Sanctuary: The Sorcerers' Scourge: Book Two

by Michael Arches

  AAAAAGGGGHHH! Damn, that burned.

  My skin felt like a hundred wasps were stinging me at the same time, and I could smell my burnt hair and skin. Now, I couldn’t see or breathe.

  Stupid idiot! I’d focused too much on offense and had forgotten defense. Damn that hurt.

  Then a second fireball hit me, this one in the chest.

  Jesus! My skin is melting!

  The pain only lasted for a few seconds, though, and then I could think again. I had to focus, get back into the fight.

  I concentrated on my memories of the natural rampart at Carter Pass. After a few seconds, my ward reformed. I was safe for the moment, but the son of a bitch had really hurt me. That realization was enough to build up my anger again. Fucking son of a bitch!

  This punk wanted to enslave me for the rest of my life, probably as a fighter. That got my fury going. I wasn’t going to be anybody’s gladiator slave.

  He approached me to finish me off, but I was ready for him.

  “HOLARTHON, CHOQUE!”

  A green lightning bolt fired from my staff hit his ward, shattered it, and blasted him in the chest. He fell to the ground and thrashed around. This was my best chance to stop him before he could hurt me again.

  I dropped my staff and jumped onto the asshole rolling on the pavement. I drove my knees down on his chest, and punched him hard in the head, turning his face into a bloody hash.

  He roared, but I kept whaling on him. His pain, if I could make him suffer enough, would keep him from casting any more spells, so I drove my bare fists into his face as if my life depended on it.

  He thrashed underneath me, and his arms flailed around. Then he caught me on the chin with the heel of his palm.

  OUCH! My head snapped back. My mind fogged, but I remained awake. Never stop punching, stupid. It’s your only chance.

  I kept pounding on him. Sweat poured from my forehead into my eyes, stinging them, but the son of a bitch wouldn’t give up. He kept thrashing his arms and bucking side-to-side to knock me over. I’d ridden plenty of broncos in the local rodeos back home. Although my arms got tired, I kept hitting him.

  One of his fists caught me on the right eyebrow. Damn, that stung much more, but he wasn’t as strong as earlier. Neither was I, but I yelled, “Nothing is going to save you now!”

  At least I hoped that was true.

  He roared something unintelligible in response. Blood was running down his face, but he kept punching back, swinging wildly at me.

  He gasped for air, but I kept my knees on his chest to prevent him from breathing.

  My arms lost most of their strength. I’d punched myself out. In a final desperate move, I drove my forehead onto his nose.

  Finally, he went limp. The buzzing in my ears stopped.

  At last, I’d won.

  -o-o-o-

  I ROLLED OFF HIM and gasped, trying to recover. After I’d staggered to my feet, I glanced around to see if we’d drawn a crowd. During the fight, magic hid us from non-magicians, but our invisibility had ended when the bastard passed out.

  Nobody had noticed yet, so I grabbed his body and tossed him onto a tarp I had put on the passenger seat of my pickup to keep blood from soaking into my seat. Then I leaned the seat back as far as I could in the extended cab—the better to hide him from passersby.

  He moaned and writhed.

  In a clear voice, I said, “I claim the spoils of victory.”

  I could hardly believe the guy was alert enough to hear me, but I felt a strong rush of heat coming into me. His power flowed in a torrent into my magical core, and I savored that lovely glow until it passed.

  I couldn’t heal people, so I needed to get help for both him and me. Blood was oozing from his nostrils, and a dozen cuts and bruises covered his face.

  “Lie still.” I grabbed a windbreaker from the back seat to wear over my t-shirt, which had a hole burned in the front. Then I put on a baseball cap to hide the fact that all my hair had vanished. After locking the truck, I returned to the hospital.

  -o-o-o-

  INSIDE, HOLLY HAD JUST finished helping a dog with heartworms. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I described the unpleasantness in her parking lot.

  She closed the door to the treatment room to make sure we were alone. “I feel like marching over to Hudson’s gym and punching the son of a bitch. He violated my property!”

