The Mage Tales, Books I-III

by Ilana Waters

  Contents

  Free Book

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Age of Mages

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  The Mage's Trick

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  The Last Mage

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Your Review Matters

  Don’t Forget Your Free Book

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Free Book

  Before you start the Mage Tales, be sure to grab your FREE BOOK! Here’s a bit about it:

  Oh dear. I think I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a fix again.

  It’s been a tough couple of months for Joshua, a mage. After battling vampires, despots, and demons, he heads to Chicago for some downtime, maybe even a little romance. Unfortunately, fate has other plans.

  Joshua and his would-be lover are kidnapped by two vampires and threatened with death. The vampires agree to spare them, but only if Joshua helps find an ancient statue . . . by dawn. But he and his kidnappers aren’t alone in their search. Three other vampires want the statue as well, and not only do they kill those who get in their way, they enjoy the killing.

  It seems this mage just can’t stay out of trouble, even for one night.

  All in a Night’s Work is Book 3.5 of the Mage Tales, but can easily be enjoyed as a stand-alone story.

  The Mage Tales

  Books I-III

  by

  Ilana Waters

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please see contact information on the publisher’s website (listed below).

  ISBN-10: 0985639385

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9856393-8-9

  The Mage Tales, Books I-III

  ilanawaters.com

  Copyright © 2016 Ilana Beth Waters. All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration copyright © 2016 Ilana Beth Waters

  Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design

  Editing by Marcia Trahan

  A mage should be able to handle anything, but really, the circumstances are getting quite ridiculous.

  Joshua’s witch mother has been missing and presumed dead since he was a teen. Years later, when he learns she might be alive, all he can think of is finding her. His antagonistic vampire father agrees to help, but Joshua fears he has ulterior motives. The situation gets even more complicated when they discover why she disappeared: she possessed a mysterious crystal whose powers remain a secret.

  Unfortunately, Joshua and his father aren’t the only ones interested in the crystal. As their search leads them from New York to Las Vegas to Rome, they’re pursued by the Paranormal Investigation Agency, the High Council of Witches, and yet more vampires. In the process, they uncover a plot to wake the deadliest vampire who ever lived.

  If Joshua can find the crystal, he might find his mother—and stop a massacring blood-seeker from rising. But that means not fighting with his father long enough to hold off adversaries both human and supernatural.

  It might just be more than one mage can handle.

  The Age of Mages

  Book I of the Mage Tales

  by

  Ilana Waters

  Chapter 1

  Most conversations with my father take place through a dead woman.

  There is no medium or séance, mind you, although there is the possibility she is not dead. It doesn’t matter if she is physically present or not. In fact, I don’t think my father and I have stood in the same room with her for almost twenty years. It seems like longer.

  Every exchange my father and I have revolves around this woman. Even when she isn’t discussed, she’s always there. Behind our thoughts, our plans—even our barbs. We battle each other in a war of words about her. She doesn’t take sides.

  It doesn’t matter if she likes the conversations or not. If she approves or disapproves. If she wishes they would continue, or dies again when they do.

  Life hasn’t been the same since my mother disappeared.

  ***

  “WHERE IS SHE?” I screamed. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER?”

  I held the vampire’s collar twisted in my fists, but he only laughed and pushed me away with such force that I hit the brick wall behind me. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be cause for distress—except the ground was nearly forty feet below us.

  Hitting the wall forced the air out of my lungs, and for a moment, I was falling. It took every ounce of magic I had to stop myself. The vampire lunged for me, and I spun around just in time to send him crashing into the wall. But I couldn’t dodge him forever, delaying the inevitable. I had to get the upper hand somehow.

  Pity this wasn’t a fighting arena. There, I’d have a bevy of weapons at my disposal. But in a back alley in one of the seedier neighborhoods of New York City, one must make due. This wasn’t Times Square or Fifth Avenue. There were no flashing signs and bejeweled beauties here. Oh, no. Not unless you counted the motel I’d passed at the end of the block—the one whose sign had three letters unlit, and a bored, aging prostitute beneath it.

  If any other mortals were awake at this hour and heard the commotion, they wisely kept to themselves. It saddened me to think that years of gunshots and gang fights had made residents too afraid to look out their windows. But for once, I was glad of it. Let them think it was a street war; mortals are safer not
knowing we exist.

