A Game of Witches (The Order of Shadows Book 3)

by Kit Hallows

  It was going to take more than a pint of water to cure what was coming to his beleaguered senses tomorrow, but I didn’t want to ruin his optimism.

  “Bastion Stout,” called the bored karaoke host. “Bastion Stout,” he glanced at the list in his hand. “Please take the stage for The Pixies, Gigantic.” He held the microphone out as the three dwarves jumped from the edge of the stage and vanished from view.

  “Balls and clangers,” Bastion shouted, “I’m too busy to sing, there are far too many marvelous ales to quaff!”

  The host shrugged and glanced back at his list.

  “That and the fact that we're heading out to the armory. Right now,” I added as I bent down, my cupped hand directing the words toward his ear.

  “Yes, and that. Come, let’s get it done quickly so I can return and…” Bastion looked confused.

  “Quaff marvelous ales.”

  “Yes, indeed!” Bastion set his tankard down before a table of stoned-looking witches. “Hold my beer,” he barked, before turning and stumbling through the crowd.

  No one gave us a second glance as we made our way through the magical quarter, but the blinkered side of the city was a different story. Thankfully it didn’t take long to flag down a cab. The driver only glanced at us once, and then ignored us for the rest of the journey. Like utterly rat-assed dwarves were the least of the annoyances she’d had to endure.

  We pulled up outside the video shop which served as a front for the armory, but once I finally managed to coax Bastion from the cab, he shook his head. “No, we need to take a less cosmic… conspic…conspicurous…”

  “Conspicuous,” I finished.

  “Yes. That. This way.” Bastion led me around the corner and down a narrow side alley. “Stealth is imperativilquey important,” he said, as he stumbled into a trash can and watched it clang and rattle across the ground. “Tin bastard,” he said, his voice echoing off the walls. He raised a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

  I followed him to an old, innocuous-looking wooden door. On the wall beside it was a thin dark rectangle with a strip of faceted glass. I couldn’t see the binds and wards that protected it, but I could certainly feel their presence. Bastion pulled a thin copper keycard from his pocket and held it up. “It’s Snarksmuth’s. I shhtole it from him.” He laughed as he tried to press it to the scanner, but struggled to keep his hand still long enough for it to read it. I took the card from him and placed it against the crystal-like glass. Moments later it glowed with a faint blue light and a keypad appeared on the screen.

  “2409,” Bastion said.

  I pressed the numbers. There was a click and the door swung open.

  Bastion led the way and we passed through a back room and emerged into the armory proper. The fixtures were off, but the whole place was aglow from the crystals in the glass display cases.

  “Let there be light!” Bastion said. He snapped his fingers. The overhead lamps blinked on and I got the impression from his grin that he never tired of this little stunt. Then he plucked a large black rifle from the wall and shouted. “Let’s go and get these bastards. Or bitches. Or bitchstards,”

  I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “Should I just do this buffet style and help myself?” I asked.

  “Sure. But write it all down so I know what you took; I’ll need to find a way to account for it come Monday. Meanwhile, I’ll keep watch.” Bastion pulled himself up onto his stool, set the rifle down and laid his head on the counter. Within moments the room was filled with the rumble and thunder of his wheezing snores.

  I started with a few handfuls of crystals and ammunition for my pistol, keeping a tally as I went. Going up against this blinkered drug dealer would require more firepower as well as stealth. I dug through the cupboards and drawers meticulously, loading up my bag with tricks and potions.

  “What?” Bastion asked, as he sat up straight, a line from the counter imprinted across his forehead. “Morgan,” he said, nodding to me and looking about quickly. And then his addled memory seemed to kick in and a sliver of comprehension dawned upon him. “Got what you need?” he asked.

  “I think so. Unless you’ve got anything special you’ve holding out on?” I glanced towards the workshop across the room. It was sealed shut with a heavy steel door and at least forty or so padlocks.

  Bastion stared at me for a moment, then a slow, wide smile passed over his face. “Where are you headed?”

