Freedom (The Sorcerers' Scourge Book 4)

by Michael Arches

  He grinned. “Everybody higher than you in the food chain.”

  “Like who?”

  He ticked off names with his fingers. “The Council members, Ian, Gracie, Clara Bowe, the General Manager, and me. Others can suggest meetings, but they aren’t on the list of automatic acceptances.”

  Few things rankled me more than people telling me what to do, but when I glanced at Ian, he looked like he was ready to put a fist through the wall behind him.

  Best not to bother him. He can put me wherever he wants in the food chain.

  While I ate, I wondered what Maureen had in mind for me later. I still wasn’t convinced I needed any change, but Ian seemed adamant. I’d lost most of my freedom.

  -o-o-o-

  THE MEDITATION SESSION passed quickly, and the only problem I found was my current happiness with the Frenchman was much more distracting than I’d expected. He’d been too good to be true. It couldn’t last long, but while it did, my mental focus was shot to hell.

  For sparring, Ian gathered his Garda in a room with padded walls and mats covering the floor. We each wore a karate uniforms, and Jin and I wore spandex underneath.

  Always the contrary one, I asked, “Can I spar in spandex alone? It’s too easy for an opponent to grab the cotton uniform and pull me around.”

  Ian shrugged. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

  I was most comfortable wearing baby oil and a scowl. The oil made it a lot harder to grab my body parts, but I didn’t expect Ian would go along with that idea. So, I was content to slip out of the uniform and stand wearing black spandex shorts and a short-sleeved top.

  Frank leered at me, but I ignored him.

  “Moira,” Ian said, “this is how we spar. There are five of us, but I’m tough enough to handle two of you at a time. That leaves the other two who’ll spar with each other. Every ten minutes, we rotate through a progression so everyone gets a chance to learn from everyone else.”

  That seemed fair.

  “Any kind of hand-to-hand combat is acceptable,” the boss continued, “including any kind of street fighting but no spells. Every few days, we’ll stage matches that combine martial arts, staffs, and magic. The whole shebang.”

  Ian pointed to Tito and me and took us to one side of the room. That’s when I noticed the full measure of our prince. He was a taller than me, but he was built by the same gods who created the Rock of Gibraltar. Tito and I had our work cut out for us.

  Ian began by bowing to both of us, and we returned the gesture. Without any warning, I aimed a roundhouse kick at Ian’s stomach, hoping to catch him off-guard, but he slapped my foot away. His hand was hard, like it was made of iron. Undeterred, I aimed a one-two combination at his face, but my fists only hit his forearms. I hit more iron.

  Tito got into the game with his own punches, but Ian seemed to anticipate every attack either one of us launched. Even worse, from time to time, he launched a punch or kick at one of us. I managed to fend off most of his strikes, but when the landed, they hurt like a son of a bitch.

  The pace was brutal. I quickly learned not to pause because every time I did, he came after me. As long as I stayed on the offensive, he was mostly content to defend.

  All the while, Ian didn’t say a word. No criticism and no advice—just pure fighting.

  Before the ten minutes expired, I was exhausted, and Tito could hardly stand upright. Ian, on the other hand, was barely breathing hard. He whaled on us for slowing down, but we were out of gas.

  Thank the gods, the timer on his phone finally rang. He stopped pounding on us and bowed. “Good effort.”

  Talk about damning with faint praise.

  Next, I got paired up with Frank. I’d been looking forward to this matchup, although he was significantly bigger. If I could beat him, everyone would tease him endlessly.

  Frank was taller than me by an inch, and he was more muscular. He looked like one of those totally ripped bodybuilders you see on TV hawking fitness equipment or protein shakes.

  After a quick bow for decency’s sake, I tried for a strike against his knee.

  He’d apparently expected me to go for his balls, because he turned sideways, but that just made it easier for me to kick his left knee.

  His leg buckled, but when he began to topple over, he grabbed my arm.

  I should’ve stepped back faster, but he pulled me in. Without hesitating, he punched me with his free hand, hitting me in the breastbone.

