Dark Wizard's Case

by Kirill Klevanski

  But there was something about him that made whole busloads of trolls and orcs back away.

  Whatever that something was, it was spotted by Weakling, who was sitting on Alex’s bike.

  “Gu-u-uys,” he whined.

  “What?” Rat blurted out impatiently.

  Instead of answering, he pointed a shaky finger behind his compadres.

  Rat was the first to turn around. Muscle followed suit a moment later, and they both took a step back when they saw Alex.

  Cocking his head, Alex called over to Weakling.

  “Get off my bike.”

  The boy was starting to obey when Muscle’s deep voice interjected with a curt, “Stay where you are.”

  Had Weakling been smarter, he would have realized that Alex was the one to be afraid of, and not the bruiser he was with. Unfortunately, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with the other two in the first place if he were.

  “You really mind us taking a few pictures?” His confidence boosted by the enforcer at his side, Rat stepped over to Alex. “We didn’t scratch it or anything. Just took some pictures.”

  “Didn’t your parents teach you that taking pictures with another man’s bike without his permission is the same as fucking his wife?” Alex’s response was calm.

  “Without his permission, huh?” Rat’s voice was nasally. “But you are giving us permission, aren’t you? You don’t mind us taking pictures and riding…your wife.”

  It takes just three months to develop a new habit. And after spending years in a place where conflict resolution happened with fists instead of magic, Alex had turned his habit into a conditioned response.

  A knee to the groin (not the most honorable way of doing things, but Alex had learned how to fight on the streets and polished his skills in jail) bent Rat over, leaving him vulnerable to an elbow buried in the back of his head.

  The kid collapsed onto the pavement, his eyes rolling back and his mouth foaming. He started to twitch unpleasantly and moan in pain.

  “The fuck was that?!”

  After asking his rhetorical question, Muscle cocked his club-like arm to deliver a clean, direct blow, his elbow far behind his back.

  If the shot had landed on Alex’s face, even the built-in defense his suit provided wouldn’t have saved him from a broken nose and getting knocked out. But he wasn’t about to get hit.

  After all, he finally had someone to take his foul mood out on.

  Taking a half-step toward his opponent, he angled his torso and caught Muscle’s right arm in midair. Then he wheeled around, the arm clenched between his chest and forearm.

  The elbow crunched as it turned inside out. Muscle shrieked in pain, and Alex’s heel slammed into his kneecap before he could recover.

  There was another crunch, that time duller and meatier. Muscle’s shriek turned into a squeal. Blood splattered across the pavement, and Muscle collapsed, joining Rat on the ground. His right arm was bent backward, his leg looked grasshopper-like, and there was a bleeding, open fracture right below his knee.

  “Esma’otor’shurag.”

  Gripping his right wrist with his left hand and advancing on Alex, a bluish light glowing at the tip of his index finger, Weakling was painstakingly drawing magic symbols in the air.

  “Are you kidding me?” Alex arched his right eyebrow.

  He knew without even needing to see it that Weakling was tracing the contours of signs projected by his lenses.

  That’s what an education in Myers City will get you these days. Why exercise your will and mind learning all those complicated magic patterns when you can just run a finger along a projected picture?

  The kid was apparently trying to cast some sort of combat spell from the Earth Magic School. He must have passed an entrance exam and gotten a low-level grimoire downloaded to his lenses.

  Alex could’ve let Weakling finish his spell just out of curiosity. Instead, he used pure magic energy to create a dark violet ball in his palm.

  [Elementary magic action. Mana used: 25 points/use.]

  Winding up like a baseball pitcher, Alex hurled the ball of energy right at Weakling’s chest, interrupting his reading. Weakling shrieked. Before he could dodge, the ball knocked him out of the bike’s seat and sent him flying, dropping him three feet away on the pavement.

  “That h-hurts,” he moaned.

  “Call an ambulance,” Alex shot back.

  Stepping over the bleeding, groaning Muscle, he was on his way to his bike when his instincts started screaming at him.