  “A place near the mountains. It’s a bit of a fortress from what I’ve heard. And heavily guarded so I'll need to be as stealthy as possible.”

  “Hmm. I may have something that might be of interest. Of course it’s just a prototype, I mean it could fail at any point and take you tumbling to a bloody death. But you're a man who takes risks, aren’t you.”

  “I've been known to.” I watched as Bastion sauntered to the door and pressed his hand upon a brick on the wall beside it. It seemed the padlocks were a decoy, or maybe they were just there to irritate Snarksmuth, because the door swung open on the un-padlocked side and struck the wall with a heavy clang. The workroom was filled with shadows cast by a few dim, softly glowing lights. A hum of machinery came from within and I began to follow Bastion as he stumbled toward it but he rounded on me. “No, no, no, you’re not coming in here, Rook. No bastards welcome. Asides from me. Now be a good human and wait over there while Santa Bastion fetches you a present or two.”

  It was dark by the time we finished, and the pack I carried on my back was heavy and cumbersome.

  “Keep it covered,” Bastion whispered. “Trade secrets, and all that. I tell you that machine’s the slice of the future this world's been waiting for.” A dark look crossed his face. “Once it’s fully operational, of course.”

  I was kind of hoping it was already fully operational. Knowing Bastion’s diligence it would be, but it was still a prototype. But, for now it was the best bet I had for swooping in and taking out Raphael Nagle without a shot being fired. Or so I hoped.

  We stood at the end of the alley under the bright street lights as a crowd of blinkereds wandered by.

  “Good luck with your top secret mission,” Bastion said. “I hope you survive with all your bits and pieces intact. Come to the pub afterwards, if you can. They’re open till dawn. I’ll put you down for karaoke. Maybe Creep, or Psycho Killer. That’ll suit you.” He patted my arm.

  “Thanks, Bastion.” I fished into my wallet and handed him fifty bucks. “Have a few on me. Just be sure to have some glasses of water as well. I’m saying this for the sake of future Bastion, so maybe he can avoid a little of the hell and pain tomorrow looks set to be bringing him.”

  Bastion took the money and nodded to me. “I will, have no fear. And don’t forget, a glass of purest water will be delivered to my chair at midnight.” He touched the side of his nose again, like I was somehow complicit. “Now, good luck! Fly like an eagle… or should I say, Rook. Soar high and never show a shred of fear.” He staggered off along the road, cutting a small, but surprisingly effective path through the crowd of blinkereds as he went.

  31

  I stood on top of the hill that overlooked Nagle’s sprawling estate. The place was huge. Acres of gardens stretched from the wide arched driveway at the front of the mansion all the way to the highway that bordered the far side of the property. Near the back of the structure a large grove of trees swept out in a park-like swath that blended seamlessly into the foothills of the mountains behind it.

  It looked exactly like the kind of residence that might be owned by a Hollywood mogul or a crooked politician.

  Or a prolific drug dealer.

  I grabbed my telescope and panned across the entire area, scoping out both the house and the grounds. It didn’t take long to spot Raphael Nagle. He was lounging on a bean bag chair in his tricked out media room, games controller in hand, face tight and red from the fat line of coke he’d just snorted. A pair of headphones encircled his head, and he flailed his arms as he shouted at the giant screen on the wall
before him.

  He looked like an overgrown boy, his tousled hair hanging in his wide blue eyes, his mouth set in a tantrum-like scowl. He was clearly someone used to getting his own way. A toxic, narcissistic little man-child.

  I looked forward to breaking him.

  The man in the room with him wore a fitted black suit, shades, and an ear piece. By the way he kept a watchful eye on the windows, and spoke into the com mic on his wrist, I figured this was the head of security Haskins had warned me about on the phone just before I’d arrived. McCabe. He had a stocky build that seemed to be hewn from granite. The scars on his face spoke volumes and I got the impression he was ex-military by his bearing. According to Haskins, he was not a man to be messed with. Like I needed to be told. “This is going to be fun.”

