Dark Wizard's Case

by Kirill Klevanski

  “This is the holy land!” The plump man jerked an index finger upward as he started into a stilted, pompous speech. “Here, and only here, is where real magic happens. This is the only place where real science is used! We don’t have time for slight of hand and parlor tricks like everyone else.”

  “Where, the ceiling?” Alex asked curiously.

  “Excuse me?” The sound coming out of the dean’s mouth sounded like a deflating balloon.

  “You’re pointing at the ceiling,” Alex replied, “when you should be pointing outside the window. But whatever, doesn’t really matter. Can we get to the point?”

  The short, plump dean with an outsized ego even for his substantial body turned pink. “The Department of Theory and Magic Calculation.”

  “Theory and Magic Calculation?” Alex was surprised. “So, bookworms? Not researchers, not engineers, but magic mathematicians?”

  “Magic mathematics is the queen of all the sciences!” the enraged Lebenstein shot back, turning a deep shade of red. “If it weren’t for our department, no one would ever be able to determine the marginal boundaries of conventional mana point coefficients! No one would’ve been able to compute the minimum absorption reduction threshold! And—”

  “Wow,” Alex drawled in surprise.

  “There you go, young man. Rejoice at your good-for—”

  “You actually used the whole ‘conventional mana point’ term,” Doom continued. “I haven’t heard the full name in forever. But what were you saying about those coefficients? I just Google them when I need them.”

  The dean’s red face turned violet.

  “I’ll report you to the rector!” he squealed. Where did that deep voice go? “I’ll die if that’s what it takes to get you expelled from the department!”

  Why is he being so rude?

  And his defenses? Standard artifacts and flat, single-element shields.

  “A fraud in my department!”

  Nothing complicated.

  “A dark magician from some forsaken Old Earth hole! I will not tolerate this. I won’t stand for it!”

  Alex snapped a finger, summoning a small lilac fire to light his cigarette with.

  “Get out of my office right now, young man! And pray to all the gods or demons or whatever people like you worship that the rector continues to patronize…his patronage…to give you his support!”

  Alex had learned the trick of concealing one spell by using another right about when he’d picked up carjacking.

  “So, you won’t let me quit being a supervisor?”

  “Get o-o-out!” Lebenstein bellowed, jumping up and almost falling over as he did so.

  Alex stood, wiped his feet on the expensive Persian rug, and left the office. Opening the door, he winked at the secretary, whose name was apparently Judy, and walked out into the corridor past the front door. It was hanging on a single hinge.

  But he wasn’t about to leave entirely.

  Stepping around the corner so as not to be seen, he stopped by the window and continued smoking.

  Magic math really is an important science, but he could have been less…obnoxious. He should take some lessons from Professor Bloom, for example. A true wonder woman.

  “Professor Dumsky!”

  Alex turned around. Standing next to him was a short, pretty girl with brown hair and squarish ears. Their shape attracted attention, but not in a way that put you off—they were captivating. Mara, Alex recalled.

  “Please forgive Ellie,” the girl said. “She didn’t really mean it. We just weren’t expecting the man we saw cleaning the bar to turn out to be our professor…and our supervisor, too! Now it makes sense why you reacted to Travis the way you did. Our Travis, not the dean. It was so brave of you to go see Lebenstein! The whole university is afraid of him! They say no one passes his exam on the first try, and everyone, even the guys from the battle department, comes out of there crying. But you…you kicked his door down! And you spoke to Prorector Bloom without batting an eye. She’s second only to the rector, and…and… Are you listening to me, Professor?”

  “No,” Doom answered honestly. “Three.”

  “Three?”

  “Two.”

  “Two?”

  “One.”

  “One?”

  “Here it comes!”

  Alex seized the girl, pressed her against himself and covered her neck and mouth to keep her from giving away that they were there. If she had tried to break free, she would have just strangled herself. Mara, if that actually was her name, made a confused noise, but then froze quietly.

