Bewitched Avenue Shuffle: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (Scions of Magic Book 3)

by TR Cameron

  They walked along the rooftops to the end of the long block and found a fire escape to take to the ground. He was familiar with the area from his surveillance of former gang members over the last couple of weeks and led the way to a coffee shop that was open twenty-four hours and frequented by uniformed police. “You’re not on the PD’s radar, right?”

  Dray shook his head. “Nope. I haven’t been picked up in ages, and this ID is completely clean. Our people claim they’ve hacked the databases, too, but there hasn’t been a reason to put it to the test.”

  He held the door for the other man and followed him in. “You have computer people? What kind of gang are you in, anyway?”

  His companion laughed. “So much has changed in the last couple of years. We’re almost a business, the way we operate. Specialization is the order of the day with many separate areas. And computers are a great tool to make and move money.” He kept his voice low to avoid notice from the other people around, which included two patrol officers. “It’s basically a requirement.”

  “How do you get them?”

  He shrugged. “It’s mostly those paying their way through college. They’re smart kids who needed a break, and we keep them doing mostly above-board stuff—or at least completely deniable stuff. We have the angles covered to protect them.”

  They both ordered black chicory coffee and found a seat. Dray nodded. “So, you handled yourself well back there. Clearly, your instincts haven’t failed you.”

  Tanyith laughed. “True that. Although I’ve used those skills a fair amount lately, so any rust was effectively scraped off before tonight.”

  His companion looked nervous for the first time since he had seen him after his time away. He waited in silence for him to speak, and the moment stretched uncomfortably before the man across from him sighed.

  “Okay, look, here’s the deal. The whole joining the gang thing is a one-time offer. Either you’re in now, or you’re out. I think you’d fit well with us. We wouldn’t do anything that would make you uncomfortable. There are no killings and no beat-downs, except on the Atlanteans. Even then, it’s almost always warning-level stuff. We know that if they turned their attention to us, they’d squash us.”

  Tanyith nodded. “That’s a good philosophy.”

  “Plus, for me, it’d be nice to have someone else around who knows what the old days were like in the gang. It would add perspective on the new ways things are done. I always hope we can talk some of the Atlanteans’ newbies into leaving, rather than having to damage them. You could help with that.”

  He nodded again. “True. I could.”

  “And, finally, to refuse is to formally set yourself against us. Okay, I won’t personally do anything about it, but the rest of the gang will not be…uh, let’s say ‘well-disposed’ toward you.”

  The laugh bubbled out unexpectedly, and he had a moment of realization about how good and how right this conversation felt. He couldn’t deny that he’d often felt alone since his return to town with all his old connections gone. While he had new ones who helped to fill the gap, it wasn’t the same as the depth of shared experience and time together he had with Dray. It would feel really good to have a family again the way he had before things had gone wrong.

  But it won’t be like that, no matter how much I want it to be. Dray will be cool, but the others definitely won’t. They’ll know I’m not the same as them. He shook his head. Besides, it’s time to look forward. Cali, Zeb, and even Barton—they’re my people now.

  Dray took the motion as an answer, which it essentially was although he hadn’t intended it as such. He rose and extended a hand. “I get it. Totally. Like I said, you and me, we’re good. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  He stood and grasped it firmly. “Same thing the other way, Dray.”

  They released simultaneously, and his friend walked out the door. Tanyith sat in his chair and sipped his coffee, filled with both loss and relief. With a sigh, he shook his head again. He muttered, “Way to go, Tay. You managed to push away your only remaining friend from the old days and lose a source of information to help find your damn target.”

  Twenty minutes later, the coffee consumed, he wandered into the night feeling untethered and alone but somehow sure he’d made the right decision. Sometimes, the only way to go is up.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The New Orleans Public Library was one of Cali’s favorite places to do schoolwork—or at least it had been before her life had become so crazy busy with people kidnapping her, manipulating her, and trying to kill her. Her smile grew with each approaching step when she saw the whirls and colored markings that made up the mural on the side of the white building. She’d spent many an hour inside its cool chambers, working or simply pretending to in order to have an air-conditioned retreat from the blazing sun.

  She strode along the sidewalk beside it, looked through the windows, and saw any number of people making use of the space. Some worked at computers, some browsed, and at least a couple used the opportunity to indulge in a short nap. She was always most amused when local business people in suits and ties and with obvious hangovers spent their lunch breaks sleeping in the building’s relative privacy. The librarians were amenable to a point but snoring or taking up space someone else needed to use would get one thrown out with no remorse.

  Within moments, she climbed the short stairs at the front and entered the huge structure. Three-quarters of the building had a two-story-high ceiling, while the remainder was a single story under a second floor. Glass surrounded it all so the sun provided the main illumination, complemented by fluorescent fixtures high above. Rows of bookshelves extended from the front to the back, each with the appropriate alphabetic or Dewey decimal index on the ends, a scattering of round tables, and a section on the side with computers for public use.