  I flipped the filter on my telescope to enhanced sight. The enchantment on the fine crystal lens made everything look almost infrared as I scanned the grounds for the telltale glow of beating hearts.

  There were ten security guards, not counting McCabe. Four were posted inside the house, the other six patrolled the gardens and the grove out back. I’d need to take them out before I went in for Nagle. That way we could spend some quality time together, without me having to worry about getting a bullet in the back of the head.

  Everything on the scene was pretty standard as far as I could tell, yet some of the guards’ pulses were racing faster than they should have been. I scanned the grounds again and concluded, from their twitchiness, that several of them were high. Probably from dipping into the boss’s supply.

  That meant they'd be jumpy and difficult to predict. Dangerous.

  After what seemed like forever, McCabe stood and left Nagle’s room. I watched him through the walls and followed his pulsing heart as he made his way up to the roof and emerged beside the heated swimming pool. He lit a cigarette, leaned back on the balcony, and gazed up at the stars.

  An opening. It was time.

  I strapped on Bastion’s prototype. It was fitted with a bulky nylon harness but the wings were as light as balsa wood. He’d said the skin he’d used was formed from a special kind of silk mixed with something brilliant he refused to divulge. The real weight of the contraption came from the twin jets that provided the lift. Bastion had assured me that the flames, produced by the fuel he used, only generated a pure black light, making it perfect for stealth.

  “This better work,” I muttered as I clutched two crystals, absorbed their magic and took a running leap over the hillside.

  The wings kicked in almost immediately and sent me soaring. The hill fell away below my feet and I could see my shadow on the moonlit ground as I glided over the highway. Wind whistled past my ears and the wings crackled like sails as I neared the stately gardens and gradually drifted down.

  I pulled a lever on the brace and the jets kicked in, sweeping me up into the air but I cut the throttle as I neared the house.

  McCabe was still preoccupied with the stars and his cigarette. All was silent, peaceful and calm. I swooped toward him, jamming on the jets as I neared. He turned my way as the hiss and sputter of the flames broke the silence.

  Too late.

  I used the magic from the crystals to hit him with an immobilizing spell. He was stunned, and I struck, grabbing him under the arms before he could fall. I sailed on, taking us up over the rooftop. McCabe swayed below me, paralyzed.

  “Damn it!” He weighed more than I’d expected, and he was beginning to drag us down into the parklands. I yanked the jet lever, and we swept back up, the tops of the trees thwacking the soles of my shoes.

  Thunk

  Then one of the jets sputtered as it wiggled in its mooring. I saw a metallic shimmer out of the corner of my eye as rivets popped and fell away. We went wheeling into a tail spin. The world spun round, and round.

  Trees, stars, trees, stars.

  “Shit!” We were going to crash.

  Hard and fast.

  32

  Branches whipped my face and hands as we spun through the trees and the ground shot up toward me. I dropped McCabe and used the last of the magic to cast a protective shield around myself.

  Thud

  I struck the earth. The spell absorbed most the blow, but it still felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my chest. Air rushed from my lungs and white dots exploded before my eyes.

  “Good job, Bastion.” I pulled myself up, switched the contraption off and unbuckled the harness. One of the jets was completely missing and the other spluttered and hissed like an asthmatic cobra. I folded the wings back and laid the thing out on the ground. Bastion had given me permission to destroy it if anything went really, really wrong. Which was probably a clue that I shouldn’t have taken the damn prototype in the first place, that and the fact that its key feature was essentially turning me into a human canon ball.

  I hated to trash the thing, especially knowing Bastion would never have even let me see it, let alone take it, if he hadn’t have been so stinking drunk, but I couldn’t leave evidence laying around that could get traced back to the Organization.

  I took a flask of Everluminant from my bag, dowsed Mr. Stout’s sputtering one man death trap and struck a match, then I walked away as a loud whumph roared behind me. Dancing orange light lit the trees and moments later the fuel tank exploded, destroying all of Bastion’s hard work.

