Water Nymph

by Edmund Hughes

He was in the mansion’s foyer, and at the same time, he wasn’t. The sensation reminded Jack a little of Shadow Form, in that he could hear and observe without having the experience of a self. He was there as a watcher, and it felt like having a front row seat to a movie that placed him within the frame.

  The décor of the foyer was distinctly different but recognizable once he managed to peer past his own surging nostalgia. It was the mansion as it had been the last time he’d seen it before leaving, as a ten-year-old.

  He spotted his mother, Andrea, first. His memories of her were so vague and time-worn that he’d probably forgotten the most important detail of all. She’d been beautiful and graceful, with light brown hair, pale skin, and expressive blue eyes. She was wearing a green summer dress that left her arms bare. Seeing her brought to mind not a memory, but a smell, powdery and fresh, like fabric softener or clean sheets.

  “You’ve said that before,” she said. “And you’ll say that again. I’m not stupid, James.”

  Jack followed the direction she was looking in, and it led him to his father. James Farmoore looked, well, younger than Jack had been expecting. He was good-looking in a roguish, accidental kind of way, with tanned skin, curly hair, and boyish facial features. He had on jeans and a black t-shirt, along with a belt that hung at a suspicious angle, almost in the style of an old-school gunslinger.

  “I’m sorry, Andrea,” said James. He glanced to either side, and then lowered his voice to a hiss. “Look, it’s not up to me. The Order of Chaldea has been stretched thin lately. They need me.”

  The Order of Chaldea. His father had been a member. It made no sense, but at the same time, it fit perfectly. The few memories he had of his dad were of him traveling constantly for work, and the toll it had taken on his mother.

  “The Order needs you?” said Andrea, in a disgusted voice. “Really? Are you sure you don’t mean that Erika needs you?”

  “She’s my partner, of course she needs me,” said James. “But not like you’re implying.”

  “Oh?” Andrea glared. “You still won’t admit it, will you? I see the way you both are around each other, AND the way you talk about your training sessions.”

  “Don’t bring her into this!” snapped James.

  “You’re the one who did!” shouted Andrea. “You said it yourself. You could have picked any partner you wanted with your talent, and you picked her!”

  Jack winced, or at least he would have had he been corporeal and present. He looked past his arguing parents, down the foyer’s hallway, and into the lounge. There were two children sitting close together on the couch. He recognized Katie instantly, from the freckles and hair, and the braces Jack had almost forgotten about.

  There was a boy sitting next to her. A boy who looked torn between playing a handheld video game console and cringing at the sounds coming from the other room. He looked small, confused, and vulnerable.

  It was him, as a ten-year-old. It was him right before his parents had died, unprepared and oblivious to the oncoming trauma.

  “Yes, I care about Erika!” shouted James. “She’s my partner! If I didn’t care about her, we would both be dead right now! You know the type of things I go up against!”

  “What I know,” said Andrea, “is that you have a choice. You’ve always had a choice, James. You can pick me and Jack. You don’t have to throw your life away for the sake of the Order. Look at my father! You can be like him.”

  The words seemed to give James pause. He licked his lips and shook his head slightly.

  “That’s part of why I’m here,” he said, speaking slowly. “The warlock I’m hunting is powerful. With Erika still recovering in London, I’m going to need some backup. Since the warlock was last sighted here on Lestaron Island…”

  Andrea let out a choked laugh.

  “So that’s why,” she said, shaking her head. “It wasn’t because of me or because of Jack. I should have guessed.”

  “Oh, don’t fucking be that way,” said James. “I’m here! This is what you’re always asking for! Don’t be a bitch about this!”

  Jack winced, wishing nothing more than to skip to the relevant part of what Mezolak had decided to show him. The last thing he wanted was to stain his memory of his parents with one of their last, bitter arguments.

  He hadn’t been able to skip over the argument at the time, either. He looked down at the young version of himself and saw a little boy hiding his face behind a Game Boy but still hearing the echo of each shouted word.

