Wander-A Night Warden Novel

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  Wordweavers have existed as long as magic. Some say they were the first magic-users. Where Haven was a medical facility with magical applications, The Cloisters were a magical facility with medical applications.

  Aria followed the gurney, and I peered at her as they wheeled me into a large room covered in runes. The symbols came to life with a chime of bells as we entered, and I immediately felt better. Koda looked around in surprise.

  “What is this place?” she asked in wonder. “It’s like a monastery for mages.”

  I nodded and regretted it as the room swam away from me. Aria approached and stared down at me. The silver brocade on her robe glimmered with power. Her long black hair cascaded behind her as she leaned over the gurney and gently tapped me on the forehead.

  “You are one stubborn mage.”

  One of the assistants tended to my nose bleed and wiped the blood from my face, as Aria stood back and hovered behind him.

  Normally stares didn’t affect me, but hers was high on the unnerving scale. Her eyes, like my body, had been transformed by magic. Whatever ancient magic touched her left its mark by turning her irises and pupils white. She was the only weaver I had seen with this condition.

  “Aria, I’m fine.” I tried to sit up after the assistant was done and failed. I wasn’t fine.

  “Do I need to strap you down?”

  I slowly shook my head. “The Redrum—”

  “I can get it,” she said and held a hand over my duster. The vial appeared in her hand a second later, and she handed it over to the assistant. “Analyze and work up an antidote now. Administer the antidote to the patient in Emergency.”

  “Is Street going to be okay?” I saw the assistant run out with the vial. “He looked bad in the car.”

  “Too soon to tell,” she answered. “What happened?”

  I explained what was going on with the UV-resistant rummers and the new strain of Redrum. I told her my thoughts about Lyrra being behind this somehow.

  “She was always ambitious, but this plan—turning homeless into rummers—seems beyond her.”

  “She always wanted to control the Night Wardens,” I said. “Felt they were going soft. Not upholding the law.”

  Aria shook her head. “Lyrra doesn’t possess the knowledge to alter the genetic structure of vampire blood to this degree, much less make it a catalyst for UV resistance.”

  “Who does?” I asked. “What am I looking for? What kind of mage knows how to do this?”

  “You’re not looking for just a mage.” She glanced at Koda. “Is this your new partner?”

  Koda was still looking around in awe at the rune work inscribed on all the surfaces of the room. I was about to make a comment when I remembered her reluctance to go underground. The question wasn’t a deflection. Aria wanted to know how much she could share.

  “Yes—in training.” Koda raised an eyebrow at me. “We have a few things to work out, but she’s starting to learn.”

  “You’re looking for a Smith—an Exiled.”

  “Are you sure?” My voice betrayed my confusion. “I thought all the Smiths were here?”

  Aria shook her head. “Some Wordweavers get tempted to live a life of material wealth and gain. Those that do are banned from the grounds, stripped of power, and cast out.”

  “Exiled,” Koda said. “Isn’t that a little harsh?”

  “Which part?” Aria answered, her voice holding a slight edge. “The part where we prevent them from accessing our libraries full of ancient magical knowledge, or the part where we reduce their power to cause harm, and cast them out so they don’t corrupt the others?”

  “Neither,” I interrupted before Koda said something dangerous. “Where would I find an Exiled Smith?”

  “Ellis Island, but they have left it since the incident with the Blood Hunters.”

  “I heard that’s where Nick lost his head.”

  “Literally.” She waved a hand over my duster again, narrowed her eyes at me, and spoke under her breath.

  “I need to find the Exiled, Aria.”

  She whispered something unintelligible and the sword materialized next to me on the gurney.

  “What you need to do is tell me about this sword, Grey.”

  I should’ve known better than to bring it near her.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “IT’S NOTHING.” I sat up and grabbed the sword before she could unsheathe it. “Just a trinket.”

  “A trinket?” She spoke in a language I didn’t understand, and the sword leaped out of the scabbard into her hand. “This is no trinket—try again.”

  What she did was amazing for several reasons. We were in a runic dampening room, which meant all magic was suppressed. It helped me recover from the effects of the spell killing me. It also should’ve limited her magic from functioning.

  She had used magic several times with no apparent effort. It meant that her level of magic was greater than the dampening effect of the room. I didn’t want a pissed-off Wordweaver, so I told her what I knew about the sword—including the part about Hades.

  “Why would he give you this sword?” She turned the blade in her hand. The runes shimmered dimly. “This weapon is designed to undo the supernatural. It puts him at risk.”

  “Maybe he gave it to me from the goodness of his heart?”

  “Don’t be naïve, Grey, he’s an old god. They always have an ulterior motive—him more than most.”

  “I told him,” Koda said. “Hades never shows his real hand.”

  “He said it could stop the spell killing me.” I looked at her. “I only have to bond with it and be its host.”

  “You’re practically bonded,” she said. “Why haven’t you finished the process?”

  “No! I refuse to be a host to some bloodthirsty psycho sword.” I extended the scabbard, and she sheathed the sword. “Not now—not ever.”

  “I don’t think I was being clear.” Aria shook her head. “You’re practically bonded. You must finish the process before it siphons the life from you.”

