Sorcerous Deeds: Special Investigators for the Magickally Challenged. An Urban Fantasy Novella. (Adept Solutions Book 2)

by Teagan Kearney

  “Everybody all right?” JB tilted his head, lightly smacking his ear a few times before repeating his actions with his other ear.

  “Good call, kid,” Keon said, standing up and brushing off his clothes.

  Valak cheeks turned red at the unexpected praise.

  “This is the Wraithlands?” Casanova stared up at the jeweled sky with his mouth hanging open. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Those constellations look familiar." Keon craned his head backward as he studied the star dusted heavens. "Valak, what’s going on?”

  “Um, I’m not sure. I may not have paid as much attention in Foreign Studies as I should have.”

  JB took out his phone and tapped rapidly. “We’re not in the Wraithlands, we’re in the Wastelands, a desert, a thousand klicks west of Tropolis. What happened, Valak?"

  “Give me a minute.” Valak closed his eyes and stood stock still.

  A wind had sprung up, and soughed, warm and soft, over the dunes.

  Valak pointed vaguely south. “There’s a portal over there somewhere. I suspect this sorcerer is a Jumper.”

  “Talk as we walk and explain what a Jumper is,” Keon told Valak as they followed JB.

  “Someone with the ability to create portals without having seen the place. They can travel anywhere, but as they don’t know where they’re going, it can be dangerous.”

  JB blew out a frustrated breath. “Maybe he had no idea where he was when he arrived and landed somewhere awkward. I wonder if he knew Princess Selendriel was in Tropolis, or it was just happenstance? Wait a minute, listen.”

  They caught the grumble of a truck in the distance. After a few minutes, the noise of the engine faded, and silence returned.

  “We’ll head for the road.” JB checked his phone again. “A bit of luck. There’s only one interstate crossing the Wastelands, and it goes from north to south.”

  “Tell me, Valak,” Keon asked as he fell into step beside the demonling, “what did you do to get chosen for this mission?”

  “It wasn’t what I did, it’s what I am. My grandfather thought his chances of winning the election might be jeopardized if his opponents could accuse him of diluting the purity of the race.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Keon said.

  “I’m a mixed blood, and the pure bloods try to kill us when they can.”

  JB’s father had regularly visited Ascepius during his holidays as he grew up, and he knew from his father’s stories that the demonling’s life wouldn’t be an easy one.

  “JB? Could you tell me what the Cycles are?” Valak asked.

  “Not in one sentence.”

  “Yes, JB, what are these Cycles? We don’t have them in our history.”

  JB couldn’t tell if Keon really wanted to know or if he was asking out of sympathy for Valak. “You don’t have tales of the Cycles among werewolves because your species lives in this world,” JB told the Alpha. “My father really is the expert, but I’ll try to give a simple explanation. Imagine a bunch of large bubbles floating along joined to each other by an invisible thread. Those bubbles are our different worlds, and sometimes the connecting thread stretches and they float apart. Sometimes the thread contracts, and they come together and merge into one big bubble. The bubbles are never static though, they’re always moving either toward or away from each other. Think of the bubbles as the barriers between worlds. The Cycles tell of how all worlds—the ones where demons, elves, the Fae, and other races live and ours—interact. Sometimes they’re so far apart that crossing from one to the other is almost impossible, yet at other times they collide and there are no barriers. When that happens they occupy the same position in time and space. Most of the tales are about travelers between worlds or when first contact is made after no connection for a while or of what happens when they occupy the same space.”

  “Deep stuff, eh?” Keon commented.

  “Where are we now in the Cycles?” Casanova asked.

  “According to my father, the worlds have been moving closer to each other for the last three thousand years, and in another thousand or so demons will walk among us again.”

  For once Valak had nothing to say.

  An hour later they stood next to the solitary interstate highway that crossed the Wastelands. JB had instructed Valak to be quiet. He didn’t think he’d ever been as annoying as Valak when he was a teenager. Eventually he gave the demonling permission to answer questions, but not to ask any. “South’s that way.” JB pointed down the empty road stretching into the distance, the median strip glowing with a pearl like shimmer under the starlit sky. “How far is this portal?”

