by Rain Oxford
I laughed. “You sound like he’s your brother or something.”
Hunt said nothing.
“Wait, what? Is he your brother? I’ve never heard of you mention your family except that you hated your father.”
“I will give you Ascelin’s address.” I handed him my notepad and he started writing. “Do not tell Remington where you are going. He lives in a tiny mountain town called White Hills, which is full of---”
“Paranormals,” I interrupted. He stopped writing and looked at me. “I’ve been there before. A guy and his monster were kidnapping kids in the town and a shifter client of mine called me in to help. It was more than a year ago, but I doubt it changed that much.”
“Well, I don’t know where he is, only that he’s in that town.”
“In a town that size, I can just ask around for him.”
Hunt left and I opened a mental connection between Darwin and me. “I’m going to a paranormal town to get a magic box from a mysterious wizard.”
“Sounds like fun. Want me to tag along as backup?”
“What about your classes?”
“I can get a babysitter. I even have a cool project I got prepared in case you needed help for a few days.”
“Sure. We shouldn’t be more than a few hours, anyway. Do you know where a close airport is?”
“No, bro. I can’t fly. Wolves and fae aren’t good that high off the ground.”
“It’s almost two thousand miles. We can’t drive or we’d miss a week and I don’t think the kids can hold on that long.”
“Shit. I wish Henry wasn’t being a little bitch. I really can’t fly, and you’re right that we can’t drive that distance. You’ll have to go on without me.”
“He travels fastest who travels alone.”
After closing the connection, I went to Remy’s office and found it destroyed. It wasn’t vandalized like someone had been searching for anything. Instead, it looked like someone set off a multitude of small bombs. There were at least five different ignition points. Remington was sitting at what was left of her desk, filling out forms.
“What the fuck happened?”
“A teacher challenged me. He won’t be doing it again.”
“Yeah? Did you turn him into a toad or a bat?”
“I broke half the bones in his body, made him blind and deaf, and sent him to the dungeon at Quintessence. I’ve also hired another teacher to replace him who can actually teach the subject and got a substitute. The new teacher will be here Monday.”
I righted a chair and sat across from her. “It’s hot how well you multitask.”
She laughed, losing a lot of the tension in her shoulders. “It’s hot that you like independent women. Especially because you’re the sub for Joe Fahrenkopf’s English class.”
I’d heard about the teacher, but since he taught ages ten through thirteen, I hadn’t bothered to meet him. “Actually, I came in here to tell you I have to go get something that should help with the coma case.”
“Oh. Well, that’s more important. How long will you be gone?”
“It depends on if I can find an airport or not.”
“Ah. It’s not really safe for you to be flying. Magic interferes with electricity.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “If I drive, I’m looking at more than a week, mostly of driving. That makes me want to try pretty much anything else first. I have flown before.” We both considered it for a few minutes. “I can have a vision to make sure I won’t crash the plane.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Even in the paranormal world, there weren’t a lot of options. If I still had my key, I could easily have used the shadow pass. “Oh! Henry! He’s Langril’s familiar, so he can use the shadow pass because Langril has a key. He hasn’t done it before, but Flagstone can use Hunt’s, so I know it’s possible.” Then I sighed. “But he and I aren’t on good terms so never mind.”
“I’ll order him to help you if you want.”
I laughed. “He’d drop my ass in China.”
“Your familiar has magically transported you places, hasn’t she?”
“She’s gotten me out of dangerous spots before, but only in emergencies.”
“See if she can take you there.”
“It’s worth a shot. Are you handling everything okay?”
She nodded. “It would be different if I had to deal with the comatose kids myself. I have teachers trying to sabotage my work, our funding, and my rules. One teacher told all of his students that I wasn’t the real leader of the school because women couldn’t be in a headmaster position. He told them women belonged in the kitchen, and that when I got a husband, the school would go to him.”
“Did you make it look like an accident when you murdered him?”
She smirked. “I just fired him. I knew there would be some opposition. I’m barely thirty and there are teachers here who were teaching when I was a student. Most of them are set in their ways. I wasn’t quite prepared for how petty a lot of them are. The rules I’m enacting benefit everyone here, yet they act like I’m trying to push them out. It doesn’t help that I have to take their anger over the students going into comas when I’m starting to think they don’t actually care. In other words, thank you for working on healing them so I can focus on not killing every member of the old staff.”
“I think you should make Darwin an advisor. As rude as he can be, he’s extremely good at pack dynamics, and I think that will help you here. It’s also a plus that if you ever need a calculator, you can use him.”
She nodded. “I’ll talk to him after his classes are done for the day. Whether you take a plane or not, good luck.”
* * *
I returned to my office and called Rocky to me. When she appeared, I was surprised to see that her left wing was charred. “Can you transport me somewhere?”
“Only in emergencies and not across much distance. It is a huge strain on my energy.”
“Oh. So if I get in a plane and the plane starts to go down, you can jump in and save it?”
