Magic Awakening: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Spirit War Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Allan

  “Right, I’m just—”

  “Order a pancake,” Richard said.

  I enjoyed watching the boys banter. But their back-and-forth reminded me of Brady and me when we were on good terms, which was most of the time—but not right now, not with me and DJ flirting in his face. We could outsnark each other until midnight. I would give him shit about the Jets and the Knicks and how he would never witness a winning sports team. He’d mock me for cheering for a team not even on my own continent. I’d remind him that his teams would be so bad he could play for them. He would come right back and ask me when I would beat him at one of the fitness challenges the CIA ran, and I would tease him about how the male-female scale adjustment meant I beat him, only for him to remind me that I liked to play on equal level with the men of the CIA. It was ruthless, sometimes crossed the line, and brutal to anyone who didn’t know us, but 99 percent of the time, we just laughed and moved on.

  And in the 1 percent where we didn’t, a good night’s sleep solved the problem 99 percent of those times.

  But, with DJ, it seemed like I had found the 0.01 percent instance when nothing worked.

  The waiter came by a couple moments later, and I ordered two pancakes—one with bacon, peppers, mushrooms and cheese, and one with bananas and chocolate syrup. The waiter looked at me baffled as if he couldn’t understand a woman ordering two large pancakes, but I stuck to my guns. Thanks to exercising plenty, I could afford to eat like a Joey Chestnut from time to time.

  “So I hear that you’ll be following us,” Brady said.

  I immediately lurched as I watched Brady closely. His body position suggested an ugly confrontation about to go down. Any cheerfulness I’d felt watching the Brits talk vanished like Tyrus into smoke.

  “Brady—” I pleaded.

  “That’s right,” DJ said. “I have been looking for a fun group to be around, and I was sure I’d found it with these two fine British gentlemen. Then you two came along and sealed my decision. So yes, we are all coming to Berlin.”

  “Indeed we are,” Nicholas said. “I for one very much look forward to the nightlife of Berlin, and I will do my best not to do stupid drugs all over again.”

  I laughed at that but went silent when no one else joined. Brady’s expression did not change. DJ snorted, seemingly more to throw it in the face of Brady.

  “Well, I suppose it will be an experience traveling with the same people the whole way,” Brady said.

  Dude, come on. If you’re going to say something, just say it outright.

  “Yes, it most certainly will be,” DJ said.

  “And I suppose it will also be an experience trying to sleep with my sister.”

  OK, maybe you shouldn’t have said it like that.

  Everyone around the table went silent. Nicholas and Richard pulled out their phones, pretending to be texting furiously. I had never wanted to punch my brother so hard in the face.

  “I’m sorry?” DJ said, a hint of aggression in his voice.

  “I said, it will be an experience sleeping with my sister, won’t it, DJ?”

  “Brady!”

  “No, it’s fine, Sonya, I—”

  “Brady,” I whispered loudly, trying to get him to shut up before other people eavesdropped.

  “Your sister is a grown woman who can decide for herself who is right in this spat of yours that you want to make for no apparent reason.”

  I had never seen my brother go as red as he had at that moment. The venom and fury that came from him were unlike anything I’d ever witnessed, even when men in America tried to hit on me while we hung out together.

  “No apparent reason? No apparent reason?!? Are you fucking mad??”

  I put my head in my hands. People around us had started to stare. I was sure a fight was about to break out, and I’d already decided not to break it up. Both of them would need to get it out of their systems.

  “Have you even told Sonya about what you are? Does she know what she’s getting into?”

  “Really, you’re going to play that game? Stop acting like the woman is a child who doesn’t know anything. She’s way more into this than you want. You know what she’s experienced!”

  “And do you think she needs to go further down?”

  “Brady, shut the fuck up!” I hissed, loudly enough for both of them to hear it but not loud enough for my voice to carry to other tables. I hoped. “What in the actual fuck are you two even talking about? No, don’t say here. Come with me.”

