Coven Codex: From the Federal Witch Series (Standard of Honor Series Book 2)

by Taki Drake

  Standing like a spider in the center of a vast web, Maxim glowed with the energy channeled into him. Each of the four mercenaries standing around him was connected by multiple tendrils. At a different time and with the chance to analyze, Zhanna knew that she would try to make sense out of why some of the tendrils seemed to enter their target through the forehead while others disappeared into the chest.

  That connection between the Mage and the mercenaries would’ve been bad enough, but there were many other attachments visible through Dascha’s eyes. The extent of the energy feeder system that Maxim had constructed was revealed to be immense, draining essence and life from many of the people in the area.

  All connections were not alike. While some of the people in the crowd had faint couplings that did not appear to be active, others were heavily enmeshed. The demonstratable theft of life energy from these victims was terrifying to the young Witch.

  << Zhanna, you’re going to have to tell Vadim that he has a problem. >>

  << What you mean? >> asked Zhanna as she turned to look at the old man. Even before the words had left her mouth, the young woman knew what Dascha had been talking about.

  The old man was standing between two bodyguards. One was the gentleman who had escorted Zhanna and her team to the meeting room while another was a younger mercenary in the same OMF uniform.

  The younger mercenary had to thick tendrils connecting him to Maxim. One disappeared into his chest directly over his heart, while the other was wrapped around his neck and head, slithering over his ear before it sank into the center of his forehead.

  Once again, Zhanna had to concentrate to avoid throwing up. Even through the protective wall of her concentration, the young Witch could feel comfort and reassurance flooding to her over her Familiar bond with Dascha.

  << Breathe deeply, dearling. You need to focus because this travesty must not be allowed to continue. >>

  The banked fury of her Familiar’s emotions was like a forest fire kept barely in check. Where Zhanna felt revulsion and disgust, Dascha was ready to slay and rend. In a desperate attempt to regain balance and control, Zhanna opened herself to the power of Dascha’s rage, allowing that turbulent energy to flood into her and harden her resolve. Gone was any nausea, any feeling of helplessness. This dishonorable coercion-tainted Magic affected all Magic users. Maxim could not be allowed to continue this. Such a vile practice MUST be stopped.

  Turning abruptly toward Vadim, Zhanna reached out and took his hand in hers. Speaking aloud for their audience, the young Witch announced, “Thank you for your assistance in our matters, honorable Vadim. I look forward to doing more business with you in the near future.”

  Immediately after that, in a low tone and without moving her mouth much at all, Zhanna said, “Vadim, you have a problem. Your younger mercenary is bespelled.”

  << Zhanna, watch out! You and Vadim are under attack! >>

  Zhanna spun around looking for the source of the danger and saw that tendrils were approaching her from many directions. Twenty or more of the oily purple-gray animated strings reached like clutching fingers, ready to capture both her and the others.

  Taking no time for ritual or spoken spell, Zhanna slapped her hands together and flung her arms wide. Light exploded from the noisy collision of her palms as she reflexively cast a spell that she had repeatedly practiced over the last month.

  It was not just the physical training that she had been doing with Stefan and Mikhail that had improved her skills. Zhanna had also been carefully studying and practicing the spells in the books that she had taken from Blagogarsk. After all, she had promised to work with them, and the young Witch kept her promises.

  The work had been challenging, relying on her tenacity and the collective intelligence of Witch and Familiar to learn and refine each problematic cantrip and working. Many painful hours had been spent trying to succeed and paying the price of failure. Once she had successfully cast the spell, she practiced each one repeatedly until they could be executed quickly and flawlessly.

  Having conquered those spells, the young Witch was looking forward to getting the next book of spells so that she could continue to improve her skills and build power. Most of the time, she felt like a veritable novice, someone who was learning by fits and starts, stumbling along and not doing very well. Provided with the opportunity to salvage priceless knowledge that might be otherwise lost, Zhanna had dedicated herself to learning and achieving excellence in her abilities.