  That hurt, and I gasped to catch my breath. Then I spun and caught him on the side of the head with an inverted roundhouse kick.

  I thought it would stun him, but he wrapped his arms around me from behind. His breath smelled minty as he said, “I knew you’d fall for me eventually, they always do.”

  Arrogant prick! I turned my head in case he was planning to kiss me. That didn’t happen, but he had me locked in a bear hug.

  When he stayed there for a moment, still pinning my arms to my body, I used the back of my head to smack his face. But my skull bounced off his bony chin. Pain radiated through my head.

  He yelled, “Ow.”

  I fought to keep from saying anything, but I wasn’t sure who’d been hurt worse, him or me.

  I was going to have a nasty bruise on my head later.

  He still didn’t let go, so I bent forward suddenly and stuck my right leg out in a judo move to throw him forward.

  He flipped onto the mat, still holding me, and I landed on top of him. I was no tiny ballerina. My weight knocked the wind out of him, and he finally let me go.

  He gasped as I rolled off him and stomped on one of his insteps. My only chance to beat him would be to hammer his vulnerable spots.

  I sprang to my feet before he could and kicked at his nose.

  Unfortunately, he jerked his head sideways so my foot barely grazed him.

  “What a nasty bitch you’re turning out to be, Moira.” He kept his voice low enough so Ian wouldn’t hear.

  Was I supposed to pretend to fight? Our fearless leader had said street fighting rules, which meant no rules.

  “What are you all pissy about?” I asked in a whisper. “I didn’t crunch your crown jewels.”

  “If you can’t win with legitimate punches and kicks, you should give up.”

  I snorted. “I’ll tell that to the next sorcerer I meet. He’ll die from laughing too hard.”

  Frank’s forehead furrowed, and he threw punch after punch at my face. A few got through, and damn, they hurt. He was so fast and strong I could only partially block his blows.

  So, I tried to dance away, which worked for a while, but he caught me in a corner.

  I punched and kicked back as hard as I could, but it wasn’t enough.

  When one left hook caught me right between the eyes, my muscles turned to Jell-O. I sank to the floor and fought to stay conscious as the room went in and out of focus.

  Faintly, I heard Ian send Tito for a healer. Then my prince peered into my eyes. “How you doing in there?”

  My tongue seemed to have grown three times in size. “Othay. Sorry for the tlouble.”

  A short chubby man with gray hair appeared over me and shooed the others back. He shined a small flashlight into each of my eyes.

  “A moderate concussion.” He cupped the sides of my head in his hands and began to sing opera. At least, in my impaired state, it sounded Italian.

  Within seconds, I felt fine again. My hazy vision cleared, and I couldn’t even feel the spot on the back of my head where I’d popped Frank’s chin.

  The old man smiled at me. “I’m Raphael Benito, at your service.”

  He turned to Ian. “No more sparring for the gladiatore today.”

  “Sure,” the boss said. “Any lasting damage?”

  Raphael shook his head, then patted me on the cheek. “She’s a tough one.”

  Note to self: watch out for Frank’s left hook.

  But the bottom line was I nee
ded to get stronger so I could handle sorcerers as powerful as him.

  My prince helped me to my feet. “Let’s knock off early. We’ll meet at four o’clock for our afternoon run.”

  The others took off, and I put on a karate uniform. Without a word, Ian led me by the hand to his office. Without asking, he poured us each two fingers of an amber liquid. It turned out to be tequila, but nothing like the rotgut I’d drunk on the rare occasions when I got any at all. This stuff went down easy.

  “Well…sorry about the fainting spells,” I said.

  He waved my worry away. “You bounced back. That’s the important thing.”

  “I’ve taken worse punishment than that over my pro career. In the ring, bouncing back fast is essential.”

  “I’m sure it is.” He grinned. “Bashing heads for money isn’t a game for sissies. Anyway, let’s talk for a minute about your total makeover with Maureen. I think you need an entirely new look for the public.”

  “Fine, I don’t see any downside as long as you can get me a new drivers’ license.”

