Marked: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 2)

by J. A. Cipriano

  Marked

  The Thrice Cursed Mage Book #2

  J.A. Cipriano

  Copyright © 2016 J.A. Cipriano

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  Chapter 1

  As I stood there staring at my wall, trying to process how the hell I was going to finish a job I couldn’t remember by the end of the day so some kidnappers would release the woman and her son, someone slipped a garrote over my head. My left hand shot up, barely getting between the piano wire and my throat. As it pulled tight, the loop bit into my flesh, slicing open my palm while my attacker tried to pull me backward off my feet.

  Instead of trying to retain my balance while simultaneously keeping the garrote from slicing into my carotid artery, I opted to throw us both backward with everything I had. My assailant stumbled as the combination of weight and momentum sent us crashing into the drywall hard enough for my brain to rattle in my head, but thankfully, the wire loosened just enough for me to catch a shallow breath that burned like cheap whiskey and cigar smoke.

  Blood pounded in my temples as I drove the back of my skull into my attacker and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch. The loop loosened further, but not enough for me to escape. Pain and blood spilled from my left hand as my assailant regained his hold from beneath me. I brought my right hand up and fired my gun awkwardly behind me. The sound was deafening in the tiny room. A cry I could barely hear over the ringing in my ears erupted from behind me as the wire fell away.

  I spun, jerking the garrote free while pointing my Desert Eagle at my attacker. He was bone white and as far as I could tell, had shaved all the hair off his body, probably so he wouldn’t leave evidence behind. Well, judging by the scarlet spray on the wall behind him, there was little chance of that happening.

  This guy was no doubt some kind of professional hitman, and I didn’t think that just because he was bald and wearing a tailored Italian suit with a red tie. No, it was because his eyes held the flat, dead stare of a crocodile. Those were eyes that had watched a million men die, and if given the opportunity, would watch a million more.

  Crimson slowly spread out from the bullet holes in his chest, staining his crisp white shirt scarlet. As I leaned in close to him, my pistol still pointed at him, his blood-splattered lips opened and closed slowly, reminding me of a fish’s futile gasps for air on dry land.

  “Who sent you?” I growled, shoving the gun up under his chin even though it was sort of pointless because even if he was on a surgeon’s table right now, he wouldn’t be living for more than a few minutes. Still, I was betting he didn’t know that, and if he did, maybe he’d do me a solid. The day was young, after all, so anything was possible.

  The man smiled at me, revealing a mouthful of scarlet teeth. “Pierce Ambrose sends his regards.” His grin grew wider as his white-gloved right hand fell to the floor. A grenade spilled from his grip, rolling across the tile toward me.

  As my eyes widened in shock, my heart went absolutely schizophrenic in my chest. Was he seriously going to detonate a grenade to take me along with him? The sound of his choking laughter seemed to fill every inch of the room as I spun on my heel and sprinted toward the big window along the far wall. I fired at the window, reducing the glass to shards as I dove threw it, tucking myself into a ball. A blast of heat and sound erupted from the room as I cleared the frame. The force of the explosion caught me in mid-leap and flung me through the air like a ragdoll. My back slammed into the concrete deck and agony shot through every last vertebrae in my body as I tumbled haphazardly into the pool.

  The sudden cold shocked me back to my senses, and I nearly sucked in a lungful of water. I managed to clamp my lips back together as flame washed over the top of the pool. My feet touched the cement bottom a second later, and as debris began to rain down through the water overhead, I marveled at how I was still alive. Chunks of me should be splattered across the backyard, but somehow I’d survived. Someone up there must like me, or more likely, someone down below.

  Lungs burning, I pushed myself off the cement, propelling myself toward the surface. The water around me erupted with gunfire. Bullets sliced through the space all around me, leaving trails of bubbles in their wake. The only thing that saved me from becoming a holy corpse was the depth, which robbed their ammunition of the force to puncture my thick trench coat. I pulled up short of the surface, halting myself as the blurry faces of over half-a-dozen bald men in suits appeared overhead.