  He saw Katie squeeze in closer to the younger him and set a hand on his shoulder. She leaned in close to whisper something into his ear, and young Jack let out a tiny, high-pitched laugh. Seeing himself and Katie as children reminded him just why he’d been so excited to come back to Lestaron Island and get to know her again in the first place. Of course, it hadn’t gone according to plan.

  “I don’t need this,” said Andrea. “I don’t need to be left waiting. Left wondering if I’m ever going to see the man I love again. I deserve better than this.”

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fallen in love with me, then!” snapped James. “Fucking hell, what do you want me to say?”

  Andrea stomped off, heading up the stairs to the second floor without looking back. James crossed his arms and swore under his breath a few times before heading out through the mansion’s front door.

  Jack, in his ethereal, watching state, felt himself being pulled after his father. He felt his curiosity stirring as he watched James walk through the cherry trees, pull a cigarette out of his pocket, and light it with a single touch of a pyrokinesis-channeling finger.

  “I could hear most of that argument from out here, you know.”

  Peter Masterson was in the middle of pruning cherry trees. He wore gardening gloves along with a wide-brimmed hat that covered most of his grey hair. He was aged, but with a fresh, handsome face. His eyes were the oldest thing about him, brimming with wisdom and the experiences of long, eventful decades.

  “So what?” snapped James. “You think she’s right? I should just ignore the fact that there’s a fucking warlock outside of Lesser Town and sit down for family dinner?”

  Peter set the pair of gardening shears he’d been carrying down against a nearby tree.

  “My point is that if I could hear that, so could Jack,” said Peter. “Kids are impressionable. You don’t want to set that kind of example for him, do you?”

  James scowled but gave a somewhat reluctant nod.

  “Fuck,” he said. “Yeah, I guess not. Though if anything, that only supports my argument. I’d just be a bad influence on him, if I was around more.”

  “You’re not a bad man, James,” said Peter. “Just an impulsive one. And it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  James chuckled. He lifted his arm and made a shooing motion toward Peter.

  “You’re falling into your old ways,” he said. “You haven’t been my master in over a decade now.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly was,” said Peter. There was something sad about his voice, and both of the men felt it, neither of them saying anything for a couple of seconds.

  “I do need your help on this one,” James said, breaking the silence. “From the sounds of it, this warlock is dipping his toes into some powerful shit. Summoning magic. Reaching out to demons in the Other Realms. It’s going to be hard for me to take him on by myself.”

  Peter nodded slowly. “I’d guessed as much. I’ll help you, James.”

  James’ expression shifted into a mixture of surprise and relief.

  “Thank you,” he said. “That means a lot to me, Peter. It really does.”

  “This is my island, James,” said Peter. “I already knew about the warlock. He’s a man by the name of Zack Koffman. The son of an island native.”

  “As dangerous as he seems?” asked James.

  “Every bit,” said Peter. “Let me grab my coat and leave some directions for dinner with Tamera. We should move quickly.”


  CHAPTER 21

  James and Peter stood at the edge of a clearing, surveying the area. An old, red barn with heavily chipped paint and a caved-in roof stood in the center of an abandoned farmyard. There was no sign of the presence of their target, but this was where James’ tracking spell had led them.

  “Well,” said James. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He reached a hand down to his belt, pulling a thick-handled wand loose and twirling it between his fingers.

  “Hold on,” said Peter. “I think we should take this slow. We don’t know what’s waiting for us inside.”

  Peter was leaning on his staff. He had on his long leather duster, and it blew slightly to the side as the wind sneaked in under it. He had a pensive, patient expression on his face. James nodded to him and fell into the role of a follower as Peter began leading them around the edge of the clearing.

  The barn’s front doors were open by default as one of the sliding, wooden panels had fallen forward and onto the grass. Peter and James crept up to it at an angle, staying out of direct line of sight. As they drew closer, the sound of a discussion emanated from within.