  I laughed. “Don’t expect me to stop you. I’m not any happier about it than you are, but Diana prefers that I do the fighting. And, speaking of her, I’d better let her know.”

  I called her and summarized sorcery’s latest insult to my dignity.

  She screamed through the phone, “That son of a bitch! I feel like marching over there and kicking his ass.”

  At least she had the wherewithal to manage it. “What do you want me to do with him, Oh Great One?”

  “Where is the sorcerer?”

  “In my pickup.”

  “Ask whether Holly can spare you for the afternoon,” Diana said. “I want to talk to this man and gather intelligence. Yesterday was obviously the beginning of a major campaign. This is the start of the retaliation we’ve expected.”

  Holly agreed that I was dispensable, and she healed me, including restoring my hair. Then she patched up the sorcerer well enough to keep him from bleeding out while I was driving back to the ranch.

  Before I left town, though, I grabbed four fish tacos and tried to understand the appeal. It seemed to be a Boulder thing.

  The drive up Boulder Canyon was beautiful, as always, but my mind kept going back to the fight. I’d made a couple of big mistakes and had suffered for my stupidity. Next time, I needed to keep my mind focused better on the battle.

  This latest attacker was my slave, but I was happy to turn him over to Diana, like I had the others. They helped out with chores and taking care of the elderly.

  I met her in the garage next to the commons building. She must’ve come from her office at city hall, because she was wearing one of those power suits with a silk tie. Her long black hair was nicely curled.

  She talked to the sorcerer, but he simply confirmed what I’d suspected. Hudson had brought him in from Kansas City to beat me.

  Neither Diana nor I thought he would be the last to come after us.

  -o-o-o-

  Saturday, October 19th

  THE NEXT MORNING, I met Diana and Tess for brunch in the dining hall of the commons.

  Our Big Cheese slapped down that day’s local paper. “So much for that blissful little interlude of peace.”

  This time, the headline read, Local Celebrity Witch Joins Animal Hospital—Puppies Rejoice.

  The article quoted a press release Holly had issued announcing my new employment. It didn’t say anything about either her or me being a witch, but Cindy Paxil had apparently been desperate for news.

  Holly had noted that the hospital got great reviews on Google and Yelp. Then the reporter had snidely noted that none of the reviews covered my healing prowess. She’d also managed to find a fundamentalist local pastor who quoted Exodus: “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

  After Paxil had asked Holly to comment on that nasty bit of bigotry, my new boss had said, “I know several witches who are Christians. People have become much more enlightened about alternative cultures in the five thousand years since Exodus. All I can tell you is that Ian has healing hands. If you’re squeamish about a witch saving your pet’s life, think about him as a miracle worker. Say hallelujah, brothers and sisters.”

  “I knew from the first minute I saw her that I was going to love that woman,” I said. “Why can’t we push back against that nasty reporter like she did?”

  Tess toasted me with a glass of orange juice. “Staying silent isn’t working, that’s for sure.”

  Diana stirred her scrambled eggs for a moment. “Let me think about it. We definitely don’t want to get into an argument with Paxil
. She’s hated me for years. But maybe we could try to reach the citizenry through some other reporter.”

  From there, our conversation passed to work schedules and the coming holidays.

  After we had wrapped that up, Diana said with a crooked smile, “I have some good news for you, Ian.”

  She rarely took joy from any good thing that happened to me, so I was immediately suspicious.

  She continued, “The council was approached by an elderly man last week—he’s ready to give up his magical power before he dies of cancer. He owns an Asian market in Louisville. We’ve discussed the matter at length and decided you were the best candidate to receive his gift.”

  I’d heard of this happening before, but Tess usually got the extra power. She was officially our master of arms, and, for years, she’d trained all the local witches. I didn’t mind pissing off Diana, but I sure didn’t want to hurt Tess’s feelings.

  “Why not give the magic to my buddy, here, as usual?” I asked,

  Diana gave Tess a warm smile. They’d been close long before I’d arrived on the scene. “Because until your apprenticeship expires, you will be doing most fighting for the clan. Meet Crystal and me this afternoon in apartment B-27.”

