Ivy Cross and the Monarch of Darkness (Dark Inquisitor Series Book 1)

by A. D. Winter

  “I do, indeed.”

  “Well then,” Dryden replied. “I’ll be sure to make your demise especially painful.”

  We watched in silence as the two magic users faced off. It was a dangerous move for Dryden. He was merely an academic, a young wizard with a handful of spells. The warlock, on the other hand, seemed able to pull off whatever spell at will.

  It didn’t look good for Dryden. So why was he doing it? For us?

  The warlock struck first. He cast a wall of icicles and sent it at the young wizard. They charged at Dryden with amazing speed. Yet just as they were about to make their mark, Dryden waved his hand, and the icicles shattered in midair.

  It was unbelievable.

  Stunned, the warlock could only gasp.

  “Oh, come now,” Dryden said. “Icicles? Surely you can come up with something better than that.”

  The warlock pursed his lips, his face filling with rage. “An underestimation on my part,” he said. “Something I will not do again.” With a whispered spell, he waved his hand, and a barrage of spikes shot up from the floor.

  Dryden didn’t even flinch. He brought his hands together, then pulled them apart, creating a path that was as wide as a sidewalk to stride through.

  The warlock staggered back in confusion. “But … how’s this possible?”

  “Perhaps there’s more to me than meets the eye,” Dryden said. “You would’ve known this if you could still see.”

  The warlock cast spell after spell, trying to slow Dryden’s advance. But it didn’t work. They merely met their deaths at the hands of whatever counterspell Dryden conjured. If the warlock cast a giant cat, Dryden would retaliate with a giant dog.

  It was like watching a grand master toying with one of his students.

  It wasn’t until the warlock cast a blazing beam of fire that Dryden began to struggle.

  It struck the young wizard with a frightening roar, causing him to grimace in pain. He clenched his teeth, let out a grunt, and sank his feet into the ground, holding back the attack with all of his might.

  The amount of energy the two of them were expending was unbearable. It was like the breath of a dragon, rippling off in waves and burning everything around it. I had to shield my face with my arms, squinting at the blinding heat before me.

  It lasted for what seemed like an eternity. And in that final moment, I feared the worst had come.

  I turned around, covered my face, and whispered a prayer to Danu, thanking her for my miserable life.

  But just as I was about to be roasted like a marshmallow, something unexpected happened: I didn’t die. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Dryden’s body was pulsing with tremendous energy.

  He was pushing back the fire with an incredible blue force, unwilling to give in to the warlock’s attack. Eventually, the warlock fell to a knee and let out a pathetic squirm as he began to succumb to Dryden’s strength.

  “Yield!” Dryden called out. “Surrender, and tell us what you know. The inquisitor will do what she can to help you.”

  “Never!” the warlock yelled back. “Death will welcome me with open arms. You, on the other hand, you and yours will succumb to the song of the Minstrel and suffer its woe.”

  “Death it is.” Dryden shot out a blast of energy, and the warlock was thrown across the factory, his body writhing under the menacing blue glow flooding over him.

  Dryden was becoming stronger, I could see, delving deeper into his well of magic to crush the enemy before him.

  Crag and I stumbled back, forced by the increasing heat that was threatening to envelop the entire factory.

  I searched for Sophie. She was lying against the wall, completely human again, her naked body barely covered by the tattered strips of her dress. She would die soon if this didn’t stop.

  “Sophie!” I reached out a hand, desperate to reach her, but was repelled by the stinging heat.

  Dryden gave a final push, and I felt a tremendous presence vibrating throughout the factory. It reversed the warlock’s power, and in a blinding flash of light and heat, the evil wizard was engulfed in a wave of his own flame.

  He screamed out in terrible anguish, his clothes bursting into fire, his pale flesh roasting on his bones. When it was over, he stood like a burnt match, a plume of smoke lifting from his skull. Miraculously, his mouth opened, and he let out a miserable word before his skeleton crumbled to the floor: “Impossible.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  By Danu’s blue eyes.

  Dryden fell to a knee, exhausted, and I raced out to catch him. But I was quickly halted by a strange force, a horde of violence and deceit that nearly slapped me across the face.

  They lifted from the ashes of the dead warlock, a swirl of purple streams rising into the air, and just as quickly as they appeared, they plunged into the young wizard’s chest.

  Dryden went into shock, his eyes rolling back in his head, his limbs beginning to spasm. The evil forces were rooting into his soul, latching their claws onto the essence of his magic.

  And amid all of this, I could only watch, helpless, as the warlock made his final blow.

  30

  Ivy

  A loud clap sounded through the factory when it was finally done, and the smoke and light quickly disappeared, leaving us to gaze at the young wizard in silence.

  It was the spirits, I realized, the magical tattoos that had been protecting the warlock’s body. They were Dryden’s now, the spoils of war. Whatever powers and strengths the warlock had possessed were now Dryden’s.

  “Sophie!” Crag ripped off his shirt and used it to cover her naked body. He checked her pulse, then nodded at me. “She’s alive.”

  I sighed in relief.