  Alex moved a palm in front of himself. Through willpower alone, he envisioned the spell pattern in his mind and then filled it with energy to create the seal.

  A gust of emerald wind with sharp daggers whirling inside it hit the open maw of the black wolf that emerged from the seal, eyes red and gleaming.

  The wolf’s head grew larger as it consumed the enemy spell. Long claws flashed out of the seal, followed by fangs. Finally, jumping out of the seal and landing on the ground with an odd sort of flair, the wolf gave a low growl. Magic signs flashed around it as a blue fire flared up.

  [Attention! You’re using an unregistered Black Magic School spell. Mana volume: 490+770.]

  Pushing off the melting pavement, the wolf leaped at the enemy. Consuming a spell almost 800 points strong meant the wolf created from black fire had brought its total power to over 1000. That was enough to force any Mystic back onto the defensive.

  “Not bad, Mr. Dumsky. Not bad at all.”

  However, when it hit the stranger standing near the small shop, the wolf just burst into sparks of energy that soon disappeared, accompanied by flashes that looked like fireworks.

  “A fast defensive spell that attacks immediately after consuming the incoming projectile? You know, I was offered that exact same thing for a price of 50,000 credits a few years ago.”

  “Damn dwarf,” Alex hissed. “That’s way too low. Who are you?”

  Dusting his sleeves off, the stranger stepped into the light to reveal the back of his right hand, which had been magically tattooed with a shimmering S.

  The Syndicate!

  Chapter 9

  Alex didn’t need his lenses to identify the stranger as a high-level wizard. He was at least an Adept if not stronger.

  [Name: ??? Race: Human. Mana level: 5372.]

  Shit. Shit. Shit. The wizard wasn’t just out of Alex’s league; his power was incredible. A level 53 Adept. No wonder Alex’s spell hadn’t even ruffled him.

  The clothes worn by the Syndicate’s fixer (that was the only position a powerful wizard like him could have held) didn’t register in Alex’s lenses, something he expected. Personal belongings could be hidden by their owner, keeping all but their most general attributes private. But Alex could still see that the fixer’s suit and coat were tailor-made.

  Given that the fixer was an Adept, he could afford the best. Alex couldn’t even begin to imagine what attributes his clothes gave him.

  He was wearing a dark blue cashmere coat that came down to below his knees, a black three-piece suit, leather gloves, and a scarlet scarf tied around his neck. Every single article of clothing made Alex feel like there was an army of needles marching around on his fingertips.

  And they were all top-shelf artifacts.

  “My name is Pyotr, Mr. Dumsky,” the fixer said. His name explained why he had such a strong Russian accent. “Nice to meet you.”

  Alex glanced around quickly. The blaring sirens on the cop cars reacting to the unregistered black magic spell were still several blocks away, and it was highly unlikely they would get there any time soon as it was. The High Garden cops preferred to let the trash take out the trash.

  Doom covered the black ring he was wearing on a finger with his other hand. It was enough to buy him several seconds, though the main thing was jumping on his bike and—

  “Easy, Mr. Dumsky.” Pyotr held up his hands. “I was just saying hi.”

  “A combat spell from the Wind Magic Sch
ool clocking in at nearly 800 points? You have a…peculiar way of greeting people, Pyotr.”

  “Noblesse oblige,” the fixer replied, shrugging and keeping his palms up and open. “Negotiating from a position of strength tends to work when you’re collecting debts. And you, Mr. Dumsky, owe us an indecent amount of money.”

  “I’m aware, Pyotr. I know who and how much I owe.”

  “Can I put my hands down?”

  “What?”

  “This coat is too stiff, and it’s making it uncomfortable to hold them up. Can I put them down, Mr. Dumsky? As a gentleman, I’m not going to ruin this morning any more than it already has been.” Pyotr nodded at the gangsters nursing their wounds on the asphalt.

  “Sure, go for it.”