  “Not far.”

  “It’ll be interesting to find out what a demonling thinks is not far,” Keon remarked.

  “At least the walking will be easier,” Casanova remarked as he marched off along the center of the freeway.

  Valak tapped JB on his arm, his face bursting with curiosity.

  JB looked at him and sighed. “Okay, but don’t ask me anything, and if either Casanova or Keon say ‘enough’ you stop.”

  “Thank you, thank you”. An ear-to-ear grin spread across Valak’s face.

  “He’s like a gigantic puppy.” JB sighed. “No offense, Keon.”

  “None taken. ’Cept ours are trained by his age.”

  JB was glad Keon had the patience to answer Valak’s questions. He found himself comparing the awkwardness of his current team, a werewolf, an elf, and a mixed blood demon, with the smooth co-ordination the agency team had built up over the last year and demonstrated with Nikki and Gemma on the goblin case the other day. The second he thought about Gemma, he fingered the locket, and the intense love and apprehension she felt for her twin flooded through him. Too late now to do anything about his callousness toward her recently—she’d been right, his reaction to finding out she was dating Chima had been a kneejerk one—but he swore to himself he’d keep his promise and find Jason when they got back.

  By the time the gas station’s lights bloomed on the horizon, even Valak had exhausted his list of topics. “The entrance is in that building,” the demonling told them as they approached.

  “In the mini-mart?” Valak opened his mouth, but JB held his hand up. “Wait and learn.”

  An old man with tired eyes, unshaven jowls, and a red and black check shirt looked them over as they marched in, showing not the least sign of surprise.

  I guess he must see a lot of odd sights out here in the desert, JB thought to himself, as he approached the cash register. Catching the old man’s eye, and lacing his voice with a little glamour, he instructed. “You have not seen us. We have never been here. Understood?”

  The old man nodded.

  “Please teach me that trick?” JB turned to find Valak breathing hot excitement down his neck.

  “Not on the favor list. Ask your grandfather when you return home.”

  “Advanced studies in portal theory and he doesn’t know how to glamour someone?” Keon laughed. “This demonling of yours is full of surprises.”

  “He’s not mine,” muttered JB, scanning the shop for Casanova. He found the prince gawping in amazement at the goods on the shelves, taking down items and examining them. JB grabbed Valak’s arm as he went to join the elf. “Hey, Casanova! Leave the dried goods. Valak, the portal? Now!”

  Valak found the doorway near the frozen section at the end of the third aisle next to the pizzas and the beer cabinet. A click of his fingers and a word or two, and the entryway manifested.

  The dark shadowy construct, the same sinister sigils flickering within as they’d seen in Didi’s apartment, took up the entire width of the narrow aisle.

  “Hey, focus,” JB instructed as Valak’s eyes kept wandering away from the menacing portal over to the cabinets. “You can have all the beer and pizza you want when we return. Casanova, you’re behind me. Keon, you make sure the kid comes through.” Valak was their ticket out of the Wraithlands. Not only that, but JB didn’t want to imagine the chaos the enthusiastic de
monling could cause if left unsupervised and running riot in a mini-mart. Let alone explain it to Ascepius.

  Casanova, Valak, and Keon lined up behind him. JB stepped forward, but as he moved toward the portal, it shifted away from him. He stepped forward again. Again the gateway shifted, this time around the corner by the back shelves. “What’s happening, Valak? This isn’t funny.”

  Valak squeezed past Casanova and JB and squinted at the entryway. “I have read about this phenomenon.”

  “Fantastic,” said JB. “Can you fix it?”

  Oh, no,” Valak exclaimed as the portal began the familiar wavering in and out of reality. With demon speed he shoved past Keon, dashed back along the aisle, around the corner, up the parallel aisle, and appeared the other side of the gateway. “I know what this is. He’s set a trap that triggers a closure when anyone other than him tries to use the doorway.”

  “Do something quick. We don't want the thing to explode in here." JB half-turned just in case he had to make a quick dash in the opposite direction.

