The Mage Tales, Books I-III

by Ilana Waters

  “Arthur, I apologize for what I said.” Philip approached him slowly. “Clearly, you didn’t realize you were breaking into the senior members’ offices. You’re in that creature’s thrall.” He jutted his chin at me. “But don’t worry. I won’t let him get you for good. Here, just give me your hand . . .” Keeping a wary eye on me, he stepped towards Arthur and extended his arm.

  “Lovely to see you again, Philip,” I said. “But I’m afraid we really must run. Ta!” I sent a burst of light from my magic ball into Philip’s face, temporarily blinding him.

  Philip screamed and covered his eyes with his hands. I glamoured a bit of smoke to further impair his vision, in case the light wasn’t enough. Arthur reached towards Philip, his lips beginning to form words.

  “No time, Arthur.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the right corner of the room. “Where’s the secret exit?” I hissed. Arthur gave one last distressed glance at Philip, then squinted at a row of texts on the bookcase in front of us. He pulled the top part of one book out, and the whole unit opened into a passageway behind the wall. The last thing we saw before ducking inside was Philip. With one hand, he groped at the lever on an alarm next to the door.

  The alarm blared, a high-pitched wailing sound that seemed to shake the whole building. But above the noise, we could hear feet stomping and voices shouting as the rest of the PIA made their way to the senior offices.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Is there a fire?”

  “It’s Arthur!” cried Philip. “He’s in trouble! That demon mage’s got him!”

  Demon mage. I ran behind Arthur down steep stone steps. Oh, Philip. If only you knew.

  “What did you do to Philip’s eyes?” Arthur panted as we made our way down the stairs. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “He’ll be fine.” My heart was still pounding, adrenaline-fueled fear coursing through my veins. “I mean, he’ll still be an ass, but he’ll be fine.”

  The secret passage ended in a door that, from the outside, looked just like part of the brick wall. Arthur and I shut it firmly, then looked to the right and left.

  “Which way should we go?” he asked breathlessly. I saw a street brightly lit with traffic lights and still-open shops.

  “That way.” I pointed. “We need to get to a public place as quickly as possible.” We dashed a few blocks to where cafes were still doing a brisk business with tourists and Roman night owls. Then we began walking quickly in the direction of the Hassler.

  “Think they followed us?” Arthur glanced over his shoulder several times.

  “Doubtful.” I tried to keep my breathing even and my expression blank as I walked. “I didn’t see any of them when we got outside. And there’s no way they could have gotten here this fast unless—”

  I stopped short, and my heart practically leaped out of my chest. Standing in front of us—for the second time that night—was Philip.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he growled. I wasn’t really thinking anything at that moment except, “Oh shit,” but Philip could hardly be expected to read my mind.

  “Philip?” Arthur said in disbelief. “How the hell—”

  “I heard rumor there was a secret passage in the senior members’ chambers,” Philip said. “So while everyone else went down the main stairs, I tested my theory. Turns out I was right. And I’ve alerted the others. They’ll be here any minute, Alderman, so running is pointless.” He glared at me. “You’re not going anywhere, except to return to the PIA. There, Arthur will be treated, and we will decide what to do with you.” Several curious onlookers glanced in our direction, but ultimately kept walking. A few men arguing on a sidewalk in a large city was hardly worth a second glance.

  “Philip, this isn’t what it looks like.” Arthur put his hands in front of him. “I don’t need to be treated. I’m not ill. And Joshua’s not—”

  “On a first-name basis, are we now? No doubt all part of your master plan to convince him he’s not your slave,” Philip sneered at me. My eyes scanned the sidewalk and street around us, looking for an escape route. “And none of that magic devilry either,” he warned. “You so much as try, and the whole world will know what you are. Which, as far as I’m concerned, is as beastly as they come.”

  Damn, Philip’s right. About magic, that is. I can’t use it now. I have to get me and Arthur out of this the old-fashioned, mortal way. But how?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an idling ambulance. Two EMTs, a man and a woman, were leaning against the side and having a smoke break. Yes, I know it’s ironic, but you wouldn’t believe the number of medical professionals who smoke.