  I looked at Tess. She nodded, so I did, too.

  -o-o-o-

  CRYSTAL AND I MET Diana in the living room of the dying man’s apartment. They were wearing their ceremonial white cloaks with hoods.

  We proceeded to the bedroom upstairs, where a frail Asian man lay in the center of his bed, slowly writhing. A short, thin woman of about forty was sitting next to him with tears in her eyes.

  The woman stood. “Good, you’re early. I’m Claire, Yan’s daughter. Per Diana’s instructions, we stopped my father’s morphine drip a half-hour ago. He’s in agony. Let’s finish the transfer quickly.”

  I took Claire’s hand in both of mine, and, to my relief, she didn’t recoil. I couldn’t heal people, but I could soothe them, so I drew out the mental anguish caused by her dad’s hopeless condition. It smacked me hard for a moment—her grief was certainly powerful—but then it passed.

  When Claire began to thank me, I shook my head. “We can speak later this evening. Let me tend to your dad now and end his suffering.”

  She stepped back a few feet.

  I bent over Yan, and he reached for me greedily. I cupped his gaunt, contorted face and kissed him on the forehead. His pain poured into me through my lips and hands, much stronger than his daughter’s. This was primal, life-versus-death panic combined with horrible physical pain, and it struck me like I’d been clobbered with a baseball bat.

  I staggered and gasped but held on through a series of racking waves of agony. Cancer was the most vicious killer of all.

  A moment later, the horror passed through me and disappeared. I still didn’t understand how I managed to accomplish that, but I sat down on the bed next to Yan and helped him sit up.

  He gave me a grin that exposed his yellow teeth and muttered, “Thank you,” over and over.

  I kept my arm around him to hold him up and closed my eyes. My famous ancestor, Eilwen O’Rourke, might have done the same for the suffering in her day. After I had taken in several deep breaths to settle both of us, I said, “Okay, now he can talk.”

  Claire asked her dad, “Are you hurting?”

  His grin answered the question, but he shook his head.

  “Unfortunately,” Diana said, “Ian can only remove his pain temporarily. Yan, is your mind clear?”

  “Yes, for the first time in weeks.”

  “We’ve discussed the process for transferring your magic to someone else, and the council has chosen Ian. Do you still want to proceed?”

  “Yes, absolutely, but tell me again why I can’t give it to Claire.”

  “Because magic will not allow us to transfer it to an interested party,” Crystal said in the most convincing tone possible. “Moving magic between friends or family members inevitably encourages someone to take advantage of a weaker person or raise suspicions in others. The laws of magic require this wholly voluntary gift be given to some stranger. In this case, the council made its choice for the benefit of the community at large.”

  Yan nodded. “I don’t have great power, but I would like someone else to use it after my death.”

  I turned to Claire. “Come, sit with us. I won’t do this unless you’re supportive.”

  I took her hand in mine and kept my other arm around Yan. Claire sat on the bed next to me and spoke to Yan in what I guessed was Chinese for a few minutes.

  Finally, Claire nodded to me.

  Diana stood before us holding an athamé, a ceremonial dagger. “Yan,” she said, “here’s what I’ll do. With a nick of the blade on the back of your neck, I’ll take your power. Then, I will cut Ian’s neck the same way and transfer all of it to him. Understood?”

  Yan nodded.

  “I assume you have no slaves,” Diana said.

  Claire snorted. “Only me, and I refuse to be liberated.”

  “Any questions?” Diana asked.

  No one spoke.

  Diana began chanting in Gaelic, and when she motioned to Yan, he bent low so she could slice his neck in the back. She then did the same to me, and I felt a modest rush of warmth. It wasn’t anything close to the strength of the sorcerer I’d beaten the day before, but every little bit would help in my next fight.

  “It’s done,” I said.

  Clare smiled, and I shook her hand and Yan’s. “Thank you for your generosity. I’ll use your magic to protect the community.”

  Claire reconnected Yan’s morphine drip and began to talk quietly with him. The rest of us left.