  Even though Dascha had told her many times that she was becoming powerful, Zhanna never thought of herself that way. The young woman still felt the lack of formal education and, in the back of her mind, heard echoes of years of disparagement.

  Dascha had known that it would take a singular, defining moment to change Zhanna’s view of her own capabilities. The moment that Zhanna cast the area effect spell that had not been successfully cast in Russia since the Great Sacrifice was the point in time where Zhanna understood not only the power she had now but the power that might be hers in the future.

  The explosion of light made the tendrils visible. It was as if a confusing veil had been ripped away abruptly, exposing the wormlike tendrils to everyone’s vision. They glowed with a sullen light of their own and the fascinated eyes of the onlookers locked onto the horrific scene that Dascha and Zhanna had discovered.

  Striving to maintain her situational awareness, Zhanna spun in place trying to locate all the avenues of attack. Stefan and Mikhail had immediately backed her up, protecting her from the rear and side. Vadim, after one sharp gasp of breath, had pulled an ornate dagger from his belt. In the light of Zhanna’s spell, the blade glowed with creamy white light. At the touch of the old man’s hand, the light wrapped his arm and cascaded to enclose his body.

  Kirill had taken in the situation with one comprehensive look. The discovery that the other bodyguard was encumbered didn’t slow the big mercenary down at all as he grabbed Vadim and shoved him closer to Zhanna. The head bodyguard then joined Stefan and Mikhail in a protective perimeter, joining together to better protect their principals.

  Tolya, Kasha, and Dov expanded that defensive circle with weapons drawn and determined looks. All three of them were pale of face, but their guns were held in steady hands, alert for further action.

  This was not the way that Zhanna had envisioned them learning to fight together. She had thought they would have time for practice before they had to be in a real battle, but the predatory nature of Maxim had accelerated their need to fight as a unit.

  Something in the essence of her nature refused to accept the use of others as tools or cannon fodder. The abuse of Magic users that only thought of themselves was something that she was not willing to condone. To step away from the situation would have been a betrayal of everything she stood for.

  In this, she and Dascha were as one in intent and position. Neither of them was willing to step aside from a fight. Zhanna knew that that position was risky. She could sacrifice her life or her well-being in a hopeless battle. But at least she would fight.

  Flooding along her Familiar bond was a complex mixture of agreement and love. The wholehearted support of Dascha was the enabling platform for the young Witch. Without her Familiar, she would have died already.

  That would not have stopped Zhanna. Whatever the cost, she was willing to pay it. Zhanna just hoped that others would not have to pay it for her.

  Chapter 18 – Street Fight

  A roar of rage from across the street split the air. “No! Breaking my spell is impossible! Who are you and what are you that you can do this?” roared Maxim. His infuriated gaze was focused like twin lasers on Zhanna. His face twisted into an expression of demonic fury, the previously genial buyer and seller of goods transformed into the reality of the man hidden behind the mask.

  He began to mutter in a guttural voice, the cadence sounding strange, and the harshness of the consonants emphasizing the peculiarity of the language. The tendrils pulsed more intensely. Around the
square, many of the people that were attached to multiple threads moaned in pain, becoming pale and wan, before dropping to the ground unconscious. Others were manipulated and pushed into actions that the enraged Mage had planned.

  The young OMF mercenary let out a tortured cry of pain. Quickly glancing over at him, Zhanna saw that he was fighting some influence or command. The tendril that went into his chest was flashing red. With each pulsation, the young man groaned in agony. The coercion of that connection was joined by an assault through the tendril that entered into his forehead. The gray and purple tendril there glowed with a purple that was almost incandescent. In a flash of intuition, Zhanna knew that a command or push of influence was attempting to overwhelm the young man’s mind.

  The young mercenary was fighting whatever was being demanded of him. Zhanna and the rest of her party could see the amount of effort he was putting into resisting it by the sweat that poured down his face and the blood dripping out of his mouth.