  “Try it anyway,” said a man’s voice. “I didn’t go through the trouble of summoning you to be told no.”

  “Foolish mortal.” The answering voice was deep and multilayered, and it immediately reminded Jack of how Adana had spoken, except with a masculine edge. “I do not bow down to your whims. It is not possible. You would need a vessel of life essence to sacrifice.”

  “I would sacrifice myself, then!” snapped the man. “Please! I can’t live without her. She stayed with me, despite it all, and I… I…”

  “Her death is not fresh,” said the demon’s voice. “The result would not be optimal. Though of course, if I used your life essence, you wouldn’t even be around to recognize that fact.”

  “Then why not try?” asked the man. “Isn’t it worth…”

  The man trailed off. James and Peter glanced at each other, realizing at the same time that their presence had been detected.

  “You are being watched, mortal,” said the demon. “Oh, what luck. Perhaps you’ve just discovered a more agreeable option.”

  James and Peter took several quick steps back into the clearing. A man slowly walked out of the barn, carrying a pistol in one hand and a gnarled wooded wand in the other. He had reddish-blond hair and a tattoo of a gothic cross on his neck. Jack had seen him before, though in a far less presentable state. He was the dead man from the casket.

  “You want something?” asked the man. “Because if you do, you’d better think twice about asking for it.”

  “Zack Koffman,” said James. “The Order of Chaldea charges you with crimes against natural society, evading registered mages of the Order, and communicating with demons from the Other Realms. If you surrender quietly, it will be noted in your case’s favor.”

  Zack Koffman took a slow breath and gave a small shake of his head.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think I will surrender.”

  He didn’t say anything else, apparently content to leave the option to escalate the encounter in the hands of the other two men.

  “Why not?” asked Peter. “What do you have to gain by fighting us? You’re from this island, Zack. I knew your parents when I first moved here. I know that you’re not an evil man, despite the path your life may have—”

  “Shut up!” shouted Zack. “Just… shut the fuck up. You don’t know a god damned thing about me.”

  Peter stayed silent. James started to say something, but Peter set a hand on his shoulder and bid him to stay silent.

  “I lost the only thing that mattered to me,” said Zack. “Maybe… that’s all it takes. Maybe I was good once, but now… even if I’m not evil, at the very least, I’m still capable of doing evil things.”

  He lifted the pistol. Peter was as fast on the draw as any gunslinger, however. He brought his hand up in an instant and muttered an incantation under his breath. The gun let out a crack as it fired, but the bullet never reached them, deflecting off a thin, teal wall of glittering magical force.

  “You bastard!” shouted James. He hurled himself forward as soon as Peter’s conjured shield dissolved, leaping into the air as he thrust his wand forward.

  A bolt of red, magical lightning burst forth from it. James had aimed it at Zack’s gun, but Zack was fast. He dodged to the side in advance of the spell, which instead struck the side of the barn, leaving black, charred marks that ran along the pattern of the wood’s grain.

  Zack fired again, but the bullet went wide. He pulled up his gnarled wand and released a gout of magical flames. The spell’s effect was reminiscent of a dragon’s breath, or possibly a flamethrower’s kiss in more modern times.

  Peter deflected it with his shield magic as easily as he had the bullet. He held his staff with both hands and thrust it forward in a jabbing motion. An invisible surge of force slammed into Zack, knocking him back into the barn’s wall. Zack slid down the length of it and fell forward onto his knees, clutching his stomach as though he’d taken a hard punch to the gut.

  James roared and blasted forth another bolt of red lightning. This time, it struck Zack full in the chest. The warlock grunted, and a few flecks of white spittle dripped from his mouth. He still had strength left, however, and fired a quick salvo of bullets that sent James and Peter diving for cover.

  “Give up!” shouted James. “You’re outnumbered!”

