Outfox: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Sentry of the South Book 2)

by Annabel Chase

  His mouth dropped open. “That’s insulting.” He paused. “And yet very true.” He handed me the keys. “I’ll hold onto your waist. You don’t mind, do you?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not. You didn’t mind the other night.”

  I closed my eyes and silently counted to ten. “Peter, can we keep private things private?”

  He winked at me. “I’m picturing private things right now.”

  I walked away from the counter before I could glimpse the expression on the agent’s face.

  The weather was close to perfect for a scooter. Not too hot. A gentle breeze. Peter’s hands occasionally wandered and I’d simply jab him with my elbow to set him straight. Not that I minded his hands on me. That was the problem. I loved his hands on me, but I didn’t want to feel that way. I wanted to feel nothing. It was easier.

  It only took half an hour to reach Moonlight Junction. It was a small town, which meant it wasn’t difficult to locate Luke. One stop at the local watering hole and we had an address.

  “Of course he lives in the woods,” Peter said.

  “What’s wrong with living in the woods?” I asked. “I would think that appeals to you.”

  “The woods?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Because I’m a druid and I’m supposed to revel in nature or because you like to picture me all rugged and manly with an axe?” His grin said which one he believed.

  “The former,” I replied, biting back a smile. The truth was I did like to picture him rugged and manly with an axe. He certainly had the body for it.

  “That your pink scooter outside?” the bartender asked, wiping down the counter. The minotaur’s horns were so high, they nearly scraped the ceiling of the bar. He wore a hoop ring through his nose and was dressed in overalls.

  Peter puffed out his chest. “Sure is. What about it?”

  “Looks nice,” the bartender said. “You like it? Been thinking about getting one similar to ride around town.”

  “Rides like a dream,” Peter said. “Probably best for short journeys, though.”

  The bartender nodded. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” He moved to the other end of the counter to wait on a couple of dwarfs.

  “What’s the plan, princess?” Peter asked. “Are you going to use some spell on the satyr to loosen his lips?”

  My gaze rested on the nearby taps. “I don’t think a spell will be necessary.” I waited for the bartender to return to our side of the counter. “So is Luke a regular here? You know him well?”

  The bartender’s laugh rumbled through the bar. “I’d say so. I think he spends as much time here as he does in his own cabin.”

  I smiled. Perfect. “What’s his favorite ale?”

  “Burnt Witch,” the bartender replied, and Peter covered his mouth to hide a laugh.

  I pursed my lips. “I’ll take a case of it.”

  The bartender contemplated me. “You sure about that? It’s potent stuff.”

  “It’s not for me,” I said.

  We left the bar and I used a spell to strap the case to the back of the scooter. We followed the directions to Luke’s cabin in the woods. Although it was only about two miles from the bar, the area seemed fairly isolated. Lots of trees and woodland creatures but little else. The cabin itself looked like a family of six lived there. There were clothes hanging on the line outside and objects strewn across the front yard. Upon closer inspection, I realized they were actually carvings. Really nice carvings. I picked up one that resembled an angel. The attention to detail was incredible.

  “Look at these, Peter,” I said. “Luke’s so talented.”

  “Thank you,” a voice said. “Now what are you doing on my property?”

  I glanced over to see Luke in the doorway of his cabin, aiming a rifle in our direction. It wasn’t often that I saw guns in our world, but I recognized it from a lesson on Terrene weapons that Master Horton taught last year at the academy.

  “Cool, is that a rifle?” Peter asked, taking a hesitant step forward. “Is that a souvenir from Vegas, bro?”

  Luke narrowed his eyes, but kept the rifle firmly in place. “How’d you know I was in Vegas?”

  “We spoke to a pretty friend of yours,” Peter said. “Janelle, I think?”

  Luke’s mouth widened. “Man, she’s a beauty, ain’t she? That hair was nuts.”

  “Hell, yeah,” Peter replied, then quickly seemed to think better of it. “Not as beautiful as this one here, of course, but she’s on a level all her own.”