  High above, on the roof of one of the buildings, another vampire was watching us. He did not intervene, and from what I could see, not a flicker of emotion passed over his face. But he was staring at us intently, and at me in particular. I didn’t know if he was planning on joining the fight; I certainly hoped not. He seemed content to observe for now.

  With any luck, there would be more for him to observe than a bloody slaying, and me as the victim. “Always make the first move, Joshua.” That’s what my father taught me. But in this case, it seemed to have backfired spectacularly.

  When I first tracked the vampire to the alley, he insulted my mother, and I did a perfectly mortal thing: I punched him in the face. After chuckling and pushing his broken nose back into position, he attempted to hit me back—except hard enough to take my head off. I ducked just in time to prevent it, but not in time to avoid being grabbed by the neck. As I saw the fangs coming at my throat, a quick upward jerk of the knee broke a few of my opponent’s ribs. He let out a snarl, and gave me an elbow in the Adam’s apple. I clutched my neck in pain and surprise, then did the only thing I could think of to get away—fly.

  Oh yes, both vampires and witches can fly, but the smarter ones use more conventional methods of transportation so as not to attract attention.

  And please, don’t get me started on broomsticks. Ever.

  What’s that, you say? Why, no—I haven’t used the wrong word. Witch is what I am, at least in part. After all, I’m the offspring of one natural and one learned witch—but we can get into that a bit later, if I survive. No, there is no such thing as a warlock. Witch is the term, regardless of gender. You don’t call a female governor a governess, do you? Gives the word an entirely different meaning. And wizard just brings to mind Merlin-looking fellows with long robes and tall, pointy hats. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to fighting for my life, and possibly my mother’s.

  Once I confirmed my neck wasn’t broken (the blow would surely have snapped a mortal’s head off), I faced my rival as we rose in the air. That’s when I flew at him in a rage, demanding to know what had become of my mother. For years, my father and I thought her dead. When we learned she might still be alive, we wasted no time in following every possible lead. It all ended here—my last chance to discover what happened to her, and I’d be damned if I let this smug, bloodsucking prick take it from me.

  The vampire was of average build, but size has nothing to do with how formidable a fighter one can be. The most harmless-looking vampires possess incredible strength. This chap’s hair was somewhat shaggy, as if he last cut it in the 1970s. Vampires can’t change their appearance after they become immortal, so this gave me some clue as to his age.

  He wasn’t as strong as an ancient, but that didn’t mean he would be easy to dispatch. And I’m not exactly what they call well-built myself. If one were charitable, one could describe me as slender. If one were being honest, gangly would be a better term. Too bad I didn’t have my father’s muscular frame. That might at least convince this vampire I was worth reckoning with. Witch strength is more than a mortal’s, but less than a vampire’s. This isn’t always apparent at first, since we can often accomplish physical feats through magic. But it’s hard to think of spells in a contest where your opponent moves at the speed of light.

  The vampire’s face was scratched and his clothes were torn from where he’d struck the wall, but he hardly seemed put off. In fact, he was grinning now, a gesture hideous not so much in appearance as in its sheer arrogance.

  “I won’t ask you again,” I said slowly. “Where. Is. My. Mother?” A soft breeze pushed back the edges of my blazer. I tried to make my voice sound as commanding as possible while trying to think of my next move.

  “Awww . . . poor little mama’s boy,” the vampire taunted. He stretched his bare arms out, as if to demonstrate how relaxed he was. Or maybe it was to show off the multiple tattoos he thought made him look so tough. “Why don’t you ask some army regiment where she is? Or maybe a crew of sailors? Though searching through alleys is probably a good start.”

  I clenched my teeth as my chest rose and fell. There was no truth behind his gibes; they were just witless attempts to infuriate me. They were working.

  “I told you I wouldn’t ask you again, and I’m a man of my word.” I squeezed my hands into fists.

  “Oh, good—I love when a whore’s son keeps his promises.” The vampire cracked his knuckles, a sound that made my skin crawl even under the best of circumstances. Before I knew what happened, the vampire tore off part of the fire escape on the nearest wall. The metallic, scraping sound it made was like a scream. My eyes bulged, and my arms flew up to protect my face. Only the fastest of shielding spells prevented the fire escape from hitting me as it and I crashed to the ground.

  As I crawled out from beneath it, the vampire was already behind me. He grabbed the back of my neck and slammed my head into the wall. I felt the plates in my skull crack, then begin knitting back together. But the shock and pain made me fall on my hands and knees. The vampire viciously kicked me in the stomach several times. Coward. I tried crawling towards a trio of overflowing garbage cans, only to be kicked again.