  Caliste had never visited the part of the library she was headed to now, though. While she’d noticed gnome librarians several times, she’d simply appreciated the lack of discrimination shown by whoever ran the place, completely unaware that a second library existed beneath the one she knew so well. Apparently, a long time before, the gnomes had excavated and magically protected the area beneath the structure and slowly expanded it until it was ready for occupation. Then, they’d secured copies of the most important magical texts and organized them into the city’s premier location for magical research. One could find information on the Internet and any number of shops in the Quarter claimed to sell magical tomes, but from what she’d heard, the gnomish library was the real deal.

  Excitement stirred as she followed the instructions she’d been provided with and walked through the entire first floor to the very back corner of the room, where a paneled door with a brass knob marked Staff Only stood closed and looked decidedly forbidding. She tried the handle and it failed to turn as she’d known it would. Still, I had to check, right? She whispered an incantation and placed her hand flat on the panel as she’d been instructed, then pushed force magic into it. The door swung open without protest, and she darted through quickly and closed it softly behind her. A short staircase illuminated by only a single bulb took her to another door, and she repeated the process.

  When she emerged into the magical library, having no idea what to expect, her jaw dropped in awe. She was on the third level of a three-story structure, a long rectangle that stretched ahead of her to end a hundred feet or more in the distance. Overhead, an arched ceiling covered the space in a soft blue-tinted glow. No lights were visible, so she presumed it must be magic. It certainly looks magical—all of it. The staircase in front of her was made of etched glass, as were the sides and stairs. She walked down them carefully and stared at the symbols and pictures carved into the thick panes, unable to distinguish any apparent order to them. The first displayed the solar system, the next looked like Arabic writing, and the one after that showed a math equation she couldn’t even begin to understand.

  The staircase ended at the second level, which exte
nded over the center of the space and covered the middle third through most of the length. It had a parquet floor with a design that reminded her of the Q-bert game Dasante had made her play on a toy he’d bought. A bright red leather couch stood across from a wooden coffee table and two upholstered chairs, also in scarlet. Stairs led down to the left and right beyond them, and farther along the second level were three desks arranged in a U shape and covered with books and papers as if someone had stepped away for a moment.

  She walked carefully between the beautiful furniture and stretched a hand out to touch an illuminated manuscript on the coffee table, feeling a slight tingle of arcane power from the contact. Holy hell, this is amazing. How did I not know this was here? Even from inside, truly believing that she was under the library was a difficult idea to accept. She noticed belatedly that the walls to either side, all three stories high, were fashioned from bookshelves and filled with exquisite objects. These were mostly books, naturally, but also statues and wands on display and other items of magic she didn’t recognize the function of at all.

  In absolute awe, she stepped carefully to the bottom floor and again reviewed the images on each pane of glass she transited. The ground level was filled with standing desks, each containing more books and some with large maps and unbound sheets of what looked like vellum. She shook her head, amazed by the grandeur of the space—and the fact that it was underground and probably underwater, to boot. It felt like neither of those things and rather like a refuge among the clouds.

  Okay. I’m in love.

  Several people were present on the bottom level. A wizard stood at a desk and paged through a book with waves of his wand. A Drow female with short white hair in a very trendy style browsed a bookcase. At the back of the room and behind an intricately carved table covered in logbooks sat the person she was looking for. She approached quickly, her quiet boots soft on the wooden floor, and slipped into the chair opposite him. Unwilling to break the stillness of the incredible place, she simply waited patiently to be noticed.

  After several moments, he slid a bookmark into the open page and closed the book gently. He smiled at her over his perfectly braided white beard and the mustache above his upper lip stretched wide. “Caliste. It’s so nice to finally see you in person.”

  “Cali, please,” she replied. “You’re exactly as Zeb described you. Especially the beard. It is my honor to meet you, Scoppic.” He beamed at her. Her boss had told her that showing respect was essential as gnomes tended to inhabit the more formal end of the social expectations spectrum. And, in truth, anyone who worked in this place and had a hand in creating it deserved every amount of respect she could convey. “This is amazing. Beyond words. Well, beyond my words.”

  He laughed. “Mine as well. But you are here for a purpose, I believe. How may I help you?”

  She nodded and pulled her phone out. “I’m looking for information on two things. First, the sword that this is a piece of.” She called the image up and showed it to him, holding the device over the desk. He leaned forward and stared at it for almost a full minute without speaking, then returned to his former position.

  “It is almost certainly Atlantean. Those are very old Atlantean glyphs from a version of the language that predates the current one. I can point you in the right direction for some research on that topic.”

  Her heart beat extra rapidly at the revelation that there might be a light at the end of her tunnel. “The next challenge is a little harder, I think.” She swiped through a few images, then turned the phone toward him again. “This is a book my parents left for me. It’s either in a code or in a language I don’t understand. Do you know anything about it?”

  He responded more quickly this time. “No. I believe your first supposition is correct—that it is a code—as it looks like no tongue I have ever seen. While we do have excellent books on code-breaking, I don’t think that’s quite what you were looking for.”

  On another day, his response might have disappointed her. Today, though, in this grand place and with the answer to one of her questions potentially nearby, she was willing to let that slide. “No problem. How about you point me to the books about swords?”