  Luke shifted his focus to me and then back to Peter. “Why are you here? Is this about the issue with the norns? I didn’t mean to insult them. I was a little drunk and they wouldn’t see me….”

  “We’re not here about you insulting the norns,” I interrupted.

  Peter looked at me askance. “I want to hear what he said.”

  “It’s not relevant,” I argued. I returned my attention to Luke. “Could you point that gun somewhere else, please? We’re not here to hurt you.” I gestured toward the case of ale strapped to the scooter. “We come bearing gifts.”

  Luke grunted and placed the rifle inside the cabin. “Nah, I guess you’re not. I could probably take the two of you without any weapons at all anyways.”

  Peter and I exchanged amused glances. “Sure thing, buddy,” Peter said. “How about an ale? You interested?”

  Luke closed the door of his cabin and joined us outside. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I retrieved the case and set it on the ground near the tree stumps that clearly served as chairs. “Help yourself.”

  Luke came over and plucked a bottle from the box. “My favorite. You got good taste.” He popped off the lid and gulped down the amber liquid like water.

  I set down the angel and retrieved another carving from the ground. This one was an owl and I immediately thought of Icarus. “Bryn would like this,” I told Peter.

  “You here about my carvings?” Luke asked, grabbing another ale. “I sell ‘em. Don’t make a lot, but I like carving for fun anyways.”

  I examined the owl still clutched in my hand. It was so well done that I was sorely tempted. “We want to know about your involvement in finding Slatra.”

  He spat a mouthful of ale onto the ground in front of him. “How do you know about that?”

  “I know the top half was stolen from my aunt’s house recently,” I said. “What do you know about it?”

  Luke appeared dumbfounded. “Your aunt had one half of it?” He gazed at me in awe. “Did she know what she had?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Nevertheless, we’d still like it returned to its rightful owner.”

  Luke glugged down the rest of the second bottle. “I didn’t take it,” the satyr said. “I don’t have either half. Wish I did.” He belched loudly and tossed the bottle aside. What a charmer.

  “Then what’s your angle?” Peter asked. “We tracked you to Vegas from the silver coin you left behind in Waterstones. What were you doing there?”

  “A job,” Luke replied.

  “What kind of job?” I asked.

  The satyr chewed his lip. “I don’t think I should say nothing else. My employer asked for complete discretion. Those were his words.”

  I blew out a breath. “You told Janelle you were promised money and power. What do you have to do in return?”

  Luke raked a hoof across the dirt. “Why should I tell you?”

  Because I got you good and drunk? Probably not the best answer. I was relieved when he opted for a third ale. More lubricant would help.

  I cast a sidelong glance at Peter. “Now what? You don’t want to show him the staff, do you?”

  Peter remained fixed on the satyr. “I don’t want to resort that. He seems like a nice enough guy. Just misguided is all.”

  The satyr stopped drinking for a moment. A few drops of ale dribbled down his hairy chin. “Resort to what?”

  “You have to,” I said to Peter. “We need him to talk.”

  “You’re a fire
witch,” Peter said. “Burn his cabin down.”

  Luke’s eyes nearly exploded out of his head. He poured the bottle of ale down his throat.

  “No way,” I objected. “Use your Staff of Certain Death. It’s quicker and won’t burn down the whole forest.”

  Luke’s head bounced back and forth as we argued. Of course, he didn’t know it was all an act and that was the point.

  “You got a Staff of Certain Death?” Luke asked. “Sounds fancy.”

  “It’s always with me,” Peter said. “I’m half Death Bringer.”

  Luke audibly gulped. “You know, I was kidding about being able to take both of you without a weapon. I can see you’re something fierce.” He inclined his head toward me. “You can keep that carving. The angel one, too. The face of an angel should own an angel figurine.”

  I began to feel guilty for pretending to threaten him. He was hardly a criminal mastermind. He was, however, drunk enough to negotiate with now. “I’ll tell you what, Luke. I’ll buy every carving here if you tell us one valuable piece of information.”

  Luke surveyed his front yard. “All of ‘em?”