“No. I exerted too much energy last night to save you.”
“You saved me?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know who I was fighting and how I got injured?”
“Yes.”
“Great! Who is it? Is it Eugene?”
“I will not tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you go after him again, you will put your life in danger.” With that, she vanished.
That was one more piece of the puzzle that didn’t help me at all. I had a long way to go.
* * *
I induced a vision and saw myself safe and sound in White Hills, so I drove to the nearest major city, got on a plane, and flew to a large city near my destination. Fortunately, there wasn’t anything more than a little turbulence, and I slept through most of the flight. Instead of risking a private plane for the short trip, I rented a Toyota Yaris and drove to White Hills.
It was a tiny town surrounded by mountains and forests. There was only one highway in or out of the town, which made it the perfect location for just about any horror movie to take place in.
My experience taught me that in small towns like this, the best place to get information was the diner, which I found quickly just by driving around. I’d been in diners that were cozier, fancier, and cleaner. Tables crowded the space, the booths had tears in them, and most of the tables were scratched and chipped. That didn’t bode well for the food. While I was there for information, I was also hungry.
At least it was well-lit, and there weren’t bugs running around. Since it was well after dinner time, there were only four other customers, all at a booth in the corner. A waitress greeted me at the door. She was cute and shapely with dyed red hair and dark brown eyes. “Welcome! For one?”
“Yes.” She led me to a booth and took my drink order. Before she could run off, I told her I wanted a burger and fries, so she took the menu.
“You’re
a man who knows what he wants.” I politely smiled back but didn’t engage. I was lucky if I ended up with Remy, despite her fire, so I wasn’t going to stray until I saw where things could go. Besides, I met Regina when she was a waitress.
When she returned with my drink, I asked, “Do you know Ascelin Ares?”
She pursed her lips. “He’s getting to be a popular guy. A lot of people have been coming to town and asking about him lately. You’re a wizard, right?”
“How can you tell?”
“I’m fae. I can sense the abilities of those around me, but yours is unusual.”
“Yes, I’m a wizard.”
“All paranormals are welcome in White Hills. Ascelin runs the magic shop right down the street. Turn left out of the parking lot and when you reach the light, his shop is on the left.”
“Thank you.” I heard a bell and she ran off to get my food. When she returned, I thanked her again and she left me to eat alone.
It was surprisingly good considering the state of the neighborhood. A strange thought occurred to me that if my mother and Vincent decided to remarry, this would be a nice place for them to settle down in. Then I realized that Vincent would go stir-crazy without something to do.
When I was done eating, I paid, added a good tip for the waitress, and left. Rather than taking the car, I walked to the small shop. There wasn’t a store or merchant name, only a sign on the door that said,
Sorry,
We’re Open
Hours of Operation:
Mon – Sun
Whenever I feel like it.
It was small and cramped. There were five bookcases to the left, all packed with magic supplies, including potions, potion ingredients, books, crystals, precious stones, and small boxes. To the right of the door was a long, glass cabinet/counter combo, full of rings, coins, and wooden plaques with sigils etched into or painted on them. Between the bookshelves and the counter was a narrow aisle. Across the shop, I could see an old reading chair and a small table with a candle and book on it.
“Hello?” I called. There wasn’t a bell or anything on the counter. After a moment, I started looking over the shelves.
“Can I help you?” a voice asked, causing me to jump (just a little). Suddenly, there was a man sitting in a reading chair, looking completely chill, as if he’d been sitting there the entire time and I simply failed to notice him.
He was five-nine, slender, with shaggy brown hair and silver eyes. Familiar silver eyes.
“I’m… Devon Sanders.”
“Are you sure? Normally, people sound more certain when they’re telling me their name.”
“I take it you’re Ascelin Ares.”
“The last time I checked, I was. I’ve only been wrong about that two or three times, but no one is perfect. Let me see your hand.” With dramatic, tension-building deliberateness, I held out my right hand. He smirked. “Your other hand.” I held out my unmarked left hand. He frowned. “Interesting.”
Somehow, he could sense that I was involved with the key. “I was told you could help me with a problem.”
He nodded. “The ex-wife? Poison or potion?”
I laughed. “If only. No, I work at a school for paranormal children.”
“Oh, I believe I’ve heard of it. It’s run by a bald guy in a wheelchair, right?”
He can’t be Hunt’s brother. “No, this is the off-brand one. We take the kids who can’t act.”
“Ah. The British one with wands.”
“If I weren’t in a huge hurry, I would be laughing and joking back, but four students have lapsed into comas and I suspect there will be at least two more soon.”
He grimaced. “Yes, that would put a damper on anyone’s mood. Have you tried true love’s kiss?”
“They’re fifteen.”
“I didn’t ask if you kissed them. I was only wondering it. Without knowing what is causing their comas, giving them any treatment could exacerbate the problem. Tell me the whole story, but leave out all of the sex.”
