Sanctuary: The Sorcerers' Scourge: Book Two

by Michael Arches

  My legs went weak. I’d much rather be stuck in a cage fight with a gladiator than to take a horseback ride with this asshole.

  Luckily, Zack and Oran got dragged away by Mrs. Byrne, leaving me alone with our great priestess.

  Diana immediately switched back to schmoozing other party guests, so I whispered to her, “What the hell did you just suck me into?”

  “Beats me,” she whispered back. “You’ll sort it out, I’m sure.”

  ’I refused to let her cut me adrift. “How the hell am I supposed to stay alive with such a powerful sorcerer stalking me?”

  She grabbed my arm at the elbow. “Zack desperately wants one of us to become Oran’s friend. That’s you, Farm Boy.”

  “Why not you?” I asked. “You’re the great politico.”

  Diana burst out laughing. “You’re the most powerful witch here, so you have the best chance to avoid becoming enslaved. Handle it.”

  I remained shell-shocked throughout the rest of the party, and it didn’t help that I spotted Paxil talking to Oran. Afterwards, on the way back to the ranch, I peppered Diana with more questions about how I was supposed to deal with both assholes. She wouldn’t talk about it, except to keep repeating, “You need to get stronger quickly.”

  -o-o-o-

  Saturday, December 7th

  Brigid’s Community Ranch, Boulder County, Colorado

  AT BREAKFAST, I EXPECTED Diana to rush up and glower as she threw down the newspaper. We knew Paxil had attended the party specifically to write another story. I was the source of continuing controversy.

  Diana hadn’t appeared by the time I finished eating, so I tracked her down. “Why aren’t you complaining about the news?”

  “No article,” she said. “At least, no article that mentions you. Paxil wrote a non-controversial story about the mayor’s annual holiday party, and she described all the important people there. Neither of us ranked high enough for her to mention.”

  “Or her editors refused to let her snipe at me. That could be another benefit of me talking to George.”

  “Maybe. Time will tell.”

  -o-o-o-

  Kyokushin Karate Dojo, Denver, Colorado

  I FELT NERVOUS AS I arrived at Don’s office for my first lesson. I’d brought the largest white karate uniform I could find in Denver, but the gi was still too small.

  He greeted me in his hurried way and then said, “Change in the locker room.”

  So I did, and thank God, it smelled better than Don’s office.

  After I came out, he said, “You look nervous as a kitten in a dog pound.”

  “This is totally new for me,” I replied.

  Don nodded. “I want to apologize about our last meeting. I know we got off on the wrong foot. I often do. Too crude—brutally frank—have to admit that I thought you were recommended by Holly as a joke.”

  I shrugged. “She might’ve done that.”

  He laughed. “I’m delighted to hear you confirm my suspicion. She and I have a running feud against each other. Let’s move on—more important things. This training facility, or dojo, is part of feudal Japan. Your teacher, sensei, is the absolute master of your fate. To show respect for each other, we bow, rei.”

  This sounded like Diana and the Celtic clan transposed halfway around the world. “Okay.”

  He spent a good fifteen minutes telling me about the history of martial arts in China and Japan and the history of Zen Buddhism there. Then he said, “Before each training session, we meditate to clear our minds.”

  I fought a groan. The part about magic that I liked the least was the constant effort I had to make. It was eerie how such similar traditions could develop in such distinct cultures.

  I sat cross-legged on the mat and meditated on my breath.

  Eventually, Don said, “Now, you are prepared to begin learning.”

  A chill shot through me. Finally, something useful.

  We spent the rest of my first hour with me learning how to charge forward as though I was about to attack someone, how to balance on one foot, and how to hold my hand straight like I was slicing something with it. Don was particularly fussy about how my thumb had to align with my fingers just the right way.

  By the time we finished, I was mentally exhausted from controlling my movements so carefully.

  “You’re doing great,” Don said. “Next session, you will learn how to form a fist and punch.”

  I fought back a sarcastic response. There had to be a reason for spending so much time on things that were apparently so simple, but whatever the reason, it’d eluded me.