  I cried out in shock, but the only thing that really came out of my mouth was a huge bubble. My lungs screamed for air as I tried to figure out what to do. If I didn’t do something quick, I was going to blackout. If that happened, well, I didn’t want to think about what that would do for my chances of survival.

  Already, my vision was starting to go dark around the edges. As I searched my mind frantically for some kind of plan, the demonic cat who had cursed me looked up at me from the shadows of my brain, causing me to remember a critical piece of information. I had devil magic. I glanced from the men still filling the pool with hot lead to my black as night right arm before settling my gaze back on the shooters. They were about to learn a valuable lesson on confronting Mac Brennan.

  “Ignis!” I yelled with all my might, and even though it was more a soundless stream of bubbles in the water, the scarlet tattoos emblazoned on my right arm flared like the sun. As the water around my hand turned to steam, the pool exploded in a burst of scarlet light. Crimson hellfire sprang to life in my right palm. A grin spread across my lips as I flung it at the closest of my attackers.

  The fireball hit the man in the chest, burning through him in the space of a heartbeat and leaving a plainly visible hole in his torso. He slumped forward onto his knees, face distorted in a strange mixture of pain and shock. He toppled forward into the water as his companions scattered, taking cover from the weirdo in the pool with the flaming hand. Which was me, so it worked out.

  I burst upward through the pool’s surface just as my lungs were about to explode. Water cascaded down around me as I conjured more hellfire and brandished it like a weapon. Their faces were awash with confusion and fear, cementing one tiny factoid in my brain. These guys hadn’t known I was a Cursed and had sold my soul to a demon in exchange for magic. After all, who in their right mind would attack a guy with a flaming hand with a piece of piano wire? Besides, I’d had my powers all of a day. There was no way they’d have known, especially since this was my first trip to this house since I’d lost all my memories.

  Still, a bullet to the brain would probably kill me just the same, and I wasn’t quite ready to meet Death upon his pale horse. So what did I do? I threw myself out of the pool and ran like the dickens while flinging fire around the backyard like it was going out of style. Some for you, and you, and oh, I didn’t forget you, you little scamp.

  I reached the black wrought-iron gate set into on the cinderblock wall a second later, and instead of trying to fiddle with the lock, I did the only sensible thing I could. I punched the hell out of the gate with my blacker than the hair on Satan’s ass fist of fury. The fancy wrought-iron crumpled inward with a shriek that was like nails on the chalkboard of my brain before it tore free of the cinderblock in a spray of stone and debris. It struck the well-manicured lawn and gouged a swath into the sod that made me hope this wasn’t actually my home. If it was, the repair bills were going to be nuts. Then again, I was pretty sure I’d have to be alive for it to matter. Something to
ld me there were no lawns in Hell.

  Bullets ricocheted off the stone next to me as I dove sideways through the blown-out gate. I landed hard on the dirt beneath a twenty-foot-tall cherry tree. The air burst from my lungs as my entire right side went a bit numb. Even still, I scrambled to my feet and took off running, a fresh surge of adrenaline rushing through me. My chest heaved with effort as I rounded the corner at the end of the block, afraid to look back and see how many of them were chasing me. Hopefully, it wasn’t all of them.

  It only took me less than a minute to make my way out of the neighborhood and onto the main street, which was good because across the street, I could just make out what looked like a swap meet filled with people. I could definitely hide there, assuming, of course, I didn’t get shot in the back or hit by a car.

  I took a deep breath before sprinting for the entrance. My wet feet slapped onto the concrete a moment later. It was a good thing too because that was when the guys who had redecorated my house in postmodern war zone burst from the neighborhood. Evidently, they weren’t deterred by hellfire. Good to know.

  I ducked in front of a large black man in a clown costume who was messing with a bunch of red balloons and hoped I wasn’t making him into a human shield. When he wasn’t immediately perforated, I breathed in a sigh of relief and ducked into the nearest booth to catch my breath.