  “No problem,” he said. “In addition, you need a young and innocent version to entice sorcerers.”

  That caught me by surprise, but I’d be going against some seriously tough assholes. I’d need every advantage I could get. “I’m fine with both, but around here, I want to look like myself.”

  “Sure.” He checked his watch, then gulped down his drink. “Time to go find the new Moira.”

  Just to make sure I didn’t let Ian and Maureen talk me into something stupid in a moment of weakness, I called Philippe. He agreed to join us.

  Chapter 19

  IAN AND I met my new boyfriend at Maureen’s apartment. Her living room was decorated with dozens of photographs of fashion models and famous Hollywood actresses. Since I’d last seen her, Maureen had changed her red hair to strawberry blonde, and it dropped a foot farther down her back. I was suddenly envious.

  She motioned for us to sit on her sofa and served us cups of herbal tea while we exchanged a few pleasantries. Then she asked, “What can I do for you today?”

  “I need a new look,” I said.

  Ian jabbed me with an elbow.

  “Okay, two new looks.”

  “For the usual compensation,” Ian said.

  She beamed at us from her richly embroidered wingback chair. “Excellent. Which one will be primary?”

  “Me,” I said, “I mean this Real Me now.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s make a few enhancements.”

  I didn’t like the sound of enhancements, assuming she meant changing me from what the gods had intended.

  “Relax, mon chouchou,” Philippe whispered. “I won’t let her turn you into a lingerie model, the horror.”

  Maureen snickered. “Follow me to my magic room.”

  We did. It looked like a hair salon. I’d never been in one, but I’d seen plenty of them in movies and TV shows. She motioned for me to sit in a fancy chair and sat behind me. Then she leaned me back until my head was almost in her lap.

  Instead of using brushes or lotions, she hummed to herself and rubbed parts of my face with her soft fingertips. My skin tingled, but otherwise, I didn’t feel anything. I thought it would happen quickly, but she just kept brushing her fingertips over my skin. I was almost falling asleep when she said, “Yes, that’ll do nicely.”

  I open my eyes, and she was holding a large mirror over my face.

  I definitely looked different, although I couldn’t say how. Maybe I looked younger. I touched my face, and my skin felt smoother. “Is this really what I should look like?”

  “No,” she said, “but it’s as close as you’ll let me get. Your nose could do with a little contouring. I’m sure your gentleman friend would agree.”

  I looked at Philippe, but he held his hands up as though saying stop right there. “Tu es très belle, mademoiselle.”

  Maureen pouted.

  “Let’s move on,” I said. “The second face—”

  Ian interrupted. “Whole body makeover.”

  I started again. “The second person is a whole-body makeover. I need to be inconspicuous so I can go out without anyone recognizing me.”

  Maureen set me up and started showing me photos on a tablet. I didn’t recognize any of the people. In fact, I would’ve been hard-pressed to describe them, other than by saying they looked average. These were the kind of folks I saw every day on the street and promptly forgot.

  At random, I picked a timid-looking brunette about my age.

  I figured that would present a massive challenge, and Maureen wrinkled her nose like I’d farted. But she set to work, this time running her hands over my entire body.

  The guys whispered to one another but didn’t speak to me or Maureen.

  After what seemed like hours, the glamour witch said, “Voilà.”

  She showed me new face with the mirror, and I didn’t see either myself or anyone familiar. Ian walked around me on all sides and said, “Maureen, I think you’ve outdone yourself this time. She’s perfect.”

  I stood and walked over to a full-length mirror. No more karate uniform and spandex. Instead, I wore a loose-fitting UC Santa Cruz sweatshirt and faded blue jeans. I must’ve lost fifty pounds. As best I could tell, I was six inches shorter and rail thin. No boobs or hips to speak of. My dark brown hair was parted in the middle and dropped to my shoulders. I was plain and forgettable, just like I’d asked for.

  “Thanks,” I said. “This woman is going to have a lot of trouble getting dates.”

  Maureen laughed like it was the funniest joke she’d ever heard. What it really amounted to was a compliment for her amazing talent.