  My gut told me that DJ knew about all of this. He knew about hell, he knew about Mundus, and he knew about Devil’s Eye. He hadn’t said anything yet, but a damn kindergartner more interested in sniffing glue than learning the alphabet could’ve figured it out. Even someone who only watched terrible cop dramas on TNT could figure that one out.

  When the three of us had gone near an empty building, about fifty feet away from our table, I grabbed both of them by the arm.

  “If you two are just going to yap about me while I’m sitting there in vague terms, then I’m going to get answers. Brady, what the hell do you mean ‘no apparent reason’ and why do you question it?”

  Brady yanked his arm away, frustration palpable. If I were a betting woman, I’d put the percentages of my brother and DJ brawling at over 80 percent.

  “Ask DJ what he is. Or what he recently became. Go on.”

  I bit my lip and turned. DJ looked frustrated but also incredibly saddened.

  “DJ. Talk to me. What does he mean?”

  DJ sighed, bowing his head, and pointed his fingers at something on his neck.

  The bite marks.

  Oh, no…

  “The night before you came here, I tried some Devil’s Eye and got bit. I haven’t succumbed yet—”

  “Yet, that’s the key word right there, yet. You—”

  “Mate, would you please shut the hell up and let me finish?”

  The forcefulness of DJ’s words quieted my brother, who folded his arms, making sure to press up on his biceps to look bigger than he was.

  “I panicked at first, as Carsis told me that I should just stay away from everyone because I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But I wound up back in the spiritual realm, and found that I could control it. At least for now. I do feel a bit worse every day—not like I’m sick now, but I can feel it spreading—but for right now, it’s fine. But…”

  “But you’re a shifter.”

  DJ nodded solemnly.

  This sucked.

  This really, really, really sucked.

  I wanted to like him, to be with him. A part of me had genuinely given thought to becoming intimate with him. Hell, just thinking of kissing him was a barrier almost no one got across. But he was the enemy at this point.

  Did he have to be? If he wanted to kill me as a shifter, he could have surprised me, lured me in with our chemistry. His admitting this part of him showed him to be honorable and honest, not deceitful and dangerous. Maybe there was a part of him that would allow him to be on my side. Who said that shifters were automatically the villains? I couldn’t say once he shifted into a werewolf or whatever he changed into that he wouldn’t want to kill me. But as a human…

  “You want to know why I’m so angry, Sonya, this is why. This shifter is following us around, takes a liking to you, he senses weakness in you, and you can’t stop it—”

  I slapped Brady across the cheek.

  “Fuck you,” I said. “For once in your life, why don’t you act like I can take care of myself. So you saved me from Nuforsa. Thanks. That doesn’t make you a hero. If I want to cut things off with him, I will on my own accord.”

  I turned to DJ, anger coursing through me along with a stream of tears that were threatening to burst through my eyes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “At first, when I first met you, it was because I didn’t think anything I said would make sense. I liked you, I wanted to hang out with you, and I didn’t think we’d go any further. But th
en I saw that you had seen what I’d seen, and you survived it, so you’d understand the elements of hell. But I knew what Carsis had said, and for good reason. Most shifters are just waiting to be turned to the will of Mundus. But when I went back, I wasn’t, and I knew if I could control it, it wouldn’t be a huge deal. But… Sonya, I fucked up, I won’t pretend I didn’t. I’m sorry. I won’t try and defend my choice.”

  I appreciated the honesty. But this hurt.

  “Will you always be able to fight it?”

  DJ bit his lip.

  “I can’t say. Carsis said it gets worse with time. If that’s true…”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. He was strong enough to retain his humanity right now. There was no telling how much longer that would last.

  I couldn’t handle what was going on. My brother, the asshole, was right that DJ posed a threat. But the entire way he’d gone about it made me want to deport his ass back to America. And DJ, a man I had so much fun with that I had begun feeling comfortable letting him in more, would never turn into anything more for a reason entirely out of my control.

  At least now I know why he listening to what was said. He wanted to know what was going on. It’s his battle too.

  The emotions overwhelmed me.