  I gave a firm nod.

  “How are you going to pay for that?” Peter asked.

  “I won’t,” I said, “but my aunt will.”

  Peter gave me a look of pure admiration. “You’re something else, princess.”

  “Something fierce, apparently,” I replied.

  “You got a deal,” Luke said. “But you didn’t hear any of this from me.”

  “As far as we’re concerned, we never met you,” Peter said.

  Luke trotted over and motioned to two tree stumps, and Peter and I sat to listen. “Couple months ago, I was in the bar and there was a leprechaun there, drinking alone.” He stopped to pound on his chest. “Heartburn. Gets me every time. Anyways, not unusual for here, except nobody knew him. He came to sit beside me and asked me if I’d ever been to Terrene and would I be interested in a job. ‘Course I said yes. Work’s scarce around these parts, if you haven’t guessed.”

  “He didn’t say what the job was?” Peter asked.

  “Not at that point,” Luke said. “He wanted to see if I were interested, I guess. I said Terrene sounded nice, but that satyrs tend to stand out there.” He chuckled softly and I noticed the sleepy look in his eyes. Time to dig in.

  “So he offered to glamour you?” I asked.

  Luke nodded. He scooped up one of his carvings—a fairy—and ran his thumb around the smooth wood. “He did. Had access to a lot of pixie dust. He talked about how, if I got the information he needed, he’d see to it that I was rich and powerful. Who don’t want that?”

  “But he didn’t say how?” I asked.

  “Later on, he told me about the sword, because that was what I needed to ask the norns about,” Luke explained.

  “Why couldn’t he go and ask the norns?” I asked. “Why send an intermediary?”

  “Because the norns are downright dangerous,” Luke said. “Probably didn’t want to die like the werewolf next to me at the wheel of fortune table.” He grimaced at the memory. “As it happens, I couldn’t get in to see them anyways. Boss wasn’t happy about that, apparently. I saw enough go down while I was there that I knew not to make a fuss, so I left.”

  “Then why were you in Chickweed Creek afterward?” I asked.

  “Because there was more to the job,” Luke said.

  “Like what?” I prodded. If he didn’t mention the smithy, I’d know he was lying.

  “After I went to Vegas, I had to go to Waterstones to find a swordsmith, where I guess I dropped the coin.”

  “And did you find one?” I asked.

  “Not there. I was looking for a special type.” He swayed slightly, but that didn’t prevent him from reaching for another bottle of ale. “Got a lead from the wizard in the bookshop next door, though. I gave the name to the leprechaun. That’s what he wanted.”

  “What was the name of the leprechaun?” I asked.

  “His name was Jurgen, but he weren’t the one in charge.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “He worked for someone else,” Luke said. “He didn’t say that, but I heard him on his phone when I went to relieve myself during our meeting. The fool talked outside the bathroom window.”

  “Did you catch a name?” I asked. “Any information at all?”

  The satyr shook his head and lost his balance in the process. “Nope,” came the muffled reply. He grabbed a nearby log and rested his head on top. His eyelids fluttered closed.

  “What was the name of the swordsmith?” I asked. I needed that name before he fell asleep.

  “Dwarf,” Luke murmured. “Bum leg.”

  A dwarf with a bum leg. It wasn’t a name, but it was better than nothing. “Thanks for your help, Luke. I’ll be sure to send someone with money for the carvings.” They’d be too numerous to bring back on the scooter anyway.

  Luke didn’t answer. The satyr was fast asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was hard to get back into the swing of lessons after my side trips to Vegas and Moonlight Junction. At least we’d managed to extract new information, even if it wasn’t as specific as I would have liked. I’d wanted to go in search of the lame dwarf, but the chancellor had sent a message via Hestia suggesting that I make an appearance before she fielded more complaints. The ‘more’ concerned me. Although I knew the chancellor supported my amateur investigation, she was probably sticking her neck out with the staff to do so. I wondered what my professors were being told. That I was working on an independent study project? I hadn’t bothered to ask.

