Echoes of Demons (The Memoirs of Abel Mondragon Book 2)

by Chase Erwin

  That first weekend was frustrating, to put it lightly. I practically ruined the princess’ entire stock of training dummies, charring them, splitting them into bits, and otherwise destroying them with overly powerful bolts of fire, electrical charges, and razor-sharp icicles.

  I slept in the servants’ quarters, in a spare bedroom, where Enwel expected me to read from a large deerskin tome, embossed with the title Mage’s Magicks: An Intermediary Course. It was at least a century old, and what Enwel used when she was a younger girl first getting acquainted with her powers.

  From it, I learned that it was not just how to conjure up spells and powers, but also channeling my body’s natural urge to put all my energy into what I did. That resulted in my powers going off at full-force when maybe only a third of that force would do. It was also a matter of learning how to stop the powers from overtaking my natural reactions.

  Practicing that level of control involved running through a makeshift obstacle course out of the hedge maze in the castle’s back garden. Enwel instructed armor-clad guards to surprise me with different attacks: grappling, thrown nets, and even bolts of electricity, much like the ones I could project.

  They all had to wear armor because, to start with, I was firing off all manner of flame, ice and wind energy at the slightest hint of danger.

  There was one particular time when a King’s Guard named Llandarcy, who was not part of the training, attempted to cut through the hedge maze to deliver a message to Jonathan.

  He had the misfortune of cutting through just as I was approaching. Without hesitation, I let forth a tremendous blast of air towards Llandarcy. He went flying – out of the hedges and directly into a lilypond, water, frogs and flowers tossed every which way.

  During another exercise, I fired an arcing bolt of crackling, sparkling charges toward the breastplate of one guard, but it was so forceful it ricocheted off him and into a second guard. He held up his shield, trying to deflect the bolt, causing it to triangulate, and directly into the unshielded face of a guard taking a snack break off on the lawn.

  No one was ever seriously hurt… for very long. Enwel made sure to have a nurse and a cleric on standby for these eventual incidents.

  But as the weeks went on, I became more in control of my reactions, I could manage the flow of my magical powers… and even some of the guards’ mustaches and goatees began to grow back.

  On the fifth weekend, Enwel declared the training could be stopped. “You’ve done splendidly, Abel,” she said.

  “Really? I thought this would take much longer,” I said.

  “Well, honestly, it could have. But, we only know just a few of the powers you have within you,” she replied. “We don’t know what all the Ravens dosed you with. Any number of them could wind up developing into a full-fledged power.

  “But if you remember what you learned here – to channel your power, regulate it, and how and when to let that energy release… there’s no limit to what you can do.”

  “That’s… that’s high praise, Your Highness,” I said. She winced. “Sorry – Enwel.”

  Enwel smiled. “Now, promise me one thing, Abel.”

  “Anything.”

  “Despite how you came upon them, you have been blessed with amazing gifts. It is up to you how you use them, but I would ask that they always come from a place of honor and love. If you use the power for good, you keep sun shining in the sky; if you turn your powers into instruments of evil, only storm clouds can gather.”

  I nodded. “You have nothing to worry about, Enwel. I promise.”

  “Good. Then we are done. I’ll check up on you whenever I can, Abel.” She placed both hands on my shoulders, leaned in, and kissed the top of my forehead.

  I blushed, and, teacher-to-student, we bowed respectfully to one another.

  The princess’ guard, Jonathan, cleared his throat from a few dozen yards off the lawn. We both turned to him.

  “I have a message from Signor Col at the Culinarian’s Guild,” Jonathan said. “Abel, would you meet with him at your earliest convenience?”

  “Certainly. I can go right now,” I replied.

  “I’ll lead you out,” Jonathan said. I nodded to Enwel one final time, then jogged across the lush green lawn to follow behind Jonathan as he led me through the castle’s ground floor to the main foyer.

  We were met there by the king, who was observing his reflection in the mirror as his manservant adjusted the collar on his dinner jacket.

  “Enwel told me this would be your last night with us, Abel,” he said. I couldn’t see his face, but the strong, youthful voice I heard told me he was using his “public face” again.

  “Yes, Sire,” I said. “I have learned so much from her. I will be forever thankful to her, as well as you for offering me shelter during her lessons.”

  He turned. His smooth-shaven, flawless face and bright blue eyes greeted my gaze. “She tells me you have performed brilliantly. I thank you for treating her lessons with the seriousness and respect they deserved. You are a fine young man, Abel. I am proud to call you one of our subjects.”

  I bowed to him. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I said softly.

  He let his young face falter, the wrinkles, liver spots and white hair momentarily overtaking his image. He winked, smiled, and let the younger version of himself take over once again.

  “I have to leave for a summit in Sinanju,” the king explained, “hence the ‘getup.’ Jonathan, is the caravan ready?”