  “What’s going on here?” a familiar squeaky bass yelled. Is there such a thing as a squeaky bass? Apparently, there is. “Clean that up this instant, Judy! And call the repairman to fix the door.”

  Lebenstein stomped out into the corridor. A small group of freshmen was passing by, and they giggled and pulled out their smartphones as soon as they saw him.

  “Your skirt is an inch shorter than the dress code standard,” the dean bellowed. “Who’s your supervisor? Why are you laughing? What’s wrong? Is it my hair?”

  “Bingo,” Alex smiled gleefully.

  Just then, the dean turned to look at a mirror.

  “Ah-h-h!” A horrified shriek almost broke the stained-glass windows. “RECTOR! I need to see the rector!”

  The dean dashed off toward the stairs like a rocket, his attempts to cover up his new hairstyle mixing equal parts awkwardness and disgust.

  Right on the dean’s bald spot, swaying as he ran (if one could even call what he was doing running), was a pair of hairy…male canine genitals.

  [Spell used: BALLS of the Black Magic School. Mana used: 41 points/cast + 16 points/min.]

  That was the second spell Alex had invented as a kid, and it was just as rough and clumsy as the first. Of course, in all fairness, he’d been a cold and starving wolf pup snatched up by the Old Man from the streets of High Garden. His imagination had been rather poor back then.

  Besides, Alex had a feeling that balls were exactly what the plump dean was missing.

  “Don’t worry, my dear.” Alex released his grip on Mara and clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ll get a new, normal supervisor soon enough and be able to remember me as…a very pleasant interlude.”

  He wheeled around and headed toward the exit. The shocked and dumbfounded student remained where she was, standing in the dark niche by the dean’s half-destroyed office.

  Chapter 14

  “No. No.”

  Alex was lying on the bed in his tiny apartment over the pirate bar and scrolling through the ads on the Hunter Guild’s board. Before going to jail, he’d paid for a ten-year guild membership he needed for a con he was running. Who could have imagined back then that Doom would one day actually try his hand at hunting monsters?

  Although, in all honesty, he hadn’t found any good opportunities so far.

  The day before, after completing his shift at the bar, Alex had found out through experimentation that his leash, which was tethered to the bracelet on his right wrist (what was the point of moving it from his ankle to his wrist?), reached exactly to the city perimeter. When he tried to cross the invisible line denoting the border, he nearly sent his spirit down to hell.

  The pain that had racked his body had proven without a doubt that Lieutenant O’Hara really had used just 70% of the bracelet’s total power on him.

  How had Doom managed to make his way back to the city without even crashing his bike on the way? He had no idea.

  Ten miles down the western highway was the edge of the zone where he was relatively free, one that circled around the city center at that distance.

  “Another nope.”

  Hiring: The Alchemist Guild

  Job: Capture morlocks in the Gudon Swamps

  Goal: 15 paws

  Pay: 100 crd/paw

  Morlocks were C-level creatures. Not that weak, but a piece of cake for a group of hunters. Alex could have even done it alone if the Gudon Sw
amps hadn’t been six hours north of the city by car. Definitely too far for him.

  Hiring: The Alchemist Guild

  Job: Catch the Fiery Pard

  Goal: 1

  Location: Somewhere in the Ferd’Khan Mountains. The exact coordinates of where the target was last sighted will be provided after the contract is signed.

  Pay:

  Body – 16,000 crd

  Magic core – 25,000 crd

  The Fiery Pard was what people called the Bakeneko, a fiery cat from Japanese folktales that could transform into a seductive woman. No one had ever survived a night with her.

  The creature was B-level, too strong for Alex to fight on his own. Assembling a group was also out—nobody would have wanted to sign a joint Hunter Guild contract with a dark wizard.

  It was just too dangerous.

  Hiring: Myers City Police

  Task: Help us capture T. B. Cooper

  Charged with: Grand theft

  Pay: 10% of the stolen amount

  Enticing, but against Alex’s principles.