  I have an idea. Since Arthur wasn’t telepathic, I used my mage powers to ensure he heard my thoughts. But it involves getting Philip into the back of that ambulance.

  What? Why? Arthur thought back.

  We can’t leave Philip here. Remember when I first arrived in Rome, pretending to be a new PIA member? I told you both I was staying at the Hassler. If he tells the others, then none of us will be safe there.

  But—Arthur started.

  Just trust me and follow my lead.

  “You’re right, Philip,” I said. “I am beastly. You shouldn’t have to be troubled by me a moment longer.” I feigned left, then right, then left again. Each time, Philip copied my movements, ready to spring in whatever direction I did. So I surprised him. I turned around and ran in a circle until I arrived at the back of the ambulance seconds before him. The EMTs were across the sidewalk now, still smoking, their backs to us.

  The doors were closed but unlocked, and I quickly flung them open. I felt someone wrench my shoulder from behind. I whirled around just in time to see Philip’s fist hit my eye. He punched me several more times in the stomach. I grabbed the ambulance door for support.

  “Oxford University Amateur Boxing Club champion, Varsity Match, two years running.” Philip held his chin up defiantly and kept his fists in the air, stepping lightly on the balls of his feet.

  “Of course,” I groaned, laying one hand over my throbbing eye and another across my stomach. I didn’t have time to say more, because Philip tried to land another punch. I half-ducked, half-fell into the ambulance. The momentum from his attempted punch made Philip fall next to me. He leaped up, straddled me, and was about to hit me again when we both heard a voice.

  “Terribly sorry about this, Philip.”

  Philip had only started to turn around when Arthur slammed a brick into the back of his head. Philip’s fist wavered in the air. He blinked several times as he stared into the distance. Then he fell over, unconscious, on the floor.

  It took me a moment to catch my breath. “What took you so long?” I gasped to Arthur, who shrugged.

  “I had to find something heavy,” he said. “Luckily, there were quite a few of these from a storefront renovation a few yards away.” Arthur held up the brick, then tossed it to one side. “So does this count as ‘following your lead’?” he asked.

  I looked at the unmoving Philip. Initially, I’d hoped Arthur would help me subdue him. Maybe gag and bind him with something in the ambulance. But to be honest, I’d wanted to hit Philip over the head myself ever since I met him. I imagine most people did.

  “It’ll do,” I said with a nod. “Now quick—buckle him into a seat and close the doors.” Arthur did, and I got behind the wheel. Here, it was safe to use magic, and I did so to hot-wire the ambulance.

  “Do you think anyone else saw us?” Arthur craned his neck to look out the window.

  “Let’s hope it happened too fast,” I replied. “Though several EMTs are about to be very unhappy.” I floored the gas pedal. Indeed, we had a prime view of them in our rearview mirrors, shaking their fists at us and screaming in Italian as we sped off towards the Hassler.

  Chapter 8

  A quick don’t-look spell (which is a bit different than an invisibility spell) helped us pass unnoticed from the Hassler’s service entrance to the
penthouse. We got off the elevator with Philip’s unconscious body in tow. My mother met us as the doors opened.

  “Josh, you sounded so urgent on the intercom. What wrong? Is the demon aga—” She stopped when she saw me. “What happened to your eye?” Then she saw Philip. “Who is that? Oh my God. Is he—”

  “His name is Philip,” I replied. “And no, he’s not dead. Just knocked out. And rather heavy, so if we could just move him to the couch . . .” The effort of lugging Philip around was beginning to show in my voice. With me grabbing his back legs and Arthur holding him under the arms, we carried him to the living room. Titus rose from his seat.

  “Why in Fate’s name did you bring him here?” he asked.

  I held up my hand. “I can explain everything once we get rid of the ambulance.”

  “The ambulance?” Abigail’s mouth made a little O. “Who’s hurt?”

  “Besides you with your eye and the gentleman passed out in our suite,” Titus said.

  I was about to reply when Arthur put his hand on my shoulder.