  “Thank you,” the fixer said seriously, without a trace of sarcasm. Then he smoothed back his long, black hair. His hairstyle accentuated his pale face and the dark circles under his green eyes. “So, Mr. Dumsky, I’m here to remind you that you owe the organization 100,000 credits. You have three months to repay us, starting tomorrow. If you don’t pay on time, then…”

  “I get it,” Alex interrupted dryly.

  Pyotr frowned, then nodded as though listening to something.

  “No, Mr. Dumsky. You won’t be killed. We prefer not to waste assets, particularly when they’re as valuable as your gift.”

  “Really? And what does the Syndicate have in mind for me?”

  “You’ll find out in due time,” Pyotr answered, pausing before continuing. “Although…you’d probably rather not find out.”

  With a gust of wind, Pyotr disappeared, there one moment and gone the next. Running a scan with his lenses turned up no messages about magical activity, nor did they show the Adept’s position. Alex couldn’t tell if he’d cast a spell to avoid detection, used one to turn invisible, or—worst of all by far—had actually used a teleport.

  “Show-off,” he said through gritted teeth as he got on his bike.

  He rode slowly toward 11th Avenue, which led to Myers City’s Western District. That was where First Magic University and the apartment the state had provided Alex were.

  “Don’t forget to call that ambulance,” he reminded the shocked Weakling, who had witnessed the entire conversation between the two wizards.

  Without a backward glance, Alex sped off down the street. The locals were already waking up, getting out of their beds, and trudging along to work. More and more cars appeared on the road. By the time he’d stopped at his tenth traffic light, Doom was maneuvering his way carefully through a traffic jam. It wasn’t that he cared about the rust buckets around him. No, his bike was his only concern. Damn that Pyotr.

  ***

  Entering downtown Myers City was such a drastic change that it was almost like stepping into another world.

  The first noticeable difference was how clean it was. The sidewalks were so polished you could see your reflection in them, there were no piles of shit left by stray animals, and there weren’t any of the stray animals themselves, either.

  Beggars never came up to you asking for money or a cigarette. Instead, any of them who did venture downtown were immediately detained by the cops, who patrolled that area far more diligently than the outskirts, and brought to the station.

  Even the cops there—the ones Alex had seen, at least—looked like they could have played the main characters in some old movie. They were physically fit, athletic, and, most surprisingly, not all human.

  On his way, Doom even saw bunnies among the cops. Or elves, to be politically correct. That was going to take some getting used to. He was no longer in High Garden, where a man could get his limbs broken just for venturing into the orc district. Humans did the same to orcs when the reverse happened.

  Meeting an elf, a fairy, or any another highborn was considered to be rare good fortune in the outskirts of the city (often turning into bad luck), but downtown… After no more than an hour spent working his way through numerous traffic jams, Alex had seen at least fifty very expensive sports and luxury magic vehicles.

  Only the highborn had the means to afford them. Ever since the world of magic became reality, the highborn had had more money than the founders of Amazon and Facebook could have ever dreamed of.

  But the greatest difference was in the architecture.

  The old brick buildings, often dilapidated and looking like death traps, gave way to fine skyscrapers made of glass, chromium, and magic metals. Like a true concrete jungle, they rose dozens, even hundreds of stories into the sky.

  Some buildings were made of stone, elegant creations designed by the best architects of past and present.

  After getting used to the new styles, Alex was surprised when he stopped at a small bar that looked completely out of place and old-fashioned in the heart of the city. It was a three-story cube that sat between two skyscrapers both seventy stories tall, it had cracked red brick walls, and the crooked sign hanging above the entrance in the shape of a steering wheel read Schooner Belis. There was even a concrete porch and a bin overflowing with cigarette butts.

  The spot was like a misplaced drop of black paint on the fair canvas of downtown Myers City.

  Once again, Alex checked the map in the periphery of his vision.

  “What’s going on?” He frowned when he realized that his directions had taken him to the right place. He was standing at the threshold of his new apartment.