  -o-o-o-

  AFTER I HAD FINISHED TRAINING with Tess that afternoon, Diana summoned me to her fancy office. I sat in front of the huge mahogany desk.

  Without any small talk, she began, “I have a rescue mission for you tomorrow.”

  I nodded. Twice already, I’d gone after sorcerers who were threatening witches living secretly among non-magical folks. My own family had once tried to survive the same way, and they had been butchered by a couple of sorcerers before my dad realized the danger. Naturally, I wanted to keep other families from suffering the way mine had.

  “Where’s the problem?” I asked.

  “Northwest Denver, less than an hour from here. Early tomorrow, you’ll meet our private investigator and deal with the sorcerer before he leaves his home for the day.”

  With luck, I’d be back in time to go for a hike in the mountains that I was sure would help me relax afterwards. “Sounds good. Give me the details.”

  For half an hour, we discussed the risks and agreed on an attack strategy.

  After I left her office, I grabbed a beer and headed to the lounge. These rescue missions made me nervous. The clan had only been able to gather limited information about my target, so I faced the risk that he might’ve disguised most of his power. Still, it was much better to try to help than to hear about another witch family being slaughtered.

  -o-o-o-

  Sunday, October 20th

  AT 6:00 A.M., I met the private eye at a coffee shop in an old Hispanic neighborhood in northwest Denver. The place was bustling as people lined up to buy coffee and breakfast burritos.

  I stuck out among the crowd, not only because of my size but also because I was the only Anglo. My partner in chasing assholes was Juan Ortiz, a plump, middle-aged, retired Denver PD cop who now lived in Boulder. Juan wasn’t much of a magical fighter, but he was a great detective.

  His face reminded me of a bulldog’s. He was dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, as though he was on his way to some landscaping job. Maybe that was what he did when he wasn’t sleuthing, but this paid much better. At any rate, he blended in perfectly.

  I shook his hand, and we sat in a corner away from everyone.

  “Do you know the family being threatened?” I asked in a whisper.

&nb
sp; He leaned forward across the table. “Their kids go to school with my granddaughter. The dad is being shaken down by a casual acquaintance named Diego Medina, who turned out to be a sorcerer. He accidentally bumped into the dad at a kids’ soccer game, and the dad grabbed the sorcerer’s hand to keep him from falling. The secret was out.”

  Witches in hiding had to be extra-careful about touching strangers. “So, the sorcerer figured out where our client family lives?”

  Juan nodded and sipped his coffee. “Medina dropped by the dad’s job site a few days ago and waited for him to get off work. The dad is a framer for a construction company. Medina said he wanted five hundred bucks a month, or he’d ambush our client out of the blue someday.”

  I could see where this was going. Sorcerers often bled witches dry instead of attacking them. Money was more tempting to some sorcerers than magical power.

  “Is Medina blackmailing anyone else?”

  Juan shrugged. “I expect so, but we’ll know for sure after we review his bank statements.”

  “It doesn’t sound like our family is wealthy. How much is Diana charging?”

  “Only two hundred bucks. But you, me, and Diana get to split any money the sorcerer has.”

  That seemed fair for the risk Juan and I were taking, but I’d never understood why Diana got a third. Technically, it went to the clan at large, but Diana loved to shower herself with gifts the community paid for. At least she wasn’t gouging our clients, who didn’t seem to be wealthy. “Okay. Where’s Medina live?”

  “No need to rush,” Juan said. “Yesterday, he didn’t leave the house until after nine. He’s a late sleeper. You should try the huevos rancheros here. They’re great.”

  I shook my head. “I prefer to fight on an empty stomach. Do you have a photo of our target?”

  Juan took a couple of candid shots out of a folder and slid them across the table. “I’d say he’s six-one, two hundred pounds. Plenty fit, but he doesn’t strut like a fighter. He makes his living as a stockbroker.”

  This sounded straightforward. I was bigger than Medina, and unless he was hiding lots of magical power, I should be able to take him down. “Do you think he’ll fall for the gas leak trick?”