  Valak uttered more harsh alien words as the refrigeration unit kicked into action with a sudden loud hum. He reached out, his hand groping through the unsteady quivering darkness. “Ah, here it is.” He withdrew a black metal object, and held it up, before letting it drop and stamping his foot down hard and smashing it to smithereens. Within seconds he was standing once more in line in front of Keon. “It will hold long enough for us to pass through.”

  The portal sigils had slowed and stabilized after Valak removed the object and this time, when JB moved toward the sorcerer’s construct, it remained stable. He took a deep breath and strode through the gateway.

  Chapter Fifteen: The Wraithlands, Time Unknown.

  The portal disappeared the second after Keon stepped through. “This definitely looks more like the Wraithlands,” he growled as they got their bearings.

  Over to the right crimson flames surged up from a wide chasm lighting up the Cimmerian gloom, and turning the undersides of the towering storm clouds purple. In response, thunderous crashes and great jagged bolts of forked lightning descended from above as if gods and giants were waging war in the sky.

  Valak inhaled a deep breath of the sulfur saturated atmosphere. “Smells like home,” he commented, receiving dirty looks from the others who coughed violently as their lungs struggled with an unfamiliar atmosphere.

  Over to their left, in the far distance, rose a triple wall, each wall higher than the previous one. The structure was surrounded by a torrent of flame, and, even this far away, they could hear the agonized screams of whoever was being tortured within. Beyond the walls, and stretching either side lay another chasm erupting more flames.

  As the tempest rolled across the murky plain, two wide jagged rips in the sky above the chasms became visible. As they watched, crackling flames fountained up, fusing with the flares descending from above. When the eruptions combined, rivers of flame exploded vociferously outward, and the group threw themselves flat and covered their ears against the deafening noise.

  As JB hit the ground, a sudden vivid image of Gemma, her eyes alight and a happy smile on her lips, caught him by surprise. The desire to be with her came and went so fast, he wasn’t sure he’d even felt it. He touched her locket under his T-shirt and knew, as if he was standing beside her, she was grinning and the weight of her recent despondency had lifted. He shook aside the image for later, and scrambled to his feet. “Casanova? Which way?”

  “Before we start”, the prince dug into a pouch at his waist, and pulled out a little iridescent vial. Unstopping the flask he took a quick swig before handing to JB. “Take a sip of this and pass it around. It’s a gift from Zhanna, and will alleviate our hunger and thirst while we are here. It’s delicious, she created that flavor as a special present. Such a thoughtful friend.”

  JB grimaced. “Tastes like liquid pizza,” He offered the bottle to Keon.

  “Yuck.” Keon offered it to Valak.

  “One sip,” said JB, as Valak looked about to glug the lot. “What the—” JB stared at the glow limning his hands and body. He looked at the others. The same golden glow outlined everyone for a second then vanished.

  “How do you feel?” Casanova asked, pulling out Selendriel’s locket.

  “Ready to kick some wizard butt!” Valak bounced up and down, his blond curls bobbing, red sparks flashing in the depths of his pupils.

  JB made a zipping motion across his mouth, and Valak subsided.

  “Breathing’s much easier now.” Keon sucked in a great gulp of air and blew it out. “That’s much better.”

  The elven prince pressed the heirloom to his chest and closed his eyes. Stretching out his arm, he let the silver heart swing at the end of its chain. After a minute, the chain stopped its tiny circles, stiffened, and strained directly ahead.

  “Let’s get moving. I can see a welcoming committee,” Keon indicated over to the left, where a mass of indistinct shapes headed toward them.

  “Stay close,” JB ordered Valak, as they took off after Casanova. Keon brought up the rear.

  Whatever enchantment Zhanna had mixed into her elixir worked miracles, and they ran tirelessly through the eerie landscape without hunger or fatigue and experienced none of the earlier breathing difficulties.

  Intermittent fires from the chasms below and above erupted, meeting in clamorous explosive embraces that rocked the earth.

  “Whoever they are, they’re gaining.” Keon’s voice came from behind. “At this rate they’ll be here soon and there are a lot more of them than us. We need to make a stand somewhere.”