  “Two down, and one to go,” Ian said. “The last one needs to be young and smoking hot, jailbait. I want a woman-child who looks totally weak and clueless, but sexy enough to convince any sorcerer to open his damned door for her.”

  That wasn’t exactly how he and I had talked about the third me, but he was the prince. I glanced at Philippe.

  He shrugged. “This Ian, he’s a sneaky one, yes?”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  Maureen pointed toward the chair. “I know exactly what you need. We’ll start with a young Emma Watson, including freckles. Then I’ll throw in a couple of Kardashians for curves.”

  I cringed. “That sounds like a toxic combination,”

  “A little bit nutty, but not at all slutty,” Ian said.

  Maureen held up her hand to stop us. “Trust the artist.”

  “Maureen, there’s a trip to Hawaii in it for you if you surprise me,” Ian said.

  “In that case….” Maureen didn’t finish her thought.

  I had no choice no choice but to go along. He was my master.

  I laid back in the chair, closed my eyes, and prayed to Bridget for salvation. Philippe held my hand to support me.

  The last transformation took the longest, and I became more and more nervous as it progressed. Maureen laughed too much and murmured to herself repeatedly.

  Ian stayed silent, except to say a couple of times, “More zing.”

  When Maureen said, “Get a load of you, girl.” I knew she’d gone nuts.

  Philippe’s only comment was, “Nom de Dieu!”

  By the gods? What had the woman done? I jumped up and dashed for the large mirror. Even before I got there, though, I noticed my loose-fitting clothes had vanished. I was wearing a tight pink T-shirt with kittens on it and skin-hugging white slacks. My stomach churned.

  At the mirror, Emma’s face looked back at me, covered with those freckles, but my hair was platinum blonde. I had big tits, out of proportion to the rest of my body, and round hips. “This is a sick joke, right?”

  Philippe covered his mouth with one hand and coughed.

  Ian shook his head. “Toughen up, kiddo. That face and body will get you through any asshole’s door. I guarantee it. He’ll be so focused on how he could poss
ibly peel you out of those pants that you’ll be able to clobber him with one whack from your staff. Which reminds me, you need a staff. Maureen, I owe you a trip to the islands.”

  She beamed at the three of us. “I live to serve.”

  I looked at Philippe, feeling lost. “Is he right?

  My main squeeze tried to speak a couple of times, then he burst out laughing. He bent over, and shrieked.

  My face flushed hot, and I turned on my Prince Charming. “You expect me to fight like this? Are you nuts?”

  He grinned but didn’t completely lose it like my boyfriend. “That look will get you in the door. After you get inside, you transform back into the real you and beat the shit out of him for thinking all those perverted thoughts about you.”

  Philippe finally got himself under control, and he hugged me. “Pardon, ma belle. That was such a shocking transformation from the powerful woman I know. I lost my mind for a moment.”

  Holding him comforted me. “I know I look ridiculous. The real question is, will this sick costume fool sorcerers into opening their doors? Or will they sense a trap?”

  “They won’t think at all. Instead, they’ll fall over themselves in their hurry to get you inside.”

  That was the name of the game. I’d agreed to become Ian’s disciple solely to earn power by beating assholes. It was my only chance to take on Eichmann and free Dana.

  I shrugged. “If I have to look like a Hollywood teenager, so be it. Maureen, how do I transform between the three different Moiras?”

  -o-o-o-

  IAN, PHILIPPE, AND I barely made it out to the front entrance to the inn in time for the afternoon run. When we arrived, Frank asked, “Where’s Moira?”

  What a tribute to Maureen’s powers. I’d changed into Inconspicuous Me, and the idiot didn’t have a clue. “How quickly they forget.”

  When he heard my voice, he did a double take. “I don’t believe it. I knew Ian wanted to change your look but wow!”

  “No time for chitchat,” our prince said. He took off, and I had to work like hell to keep up. Maureen had given me the muscles of a fifteen-year-old girl who obviously hadn’t exercised much.