  Jonathan clicked his heels to attention. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said.

  “Very good. Abel can show himself to the gates. Would you assist the rest of the entourage and see their belongings are loaded up?”

  “Very good, Sire,” Jonathan said. Turning to me, he gestured to the front door. “Good day to you,” he said. His voice was not curt, just crisp. He waited until I had opened the front door to turn and rejoin the king.

  7. Prep Work

  I knocked on the heavy oak door to Ricken’s office. There was a stale smell of tobacco throughout the hallway.

  “Enter,” Ricken called.

  I pushed on the latch and heaved my body to open the massive door. A gust of heavily smoky air hit my nostrils.

  Ricken had occupied the former Signor’s office for a few months, but he hadn’t really bothered to redecorate, or even unpack his own things. Many of his predecessor’s books still filled the shelves, and artwork of succulent plants, fruit and herbs continued to line the walls.

  What caught my attention most was the large brass ashtray, overloaded with cigarette butts, on Ricken’s desk. He was rolling a new cigarette up, putting it to his lips, and with a flick of his thumb and forefinger, lit it, dragging deeply on it.

  It looked so wrong, compared with the image of him I’d always had in my head.

  “Abel,” he said through a cloud of smoke, “thank you for coming so quickly.” There was a slight shake in his arm as he withdrew the cigarette.

  “Um, it’s – it’s a pleasure, a-always,” I stuttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Ricken frowned.

  “Nothing,” I quickly responded, “I just… I didn’t know you smoked, is all.”

  “Relatively recently,” he said, a sheepish look on his face. “Nerves, you know? I never realized just how much Signor Battersby had to do to keep this place running smoothly. Plus, I’ve just had a lot on my mind…”

  I cleared my throat. Ricken could see I was having a little trouble breathing comfortably. “I’m so sorry,” he said, stubbing the cigarette out.

  “It’s alright,” I said. “You sent for me?”

  “Yes,” Ricken said, standing up and reaching for a candy dish on an end table. Taking what smelled like a mint from the dish and popping it in his mouth, he walked towards me.

  “I heard about your training with Princess Enwel, along with the full story as to why. I am so sorry,” he said again. “I asked your friends, the Winds, what all happened. I had no idea it was that bad.”<
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  “Oh, uhh… yeah,” I said, reddening a little. “I mean, it is what it is. I have to move on.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ricken said, moving to a closet behind me. He continued speaking as he opened its door. “That’s why I would like to make you a job offer.”

  “A job? Really?” I turned to face him. He stood with a chef’s uniform, neatly pressed, my name sewn onto the lapel of the shirt, the Culinarian’s Guild insignia in gold thread on the hat.

  “Your official title would be Executive Assistant,” Ricken said. “Truthfully, you’d be my right-hand man, and my teacher’s aide in the Triple-A Class.”

  We had both reached Triple-A status in our Senior year courses – two of only seven in our entire class. It was a private course taught by the Signor and was so intense it wasn’t unheard of to have at least one student leave the college altogether.

  “I also know that you can’t really go back to your home on the farm,” Ricken said. “That’s why I’ve also arranged for you to have one of the Triple-A dormitories here in the building. No strings attached.”

  My head began to buzz. This was a large amount to take in. “I’m amazed,” I said. “Why would you go through all this trouble for me?”

  Putting the clothes back in the closet, Ricken sighed. He sat on the arm of a brown leather sofa and clasped his hands together.

  “I have regretted, for the longest time, that I never gave myself the chance to get to know you better,” Ricken said. “You had such talent growing up in school, and I always… admired you.”

  My heart caught in my throat. I could tell I was blushing heavily. “Admired me?”

  Ricken looked worried for a moment. “Yes, admired… your abilities. Your creativity. And, from what I could tell, you as a person. I really thought we could at least be friends.”

  At least? I thought. There is no way he could mean…

  “I honestly felt that way too,” I said. I felt no reason to hide it, though I still took a heavy breath as I willed up the courage to say, “I had a crush on you all through school.”

  It was Ricken’s turn to blush. “Really?”

  “But you were always inundated with girls. I figured your dance card was full, so to speak.”

  “Uh, no,” Ricken laughed. He scratched the back of his head. It looked cute. “I’ve had women coo over me right from the cradle. It’s an annoyance, more than anything.

  “So all this time,” I said with a rueful laugh.

  “Yeah,” Ricken said. “And then, when you went missing… I felt I had lost my chance. And I tried to find out what happened.”

  “What? Why would you” –

  “I can’t explain it very well,” he said. “The rumors were you and your brother lost the land and fled to avoid the creditors. But that didn’t make sense to me, so I tried to investigate.”

  I took a gingerly step towards him. “Did you find anything?”

