Freedom (The Sorcerers' Scourge Book 4)

by Michael Arches

  “Of course,” he replied, “but just to be clear, I’ll probably have my disciples all chosen soon. So, to continue with the offer, in addition to the generous salary, I would work hard to improve your magical powers and particularly your fighting skills. You’d be entitled to deluxe accommodations here, of course, free of charge, including a hot tub in your suite. Plus, we belong to several prestigious wine clubs, and you’d receive a bottle of California’s finest every day of the week. Or, if you prefer scotch or tequila, we can make special arrangements.”

  “It sounds like a helluva deal, and I can’t help wondering why you don’t already have talented witches lining up at the door to sign on. What am I missing?”

  He picked up a crystal ball two inches in diameter on his desk and rolled it between his hands. “I have two disciples now, and I plan to double that number. I do have a dozen talented applicants for each position, but you have one thing they lack, namely a taste for the jugular. That beatdown you gave your former owner impressed me. You threw everything you had into it, almost lost, but pulled the win out of thin air.”

  I tried to control my embarrassment at him noticing my weakness, but my face warmed against my will. “I almost bit off more than I could chew, but man, was it was worth taking that risk.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Your magical power isn’t anything to write home, but you have the right attitude.”

  That crack caught me off guard. “What are you talking about? I’ve fought over a hundred times, and I’ve won ninety-five percent of my matches.”

  “Since we’re speaking candidly, I’ve seen better fighters. You’ve won a hundred and eleven matches, but most of those were exhibition bouts, weren’t they? Nothing but pride at stake.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “I fought a half dozen winner-take-all battles and won every one.”

  He nodded. “Congratulations…but now, you’ll risk slavery every time.”

  I tamped down my annoyance. “I won the championship for California a few weeks ago.”

  He tossed the crystal ball at me, and I caught it in the nick of time before it thumped me on the forehead. “For women in your weight class, but from now on, you’ll be fighting mostly men. Look, I’m not trying to downplay your success, but when you go out to fight sorcerers to reclaim your family, you’re going to need more magical power than you now have. Right?”

  Finally, he was getting to the point. “Uh, maybe. I won’t know until I find each bastard owner. Some of them are weak. Easy pickings.” I tossed back his ball.

  “Agreed,” he said as he caught the ball easily. “Some sorcerers aren’t that tough, but they’re all rich—can rent muscle. If you were working for me, of course, we’d make sure the sorcerers you go after were weak enough for you to beat. Those wins, and lots of tough training, could turn you into a formidable fighting machine. Why not spend a few months building your strength? Your family has been in slavery for many years. What difference will a few months make?”

  Chapter 7

  I STOOD AND paced the room. Damn, he was stubborn. “I don’t know, and I don’t intend to find out. Gladiators do occasionally get killed or sent far away, and I don’t want to take that chance with my family.”

  He shook his head and paused before saying, “Okay, think about this option. I hear you have some ideas about Dana’s whereabouts, but you’re relying on the skills of an eight-year-old who’s sometimes too big for her britches. I, on the other hand, have access to superbly trained professional detectives who have years of experience finding sorcerers who don’t want to be found. If you work with me, I’ll give you free access to those experts. So, when you’re working full time for me, you’ll still probably find your family members faster than if you do it on your own.”

  He had a point. “Maybe that will work for Cara or my mom, but at the moment, I have a short list of people who might be holding Dana. I need to check those possibilities out right away.”

  He pointed his finger at me. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I can tell you that ten of your possibilities are a waste of time. There are only three potential owners near Sacramento that you should investigate, and one of them isn’t even on your list.”

  That surprised me. “How do you know? Sorcerers keep their dark world private.”

  “If you were my disciple and you owed a duty to keep my secrets, I’d be happy to tell you. As it is now, though, I figure your odds of you remaining free are fifty–fifty, at best, so I’m not inclined to explain.”

  I blew out a deep breath. “Fair enough. I don’t want to put any of your sources or your people at risk. Can you at least tell me who the right three men are?”

  He pushed three sheets of paper across the table. Each sheet contained a photograph of a man, a summary of his recent activities, and a detailed description of his property. Two were in Sacramento, and the third lived in the foothills east of the city. I folded the pages and put them in my pocket.

  “Thank you. I will consider your offer carefully. It should only take me a few days to check these out. I understand that you may fill your positions before I wise up enough to accept the job.”

  Ian raised his hands in resignation. “Fine. Listen, if you do get into serious trouble, you’ll be too far away for me to do you much good. I have two dear friends who are spending a few months in Napa, which is much closer to Sacramento. One of them is an extraordinary fighter. I’ve mentioned your crazy scheme to them in general terms. If you get in trouble, you can call them for help. Here’s their numbers.”

  He scribbled two names and phone numbers down on a notepad and passed it over to me. One was named Gill Carmichael, and the other was Katie O’Dell. I folded it and put it in my pocket with the other information.

  Then I stood. Thank you so much for all your help. I would like to work with you in the future, but I have to do this first.”

  He stood and shook my hand. “Best of luck. Stay in touch. By the way, what’s your phone number?”