  He continued browsing through the ads popping up one after the other. The lenses kept him connected to the web and provided the information he needed, the whole thing so unobtrusive it was easy to forget he was even wearing them.

  Alex waved his hand, discarding the quests he couldn’t accept or that didn’t pay well enough.

  The best gigs were always offered by alchemists or archeologists (read: ancient tomb and dungeon raiders), followed by the ones from the police. The simplest and most common were put up by the municipality and traditionally considered side jobs for school kids. In order to go looking for a lost dog and earn your 25 credits, you didn’t have to be a member of the Hunter Guild. It was enough to have valid official identification and not be listed on the police’s blacklist.

  But that put the whole thing out of reach for the vast majority of High Gardeners.

  The practice of hiring hunters originated in the distant past, a time when Atlantis was in chaos and ruin after the Great Disaster. There was no centralized authority or government—might made right.

  The nation had long since risen from the ashes, but some old traditions had survived.

  Doom swept the last notice aside and tried to tell if he’d been imagining the sudden noise he heard.

  “Damn.”

  When the door opened, his unexpected visitor found himself facing the business end of a long spear made of black fire. Smoking and hissing in midair, it was aimed right between the man’s eyes.

  [Spell used: DARK SPEAR of the Black Magic School. Level: Practitioner. Mana used: 890 points/use + 15 points/sec.]

  Alex could only use it once as it drained almost all his mana reserves. With that said, it was one of the most powerful spells he had. It could punch through most two-element shields up to the 20th Mystic level.

  “Not bad,” a calm, somewhat grumpy voice said. “My name is Lieutenant Gribovsky.”

  “Care to show me your documents?”

  “Only after I shoot you in the head.”

  That was when Alex saw that the stranger was aiming a silver handgun at him from his thigh, and that it was covered in shiny runes and symbols.

  Hell’s bells…

  An enchanted firearm!

  The lenses definitely weren’t going to show him anything.

  Enchanted firearms were an urban legend. A myth. A tall tale. No one actually believed they existed.

  Long before, people had invented a way to enchant weapons such that they cast magic during fights. Alex’s Dark Spear, for instance, could be housed in a sword. A skilled fighter could then use the enchantment in the sword five or six times during the course of a battle.

  Enchanted blades were prohibitively expensive for all but the wealthiest.

  And enchanted firearms…

  “Is it true that every bullet in the magazine carries a different spell?” Alex asked with juvenile curiosity and even a measure of exhilaration.

  “You’ll find out if you don’t cancel your spear.”

  “Damn you. That’s tempting.”

  For a moment, they just stared at each other. That gave Doom enough time to see exactly what his nighttime visitor looked like.

  He was tall, much taller than Alex. No less than seven feet, perhaps even seven and a half. Athletic, with impressive muscles, definitely not thin or wiry.

  His left ear was pierced from top to bottom. (At least, it wasn’t his right ear.)

  Red hair. Sharp facial features. An aquiline nose. A pointy chin and piercing green eyes. He had a conspicuous scar on his temple, above his right eye, and it was apparent that it hadn’t been caused by a bullet, spell, or blade. Rather, a claw had made that scar…several of them, perhaps.

  “Did they pick you because of your last name?” Alex dismissed the spell with a wave of his hand. Only half the mana was restored to his reserves. “So I could say it without spraining my tongue?”

  “No,” Gribovsky replied shortly. Spinning his gun, he slipped it deftly back into its holster and closed his trench coat. “What kind of spear was that? Or were you just happy to see me?”

  Doom squinted at the lieutenant.

  “I’m still not sure if I like you or if I’d rather try to take that gun from you.”

  “I’m not sure either, inmate. I don’t know if I like you or if I’d rather shove that spear of yours up your ass.”

  Doom stood and walked over to the lieutenant. He barely came up to the red-haired man’s chin. Where did they find a giant like this guy?

  “So, you’re my partner,” Doom guessed.