  -o-o-o-

  Monday, December 9th

  Brigid’s Community Ranch, Boulder County, Colorado

  AS USUAL, I ATE breakfast with Laura, Christina, and Rascal. Tess joined us, and I told her about my first lesson with Don.

  “What did you expect? You’d star in a Jackie Chan movie right away? I’m impressed that he takes his craft seriously enough to explain everything.”

  I held out my hand straight like Don had taught me. “How long should it take to show me that? Ten minutes?”

  Tess snickered. “You always were slow on the uptake. Given how important your hands are in karate, I imagine he wants to make sure you don’t break one or both.”

  Laura chuckled. “Hand-to-hand combat has to be tough without hands.”

  I pretended to karate chop both of them, but they didn’t change their minds.

  On the way down the mountain to Holly’s hospital, I spotted a couple of deer in a turnout along Boulder Creek, so I decided to pull over. Before slowing down, I checked the rearview mirror. The only vehicle behind me was a flatbed tow truck a couple of hundred yards back, so I slowly eased into the turnout.

  The deer in this area were very accustomed to people, and they usually let me get within fifty feet or so—as long as I stayed in my car.

  I gently rolled forward until the amulet gave me a nasty jolt. At the same time, the truck drove by on the road.

  A damned sorcerer had been tailing me. That probably wasn’t a coincidence. I watched the truck as it continued down Boulder Canyon.

  If he was keeping tabs on me, he’d have to stop below to give me a chance to pass him again. I forgot about the deer and continued on my way. I drove slowly because there were plenty of places a sorcerer could hide along the highway.

  Although I studied the terrain, I didn’t see him. A few minutes later, though, I got another zing from the medallion. He had to be close.

  I was driving into the sun, so it was hard to see. Then I spotted a flash of white back in the trees on the left-hand side of the road. I drove in behind the tow truck with my pickup, blocking him in, and grabbed my staff from the back seat. I marched toward the driver’s side door. I couldn’t see anyone in the cab, but he had to be near.

  Suddenly, a sorcerer wearing black clothes stepped out of the evergreens between the pickup and the highway. He was maybe thirty years old, about six feet tall, and his body was stout. In one hand, he was holding a cell phone. The other was holding his staff.

  “I challenge you for magical power.” After the words had come out, he froze.

  I concentrated on forming my ward. “Holarthon, protégé.” When the buzzing started, I said, “You’ve got to realize, asshole, this can’t end well for you. You should’ve kept going.”

  “Sid’s goons would’ve beaten the shit out of me if I lost you.”

  I waved my staff in front of him to make sure he saw it. “I’m getting real tired of constantly running into you bastards. HOLARTHON, ASSOMME!”

  But an instant before my stunning spell fired from my staff, he juked to the left. I missed him. The coward bolted through the trees to the north of us and scrambled up the steep hillside.

  I couldn’t let him get away so easily, and I was pissed to know I was going to ruin another set of nice clothes and shoes. I trudged through the snow that’d piled up between the tr
ees, and I was soon panting hard. He’d vanished, but it was easy enough to follow his tracks. I headed up a narrow chute, all the while promising myself that I’d make the punk sorry after I caught him—if I ever did.

  A clump of snow fell on me from the cliff on my left side. I looked up just in time to see two boots dropping out of the sky.

  He landed on my shoulders, knocking me to the ground. My face smashed into the snow, half-blinding me. The pain in one shoulder was almost enough to make me pass out, but I knew that if I did, I’d be his slave for the rest of my life. No way would I let that sneaky bastard beat me.

  I struggled to my feet using my staff as a crutch in time to see the sorcerer running back toward our vehicles.

  I followed, falling twice. How many times do you need to be surprised before you start looking in all directions, idiot? Next time, LOOK UP!

  Good advice for the future, but at that moment, I could only slide slowly on the slippery ground. Then I heard a loud engine start. It had to be the truck.

  A loud crash sounded through the trees. The son of a bitch was slamming the tow truck back against my pickup to push it out of the way.

  I struggled to get there in time to stop him. When I broke into the clear, he was moving backwards again. He smashed into the pickup and turned it sideways. That cleared a route to the highway.