  It wasn’t quite that easy, naturally. For those skilled in telekinesis, accessing materials would probably be a breeze. In her case, Scoppic had to escort her to the appropriate bookshelf and summon the correct tomes to float to the couch she had claimed. He had recommended six, the smallest as thick as her clenched fist and the largest about twice that size. She wanted to ask him for guidance but had the feeling it would make her look stupid, which she definitely didn’t want. Not in this place.

  Instead, she simply chose the first and opened it. The heavy leather cover was soft on her palms and the inside pages elegantly handwritten. It was like holding history in her hands. Okay, focus. You’re here for a reason other than to indulge your love of books. With a mental promise to return sometime simply for pleasure, she flicked carefully through the leaves of paper and scanned for headings or pictures that referenced swords. The tome was on the topic of artifacts in general, and although she found mentions of the weapons in several places, it was a broad discussion.

  The next one was about Atlantean weapons and mentioned swords often but not artifacts at all. She made a mental note to come back to it in her next visit as a picture of a warrior fighting with a trident and a net seemed like it might one day be relevant. The third book was entirely about Rhazdon artifacts. She’d heard of the half-Atlantean who had wreaked havoc on Oriceran but knew little about him—or was it her? I’ll ask Emalia when I have the chance. It could have a bearing on this, I suppose.

  In the fourth book, she hit pay dirt. The text discussed the history of Atlantis and a set of swords figured prominently. They were elegant weapons, the hilts long enough to accommodate a double-handed grip and the blades a shining silver-white with runes etched across every inch. Only the pommels differed, each decorated with a different kind of gem. There were nine swords, each associated with a family name that sounded old and august.

  She turned the page to find a description of each of the weapons. As she read it, a chill swept over her. Emalia had been correct on several counts. Each sword was different and concurred with her great aunt’s knowledge of the artifacts and went far beyond in reputed abilities. Because the actual blades and their engravings were identical, it was impossible to know which one her parents had left her a piece of or if the other shard she’d seen was truly part of the same weapon. But it has to be. There are no coincidences that big.

  Cali shut the tome and set it aside before she took a long, calming breath. A quick perusal of the remaining tomes added nothing. She let the tumult in her mind run free and focused her mind to simply look around the space, admire it, and bathe in the serenity of it. When she felt she could maintain her calm, she took the books to the gnome’s desk.

  He looked up from his records with a smile. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Oh yes. Could you keep this handy for me? I’ll ask my great aunt to come take a peek later today.”

  He reached out and accepted the book that had provided the most information. “Of course. I look forward to seeing her.”

  Cali set the remainder in a stack on a corner of his desk, not knowing what to do with them, and forced a smile. “Thank you so much for your help. Truly, this is a magnificent place.”

  Scoppic nodded with a broad grin. “You are welcome anytime.”

  “Oh, I’ll be back.” As soon as I get over the fact that my parents somehow came into possession of one of the magical swords that had been given only to the ruling families of Atlantis.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tanyith crept carefully through the sunset shadows around the back of the house and kept his head low so it wouldn’t be visible to anyone inside. The precaution was probably unnecessary as he’d cloaked himself in an illusion that would allow him to blend into the natural dark areas, but it never hurt to be careful. A
few days before, he’d tracked his current target, Gina Johnson, to this location. Since then, he had been unable to reacquire her. She worked for a bank but had been absent for two days. Her mother lived across town but hours spent watching that location hadn’t turned anything up either.

  His instincts told him it couldn’t be a coincidence. There was absolutely no way that someone he was tracking would vanish unless it was related to his search. And even if a small possibility that it was random chance existed, that didn’t change the need to find out what was going on. He peeked around the rear right corner of the house, hoping he’d see her on the porch with a drink and a friend, but found only empty silence.

  He defeated the back door easily with his lock pick gun and stepped into the small kitchen it opened into. The home was trapped in the seventies with orange countertops and an old ivory refrigerator, a yellow stove and oven, and no dishwasher but rather a drying rack with a few dishes and a bowl resting in it. He traced his fingers across them and confirmed that they were dry. A whispered word changed his cloaking spell to one that would work indoors where shadows weren’t plentiful, albeit less well. He’d never managed sufficient skill to totally do away with the strange visible ripple that sometimes appeared. Still, once again, it never hurt to be careful.

  The room had two exits, one to a hallway and the other to a dining room. He took the latter and squeezed his way around the large table and chairs that filled most of the space. The furniture looked older than the house and would require a team of people to move it in or out.

  Gina had left the gang voluntarily—before his own involuntary departure—to move in with someone she’d dated for a year. Everyone had wished her well, and he imagined she’d fallen off the gang’s radar shortly thereafter. Yet the house where she now lived was that of a single person and felt empty. He maneuvered through the small living room and checked the front door. It was locked with the chain in place. It’s not that weird. Many people use their back doors instead of the front when they head out to work. The logic failed to overcome the rapidly growing sense of concern that had brought him to the house.