  McCabe was still sprawled out in the grass where I’d dropped him, but the paralysis spell was wearing off. I reached into my bag for a pouch of zombiefication dust and blew it into his eyes. Slowly, they dimmed and his jaws unclenched. He stared back at me with a milky blue gaze, unseeing, unknowing.

  “Call your men, tell them to converge on the fire in the grove,” I said.

  He raised his wrist and spoke into the microphone tucked under his shirt sleeve. “All units, converge on the fire in the grove.” His voice was a flat steady monotone. Not that he’d struck me as the kind of man who’d possessed oodles of charisma in the first place. He put a finger in his ear to seal off the receiver, a motion initiated by muscle memory.

  “Good. Now it’s sleepy time.” I set the palm of my hand upon his head, before pushing him back to the ground. He closed his eyes and his head lolled to the side. Using magic on blinkereds was almost too easy sometimes.

  I slipped behind the wide trunk of a large oak tree and cast an invisibility spell over myself as I waited for his men.

  It didn’t take long.

  A guard appeared to my left. I hadn’t heard his approach. He moved silently through the brush, his eyes locked onto the flames coming from Bastion’s burning machine. I grabbed a pair of enhanced spectacles from my bag and peered through their ground crystal lenses to follow his beating red heart.

  He'd heard me move but before he could react I wrapped the crook of my arm around his throat and cut off his airway. He fought, but not for long.

  I dragged him into the brush and readied myself as a second guard charged over the rise. His heart raced like a marathon runner’s as he glanced round, his movements twitchy, his finger curled over the trigger of his pistol. I crept up behind him before he had a chance to turn, and cast a sleep spell that knocked him out.

  I prowled through the undergrowth, slowly taking down guard after guard, concealing their bodies out of sight. I had seven of McCabe’s guards neutralized, and the eighth in a neck hold when a branch snapped behind me.

  My spell had worn off, he could see me.

  I wheeled around as the gun went off. The unconscious guard in my arms took the hit, his bulletproof vest absorbing the impact. He fell to the ground as I loosened my hold and ran at the attacker, low and fast. The second shot roared out from my right.

  There was nothing I could do.

  I had no cover.

  33

  Move, or you’re a dead man.

  I shook as my other forced me aside. Time slowed. Everything slowed. I watched the bullet cut through the air. It was right on target. I melted into the background as he took control.


  The bullet was less than an inch from my chest and its trajectory aligned with a gap in my armor-like coat.

  No! A searing growl ripped through me.

  The ground shook, and the air trembled as the bullet exploded into a hot glowing starburst. I felt its blazing heat but before the spatter of molten metal reached me it vaporized.

  I tried to wrestle back to the foreground and take control but my other had the edge. He set his deep, animalistic fury loose. As he threw out a hand, an unseen force hit the guard to our right, and the shooter flew back into a tree trunk.

  There was a terrible crack, but my eyes were trained on the first attacker as my other raced toward him. I could only watch as my hands reached up and seized his head.

  I wanted to look away, wanted to see anything but the abject terror in the man’s eyes as his vitality, his life, and what little light was left of his spirit was drained away. I felt the pulsing warmth of his soul as my other absorbed it, adding to his own hideous black energy.

  This was dark magic.

  Evil magic.

  The writhing man screamed, his cries the most despairing thing I’d ever heard, as his very cells were shredded one by one. Then a glow appeared in his chest and he shuddered in agony as his heart began to burn.

  I forced myself up, regained some control and stepped back, ashamed of the smile that danced on my lips. It wasn’t mine.

  Give me back my mind! I screamed with rage.

  My other laughed, but the force behind it was weak and frayed. The atrocities he’d performed had taken almost everything out of him. I seized the moment to wrestle back control of my consciousness. And once I had it, I shoved him aside.

  I saved you. His voice was low and furious.

  “You saved us. Now back off.”

  The guard on the ground was still screaming as the fire within him spread. I took careful aim and shot him, ending his agony.