  I focused on my fury and pointed my staff at the sorcerer, who was visible behind the wheel of the tow truck. Before he could turn and drive away, I yelled, “HOLARTHON, CHOQUE!”

  A white-hot lightning bolt blasted out of my staff and hit the driver. He convulsed several times and fell forward against the steering wheel, and the buzzing in my ears stopped.

  I hobbled forward and opened his truck’s door. He flopped out onto the muddy ground. I tapped his head a couple of times with my muddy shoe, not to punish him, but to try to wake him up. After a minute or so, he moved. Soon, he was sitting up. His skin was covered with a spider web pattern from the electricity he had absorbed. His eyes wouldn’t focus.

  The bottom line was that neither of us was in any condition to drive the tow truck, and my pickup was so badly smashed that it couldn’t be driven. I fumbled for my phone and called Diana.

  “I’m busy,” she said. “This had better be important.”

  “I-I think it is.” Then I gave her the thirty-second version.”

  She sighed. “How badly are you hurt?”

  I had yet to come out of a single fight without some damage. “My left arm won’t move, and my shoulder is killing me. Otherwise, just roughed up.”

  “Stay there,” she said, as though I had much choice. “I’ll get Laura and Tess to pick you up and heal you and the sorcerer. Then he can use the tow truck to take your pickup to a body shop. If the cops show up before you can leave, don’t say anything.”

  She hung up, and I took the sorcerer’s power. That made me feel better, but not well. While we were waiting for the cavalry, I checked my pickup over. I’d bought it from Grandpa Samuel right after college, and it’d always been very reliable. Now, the front was smashed so badly that the bumper was pushed back against the left-front tire. The engine was leaking antifreeze onto the snowy ground. I wasn’t sure anybody could fix it.

  The sorcerer stood still, no doubt freezing his ass off, and I was tempted to belt him for ruining my trusty ride, but he couldn’t fight back.

  “What are Hudson’s plans?” I asked my new slave with an edge to my voice.

  He blinked at me. “I don’t know, Master. I was supposed to follow you. After I found out where you went, I was supposed to call Sid. He told me not to try to fight you.”

  “Do you know Oran Byrne?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “He’s a twenty-something Irishman with a big chest and arms. Long black hair. Dresses really sharp.”

  The sorcerer nodded. “I saw someone like that in the gym the other day. He talked to Sid for a while. I never heard his name. He ignored the rest of us and left.”

  So, Oran was dealing with Hudson. That meant trouble.

  A Boulder County Sheriff’s SUV flew down the canyon on the main road. I hoped he hadn’t noticed us, but, less than a minute later, he drove back toward us with his lights flashing.

  “Don’t tell him anything but your name,” I told the sorcerer. “You can give him your driver’s license and insurance card. If he takes you to the hospital, refuse all treatment, and call me after they release you. If they arrest you, your lawyer is Nicky Delacourt. Don’t talk to anybody else.”

  The deputy hopped out of his rig and inspected the pickup and the back of the tow truck. Then he walked up to the sorcerer behind the wheel. “What the holy hell happened here?”

  The sorcerer stayed silent and stared straight ahead.

  The deputy looked at me. “You were driving the pickup?”

  I held out my hands, palms up. “I’d probably better talk to my lawyer before I answer any questions.”

  The cop took my license and the sorcerer’s. Then he locked both of us in the back of his SUV, but he didn’t give us Miranda warnings. Soon, the area was swarming with cops. They took lots of photos and measurements. Must’ve been a slow day for law enforcement.

  Tess and Laura arrived, but the cops wouldn’t let me speak with them.

  Finally, a cop with a couple of stripes on his arm said, “Either of you ready to talk?”

  We both shook our heads.

  “You both have to go to the emergency room. After they check you out, Mr. O’Rourke will be free to leave. Simpson, we’ll be detaining on a reckless driving charge.” Then he started his spiel about the right to remain silent.

  I told Laura and Tess what the cop had said, and Laura quickly fixed my shoulder and the scrapes on my face. Then I walked over to the EMT truck, and one of the EMTs looked me over.