  “You need to put ice on that eye,” he said. “The ambulance is still running. I’ll drive it to the nearest emergency room and take a cab back.”

  “Thanks, Arthur,” I said. “But aren’t you worried they’ll dust it for prints and arrest you?”

  Arthur snorted. “Hardly. I don’t have a criminal record. Though at this rate . . . anyway, back in a jiff.” And then he was gone.

  “Let me get you that ice.” Abigail headed towards the kitchen. “Does your prostrate friend need anything?” She glanced over her shoulder at Philip.

  “Just a personality transplant.” I took the bag of ice from her and sat down. I winced when the cold stung my face, but managed to keep the bag on until Arthur returned.

  “Is he awake yet?” Arthur asked as he came in.

  “Not yet,” I said. Arthur frowned as he looked over Philip, tilting his head to the left and the right. Philip’s glasses were askew on his face, but his color was good, and his breathing steady.

  “I don’t think I hit him that hard.” Arthur rubbed his jaw. “Wonder if I should have brought him to the emergency room with me.”

  “And risk having him rant about mages and magic?” I shook my head. “Either that would expose me, or they’d think he was mad. Regardless, we can’t risk having him tell anyone that a supernatural is at the Hassler.”

  “He knows where we are?” Titus said in a low tone. He’d sat back down on the opposite couch, and now he leaned forward as his eyes bored into me. “Where we all are?”

  “Just me,” I said quickly.

  “I still don’t understand who he is.” Abigail brought a tray with a carafe and glasses of water, which only Arthur took.

  “You remember the PIA member I told you about, Philip Grant? The one who kept following me and making all that trouble? He was going to file a report containing God knows what. Maybe something that would have undone our plan to foil Ferox.”

  Abigail raised an eyebrow at Philip. “That’s him?”

  “A PIA member?” Titus echoed. “You brought a PIA member to our hotel suite?”

  “Steady on.” Arthur sipped his water. “I’m PIA, don’t forget.” Titus ignored him.

  “That still doesn’t explain what happened to your eye, young man.” Abigail placed the tray on top of an ottoman.

  Titus looked at me, then Philip, and finally at Arthur. “You were bested by a mortal. That’s what happened.”

  “He took me by surprise,” I protested.

  “That’s no excuse,” Titus said. “An elderly mortal managed to best him, as far as I can see.” He looked at Abigail. “The old man hit Philip with a brick.”

  “Father.” I closed my eyes. “Will you stop reading Arthur’s thoughts and let me tell you what happened?” Arthur glanced at Titus and shifted his weight in his chair. Then we heard a low groan, and everyone looked at Philip.

  “He’s coming to!” Arthur whispered.

  Abigail floated a glass from the tray and stood next to Philip, who was just opening his eyes. “Here. Have some water. You said Arthur hit him with a brick, Titus? Where, exactly? I’m sure I can heal it.” She began feeling around Philip’s head for bumps.

  Philip took one look at the glass suspended in midair and gave a shriek. “What the—get away from me!” He tried to get off the couch, but fell backwards, bumping into the glass and spilling water all over the carpet. He scooted back a few feet before managing to get up, looking madly back and forth at us all.

  “Don’t touch me, whoever you are, whatever you are!” he shouted at Abigail.

  “Hey, I’m only trying to help.” Abigail put one hand on her hip. “Or do you want to suffer the effects of what may be a concussion? Despite what you see on TV, it’s not really a minor injury, you know.”

  “I said get away from me, you . . . you witch!” he spat.

  Abigail folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “That word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

  “At least not the way you’re using it,” Titus said. Philip stared at him, and his jaw grew slack when he realized a vampire was speaking.

  “Where am I?” he demanded, frantically adjusting the glasses on his face. “Where’s Arthur—Arthur!” he cried. The older man got out of his chair and moved slowly towards Philip.

  “I’m fine, Philip,” he said. “Everything’s fine. Why don’t you just sit down so we can—”

  “No, Arthur, everything’s not fine.” Philip’s face looked like it was about to crumble. “That evil mage, he has you under some kind of spell. He—you!” Philip had spotted me. I stood up and gave a little wave.