  “Can I help you?” asked an old Asian man with spectacles as he looked at me from across a wide variety of cabbages and other assorted vegetables way too ethnic for me to identify.

  “Yeah, just let me catch my breath,” I said in between gulps of sweet, sweet air while I leaned on the corner of a table for support. I couldn’t stay here long. If I did, this place would turn into a blood bath. Unfortunately, my body felt like it had been pushed to its limit. Evidently, throwing around hellfire willy nilly while sprinting away from bad guys was physically taxing. Who knew?

  “You should hide in Harper’s, over at the other end,” the old man said, giving me one last, dismissive glance before going back to his magazine. “If you aren’t going to buy anything, please leave. You’re dripping all over my floor, and the absolute last thing I need is for some jackass to slip and sue me.”

  I was about to make a snarky reply when gunfire burst through the side of the stand, cleaving a swath of lead death through the cabbages in front of me.

  Chapter 2

  I dove out of the way, grabbing the old man, and tucking him against my body as we rolled clear of the gunfire just in time for a black Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows to turn the vegetable stand into an impromptu salad bar. The structure collapsed around us, but that didn’t stop the bullets from the attackers’ MP5s from chewing up the surrounding asphalt. Hoping to spare him some time in an emergency room or a morgue, I scrambled off the old man and sprang to my feet with nearly catlike grace. I say nearly because I wound up stumbling over a curb and face planting onto the sidewalk behind a telephone pole.

  More bullets hit the wood, tearing off chunks of debris as I crawled away on my hands and knees, trying to keep as low as possible. They no longer seemed to be firing in the old guy’s general direction, but I wasn’t sure that was a good thing because now they were shooting in my general direction. I was pretty sure the only thing that kept me from getting shot full of holes was the thick tarp obscuring their vision. Unfortunately, with the amount of bullets coming my way, I’d run out of luck soon enough.

  It wouldn’t be long before they got free of the collapsed vegetable stand, and I wanted to be long gone by the time that happened. Besides, for all I knew, there were more of them in another vehicle. I had half a mind to hurl some hellfire at the Tahoe to create a distraction while simultaneously burning my assailants to cinders, but that might have horrible consequences given the non-insignificant amount of people in the near vicinity. Granted, most of them were running for cover or cowering in fear, but I was pretty sure blowing up a car with demon magic was not going to turn out well for the average Joe in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Why can’t I be more of a plain-dealing villain,” I growled to myself, casting one last glance at the tarped men before bolting for the exit. “Then I’d just kill everyone and walk away into the sunset.”

  My still wet socks squished inside my cheap loafers as I ran out of the swap meet, slipping past the gate and into the open. One quick glance down the street revealed no vehicles trying to run me down, which was good. That would get old fast.

  I spun on my heel, meaning to make my way to the corner and disappear into the adjacent neighborhood where I could hopefully borrow a car and begin to unravel a question I hadn’t properly given enough thought. “Who was Pierce Ambrose, and why did he want me dead?” I guess that was really two questions.

  The clown from earlier clotheslined me. His huge black arm snaked out so fast, I didn’t even see it coming. My chest slammed into his arm broadside, and my feet went out from under me as I toppled onto my back. My head smacked into the concrete with a wet thwack. My chest felt like it had hit a steel girder, and my vision was filled with little black spots.

  I tried to move, but before I could, the clown pinned my right arm beneath one size-twenty red shoe and peered down at me, his painted on red lips distorted into an eerie smile. Time seemed to slow down around us, and I swore, I could see each fleck of dust in the air coming to a stop.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the clown mused, his dark eyes sparkling with delight. “You’re not really very good at the low profile thing, are you, Mac?”

  “That means a lot coming from a seven-foot-tall black man in a bright yellow clown suit. Did you get it on sale or were you just really fond of the squirty flower? It really brings out your eyes,” I said while trying to wrench my arm free. I wound up doing little more than grinding my skin against the cement. I ceased before I got a horrible case of road rash, and fixed him with my best “I kick puppies” glare. “Now tell me one thing. How the hell do you know my name?”