  “I’ve been up against worse odds before!” shouted Zack. “And I won’t give up! For her sake, if not my own!”

  The warlock roared as he regained his footing, and then threw himself into a foolhardy charge around the corner of the barn where James and Peter had taken cover. James lifted his wand to launch another spell, but Peter set a hand on his shoulder. He waited for half a second and then shoved his staff out at knee height just as Zack came past.

  It was such a basic, practical mode of attack that no person in the midst of a magical duel would have expected it. Zack tripped over the staff, falling head over heels and losing his grip on his pistol. James was on him in an instant, stripping the wand from his fingers. Peter picked up the gun and slipped it into his leather duster.

  “No!” screamed Zack. “No! You don’t understand! Please, I have to finish this! I don’t have—”

  James slammed a fist into the side of Zack’s head. Twice. In quick succession. The first was enough to knock him unconscious, and the second only left James’ knuckles looking torn and raw.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” said Peter.

  “If we aren’t going to kill him, it was,” said James. “Unless you want to listen to his insane ramblings on the ride back to the mansion.”

  “I hope you aren’t expecting me to hold him in the workshop until the Order’s cleanup crew can get here,” said Peter.

  “Of course not,” said James. “He’ll do fine in the trunk of my car. The Order won’t take long to get here, now that the heavy lifting has been taken care of.”

  Peter nodded, and then slowly made his way over to the barn. He was greeted by the putrid smell of humid decay at the doorway, along with the buzzing of flies. He wrinkled his nose and continued forward, expecting a dead body but finding more than just that.

  The demon that Zack Koffman had summoned was still hovering over the chalk pentagram in the barn’s corner. The light of the candles on each of the pentagram’s points illuminated the onyx and red figure of a masculine humanoid with curling, ethereal hair. He held Peter’s gaze with eyes that seemed to burn with a deep, hellish fire.

  “Mortal,” said the demon. “You are not the one who summoned me. But you… might be even more interesting.”

  “Begone, demon!” snapped Peter. James appeared beside him, flinching back as he rounded the corner and saw what the barn held.

  “Do you know why he summoned me?” asked the demon. “Perhaps it could be relevant to your purposes, as well?”

  “Nothing you have to
say could be relevant to us,” said Peter.

  “He wanted to bring her back.” The demon nodded to something behind Peter and James. “I’m afraid she was too far gone. Fresh corpses work best, within a few hours of death.”

  The other corner of the barn held its own respective horror. The body of a dead woman, swollen and stiff from the post-death processes, was stretched out across the barn’s dank wood floor. She wore a hospital gown, and her black hair fell across the front of her face, hiding her features.

  “Mezolak,” said the demon. “That is the name mortals know me by. Remember it, for you will have need of me, one day soon.”

  Peter snuffed out the flames of one of the candles with a brush of his staff, and the demon dissolved into smoke. He turned to find James staring into the space the demon had previously occupied. He shook his head.

  “There’s nothing more for us here,” said Peter. “I can leave an anonymous tip to the sheriff to have the body taken care of and the next of kin notified.”

  “Right,” said James. “Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “How many times have I explained this to you, already?” shouted James. “Nothing happened between us!”

  “But you do care for her?” snapped Andrea.

  “Of course I care for her,” said James. “She’s my partner! I’ve known her for longer than I’ve known you, for Christ’s sake!”

  “And if I wasn’t here?” she asked. “If it was just you and her, like it so often is, while you’re off on your stupid adventures?”

  “What do you want me to say?” he shouted. “That I’d fuck her if the two of us weren’t together? Is that what would make you happy?”

  Andrea glared at him through her tears and shook her head. Jack had come down from his room in his pajamas to see what the commotion was, and he stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Enough,” said Andrea. “I’ve had enough, James!”

  She headed for the door to the garage. James lashed out with one hand as she pulled it open, slamming it closed with a blast of magical force.