  “Hello again, Philip. Welcome to the Hassler’s penthouse. I’d like you to meet my parents, Titus Aurelius and Abigail Silver.”

  “I know their names,” Philip snapped. He looked wild-eyed; his tie was crooked and his hair was a mess. “It was all in Arthur’s report, the one he made before you destroyed his mind.”

  “Oh, Philip.” Arthur buried his head in his hands.

  “Are you all right?” Philip asked. “Did they hurt you?”

  “For pity’s sake, Philip, no one hurt me. And no one’s destroyed my mind. I assure you, there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this. Now, do sit down and let us explain it.”

  “You hardly have a choice, son,” said Titus. “You can’t run away; we’d stop you the minute you tried to get to the elevator.” Philip’s entire body stiffened, and he pressed his lips together as he stared at Titus.

  “Father . . .” I warned.

  “This is ridiculous.” Abigail put one hand on Philip’s shoulder and the other on his arm. Philip’s eyes bulged. He stared at her hands as if they were going to electrocute him, but did not stop her from leading him back to the couch. “You are going to sit down and listen. Either that, or we’re going to tie you up, or magically bind you, and then you’ll listen. Now, drink your water.” Abigail gave him another glass, this time with her actual hands.

  Without taking his eyes off her, Philip slowly accepted the glass and held it in his lap. Arthur and I sat down. Philip took a few sips of water, then smoothed back his hair and straightened his tie.

  “I don’t understand, Arthur,” he said hoarsely. “Why aren’t you afraid? I mean, we’re sitting here with magical creatures.”

  “At least let me get you some ice for your head, young man.” Abigail went to the freezer. “There’s nothing magical about ice.”

  “Magical creatures,” Philip repeated, almost muttering. “Including that . . . that thing.” He looked me up and down, his entire body tense.

  “I know this must come as a shock,” Arthur said, “but I think you’ll see they have no intention of harming us.” Titus opened his mouth to say something, but Abigail turned her head towards him sharply. Their eyes met, and Titus closed his mouth.

  “And I think that’s more than a bit naïve,” Philip said. “E
specially since one of them is a vampire.”

  “The vampire has a name,” my father said in a deep voice, looking darkly at Philip.

  “Right,” Philip said quickly. “Yes. Mr. Titus, sir.”

  Father rolled his eyes. “Just call me Aurelius, you little fool.”

  There was a brief pause before Philip spoke again. “You really are the Titus Aurelius?” he asked.

  “Yes,” my father replied. “It’s nice to know my name can still strike fear into the hearts of men.”

  “Enough of that.” Abigail returned with ice wrapped in plastic and held it out to Philip. “Put this on your bump.”

  Philip reluctantly accepted the ice, wincing in pain when he placed it on the back of his head. Abigail retrieved the first water glass from the floor, took a seat, and folded her hands in her lap expectantly.

  “Well, best to begin at the beginning, then.” Arthur rubbed his hands together. He took a deep breath, and relayed to Philip all the true details of our undertakings, starting when I arrived at the London PIA. All the while, Philip stared at Arthur, glassy-eyed. His bouts of silence were occasionally broken up by a word or two. “Jail cell?” “Crossbow?” “Callix Ferox . . . take over the world?” By the end of it, Philip was looking in disbelief around the circle at us, ending with me.

  “That’s why you pretended to be PIA?” he asked. “Because your mum . . .” he gestured to her, “and the crystal . . . so staying on in Rome was . . .” He stared at me and shook his head. Then he glanced at Titus. “And that’s why a vampire was able to father a child? Because of this mystical gemstone? You do realize your son is impossible, yes?”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Titus said drily.

  Philip turned back to Arthur and frowned. “So, after all your misadventures, you thought you’d round things off by concussing and kidnapping me?”

  “We couldn’t have you telling anyone where I was,” I said. “Where we were,” I indicated my parents and me, “now that you’re aware.”

  “There’s too much at stake, Philip,” Arthur said. “Much more than you know. We haven’t even told you the worst part.”