“If I leave out all of the sex, it compromises the integrity of the story.” I admitted that I could see ghosts, but glossed over how. I told him everything I knew about Eugene, the kids, and the evidence I’d gathered up until that point. When I was done, he had lost his humor.
“So you’re convinced it’s Eugene?”
“No, but I want to question him and stop him from interfering. I think it’s a good possibility. I don’t know how, though. My friend said that ghosts can’t do magic.”
He made a very Darwin-like expression of “not quite” and sucked his teeth. “That’s true and it’s not. Most ghosts are… call it a level one spirit. They’re regular paranormals and humans. They can’t do any real harm, but they can mess with people a bit. However, if a level one spirit latches onto a person (usually out of anger) they can feed off that person and become a level two spirit. A powerful wizard who masters necromancy can start off as a level two spirit. These ones can be seen by most paranormals, they can control children, and they can feed off multiple people they’re not attached to. They can also attach themselves to places rather than just people. Then you get the third level. These are usually wizards who, through elaborate rituals and blood sacrifice, reach a level of immortality that their soul can’t be killed. Their body can, however. This is usually the plan.”
“Huh?”
“I once helped a man who did this. He willingly got himself killed so that I could resurrect him.”
“Why?”
“Because when I resurrected him, it made him immortal. This is old magic, but old wizards know it.”
“So Eugene could be trying to come back?”
He shrugged. “No idea.” He gestured for me to back up and I did. Then he went to a small chest on one of the shelves, picked it up, and brought it back to me. It was a foot tall and two feet wide, made of iron, and covered in magic symbols.
“What is it?”
“This…” he paused for dramatics, “is a magic box. I call it… an iBox.”
“I’m not calling it that.”
He sighed. “Fine. It’s a syrus. There are multiple forms of them, but it’s basically a magical prison. Most of them are a little different. This one will contain any person or creature of magic that is powerful enough to put children in comas. It’s not going to contain anyone who is weak.”
“Great. How does it work?”
“If it’s a creature or living being, recite an incantation while dripping its blood into the box. If it’s an ethereal being, you need to have their name or something that was important to them when they were alive. With the object, just say the incantation and put the object in. If you only have a name, that’s a different incantation. Write their full and true name on a piece of paper with your blood. Burn it over the syrus so that the ashes fall into it.”
“How does that trap the person or creature?”
“They’ll be sucked into it. Trust me; it’ll be entertaining. Give me something to write on.” I handed him my notebook and he wrote the two incantations on it. “Now, you wanted something so that you know when you’re talking to a ghost.” He handed me the notebook, went back to a shelf, and opened a small box to riffle through some rings.
“How…? I didn’t tell you that.”
He scoffed. “If I waited for everyone to tell me what they wanted, I would be old and gray instead of just old.”
He set the ring on the counter and then started gathering ingredients. When he placed a large stone mortar and pestle on the counter, I got worried. I didn’t know the guy and didn’t trust him not to poison me for absolutely no reason at all.
“Want another magic tattoo or did your chain scare you off?”
“Um… not particularly.”
He smirked and started combining ingredients into the mortar. When he was done, he made a motion with his hand and the contents caught fire. He let it burn down for ten minutes until the bowl only contained smoldering ash. Then he picked up the ring. The band was
normal, but the face of it was silver and covered in sigils. “Where do you want it?”
“Want what?”
“This tattoo will alert you when you’re close to ghosts.”
“It seems a little extreme to get a tattoo.”
“Don’t be afraid; it will only hurt for a few years and it should only be mildly excruciating. Where do you want it?”
“Somewhere it won’t be seen.”
He nodded. “Bend over.”
I did, in order to take off my right boot and sock. He scoffed and suddenly had a slight English accent. “Where do you want your powerful magical tattoo? On your bloody foot. You Americans.” Then he dipped the ring in the ash and pressed it to my heel.
“Damn it!” I hadn’t realized the sigils were raised and sharpened like a blade, but it instantly cut into my skin.
“Regret that decision yet?” he asked, grabbing a cloth from the counter and pressing it to my foot to control the gushing blood.
“That better be clean.” I took the cloth from him and started to lower my foot.
He laughed. “Oh, we’re not even close to done yet.”
He dipped the ring, which was still soaked with my blood, back in the ash. “I hate you and your damned magic ring.” He pushed the cloth out of the way and pressed the ring back into my heel. “This is way worse than a fucking tattoo.”
“My two-year-old didn’t complain this much when she was branded by a demon, and she was literally a little girl at the time.” He repeated this process two dozen times until the ash was gone. Then, as I sat in the reading chair to nurse my foot, he pursed his lips. “Should I give you an antiseptic ointment or a pain relieving ointment?” His accent was gone.
“Antiseptic. I’d rather deal with pain than an infection.”
He got a bottle of cream and a potion. First, he dabbed some of the cream on my wound with a Q-tip, and that stopped most of the bleeding. Then he handed me the potion. “Drink this. It’ll heal the wound.”