  I didn’t know what I would’ve done if she’d been hurt. The little princess had gotten under my skin, at least enough to get me worried.

  I turned around and saw Dryden rising from the floor. He stood in a magical glow, a bright blue aura that vibrated around his tall frame. Beautiful. Powerful. Confident. He was like a demigod of magic.

  He strode toward me with narrowed eyes, his face an unreadable mask of stone, and I suddenly felt my hands begin to tremble. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. He was the same person I knew, but something else entirely.

  “I thought he killed you,” I said, surprised by the emotion welling inside me.

  He yanked up the front of his T-shirt and showed me the mosaic of new tattoos he’d just received. Among them, though, was a dragon writhing across his muscled chest and abs. It was the same one that I’d seen in the restaurant the night before, only now it had slithered its way to his torso, where it sat like a shield.

  Tattoos didn’t move like that. They were painted on the skin in a specific place. This was something else.

  “A spirit?” I asked.

  “Of a dragon.” He let go of his T-shirt and raked his fingers through his hair. “I got it from a witch who was hunting me in Dunkler Ward. It protects me from fire damage and allows me to conjure balls of flame.”

  “You could’ve told me that ahead of time,” I said.

  “And ruin the surprise?”

  I slapped him across the shoulder. “We’re partners.”

  “I thought I was just your associate.”

  “Same thing,” I said.

  He laughed quietly to himself. “I needed the warlock to believe that I was really dead.”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “To prepare,” he replied. “Dueling with a warlock isn’t easy. I needed to feel his power and see the extent he was willing to go to kill us. Knowing that allowed me to form a plan. If I had told you ahead of time, he would’ve sensed it, and it never would’ve worked. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be,” I said.

  I didn’t know why, but I was angry. His death had frightened me, and every part of me wanted to stomp on his toes for it.

  “Are you okay?” He took a step forward, and I felt the gravity of his p
ower pulling me into him.

  He was like some pulsating star, some heavenly body that I couldn’t pull away from. His gaze then fell to my lips, and I felt my heart begin to race.

  Was he going to kiss me? Right here? In front of everyone?

  I could already feel his breath on my lips when the moment was suddenly ruined.

  “Oh, dear,” Crag grumbled loudly. “I fear I may have soiled my britches.”

  The remark brought a wince to my face, and the aura around Dryden suddenly receded into his body.

  “Wow, Crag,” I said. “Really?”

  “They’re a new design,” he said in regret. “Silk cloth, cotton band—sure to be a bestseller!”

  “We’ll finish this later,” Dryden whispered sinfully in my ear.

  “If you’re lucky,” I replied, holding his gaze.

  Sophie was still on the floor, leaning into Crag’s embrace. She looked horrible. Her hair was drenched with sweat, and her breathing was ragged. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought she’d just had a heart attack.

  I wasn’t an expert on lycanthropy, but I could only assume that shifting was a difficult process. The stress on her body was incalculable, and the pain most likely overwhelming.

  Dryden knelt before the princess and gave her a couple of herbs. “Take this. It’ll bring back your strength.”

  She ate them slowly.

  “You were amazing,” he told her with a smile.

  “I was scared,” she managed through the herbs. “But I am a Laurent, and I must do what is expected of me.”

  “Well, I’m sure your ancestors would’ve been proud.” He brushed back her hair and gave her a light kiss on the forehead.

  Sophie then turned her gaze to Crag.

  The dwarf was still lost in his mind, clearly struggling with what he’d just seen. He loved the little princess with all of his heart. About that there was no doubt. But he’d also just witnessed her shift into a terrifying werewolf—something that would stay with him for a while.

  “You hate me, don’t you?” Sophie asked, her head hanging in shame.

  Crag hesitated to speak.

  Royalty—particularly the elves—were infamous in their pursuit of keeping the bloodline pure. Crag had been so long in their service, it was logical to assume that their beliefs had permeated into his head.

  But that was clearly not the case.

  “I could never hate you, my dear,” he said, holding her close, “for you have always been my little rose petal, only now I guess I’ll have to start calling you my little pup.”

  We all started laughing, even Sophie, and for the first time in a long time, I felt my heart lighten.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Don’t ever feel bad about who you are, even when you smell.” I took a whiff of my armpit and made a face.

  We laughed even harder, and I shot Sophie a wink.

  After a couple of seconds, it was time to get to work. I ordered them to spread out and find whatever they could. They grumbled for a moment, but I persisted. “I’m looking for notes, journals, maps, anything that can tell us where they went.”

  Crag’s brows rose as he glared at the factory. It was a complete mess. The scaffolding had collapsed, the conveyor belts had snapped, and the tables were overturned. There was no way this was going to be easy. “Where do we start?”

  “With the first thing you see.” I peeked into an empty bottle, then threw it over my shoulder, letting it shatter against the floor. “Just got to look, that’s all.”

  The four of us split up and began to work. Crag and Sophie took different corners, while Dryden lit another ciggy, taking the moment to relax.

  Usually I would’ve yelled at someone for that. But I gave him a break. The fight with the warlock had exhausted him, and he was still adjusting to his new powers. If anyone deserved a moment, it was him.