  I sighed. “Actually, I don’t have one yet. I’m planning on picking up a cell phone tomorrow.”

  He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Do you have a credit card? You know that you’ll need a credit history to qualify for cell plan, right?”

  No, I hadn’t known that. “Everybody seems to have one these days, including homeless people.”

  “You can get a no contract phone, but it’s likely to be bare-bones. But the more important problem is going to be how can you pay for place to stay in Sacramento? Unless you have a credit card, you’ll have a hard time finding a motel.”

  I’d stayed and lots of motels over the years, but I’d never paid for the rooms. “I’ll figure something out.”

  He looked at the ceiling and groaned. “Lastly, you ought to be carrying a gun. Single women running around in sketchy places are likely to run into trouble. Unfortunately, you can’t qualify for a concealed carry permit, so take this instead.”

  He reached into a drawer and took out a small can of mace. Then he showed me how to use it. I took the can from him and hurried out before he thought of some other excellent reason why I couldn’t do what I needed to do.

  Instead of eating in the dining hall, where I might run into Laura or Christina, who might pressure me to stay, I grabbed a small sausage pizza from a to-go table there and took it to my room.

  While I ate, I studied the printouts Ian had given me. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why these three were better prospects than the others. Not that I doubted him. He obviously understood the opposition much better than me. It was just that I couldn’t serve as his disciple while still running off at a moment’s notice to fight for Dana or the others.

  -o-o-o-

  Friday, January15th

  I WOKE UP to the sound of rain lashing against my sliding glass door that led to a small balcony. Not ideal weather for a drive.

  Not for the first time, I realized that Mother Nat
ure hated me. Nevertheless, I was committed to leaving. At breakfast, I tried to avoid Ian by sitting at a table all by my lonesome.

  But he dropped by anyway.

  After shared good mornings, he said, “No, I’m not here to try to talk you out of your quest. I know this is something you feel you have to do.”

  I blew out a sigh of relief. “I intend to stop by your table on the way out and say goodbye to all three of you. You’ve each helped me tremendously.”

  He beamed. “Laura and Christina will love that.” He took several folded pages from an inner pocket in his sport coat. “It occurred to me after we talked that it might help you to see some basic information on your two sisters’ professional careers.”

  I looked at the sheets he handed me. The first contained two pages of statistics about Dana’s matches. The summary provided lots of details about who she’d fought, and what types of magic and body blows she’d used. The bottom of the last page showed her schedule for the next three months. At least she was hanging in there.

  “Don’t ask how I got it,” he said. “Both your sisters have enjoyed good success in fighting, similar to you, and part of the credit is given to your father’s bloodline. His family has produced champions for centuries.”

  Why should that pig get any credit for our hard work? “It’s like we’re horses people are betting on.”

  “Exactly. I wish this told you where your sisters live. It would be too dangerous for you to show up at a gladiator event and try to bust them out.”

  “Probably,” I said. “But I really appreciate the info.”

  When he left, I studied the two summaries. Thank the gods, they were both kicking ass. Once a gladiator began a downward spiral, the abuse they took from disappointed owners and fans made it almost impossible to snap back. Those fighters usually end up as house slaves or street whores. Hopefully, I’d eliminate the risk for my sisters soon.

  Dana’s report said she was managed—she was really owned—by Antonio Suarez in the Central Valley League. It covered a territory from Fresno in the south to Redding in the north. Cara was owned by Wang Lee in the Bay Area League. So, she lived in one of the dozens of cities near San Francisco or Oakland. I knew a lot more about Dana’s whereabouts, so it made sense to go after her first.

  Then I realized something. The first names of the three possible owners Ian had told me about yesterday were all variations on Antonio. This report had clued him in.

  Time to hit the road. I cleared my table, but I had one more loose end to take care of. I couldn’t walk around with all the cash Gracie had given me. I spotted her sitting at a table with a bunch of other folks, and I asked her for a moment of her time.

  When we stepped away from the others, I pulled the envelope she’d given me out of my pocket. “I can’t take most of this with me. Do you have a safe you could throw it in? I’ve kept fifteen-hundred.”

  “Sure, or I can create an account for you here. I run a little private bank for the clan.”

  There she went again, being even more helpful than I wanted. “Maybe later, after I’ve gotten Dana free. For now, the safe would be perfect.”

  She took the envelope and stuffed it in her pocket. “Be damned careful. I’m growing fond of your stubborn self.”

  “Yeah, right back at you. Thanks so much for everything.”

  Then I walked over to the O’Rourkes who were eating at a large table with six other people, including Frank. A tiny kitten roamed the table mooching food from the kids while the parents pretended not to notice. Laura was nursing a contented Samuel. I said a quick goodbye to all, and gratefully accepted a hug from Christina.

  “I’ll come back to see you as soon as I can,” I said. Their happy little family tugged at my heartstrings. Maybe I’d someday have a family, too, but I had work to do first.

  On the way out of the dining room, I waved at Philippe. As usual, he was surrounded by a group of kids and women. He waved back and blew me a kiss. All my suspicions about him vanished. If I got back this way, I needed to join the scrum and fight for some TLC from the guy.