  “Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked.

  “Nope, just fell down and messed up my clothes.”

  “No need for you to go to the hospital.” He took the sorcerer and drove off.

  -o-o-o-

  TESS DROVE ME AND Laura to Nicky’s office, but he was at a trial in Denver. I spoke with Felicity, a thirty-something female witch. As usual, her long blonde hair was sticking out in every direction, and she had a frown on her haggard face.

  “Is this a bad time to talk?” I asked.

  She sighed. “Ian, there’s never a good time. I went to law school to enjoy the razzle-dazzle of trial work. Boy, did I get scammed.”

  I tried to give her a sympathetic smile.

  She smiled back. “What trouble are you in now? You look like hell.”

  I explained my morning.

  “I need you to tell the sorcerer to cooperate with Jim Bartlett. He’s a lawyer in another office, and he’ll represent the dirtbag.” She punched some buttons on her phone and handed it to me.

  I dictated a message to the sorcerer, and she forwarded it to a paralegal to take to the hospital.

  “I wouldn’t go far,” she said to me. “Eastwood is likely to get wind of your latest escapade soon, and we all know he gets a hard-on from harassing you. Expect to be summoned to his courtroom by the end of the day.”

  Tess, Laura, and I were all sure Felicity was right, so they shopped in Boulder while I was working at the animal hospital. I also arranged for a tow of my pickup to a garage Herman recommended.

  I’d warned Holly I’d probably be working a short day. She was nice enough to give me a pair of scrubs, extra-extra-large, to wear over my dirty clothes.

  Chapter 11

  FELICITY’S CALL CAME LATE in the afternoon. “Judge Eastwood wants to see you in the reckless driving case. It’s a misdemeanor, so a judge normally wouldn’t bother with witnesses now, but we know how he loves to whisper sweet nothings in your ear.”

  Ick. “We do.”

  She snickered. “He’ll try to trap you in a lie, so the less you say, the better.”

  “That�
�s what Nicky always says, but it doesn’t seem to help.”

  “The difference is, the judge likes me.” Then she hung up.

  Laura and Tess came by and drove me to the courthouse. I wore my scrubs because they looked better than the torn and dirty nice clothes I’d taken off.

  Felicity met us outside the courtroom. She was dressed in a white pencil skirt and pink blouse. Her hair was perfectly combed, held back by a fancy gold comb. Her makeup was perfect, and her floral perfume was intoxicating.

  “You look dazzling,” I said.

  She smiled. “The judge fancies himself a ladies’ man. Who am I to blow against the wind?”

  We entered the courtroom and sat in the gallery. My slave sat with his lawyer at one of the tables. Old Judge Eastwood took the bench and scanned the room until he spotted me.

  “Ian O’Rourke to the stand,” he said.

  I was sworn in, and my lawyer stood inside the bar. “Felicity Laurent, representing Mr. O’Rourke, Your Honor.”

  He smiled at her. I was surprised that the old fart could actually smile. “Good to see you, Counselor, but I keep telling you to get a better partner than Delacourt.”

  She tittered. “Thanks for looking out for me, Your Honor. He’s holding my family back in Bordeaux hostage to keep me working like a galley slave.”

  The judge chuckled. Then he turned to me, and his frown reappeared. “Mr. O’Rourke, what an unexpected displeasure to find you back in my courtroom. I understand you’re mixed up in this reckless driving case.”

  I nodded.

  “The witness will respond verbally so the court reporter can take down his testimony,” the judge snapped.

  “Yes, sir, I was there.”

  “The defendant has invoked his right to remain silent. So, tell me what happened.”

  I’d gone over my story with Felicity, but now it seemed incredibly farfetched. Too late for second thoughts.

  “So, I’m driving to work, and I see these deer by Boulder Creek. I found a side road to park on, and I stopped my pickup behind a flatbed tow truck that looked like it’d been there all night. I walked back to see the deer better, thinking that I’d be gone soon and out of the truck’s way. One buck was amazing, with a huge rack, and—”