudley and turning frog-faced Eddie into a real frog.
Just wait, he thought. I’ll be the greatest magician the world has ever seen!
Chapter 1, Unexpected Encounter
Ding-ling-ling!
Adam’s head came up with a snap. Daydreaming again, he thought.
The memory of school from 18 years ago almost always made him grin. He looked over his shoulder at the dusty shelf behind him. There it sat. Tattered and worn, the old magic book still held a place of honor; the first step in a long journey leading him to this tiny little magic shop in the corner of an out-of-the-way strip mall. The grin faded. He struggled to scrape together enough money to pay the utilities, let alone the monthly lease payment. I guess people just don’t believe in magic the way they used to.
The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his reverie. The bell over the front door signaled his first customer of the day. He tried not to frown at the fact it was already early afternoon.
An elderly man threaded his way around a shelf stocked with crystal balls and colorful scarves and past a table piled high with decks of trick cards. Tall and lean, his bony wrists stuck several inches past the sleeves of his old brown suit. Loose, shoulder-length silver hair framed a pale face with a bushy goatee still showing a few streaks of black. His prominent nose propped up round, wire-framed glasses. What looked to be a British derby sat perched at an angle on his head, but his eyes were what caught Adam’s attention; a startling shade of blue surrounded by deep-set wrinkles. Kind eyes, Adam thought.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said Adam. “Welcome to The Infinity Magic Shop.”
“This is quite an impressive setup you have here, young man,” replied the old man, as he looked around. “Quite impressive, indeed.”
“Thank you, sir,” answered Adam. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”
The elderly gentleman hoisted up what
appeared to be a big, old-fashioned brown suitcase. It landed on the counter with a loud thump, surprising Adam. “I am not in the market for anything at present, young man, but I do have something here I think will amaze you.”
Oh, no, groaned Adam. A salesman!
“Uh... hold on, sir. I’m not looking to add to my inventory right now. Business has been slow and...”
“Nonsense,” cut in the old man. “What I have here is something every aspiring magician needs.” He flicked his hand forward and a white business card appeared out of nowhere between two fingers. “My card.”
Adam reached and took the card. Max Hendricks, Master Magician, he read. Wait a minute... that name!
“Max Hendricks? The author of The Real Book of Magic?” asked Adam.
The old man removed his derby and bowed with a flourish. “At your service, young man!” he replied. “I see my reputation precedes me.”
Adam grabbed the old magic book and placed it on the counter with a smile. “I’ll say,” he replied. “This book got me into the magic business. I’ve had it since grade school, Mr. Hendricks.”
“Ah, please... call me Max. It is not every day I get to meet a fan.” Max stuck out his bony hand, grabbed Adam’s, and gave it a firm shake. “That brings me back to what I have here.” Popping open the latches, he raised the lid.
On black velvet-covered dividers, three rows of small glass bottles lined the case’s interior; each sparkling in the light from the shop’s front window. Max reached inside and pulled out a bottle with his long, slender fingers. He placed it on the counter with a light thump.
“I believe its contents will intrigue you,” said Max, pushing the bottle toward Adam.
“Well... I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look,” Adam said. He picked up the bottle and peered through the glass. It held small, brown pellets, each oblong and about the size of a dried bean. Wait a minute, he thought, this can’t be...
When he turned the bottle to read the label, his eyes widened. “Magic beans? Are you serious?”
“Oh, I am quite serious,” replied Max. “You hold in your hands something beyond your wildest imagination.”
Adam slid the glass bottle back towards Max. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, the exasperation plain in his voice. “Right now I’m imagining beanstalks, giants, fe-fi-fo-fum...” Adam made a show of looking all around. “Problem is, I don’t seem to have a cow for sale.
“Look, you seem like a nice old man. And if you’re the real Max Hendricks, it’s been great to meet you. But you can’t expect me to put something like this on my shelves. I sell real magic paraphernalia, not novelty items. Customers will laugh me out of my store.”
Max held up a hand. “And how many customers have you had this week, Adam? Or in the last month, for that matter?”
Adam felt an immediate prick of anger. “It’s none of your business! And how do you know my name?”
Max leaned over the counter. Already tall, he now loomed over the younger man. The room’s shadows deepened and grew longer, seeming to reach out with cold, black fingers. Adam shrank back, his anger forgotten, as he looked up at the old man.
Max’s voice deepened and filled with menace. “I know much about you, Adam. I have watched you for many years, weighing and sifting, trying to determine if you are the one.”
“Th-the one what?” stuttered Adam. “And what do fairy tales have to do with me?”
Max took a step back, and the threat faded. The room’s shadows withdrew and the dim shop brightened.
“Fairy tales?” mused Max. One slender finger stroked his chin. “Yes, I suppose from your perspective it might appear a fairy tale. But consider this, Adam. Time is a fluid concept. As days and years pass, common knowledge transforms. Historical facts become legend. Legend becomes myth and myth becomes a bedtime story to entertain the little ones.
“But remember this, my young friend. Even the most fanciful tales often have a grain of truth buried somewhere beneath the surface. Do not be so eager to dismiss them out of hand!”
Max slammed the top down on the suitcase and flipped down the latches. “Perhaps I was wrong,” he grumbled. He pulled the case off the counter and onto the floor. “Maybe my need is so desperate I have deluded myself into thinking you were the one.”