  “He’s biting his tongue so he can’t utter a spell!” Stefan ground out between his teeth.

  “Can we help him?” pled Kirill.

  “In the middle of a fight? I don’t know how to solve this problem and Zhanna can’t split her attention!”

  “We have to stop him, or we are going to end up having to kill him. If he succumbs to the control, Magic capabilities and his physical fighting skills will be working against us.”

  “Can’t you control him? He’s awfully young.”

  “No. Igor is the strongest mage in our group, stronger even than Ivan. He is also one of our best hand-to-hand fighters. Trying to neutralize him would be a nightmare.”

  Before anything further could be said, it became apparent that the young man was losing his battle. Unnoticed by the others, his shaking hand had pulled a wand from his belt. Now, he opened his hand and dropped the small stick onto the floor. Deliberately dropping his focus rod made it more difficult for him to cast a spell, showing that he retained enough control to try to sabotage the commands slamming into his brain. The shudders that shook his body and the increased blood flow from his mouth told Zhanna that he was about to lose his struggle and become a danger to everyone despite his heroic attempts.

  There was enough free will remaining for the man to know that he had gone from protector to an unwitting traitor. His hand flashed toward his waist, and he pulled a dagger from a concealed sheath. With shaking arms, he raised the blade, pointing the tip toward his body and started to stab himself in the heart.

  Unable to witness such a sacrifice without trying to help, Zhanna flung a stun and sleep spell on the desperate man. His body dropped bonelessly to the ground, and his dagger slipped out of his hands to clatter noisily on the floor.

  “He will be out for a while,” Zhanna yelled. A forceful pulse of energy along her Familiar bond drew her attention back to Dascha who was slashing at the pulsing tendrils that still clung to the young man’s unconscious body.

  << I can break these. You focus on getting rid of the others. Anyone that the disgusting slime of a Mage has got his hooks into can be used against you! >>

  Zhanna turned her attention back to the wider battleground. In the back of her mind, she realized that she was thinking of this as a full-scale fight. The realization that it was an actual battle slammed into her with the force of a battering ram, changing the roles that she saw everyone playing.

  There were strobes of pale light and a sizzling sound coming from beside her. Looking over, she saw that Vadim was severing as many of the tendrils as he could reach with his dagger. The touch of the Magical blade on the filaments made the sizzling sound. Each time one of those groping fingers of coercion was chopped, the light of release and spilled energy created a flash.

  A man was running directly toward their group. Zhanna could sense the mercenaries tensing, and Kasha raised his weapon as if to fire. The young Witch yelled, “Stop! He’s running to us for help.”

  As the man got closer, his voice became understandable. “Get them off of me! Get them off of me!” The man was almost incoherent with fear and loathing. It was hard to see beyond the tortured look on his face, but he was dressed well and prosperously.

  Vadim called out, “Durik! Over here!”

  The man changed his direction and ran toward the old man. Kirill stepped protectively in front of Vadim, blocking access. Stopping just short of running into the large mercenary, the man pointed at the two tendrils that disappeared into his chest and screamed, “Cut them out, cut them out, please! I beg of you! Please!”

  Vadim reached around and through the stance of his bodyguard, slashing with his dagger once, and then again. Two blasts of white light sparkled people’s visions as the close proximity made the destruction affects even more apparent.

  The tendrils were gone, the sides still attached to the man shriveling. The free ends began to flail around. Quickly looking over at Maxim, Zhanna noticed that the Mage appeared to be uncomfortable. Apparently, the chopping of his conduit was having an effect on his well-being.

  << It couldn’t happen to a creepier, crappy idiot! >> groused Dascha.

  << It’s good to know that he can be affected by the connection also. >>

  Stefan called out, “Look! The severed threads don’t bleed anything, and there’s no liquid leaking out of them.”

  Dov shouted, “Then we don’t have to worry about contamination. Good strategy! Let’s keep the people that are clear of influence in a protective area. We don’t want them getting reinfected.”