  “Unbelievable,” the vampire laughed. It echoed in that strange, teasing way that was a hallmark of their kind. “When I realized you were a witch, I thought this would be interesting. But you’re pathetic. This isn’t much more trouble than killing a mortal.”

  Actually, mage is a better term for me, though your limited intelligence likely prevents you from understanding that.

  He pulled back his leg for another kick, but before the blow landed, I pulled down a metal garbage can lid and hit him in the knee with it. I doubt it did much damage, but the blow surprised him enough to make him grunt and stagger back. I got up and held the lid in front of me like a shield. The vampire promptly ripped it from my hands and crumpled it like tinfoil.

  He shook his head, then raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He threw the balled-up lid to one side.

  Well, that was humiliating, I thought. And possibly deadly. As I deduced when I entered the alley, there were few useful weapons. Clothing lines and telephone wires hung high above us, but such flimsy things wouldn’t bind an immortal. The bricks in the walls were too processed and refined for me to access much of their earth magic. Still, there might be a bit I could use to heal myself. Heart pounding and chest heaving, I pressed my palm against the wall, willing the magic to restore me just a little.

  “Not my best move, I admit,” I said. “But not my only one either.”

  My reflexes might not be as good as a vampire’s, but years of training with my father had made them damn close. I grabbed a broken bottle at my feet and stabbed the vampire in the eye. He screamed and clutched his face as the bottle fell to the ground and blood poured down his shirt. Groping wildly, he slashed my chest with his razor-sharp nails. I automatically clutched my front, which turned out to be a mistake. The pressure of my hand and arm against the cuts made them burn like fire. Fortunately, the vampire had been too sloppy to take more than a swipe, so the wounds weren’t overly deep. If only that made them hurt less.

  Roaring with agony and rage, the vampire lunged at me, reaching for my throat. A quick elbow in his forearm prevented him from succeeding, but not from punching me in the chest. I gasped and choked for breath, whirling around as the vampire moved in for a second blow. He grabbed me from behind and started choking me, my neck in the crook of his elbow. I ignored the crushing pain in my throat and kept going. I learned long ago that when you are the son of Titus Aurelius, you do not fail. Ever.

  Grabbing the arm that was squeezing my throat, I bent at the waist and flipped the vampire onto his back. He jumped up, did a spinning kick, and gave another blow to my chest. Then he lunged for me again, but I gripped his head and flew in the air, feet first. Flipping him over, I smashed his back onto the ground, pulling at his neck as hard as I could.

  It wasn�
��t hard enough. And it didn’t remove the vampire’s head so much as piss him off. I cursed myself for almost killing him—I’d been so focused on winning the fight, I’d forgotten I needed him alive. After all, dead vampires aren’t very good at dispensing information. It was the same reason I couldn’t throw random bolts of magic at him, tempting though it was. He leaped up, and I flew in the air again in order to gain a tactical advantage. But the advantage was temporary, and soon we were flying around the alley, pummeling each other in a whirlwind of magic and snarling.

  Lord, but I do hate fighting vampires. Most of them are so coarse and brutish, it’s like fighting an animal. At least witches use spells. There’s elegance there, a refined violence. Of course, witches have the potential to do damage of a much more tortuous nature.

  But back to the fighting—

  Even though vampires are technically immortal, there are various ways to fell them, including using fire and beheadings. It was hard to determine which would work best at present, since I was trying to prevent a similar fate from befalling me as well.

  And I was growing weary. Flying comes naturally to vampires, so it was much easier for my opponent than for me. Witches must use magical energies for such tasks, since we don’t have wings like fairies. Every bit of magic I performed depleted my stores, and it would be a while until I could build them up again. At the rate I was going, I estimated I’d need at least a few days to get back in fighting form. Assuming I lived that long.

  I considered fleeing, at least for the moment, to recover my strength. But if I did, my father would never let me forget it. “Death before dishonor, et cetera, et cetera.” Though I didn’t see how being drained of all my blood in a stinking backstreet was honorable.

  Another spinning kick to the shoulder tossed me across the alley again, only this time my magic stopped me just before I hit the wall. I slid down it to stand on the ground, and the vampire and I faced each other, my rival glaring at me with his one good eye. I could hardly bear to look at the other one, though my father would be ashamed of my weak stomach for such things.