  I, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. The clock was still ticking, and without any evidence to prove my innocence, I was looking at life imprisonment. Worse, my only connection to the potion was dead and gone.

  It was a total mess.

  But there was still a chance.

  The other warlock was still alive. If I could just figure out what he was doing and where he was, I could hunt him down and prove my innocence.

  But to do that, I first needed a clue.

  Desperate, I began searching furiously. I knocked over crates, kicked in doors, flipped over tables—completely disobeying the investigational procedures that I’d been taught in the Order.

  I finally made my way to the back office, where I found a locked door. I kicked it in and entered. Inside was nothing special, only a plain office with a single desk and a Victorian typewriter.

  On the opposite wall was a calendar of the work week, along with a posting board that was covered with a slew of disciplinary notices. Whoever this boss was, they were a total jerk.

  Maybe High Inquisitor Nelson was moonlighting here, I thought with a snort.

  I shuffled through the papers on the desk, hoping to find something else. Nope. Just a bunch of inventory lists, along with the work schedules for the upcoming week.

  I was just about to leave when I noticed something strange. A tiny black hat hidden behind a pile of rolled-up parchment.

  I turned my attention to the chair. It had been hiked all the way up, as if a small child had been sitting in it. And then there was the cigar in the ashtray. I picked it up, blew on the tip, and smiled as I saw the ember still burning.

  Whoever this belonged to was still here.

  But where?

  I drew upon the power of my spirit to enhance my senses and searched for any magical signatures I hadn’t noticed before.

  And there it was—right below me.

  I yanked open the bottom drawer of the desk, and a tiny goblin with sharp teeth threw up his hands in surrender. “Don’t kill me!”

  “Get out,” I said, and motioned with my head.

  The green creature struggled as he climbed out of the drawer, his sharp claws scratching the wood as he let himself down. He was dressed in a white shirt with black suspenders, and his tiny shoes were shined clean. But it wasn’t all nice.

  There was a menacing quality about him, as if the creature could leap out at me with a pencil and stab me in the neck.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  He took his time to reply. Goblins were good at that. In fact, they rarely spoke unless there was a gold coin at the end of the conversation. He sized me up with his eerie yellow eyes, then let out a toothy grin when he reached my face. “You’re a pretty one, ain’t ya, love?”

  “Don’t make me ask you again,” I warned, pointing my ax at him.

  “The name’s Snorkel,” he finally said, and bowed. “How may I be of service?”

  “By answering a few questions,” I said. “The first of which being what you were doing in that drawer.”

  “What does it look like?” he said. “I was hiding.”

  “From what?”

  “From you.” He motioned to the ax in my hands, and I quickly lowered it to my side.

  “Sorry,” I said. “But I’m hunting someone at the moment.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “A warlock.”

  A sneer crossed his wart-covered face, and I smelled the reek of falseness in the air. He knew something.

  “Spill,” I ordered, aiming my ax at him again.

  “And what would you like me to tell you?”

  “Everything,” I said.

  “Can I at least sit in the chair? It’s kind of hard glaring up at you like this. Plus my back’s hurting from being curled up for so long.”

  I sighed, then motioned toward the seat. “Hurry up.”

  “Thanks, love.”

  I raised my battle-ax again. “You call me love one more time, and I’ll slice you in two.”

  “Ooh, you’re a tough one. Such an attractive quality in a woman.”

  I gave a reluctant shrug, unab
le to ignore the compliment. “Thanks.”

  He climbed into the seat and let out a sigh as he melted into the chair. He seemed well accustomed to it, as if he could see the world better from this position.

  After a moment, he reached for the cigar still in the ashtray and took a puff.

  “Ah, now that’s good.” He held it up to me. “You want some? It’s from Qin. Some of the best. It would take a worker an entire month’s pay to buy something of this quality.”

  “I’d rather get slapped in the face with a fish,” I replied.

  “Hey, if that’s what you’re into, I could get a mermaid here in ten minutes.”

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “I told you. The name’s Snorkel.” He leaned back confidently in his seat, thumbing his suspenders. “I’m the operational manager.”

  “Congratulations,” I said mockingly.

  He inclined his head, oblivious to the jab.

  “What do you know about the warlock?” I demanded.

  “Nothing that you don’t know already,” he replied. “That he’s a scary piece of work who terrifies everyone who sees him.”

  “Were you helping him?” I asked.

  “Of course, I was,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked. “Because he was paying you gold?”

  “Because I was ordered to do so.”

  “By whom?” I asked.

  “The grand duke.”

  I snorted in disbelief. “Nice try.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  I glared down at the little monster, searching for the reek of falseness. But surprisingly, I found none. “I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would the grand duke order you to help them?”

  The goblin took another puff of his cigar and tapped the ashes onto the floor. “For the same reason he worked with everyone else—money.”

  “You lie,” I said.

  “I do,” he admitted with a nod. “Very well, I might add. But not this time. This time I’m telling the truth.”

  I frowned in confusion. There was more to this than he was telling me. But trying to persuade a goblin into telling the truth was like trying to draw magic from a human. It was impossible.