  He paused as he scanned my eyes. “No, nothing. Not until afterward, when you’d been broken out, then everything I heard was secondhand from your friends and others.”

  I nodded. No further clues as to why or how my brother got involved with the Ravens… for now.

  “So, do you accept? Will you be my right-hand guy?” Ricken smiled hopefully.

  “Only on the condition that you stop that,” I said, gesturing to the overloaded ashtray.

  Ricken dipped his head low, and then laughed. “Of course. For you, I’ll stop.”

  He and I both smiled. It felt like this conversation was going to turn out to be a dream.

  “Class is going to begin in about a half hour. Would you care to join me, and I can introduce you to the students? Then afterward I can show you to your dorm.”

  “Sure.”

  Ricken raised up, looked at me, then came up and wrapped his arms tight around me.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said softly.

  “Me too,” I said, even softer.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Ricken stood sternly, his arms folded across his chest, as he stared at three students standing at their respective cooking stations in the Culinary Theatre.

  The rows of stands were empty, all the lights off except for the ones on the demonstration stage. They were blaring bright and hot. I could see sweat on the foreheads of all three student chefs.

  “You three,” Ricken began, “are in, what I as a professional chef would call ‘deep, deep shit.’”

  I was seated a few rows back, almost in shadow. I gulped as I listened to Ricken’s sharp tone.

  “The three of you were banned from preparing or serving food at the Grand Ball. You have had the Springfall hiatus to think about why that was. What have you all to say?”

  There was an awkward silence. The three students stood with their hands behind their backs. They didn’t even dare to look at one another.

  “I see. Abel, would you join me up here, please?” Ricken turned, and as he did, his features softened, wordlessly telling me, “It’s okay. It’s time.”

  I raised from my seat in the theatre and walked up to Ricken. He gestured for me to face the students.

  “This is Abel Mondragon, my new aide,” Ricken said.

  “Mondragon?” The chef in the center spoke up. “I’d heard that he was” –

  “Silence!” Ricken’s voice sharpened. “You had your chance to speak. That chance has passed. Now, Abel, I don’t mean to put you on the spot on your first day, but would you go up to the first station, please?”

  I nodded and approached the stage. Taking the five short steps up to its base, I walked to the first cooking station.

  “Tomas,” Ricken said. “You submitted a fangfish stock soup as an appetizer course for the menu.”

  The young man standing next to me at the station nodded.

  “Abel, under the silver lid before you is a sample of the dish Tomas submitted to the tasting committee. We had all three of these dishes put into deep freeze, so we could refresh them and address the… errors when classes resumed,” Ricken said. “Please, if you would, remove the lid and examine the dish.”

  I took the lid by the ornate silver handle and lifted it up. Under it rested a small tureen of steaming liquid.

  I gave the bowl a quick visual inspection. On the surface, the soup looked as it should be – a brown broth, bits of cooked fish, spring onion and rice floating about. I leaned forward and breathed in some of the soup’s scent – and nearly choked.

  Turning to face the student, I said, “You didn’t remove the venom sacs?”

  Fangfish were notorious for having three venom sacs along the underside of their ribcages. While not fatal, the venom could cause violent bouts of vomiting for days.

  Tomas, the student, contorted his face in shock and embarrassment. “I… I didn’t think I needed to!”

  “What?” Ricken and I said the word in unison. Ricken began to climb the steps to the stage.

  “I thought the fish had already been cleaned and detoxified before I cooked,” Tomas explained.

  Ricken sighed. “Never assume your ingredients have been cleaned and prepped ahead of time,” he said. “Even with assistants helping you out, the professional always inspects each item before he cooks with it. Had we served that dish at the venue, who knows how many people would have gotten sick?”

  “How did he know there was venom in the soup? I read that fangfish venom was odorless.” The student at the center station, a green-skinned horned fae asked. She had her horns and her blond locks tucked under her hat, but both were poking out ever so slightly from the cloth.

  “Abel?” Ricken gestured to let me speak. “Please enlighten Mirage here.”

  “On its own, yes,” I explained. “But when it meets any organic material that didn’t come from the fish itself, there’s a chemical reaction. In this case, I would say the venom reacted with the spring onions, causing this slightly lemony scent which should not belong.”

  Ricken signaled for the students to gath
er around the tureen and smell the soup. They murmured in agreement – they could all smell the lemon.

  “Mirage, you obviously knew enough about the venom in the fangfish – why didn’t you voice these concerns during the cooking?”

  The fae took off her hat, the horns on her head pulsing with a reddish tone. She was frustrated. “Well, sir, I might have, if I had been working with the fish like I was supposed to. Instead, there was no meat left for me to work with and I had to focus on making something to submit.”

  “Who actually butchered the fish?” Ricken asked.