  “I can’t… guys, I’m sorry, I can’t,” I said. “I’m going to bike to Volendam. And I need to go alone. I need some time to think this through. Figure out what I want to do the rest of this trip.”

  “Sonya,” Brady began, but I cut him off immediately.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said. “You may not be a shifter, but I dislike you as much as anyone who is not a demon right now. I need space from you right now.”

  Without another word, I left both men in their wakes. I went over to the table and threw a twenty euro bill down for my food.

  “I’ll see you guys tonight,” I said to the Brits, surprised at the amount of emotion in my voice. “I… I got some things to take care of. You can have my pancakes”

  They both looked at me with hurt eyes, but both had the intelligence not to try and change my mind. The only ones who aren’t causing trouble here.

  I hurried over to my bike, unlocked it as quickly as I could, and pedaled away, aware of but not acknowledging the hurt eyes of both DJ and my brother.

  Chapter 14

  The roads became a blur of trees, small apartment complexes, slow-moving cars, and other bikers. I was aware of my surroundings. I heard the rumble of the storm approaching Amsterdam and the outlying rural towns.

  But I might as well have not been present in the world. All of my attention, all of my brainpower, all of my thoughts went to what the hell to do.

  Even though I’d long told myself I would not do anything with DJ, I still felt disappointment that I couldn’t actually do anything. One, practically speaking, I was terrified at possible side effects of sleeping with a shifter, not to mention the possibility he would shift in the middle of the night and tear my throat apart. Two, emotionally, I knew that the more time I spent with him, the harder I would fall for him and the worse it would get for me at the end—now that I knew I had no way of being with him, I could admit that to myself. There would come a point when he’d become a full-fledged slave of Mundus, and I could not afford to let my emotions get involved in a battle that had now all but drafted me into it.

  And yet… there had to be a way. If demons could come into the real world and turn humans into shifters, why couldn’t I go into the spiritual realm and turn shifters into regular humans? I didn’t even know where to start with that possibility, but if I could, I would do just about anything to make it happen. Of course, it would be awesome to save DJ, but it also had several other benefits. It could save many other people and weaken Mundus and his army.

  But the question became if I did that, would I have to go toward Mundus’ throne in hell? If so, I would have to brace myself for encounters and situations that would make my fight with Nuforsa seem like gym sparring.

  And then there was the matter of Brady. I loved my brother, I really did. I wouldn’t be where I was without him. He had set the example for me and helped take care of me since our mother had passed away.

  But honestly, fuck that guy. Just because I’d needed help surviving childhood didn’t mean I needed it as an adult. It was hard to fault someone for wanting to watch out for your best interests… until they became overbearing and like a helicopter mom, not a big brother. Brady was compelled by our past to watch over me at all times, but no matter how I tried to push him away, I could not succeed.

  Maybe I should just tell him we should go in different directions on this trip. We survive just fine back home when we don’t have to run into each other that often. DJ could follow me, the Brits could go with him. It’s not the worst idea in the world, frankly.

  Well, besides the whole DJ being a shifter thing. But still.

  I just didn’t know how to bring that idea up. I mean, I did. “Brady, we’ve gotta go separate ways on this trip and just meet up at the end.” But that wasn’t tactful, and I did have to live with the guy when I got back to the states. There had to be a way to make this work without making him hate me for the next year.

  Ideas cycled through my head as I reached the main street of Volendam, another tiny town situated right by the ocean. Grateful for the down time, I locked my bike along an open railing and walked down the cobblestone street, taking in the view. My glasses accentuated some of the sun’s rays, but such problems were nothing compared to the fantastic, glistening view that I had.

  The town of Volendam had more foot traffic than Edam, but that only meant it was a tenth as crowded as Amsterdam instead of a twentieth. A couple of cops walked by me, casually strolling with their arms down by their sides. I was mildly surprised that they carried pistols, but they seemed so at ease—their eyes barely scanned the area—that I doubted they used them on the line of duty more than a couple times in a career. Young adults sat outside cafes, including one called Cafe Lennon’s that claimed to be open eight days a week. For the first time since I’d left Edam, a gentle smile crossed over my face. Might as well make the most of it.