  Vadim was trying to get past his bodyguards to go over to where the younger mercenary lay stunned on the ground. Refusing to move out of the old man’s way, they ignored his cursed imprecations, keeping their principal safe.

  The destruction of the threads individually was taking too long. Zhanna could see around the area that many of the people that had been attached by tendrils to Maxim had dropped unconscious to the ground. Deciding that he must be drawing energy from them for his attack spells, Zhanna chose to remove all of the threads at once, if possible.

  Dascha’s immediate comprehension and acceptance flooded over their Familiar bond and Zhanna could feel a vast well of energy being supplied for her working. She had a momentary doubt in her ability to carry off this spell before calm settled over Zhanna like the softest of shawls. Clinging to the warmth and confidence, she took a deep breath and held it.

  Flinging her intent into the structure of the spell and envisioning it to cover the entire area in front of the shop, Zhanna could feel a deep rumble as if massive gout of water was just below the surface. Rather than the surface of the ground, this rumbling was below the external edges of her mind. Stabbing her hands out, fingers splayed, the young Witch focused her intent and released the spell. Rays of light shot out of her fingers in a sharp golden glow of light beams, cleansing and clean. Over and over again, Zhanna opened and closed her fingers, and the rays obeyed her.

  Where the light touched skin and roadways, possessions and vehicles, there was no effect. However, anywhere the rays intersected the sinuous tendrils, that noxious filament was severed and explosions of multicolored light spotted the vision of everyone.

  The tendrils were so dense that it was like a battery of flashing bulbs. Carrying the picture of where the tendrils had been in her mind, Zhanna worked from memory. Her eyes were overwhelmed, Dascha’s vision grayed out.

  It only took a few moments, less than a couple of minutes, before Zhanna felt the spell drain away from her. Squinting watering eyes, Zhanna realized that she could now see the pieces of tendrils with her own eyes. Somehow she was able to use Dascha’s skill without looking through the Familiar’s eyes. Another thing to follow up on later, something else to explore. But for right now, she forced her aching head and weeping eyes to inspect the street as far as she could see.

  She thought that there were no active tendrils right now. Small pieces of the filaments flopped around on the ground but didn’t touch anyone, and didn’t appear to be attempt
ing to attach. Some sections were still embedded in a few of the unconscious bodies, including the young bodyguard.

  Maxim was nowhere in sight, and her exhaustion crashed down on her like a heavy load of stone. Swaying on her feet, straining to see through her streaming eyes, Zhanna saw a man walking toward her at a fast lope.

  Before she could see him properly, she heard his voice and immediately knew who he was.

  “Are you all right? Zhanna, Vadim, what happened here?”

  It was the police detective that helped her out and investigated the problem at the café. The one that had provided salt for the protection ritual. The young Witch recognized his voice but still was unable to focus her eyes. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name. The pounding in her head was increasing in violence and force, and she found it difficult to focus.

  A tired and quavering voice answered the detective. The old shopkeeper gave a terse explanation of what had happened. There was a flurry of questions and answers that Zhanna was too exhausted to even hear, let alone understand.

  The young woman could feel other members of her team around her in a protective cordon. For that moment, Zhanna stood numbly, exhausted and drained. Hoping that no one needed her to do anything rapidly anytime soon, the young Witch sank to the ground. Dragging her body into a sitting position, she rested her head in a cradle of both shaking hands.

  Zhanna could hear the policeman, talking on his cell phone. The man was calling for assistance, requesting medical care and additional policeman. Knowing that she should be interested and care about what was going on didn’t help. The young Witch was too drained and too exhausted to care.

  The rasp of a rough tongue and a reverberating purr announced Dascha’s approach. The small black cat wormed her way into Zhanna’s lap, tucking her body and its comforting vibrations next to the core of the young Witch’s body. Part of the tension that Zhanna was feeling dissipated at that beloved presence.