Max turned and headed toward the exit. At the door, he turned back to Adam. “Think about what I have said, Adam. When you keep an open mind, sometimes—no matter how preposterous it may seem—the impossible can happen.”
The bell rang once again as Max opened the door and walked out of the magic shop; gone as fast as he’d appeared. Well, thought Adam, what an interesting visit.
Glancing down at the countertop, he saw the bottle still sitting there. He snatched it up and ran for the door. “Max, wait!” he yelled.
Outside, Adam found no one. A few cars sat around the empty parking lot, but all of them belonged to owners of the shops still in business. Each one sat on the outside edge of the lot to allow plenty of room for customers. But the nearer slots and sidewalks next to the shops remained empty. Adam looked both ways. Though a bright, clear day, he saw no one. There’s no way he disappeared so fast, Adam thought. Where did he go?
Confused, the young shop owner trudged back inside. “Oh, well,” he mused to himself. “Guess he really was a magician.”
THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON crawled by. Only two more customers visited the shop, and neither made a purchase. The small bottle on the counter drew his eyes like a magnet. As much as he tried to deny it, his curiosity only deepened as he replayed the earlier encounter in his mind.
At 6:30, Adam gave in and closed early. Max’s forgotten bottle he placed in his jacket pocket. Then he closed and locked the front door of the shop. Only April 5th, the evening felt a little cool. With a small shiver, Adam pulled his light jacket tighter and began the two-mile hike to his apartment. He just couldn’t afford a car right now. Maybe he’d look around for a cheap bike if things at the shop ever picked up.
Tonight though, Adam welcomed the crisp air of early spring. A deep breath helped clear his head after all the hours spent in the dusty old magic shop. The contents of the small bottle rattled in his jacket pocket with each step.
On most nights, he enjoyed the walk home. It gave him time to decompress from a long day at work. But by the time he reached downtown Elliston, he felt a vague uneasiness. Still early, both the streets and sidewalks remained empty. The shops’ darkened front windows seemed to stare at him like empty eye sockets.
Guess Max’s disappearing act creeped me out more than I realized, he thought.
With a sigh of relief, he reached the building housing his second-floor apartment. Around the corner of Elliston Hardware and up a set of metal stairs brought him to his small, one-bedroom efficiency apartment. Probably not the most ideal location, but the cheap rent argued otherwise.
The old metal door groaned as Adam pushed it open and slipped inside. He flipped on the lights and tossed his keys into a big ceramic ashtray. A relic of sixth grade art class, the lumpy piece of clay had turned up in an old box he found while cleaning out his parent’s house after the car accident. Most of the stuff he tossed in the trash, but the ashtray seemed important somehow. Maybe it was the remembered smiles from when he gave it to them. Neither of his parents smoked, but they still put it right on the mantle; a place of honor in the Gray household.
Hard to believe they died three years ago, Adam thought. The familiar knot of pain in his chest tightened. If only I’d been with them. Maybe I could’ve done something... He sighed, trying to banish those painful memories.
His parents’ house still had a mortgage, but he got enough from the sale to open his magic shop. Few 26-year-olds owned their own business, but his determination and pinching a lot of pennies allowed him to try. Maybe he would’ve done better over in Priceville. But no, for Adam, Elliston, Ohio, would always be home. It held too many memories for him to walk away.
Digging the bottle out of his pocket, Ad
am placed it on the battered kitchen table and headed to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he washed his hands, splashed water on his face and grabbed a towel to dry off. He reached for the bathroom door and paused a moment after glimpsing himself in the mirror.
Adam realized he’d never be more than average in the looks department. Dressed in his usual black jeans and brown leather boots, he’d topped it off with a long-sleeved, light blue denim shirt. A dark blue jacket hid part of the magic shop’s name and logo—the black outline of a horizontal 8, the infinity symbol—monogrammed on the front pocket of his shirt. Lean at six feet and about 170 pounds, he had dark, wavy brown hair with a single lock that always fell over his forehead no matter how many times he brushed it back. A crooked nose—the result of all the fights back in his school days, he supposed—overlooked a square chin. But most people disregarded everything else when they saw his dark green eyes; the same eyes that had distracted him. They looked... haunted.
Adam snorted at his own foolishness and headed back to the kitchen table. Taking a seat at one of the mismatched chairs, he laid his chin on crisscrossed arms to stare at the bottle. Made of clear glass, the container had an old-fashioned cork stopper wedged tight in its neck. The glass appeared cheap, with small pockets of air trapped inside walls of varying thickness. The label, too, appeared strange. At first, he’d assumed it no more than a simple, computer-printed label. But looking closer, the paper’s thickness, along with the tiny cracks and imperfections across its surface, changed his mind. Hand-lettered in elegant calligraphy, the label held no fine print or brand name, no copyright indicating a mass-produced product.
Adam sat back with a sigh. I figured it as some kind of novelty item, he thought. But someone went to a lot of trouble to make this bottle look old. Stuck tight, the tiny cork wouldn’t budge despite his best efforts.
Taking it to his bedroom, he rummaged through the dresser until he found his old Swiss army knife. Adam sat down on the edge of his tiny twin bed and flipped open the knife’s corkscrew attachment. A few quick twists sank the corkscrew deep. He held the bottle tight in one hand while using the other to wiggle the cork back and forth. It took effort, but then it pulled free with a tiny pop.