  The fact that today’s elemental magic class was to be held at Mercer Lake was a dead giveaway that we’d be dealing with water magic today. I was surprised, however, to see Professor Langley instead of Professor Mayweather. Stefan Langley was an all-around sourpuss liked by basically no one. He usually kept his lessons confined to subjects like Arcane Rites, and he appeared less than thrilled to be Mayweather’s substitute today.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m standing here instead of the delightful Professor Mayweather,” Professor Langley said, hands clasped behind his back. His cloak formed a bell shape thanks to the steady breeze. “She’s assisting Chancellor Tilkin with a special project and I was asked to take the helm. As is obvious from our placement, today’s element is water.” He extended his wand and a gentle ripple crossed the lake.

  I clapped Bryn on the shoulder. “You’ve got this one.”

  “Doubtful,” Bryn murmured. “Langley probably won’t let me near the water. He’s afraid I’ll dunk him.”

  I didn’t know the details, but Professor Langley had had some sort of relationship with Bryn’s father before the sorcerer went full dark. Langley seemed to hold their history against Bryn. Then again, the wizard was perpetually grumpy.

  “Water is an essential weapon in your magical arsenal,” Professor Langley said, pacing in front of the lake. “Think about it. No matter where you are, you’ll most likely have access to a source of water. You tap into its energy and harness it for your needs.”

  “That sounds about right,” Bryn said quietly.

  “As with any magic, some of you will be more adept than others with this type of casting,” the wizard continued.

  “Bryn,” I coughed loudly.

  “Ah, yes, Miss Morrow.” Professor Langley forced a smile. “I believe your prowess in this area is well established. No need to boast.”

  “That wasn’t me,” Bryn objected.

  The professor ignored her. “I want you to picture yourself in a grave situation. You’re alone. Your partner in the field has been injured and you are cornered. An opponent in front of you and a body of water behind you.” His hands snapped to the front of him and he rubbed the palms together. “What do you do?” He scanned the group. “Miss Peacock. Show me.” He aimed his wand at the witch and moved to isolate her from the group. “You’ve got the lake behind you. You h
ave access to no other magic.”

  “I have my wand,” the witch replied. “How can I not have access to other magic?”

  Professor Langley scowled. “Miss Peacock, you will encounter numerous scenarios during your time as an agent,” he said. “I guarantee that one of those times will require you to tap into water’s magical energy, and as I am in charge of today’s lesson, you will comply because I deemed it necessary.” He bared his teeth in an awkward attempt to smile.

  “Yes, Professor Langley,” Priscilla replied. She spread her feet apart and hunched over as though preparing to wrestle. She certainly wasn’t going to summon any water magic in that position. What was she thinking?

  “A lake is a huge resource,” the professor said. “You won’t always be so fortunate. Sometimes you may need to rely on a pipe or a puddle, some smaller receptacle of water.”

  Priscilla nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on Professor Langley. She gripped her wand tightly, seemingly fearful of dropping it.

  Professor Langley conjured a strong wind and blew her back toward the lake. Her heels scraped across the earth as she tried to slow to a stop.

  “Access the water,” I said, frustrated. My body itched with magic. Priscilla was more concerned with not falling into the lake than with using the water against her opponent. Don’t worry about getting wet. Worry about getting killed.

  Professor Langley raised his wand again, and I knew it would be her deathblow. I didn’t even like Priscilla, but I couldn’t stand to watch this unfold. My magic was ready to explode. Before he could conjure another spell, I whipped out my wand and called to the water. A pulse of energy shot through me and straight out of my wand.

  Power washed over me. A huge water-shaped hand broke the surface of the lake and arched over Priscilla. It scooped up Professor Langley in its palm and carried him back to the lake, where it unceremoniously dumped him in. The hand then dissolved back into the water as though it had never existed.

  My head was throbbing when I finally released the spell. Everyone fell silent as the professor’s hat emerged, then his upper half. He strode to shore in a graceless manner, his saturated cloak weighing heavily on him. He did not look happy.