  “What do you mean ‘siphons the life’ from me?” I asked, alarmed. “I’m not bonded to it.”

  She pointed at the sword. “Do you see the conduits?”

  “Yes, I saw the small strands before.”

  “Look again. Do they look like small strands now?”

  I expanded my senses and saw nothing.

  “The room must be blocking my ability.” I looked up at her. “I don’t see anything.”

  She whispered under her breath again and all of the runes in the room went dark.

  “Try now.”

  I looked at the sword. A large strand about the size of my wrist connected me to the sword. I could see the strand pulse slowly.

  “What the hell is that?” I pointed at the strand that gave off black energy, reminding me of the tendrils in the subway.

  “Have you used this weapon in combat?” Aria stared at me, and I saw no point in lying again.

  “He fought ogres and rummers with it,” Koda answered. “Then he lost his mind.”

  “Excuse me?” Aria said. “What occurred?”

  “Nothing.” I shifted in the gurney, uncomfortable. “It siphoned power into me and I wasn’t ready—that’s all.”

  “That’s not all,” Koda added. “He was howling like a maniac, and he slashed himself several times as he swung that thing around. This was after he almost buried us under a truck as he drove.”

  “You cut yourself—with the blade?” Aria asked slowly. “Do you remember this, Grey?”

  “I don’t recall cutting—”

  “I saw it. Saw you.” Koda stared me down. “You lost your mind, swung that thing around, and cut yourself a few times.”

  I remembered the bandages in Haven, but I thought they were rummer injuries.

  “Hades wasn’t lying,” Aria said, narrowing her eyes at me. “That sword can stop the entropic dissolution—if you bond to it. Otherwise it’s just going to kill you faster every time you use it.”


  I looked at Koda and saw her try to hide the concern on her face. Roxanne’s words came back to me, Now it’s not just your life, is it? If I let the sword ghost me, there were people who would be vulnerable. People close to me who would die.

  “I’m not going to be its host,” I said, my voice grim. “That never ends well.”

  Aria nodded. “As long as you know the consequences of your actions.” She spoke again, and the runes came to life. “I can’t force you—no one can.”

  “How long?” I looked down at the sword. “How long before it’s too late?”

  “At the rate it’s siphoning from you, if you don’t cast, I’d say six months, maybe a year.”

  “And if I cast?” I asked, not really wanting the answer.

  “There are several variables—” she started.

  A mage spoke this way when what they really meant was: “You’re fucked.”

  “Don’t magespeak me, Aria,” I said, getting off the gurney. The room had reversed the effects of the casting and I felt like roadkill, my usual state. “Just tell me how long.”

  “It has your blood—the bond is now irreversible,” she whispered, waving a hand and speaking under her breath. Light orange tendrils flowed from her fingers into me. They formed a latticework of energy that wrapped itself around me and disappeared. “If you keep your casting to the minor spells—and by minor, I mean little to no energy required—you have about three months.”

  “Three months to a year.” I placed the sword in my duster. “Plenty of time to do what needs to be done.”

  “Stryder,” Koda said, “we could call the NYTF or the Dark Council. Let them handle this.”

  “They can’t.” I checked Fatebringer and tightened the holster. “The NYTF isn’t equipped and the Dark Council won’t touch the Night Wardens.”

  “What about the mage and his immortal friend?”

  “I’d rather keep the city in one piece, thank you.” I turned to Aria. “I need a few things, but first, I want to see Street.”

  “He’s in Emergency,” she said, heading to the door. “I have to tend to a few things. Why don’t you go on ahead, and I’ll meet you there.”

  The quiet corridors of The Cloisters vibrated with a low hum. The ambient magic was old, powerful, and felt like honey with a hint of lemon. This wasn’t the first time I had walked in with a life hanging in the balance.

  “Is she strong?” Koda asked next to me. “She seems to have a lot of power. Especially the way she pulled out the sword.”

  “Aria is a Wordweaver.” I remembered her words about my casting. “Wordweavers reframe reality with their thoughts and words. Yes—she is powerful. Powerful enough to cast in there.”

  I pointed behind us to the runic dampener room.

  “Why do you do it?” Koda said. “Why do you care? You could just walk away, not get involved. Why risk your life?”

  “It’s the right thing to do.” I examined the book in my hands

  “The Wardens removed you from their ranks, but you still go out on patrol.”

  “I guess I’m just too stubborn and set in my ways to do anything else,” I said. “Besides, I don’t need their permission.”

  “You could just stop,” she said. “No one is forcing you to risk your life every night.”

  “Someone has to be there to stop the monsters in the night.” I turned the book, causing the runes to activate. “Someone has to stand for those who can’t.”

  “And that virtuous person is you?”

  “No,” I said with a grim laugh. “I’m just doing this until he or she shows up. Any more questions? I really need to look into this.”

  “Is Aria stronger than a mage?” she asked as we turned down a corridor. The Cloisters contained a labyrinth of passageways that all looked the same to the untrained eye. If you didn’t know where you were going, you never got there. It was part defensive strategy and part sadistic torture.