  “I’m here to see how you’re progressing on your hunt for Mr. Ambrose, but I’m guessing you haven’t succeeded or those asshats wouldn’t be after you,” he said, and while he hadn’t answered my question directly, he had given me a pretty good hint. He knew who I was because he was with the people who had abducted the woman and her son. Well, if that was the case, he was in for a world of hurt, Mac Brennan style.

  He gestured at the Tahoe, barely visible through the slats in the chain-link fence surrounding the swap meet. “Call me when you get it done, and we’ll arrange for you to pick up your sister and her brat while they are still in one piece, or don’t, and we’ll see just how small a box I can fit them in. See, I just got a new wood chipper, and I’ve been just dying to test it out.”

  I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. The woman and her son were my sister and nephew? Was that why I’d gone and gotten myself Cursed, to save them? It was the only thing that made sense. I must have done it to save them from this guy and his thugs because I was responsible for their kidnapping.

  With that horrific thought freshly plastered across my brain, he lifted his foot, releasing me. For a moment, I was tempted to try to take him down, and not just because he’d just threatened to put my sister and nephew into a wood chipper, although that alone was enough to make me wish I had a bullet to put in his brain.

  If he was telling the truth about why he was here, it meant Ambrose was the target I’d failed to kill. That was probably why his goons were after me. I’d obviously attacked the man, failed, and tried to weasel out of the deal. Instead of letting me run off with my tail tucked firmly between my legs, my employer had sent his own goons to ensure I finished the job while Ambrose had decided to stamp me out before I could take another crack at him. Well, this just reeked of awesome.

  I wasn’t sure who Pierce Ambrose was, nor why I’d been sent to kill him, but the realization made my blood run cold. Had I been some kind of assassin before I’d lost my memories? It would certainly expl
ain some things, like why I knew everything there was to know about firearms, and why I could look at a building and think of fifty ways to get inside without breaking a sweat. Those were not typical skills, or at least, I didn’t think they were.

  If I had been an assassin, I had killed people for money. How could that have been who I was? The thought of doing such a thing turned my stomach. I may not have been willing to say I was a hero, but I definitely wasn’t someone who could indiscriminately sell my skills to the highest bidder. At least, not this version of me.

  Still, the idea of getting my family returned to me unscathed was nearly all encompassing, and if all I needed to do was kill Pierce Ambrose, the guy was as good as dead, assuming of course, he was a guy. Maybe he was a girl. For all I knew, I was an equal opportunity hitman. Then again, what was the saying about the shortest distance between two points being a straight line? I didn’t need to kill Ambrose if I could get this clown to tell me precisely where they had my sister. I could just break in, go all crazy demonic arm on her captors and walk out with Michael Bay explosions in the background. That sounded like a plan to me.

  Before I could even get to my feet, something dark and monstrous swam through the clown’s eyes. Fear filled my gut, making me suck in a breath so hard it physically hurt. Could he read my thoughts? No, seeing my thoughts was impossible. Surely, I was just imagining things. Right?

  As that question flitted through my brain, the clown chuckled at me, opening his mouth to reveal so many teeth it was almost like there was no end to them. There were hundreds, no thousands of teeth in that mouth. Teeth that stretched all the way down to Hell and back again.

  “I’m starting to think you might be as smart as my boy said you were, Mac. Admittedly, I was a little skittish about hiring a normal guy to try to take one of my rival’s best pieces off the board, but he insisted you could do it. Of course he was wrong, but then again,” he gestured at my arm, “it looks like you went and got yourself an upgrade.” He flashed me a cruel smile. “Hope it was worth whatever you traded. I might have offered you a deal myself, but I don’t particularly like coming to Earth. I can’t stand the smells or the clothing, but after what you did to Vassago’s guy, I just had to come see you for myself, especially since you and I happen to be in business together.” He clapped his ham-sized hands together with a loud thwack. “Never did care for Vassago. He’s kind of a weird cat.”