  “You’re quick on the uptake. Is your skull too tight for your brain, pumpkin? I can loosen things up a bit.”

  Alex gave him a wry smirk.

  “What do you have for me?”

  “Some lead.”

  “It’s not true about the spells, then? All you have in the gun are bullets?”

  “Sure, I have spells, but lead sounds tougher.”

  “Tougher, yeah…” Alex knew better than to argue. “So, what’s up? I’m supposed to be getting ready for my first lecture tomorrow.”

  Gribovsky squinted and leaned his back against the doorframe. It creaked plaintively.

  “I envy you, pumpkin. First Magic has delicious babes… mm-mm!”

  Alex choked on air.

  “Are you crazy, Lieutenant? They’re kids! The freshmen aren’t even eighteen yet.”

  Gribovsky waved his protests away.

  “The age of consent is sixteen. Damn it. I was so looking forward to having a fun partner for once, and you’re just as boring as the rest of them. You and your suit. It isn’t too tight, is it? Is there enough space for your balls?”

  “You don’t have to worry about my balls, pervert.”

  Alex had already forgotten his own attempt to pick up the high school-aged shop girl. It had happened right after he’d gotten out of prison, anyway—he’d just been too high on testosterone.

  “Well, let’s go.” Motioning for Alex to follow, Gribovsky headed toward the stairs.

  “Go where?”

  “Oh, relax. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Chapter 15

  In the fifteen minutes Alex spent with Lieutenant Gribovsky in his car, he learned several things about his partner.

  First of all, despite his outlandish height, he drove a coupé sports car, and he did so like he was playing a racing simulator rather than driving down city streets that were busy even at night.

  The next thing he learned was that, despite being straight, Gribovsky addressed everyone as pumpkin. That really started getting to Alex over the course of those fifteen minutes.

  The third thing was that Gribovsky apparently didn’t belong in the late 21st century—a better fit would have been the Wild West. He would’ve looked great sitting sullenly in the smoky corner of a saloon only to suddenly erupt in a torrent of bawdy boasting while shooting anything that moved.

  “Watch where the hell yo
u’re going, pumpkin!” he shouted through the half-opened window at an elf driving a brand-new and very expensive Mercedes.

  Without lowering his window, the elf replied with what looked like some choice language.

  “You ran a red light,” Alex pointed out.

  He liked driving fast, too, but High Garden had taught him respect for other people. If you became an annoying neighbor there, they could get rid of you by feeding your body to the fish in the Alneez, Myers City’s main river that emptied into the ocean.

  “They’re all animals.” Gribovsky threw the wheel over so hard the tires squealed. Alex heard a distinct rattle coming from the magic engine. “Buying their driver’s licenses and charging out onto the streets right away!”

  He went on and on about how corrupt the city authorities were for allowing such negligence. Alex listened to the speech while huddled in his seat, gripping the handle above him.

  Was he really going to end up getting out of prison just to die in some officer’s car?

  “Can you tell me where we’re go—”

  “We’re here.”

  Gribovsky hit the brakes. After another semicircle, the car skidded to a stop on the opposite side of the street, right between two big, blue buses with M.C.P.D written on their side in white paint. Myers City Police Department.

  “Be a man, pumpkin.” Gribovsky shut off the engine and began the lengthy process of extricating his body from the fetters of his sports car, squeezing his considerable bulk through the rather narrow hole of the door. “If…they…even…recognize you…then… Oh, shit! My leg! …then they’ll think it’s just some other guy who looks like you. Ooh.”

  Getting out, Gribovsky straightened up and stretched, vertebrae popping. That was when Alex noticed that the lieutenant had two handguns, one for each hand.

  “Home sweet home, yeah, pumpkin?”

  Alex looked around. They were in the northern quarter of High Garden. It was the area closest to what the rest of the world called the City of Wizards—the countless skyscrapers of downtown—and hence looked the most decent. The people who lived there were a bit better off than most High Gardeners: small business owners, middle managers, the children of big gang bosses, and the like.