  -o-o-o-

  BEFORE I LEFT Monterey behind, I stopped at one of the big box retailers and bought a no contract smartphone. The girl at the counter looked to be fifteen, but within five minutes, she had me set up with all the basic Android apps. The maps program gave me directions to get to the Central Valley so I could drive up Interstate 5 to Sacramento.

  All the while, it rained harder than ever. There were a couple of times when I’d wished I had stayed behind until the weather improved. People kept racing toward me at high speed out of dense clouds.

  Despite stop and go traffic around lots of accidents, I made it to the Sacramento metro area shortly after noon. Thank the gods, the clouds cleared, and things seemed to be looking up. The closest Antonio Suarez lived in a southern suburb called Elk Grove. I found the address with no trouble. His house was plenty big for a dozen slaves, but it was the only nice place in the area. It sat in an otherwise empty field across the street from a tired old subdivision filled with cheap bungalows. That neighborhood gave me the creeps. Most of the houses were run down, and many of the driveways were filled with cars propped up on blocks. Even weirder, most of the homes were surrounded by tall, wrought iron fences. I hadn’t seen anything like this before.

  Suarez’s house was five times bigger than any of the bungalows. Why didn’t he live in a better area? I didn’t want to leave my car long enough to walk past Suarez’s house and back. But I didn’t have much choice, not if I wanted to stay inconspicuous while I got close enough to the property to sense any wards.

  So, I parked my car on Suarez’s side of the street in front of the large field filled with weeds. I locked my purse, which contained all the cash I’d brought, in the glove box and put my keys, my phone, and the can of mace in my jeans’ pockets. Then I walked along the side of that street as nonchalantly as I could, like I was out for a stroll. Hopefully, people in this neighborhood did walk around, at least in broad daylight.

  As soon as I started out, though, several people across the street stared at me from their yards, as though I had two heads. I obviously didn’t fit in somehow, but couldn’t see why. The neighborhood was a mixture of whites, Hispanics, and blacks, so it wasn’t race. I was wearing old jeans and a faded T-shirt, so hadn’t overdressed. But they’d still realized I was an outsider.

  Too late for second thoughts. I walked about fifty yards to the corner of Suarez’s property, and with each step, I fought to control my nervousness. I was just out for a stroll after the rain.

  Suarez’s mansion sat on about an acre, and the front yard was neatly landscaped. Several large beds of pansies bloomed near a covered front porch, and the lawn contained a five old fruit trees. The home would’ve fit into a fancy neighborhood filled with doctors and lawyers, and I kept wondering how it ended up there?

  As I walked along the front fence, I kept my mind open to the telltale signs of a magical ward, but I felt nothing along the fence. Just to be sure, I walked the entire frontage, trying not to stare at the house too often. Maybe it was owned by a legal businessman who grew up in this neighborhood and hit it big, like a marijuana grower or rap musician.

  I’d almost made it to the far side of the property when furious barking erupted close behind me on the opposite side of the fence. The shock made me jump a foot in the air. Someone laughed across the street.

  When I spun around to see the dog that’d snuck up on me, I notice a black pit bull trying to shove his ugly face through the bars of the fence to get at me. He probably weighed a hundred pounds, and he literally foamed at the mouth.

  What a catastrophe. Across the street, several people began pointing at me and screaming at me in Spanish.

  I tried to remain calm as I walked back toward my car. The pit bull followed alongside me until I got to the corner of the property, still barking his fool head off. Thankfully, the fence was sturdy, because he wanted nothing
more than to rip me apart.

  Finally, I left the crazy beast behind and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. No one had come out of the house with a gun, and my car wasn’t far away anymore.

  I glanced at it, just to be sure, and it was still intact. But three guys walking toward me on other side of the street crossed in front of it.

  The biggest one was a twentysomething white man with short hair and tattoos covering his arms and neck. He was over six feet tall and stocky. The other two were Hispanic, still teenagers. One of them was short and baldheaded, and the other was tall and lanky. All three acted casual, but I knew better. They were wolves on the prowl, and I was their prey.

  Not having much choice, I walked straight toward them. As I did, I tried to act relaxed, too. My right thumb hooked on my back pocket. I needed to make sure the can of mace was still there. It was.

  They didn’t seem like sorcerers, but I couldn’t be sure. More likely, they were three punks who’d spotted a target of opportunity. Either way, they stood between me and my car.

  I kept walking toward them, hoping I was misjudging the situation. When they were only twenty feet away, White Guy said, “Hey, babe, what you doing at Antonio’s? He don’t like strangers hanging around.”

  “Nothing at all,” I said, trying to be polite on the minuscule chance they weren’t looking for trouble. And I kept hoping to pass them quickly.

  But they stopped and spread out, like they were trying to create an invisible barrier. All three opened their arms wide to block my way.

  “Hey, don’t be lying,” White Guy said.

  My best chance was to appear vulnerable for as long as possible, then take out the big prick first. If I caught him by surprise, I might be able to put him down before the others ganged up on me.

  Still, I didn’t want to throw the first punch, just in case I was wildly misunderstanding their intentions. Right before I would’ve ran into White Guy, I ducked and tried to sneak to the left between him and Lanky Guy.