  “Well, then…” Alex started toward the door of the bar modeled after a Texas saloon in the Wild West era, but he quickly stopped and looked back at his steel horse.

  He wasn’t in High Garden anymore. Where he was, the law of the street was something only the characters in gangster movies followed.

  Alex raised his hand to cast a protection spell but stopped.

  Again, he wasn’t in High Garden anymore. Using an unregistered spell there, particularly a black magic one, would have instantly attracted the attention not only of the cops, but also of some even more unpleasant organizations.

  “Damnation.” Racking his brain, he finally remembered a simple alarm spell.

  [Spell used: BANSHEE HOWL of the Black Magic School. Mana used: 25 points/use + 0.5 points/min.]

  After glancing skeptically at the shimmering, semi-transparent female face hovering above his bike, Alex stepped into the Schooner.

  “I hope you sneeze so hard you die, Bromie.”

  Chapter 10

  “Hey, did you hear?” A guy with reddish hair, sharp facial features, and warm, green eyes put his burger aside. “They say we’re going to be able to take an optional black magic course this year!”

  “Black magic?” Another guy, this one with platinum blonde hair and so thin he almost looked like a girl, fluttered his long, apparently colored eyelashes. “Is that some politically correct term for magic?”

  “Get lost, Leo,” the redhead replied with a wave. “What do you think, Jing?”

  A rather short but athletic, lean, and muscular young Asian man with hair tied back in a bun was using a knife and fork to cut into a juicy steak. On either side of him was a girl eating sushi with chopsticks.

  “Maybe it’s true,” Jing shrugged and continued eating.

  “So informative.” The redhead sighed.

  “What did you expect from our quiet friend?” a fair-haired girl with big blue eyes laughed. But it wasn’t just her eyes that caught your attention—she had an hourglass figure, a short skirt revealing long, slender legs, and stilettos that were almost six inches tall. Clearly, a heartbreaker. Her hair was long; her clothes were far too revealing for the weather. She sat with her legs crossed, rocking a foot back and forth, and several men at the bar were rocking their heads in time with it. The sight was funny and scary at the same time.

  “More than I’d expect from you, Ellie,” the redhead snapped. “What are you doing here, anyway? Did your doofus have to run away for work again?”

  “Darryl,” the beauty corrected. “Yes, he’s away on business—his dad’s busines
s in Scotland. Daryl went with him to get some experience.”

  “Experience, huh? He went there to drink and fuck Scottish girls on his dad’s dime. And here you are, just so happy to twitter at his tall tales and spread your—”

  Ellie squinted at him. The chopsticks in her hands suddenly looked menacing.

  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Travis. Or my mouth will be the least of your concerns.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t care less,” the redheaded guy, whose name was apparently Travis, replied with a snort.

  “Then stop being jealous.”

  “Jealous? What?” The guy leaned forward again, abandoning his previous casual posture. “If there’s anyone I’m jealous of, it’s his dad. He has the money to buy half this district. Your doofus—”

  “Darryl!” the blonde interrupted.

  “I don’t give a fuck what his name is! And—”

  “Stop. Enough,” a muffled but calm and confident voice interjected. It belonged to a very short, pretty girl with brown hair, a clean, oval face, a turned-up nose, and…no, she wasn’t overweight. There was some fluff to her though. She might have even been beautiful, just definitely not as sexy as the blonde.

  “Mara’s right.” Travis waved the argument aside. “None of this matters. What really worries me is that optional course on black magic. Did they go completely insane? They’re actually going to bring in a dark wizard to teach us?”

  “A professor,” Jing added neutrally before once again tucking into his steak.

  “All the more reason to worry!” Travis slapped a hand down on the table. “Instead of calling that…that piece of shit in, they should teach us how to protect ourselves against dark magic.”

  “You can pass the access tests for battle magic and get a couple good grimoires downloaded to your lenses,” Ellie said, shrugging. “Or pick up something on sale if you want to save money. Although that would hardly be enough to help you.”

  Travis turned to Mara and pointed at Ellie with a potato.