  “Casanova,” ordered JB, “aim for that hill over to the right.”

  “It’s not on our route.”

  “We can’t rescue Selendriel if we’re not alive.”

  Casanova’s veered toward of the slight rise in the flat landscape, increasing his speed. Dashing up the sides of what wasn’t much more than a hillock—they barely made it to the top before their attackers swarmed the base of the little hill. They quickly formed a defensive line as the wraiths scrambled toward them, their arms and legs moving with stick-like jerky movements.

  “How many are there?” Valak’s whisper was half thrill, half terror.

  “I’d say about a hundred,” JB answered as he drew a slim silver dagger.

  “Oh, thank you, Grandfather.” Valak closed his eyes in anticipation.

  Casanova’s eyes widened as JB sent a pulse of power into his knife and it lengthened. “You are indeed blessed to own that weapon,” he said, drawing his own sword. Elvish runes flickered with power along its length as he flexed his wrist.

  JB raised his eyebrows at the word ‘blessed’. “Yeah, tell me about it later,” he said turning to face their attackers as they reached the top of the incline and closed with them.

  Valak shrieked with pure demon delight, talons extending from his fingers as he flung himself at the nearest ghoul, ripping a wide gash in the gray dust-colored throat, before taking down a couple more.

  Keon’s howl rent the air, his pelt a flash of silver as he hurtled toward the enemy in wolf form, savaging those within reach with teeth and claws.

  The blur of swift light created as JB’s and Casanova’s swords sang a duet and, however slight the damage, turned the specters into ash.

  In the heat of the fight, the sharp thrust, slash, and withdrawal of attack and defend became a hacking, slashing, and dodging out of the way exercise. Time stretched as they fought the skull-headed and faceless apparitions swinging maces, swords, and battleaxes or simply using their bare hands.

  All at once, the attackers turned and fled.

  “That was fun,” Small flames danced and sparked in Valak’s green pupils, as he flicked remnants of sticky gray matter from his talons.

  Keon had resumed his human aspect and patted the demonling on his shoulder. “Well done.”

  “That change thing you do—can you teach me?” Valak gazed in awe at the Alpha.

  Keon’s belly la
ugh boomed loud in the aftermath of the skirmish. “Sorry, kid. That’s something you’re either born with or not. It can’t be taught, but when we return to Tropolis, maybe you can come visit. You’d get on great with our werecubs.”

  “Everyone all right?” JB asked as he slid his weapon, once again a slim dagger, inside his sleeve. “Don’t worry, Valak. I’m sure the fun isn’t over yet.”

  After the last of their opponents disappeared Casanova passed the opalescent container around with the resulting shimmer of effulgence. Within minutes, they were back on Selendriel’s trail with Casanova in the lead.

  They had been running for a while when Casanova slowed and pointed to a figure emerging out of the reddish gloom. “Who’s that?”

  “Maybe it’s a damsel in distress?” Valak exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement. “Maybe it’s the princess?”

  Keon queried ‘damsel in distress’ in bafflement to JB, who shrugged and shook his head. “It might look like a girl, but this is the Wraithlands. It could easily be an illusion.” Keon eyed the approaching figure with suspicion.

  “Help, please help me!” The girl staggered to a halt. Her dress was torn, her feet were scratched and bleeding, and every visible part of her body—face, arms, and legs—was bruised and filthy. “Save me from him, please.” She fell to her knees and stared up at them, terrified.

  “You’re safe now,” JB pulled her to her feet. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  “I was kidnapped and brought here by an awful sorcerer. I don’t know why.” She shook her head. "My name is Shiofra, and I’m from the isle of Erin. Please protect me. Don’t let him hurt me again.”

  “Keon, stay with Shiofra for a minute, I’m going to have a word with Casanova. Valak, with me.”

  JB walked a little distance away. “What do you think?” Casanova glanced at the woman. “It sounds as if she was taken by Jaigis. If she’s from Erin, she may have descended from the earlier joinings between elves and humans. Our race was strong there once.” Casanova answered.