  I walked past more cheese stores, a bunch of boats on the harbor—many of them large and carrying decorations of lions—and stopped at a gift store.

  “What’s more touristy than getting a souvenir?” I said to myself.

  I walked inside and was inundated with options. Orange, blue, long-sleeve, tank top, short sleeve—I could have easily lost myself in the place, and I did. I just loved the trinkets, the variety and designs on all of the products.

  I eventually went with a navy blue short-sleeve shirt that said “Holland Sports” on the front with a roaring lion on the front. I gave the cashier twenty euros, and she thanked me in perfect English. I headed outside and stretched as I sat on a bench, looking at the calm ocean.

  I would figure it out, I knew. Brady and DJ would make peace eventually. Brady would recognize that DJ and I were adults and would be responsible, and DJ would push himself away when he felt his shifter side winning out. The Brits would continue to entertain us with their sibling rivalry. We’d deal with hell as it popped up, keeping the enemy at bay long enough that we never had to play a bigger role than we could handle.

  And then, finally, I’d go back to immersing myself in the new cultures around me, demons be damned.

  I don’t know how much time passed. But when I looked at my phone, I swore.

  It had somehow gotten past 4 o’clock already. I had to get the bike back by 7 p.m., which wouldn’t be too difficult, but the storm’s distant thunders had gotten louder, foretelling of an earlier arrival than 6 p.m. And while I could survive it, that didn’t mean I’d thrive on it.

  I wasted no time unlocking my bike, throwing my legs over it, and pedaling like I was in the Tour de France, trying to beat Lance Armstrong at his most doped up. I biked back to Edam, to the restaurant where everything had fallen apart, but none of the guys were t
here. Can’t blame them. Probably went back to Durty Nelly’s. I pushed back to the highway and saw the storm forming over downtown Amsterdam.

  It was not like any storm I had seen before. The clouds weren’t gray or a dark blue. They were black. As in, black like my leather jacket. I had never seen storms look so damn ominous before, and I had a feeling these clouds were not natural.

  A thought came to mind. What if Carsis knew this was coming? What if he wanted me there to do more than just train? Am I about to encounter something that I should have prepared for?

  This is what I get for not choosing to fight. Well, when we get back to the hostel, I’m finding Carsis, I’m gathering up my friends, and we’re doing whatever it takes.

  Assuming this even is a demonic storm. Watch it be just a natural, brutal one.

  But I know it’s not.

  I laughed at my own flip-flopping, but I couldn’t shake the gross feeling that this was going to get violent in once I got home.

  As I tried to pedal through the powerful winds blowing directly against me, though, it felt like the violence had already begun. I moved so slowly I tried running with the bike by my side. I was barely slower, not nearly by as much as I should have been. I felt helpless looking at the nightmare clouds. If shit was going down, there was a good chance I’d get caught in it and wouldn’t reach Durty Nelly’s until well into the storm.

  Thunder ominously rumbled in the distance, with much greater force than usual. If thunder normally sounded like bass being gently beat in a garage two floors down, then this sounded like placing your ear a half-inch from the drummer and then telling Chad Smith to slam the bass as hard as he could. The lightning was still a few kilometers away from me, but it struck at Amsterdam like it was trying to burn the whole city down.

  When I reached the countryside, just outside the golf course, the first drops of the rain hit. And it didn’t feel like rain—it felt like hail in a Boston snowstorm. I tried to raise my jacket over my head, not particularly caring that people could see my guns, but it barely softened the sensation of my skull getting pelted by golf balls.

  But it wasn’t the first time I’d run through adverse conditions in the name of fighting a great battle. I got through the countryside, through the golf course, through the small town, and finally back to the ferry. The storm greatly increased in intensity as I went, the winds feeling like a Category 2 hurricane—and rising in number rather quickly. When I reached the ferry, it swayed in the water with such violence that I thought of swimming. But when it docked, many annoyed tourists and locals alike hurriedly got off, and I got swept up with the crowd pushing us onboard.