  Anyone trying to invade would find themselves hopelessly lost, roaming the corridors endlessly. Whoever designed this part of The Cloisters had a twisted sense of humor. We turned at another corridor and stepped into the Emergency area.

  “Mages and Wordweavers both manipulate energy to affect the world around them.” I looked around to see if Street was in any of the beds. “Mages use gestures, runes, and the occasional catalyst to create magic.”

  “What about Wordweavers?”

  “Wordweavers use thought and words.” I walked farther into the Emergency ward. “Thought is pure energy. Every thought you have, have ever had, and ever will have is creative. Aria can create and cast ten spells before I finish one, maybe two if I’m really fast.”

  “That’s insane.” I stopped us at the rear of the ward. We stepped out and turned right. Another larger area had occupied beds, with assistants walking in the midst of them.

  “What’s insane is trying to fight a wordweaver.” I saw Street and headed for his bed. “It’s usually a short fight, with only the Wordweaver walking away and no—I can’t take her—in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t,” Koda answered. “She looked like she could kick your ass all over this mage monastery.”

  “Your vote of confidence in my ability is breathtaking.” I pulled her to the side before we approached Street. “I don’t know if he’s lucid or not. He may not know who I am—his mind does that sometimes. Don’t do anything to upset him.”

  She nodded and hung back a few paces as we approached his bed. He looked at me with a smile. I sighed in relief at the recognition.

  “Hey, Street.” I grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re looking better.”

  “Stop bullshitting me, boy,” he said with a grin and grew serious. “I look like shit, and you’re in for a world of pain.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “WHAT ARE YOU talking about?” I asked.

  “Bastards tried to turn me into one of those zombie vamps—rummers, you call them.” He waved his hands around. “But it’s worse. Did I give you the vial? Can’t remember my own name some days.”

  “I got it, thanks.” I nodded. “How is it worse?” I dreaded his answer.

  “You have a new partner.” He craned his neck around me to get a better look at Koda. “Where are your manners?”

  “Street, this is Koda. Koda this is—”

  “She is a cipher,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “And you’ve been casting again.” He gently touched the back of my hand. “What have I told you about casting, Grey?”

  “That it’s bad for my health,” I replied. “I didn’t have a choice. Things out there are getting bad.”

  “One of your old crew, Lyrra, is out there creating an army of those rummer things.” He looked away for a few seconds. “She’s giving them this new drug, forcing them to take it. Took some of my friends too. She’s going after street people. Everyone thinks we’re trash, worthless, invisible. She’s taking them.”

  “I know,” I said, barely containing the anger. “I’ll find her and stop her.”

  “You can’t.” He squeezed my hand. “Promise me you won’t go out there, Grey.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “Someone needs to stop her.”

  “Doesn’t need to be you,” he said. “Call the Council or that new and improved police force they have that handles the supernatural activities.”

  “The NYTF?”

  “Them—let them handle it.”

  “In all your years in the street, have you ever seen them resolve anything but the end-of-world problems?” I answered and placed his hands on his lap. “They don’t care about the old mage in the park being chased, or the woman being attacked by werewolves. That was always the Night Wardens.”

  “She has ogres, Grey.” He looked me in the eyes and I could see the fear. “Big ones that move fast like you or me. I don’t know how she did it. Ogres usually move real slow, but these…She’s building an army, Grey. You need to stay away.”

  “I will,” I
said and patted his hands. I could tell he was getting agitated and didn’t want him to lapse into his paranoia. “I’ll make sure to stay away from them.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Tell me how you got the vial,” I said. “Where did you get it?”

  He looked off into the distance, and I thought I had lost him. I was about to step away when he snapped back.

  “The park.” His voice was a whisper, and he looked around furtively. “She’s in Shadow Helm—the old Night Warden Keep in the park.”

  “I thought that was closed down and destroyed?”

  “It was, but not the underground levels,” he answered rapidly. I could see one of the assistants approach. I held him off with a subtle gesture. “She’s down there, making the army. We went down there to sleep, I saw them, and she chased me. Almost got me too. Then I grabbed a vial. I knew it was the bad blood. That’s when I saw the ogres and felt something else—something bad.”

  “She’s giving the ogres the bad blood?”

  “All of them.” He nodded. “She’s making more monsters down there—something worse than ogres. You can’t go down there, Grey. They’ll get you too.”

  The assistant approached again and this time I stepped back. He whispered some words, and I could sense the gentle magic falling on Street. In a few seconds, he was asleep. Aria stepped in behind me.

  “You heard?” I turned to face her. “Is that where they are?”

  “You can’t go in there.” She stepped over to the bed and placed a hand on Street’s chest. He began breathing deeply. “They almost turned him.”

  “Then you know where I’m going.” I looked down at Street. “I have to stop them.”

  She turned to face me, and I heard the high-pitched tone.

  “If you go down there with that sword siphoning your energy and your condition, you’re not coming back out.”

  “I can control this.” I tapped the butt of my gun. “I don’t need to use the sword when I have Fatebringer.”

  “Oh?” Aria extended a hand and raised an eyebrow. “Then you won’t mind leaving the sword here.”

  “You cannot leave me, mage,” Izanami said as I pulled out the sword. “I advise against this.”