Freedom (The Sorcerers' Scourge Book 4)

by Michael Arches

  “What’s going on?” I asked my prince.

  “I’ll tell you in a bit. It’s not good news.”

  Raphael showed up, and he ended the sorcerer’s pain, but he made no effort to restore his hand. Given the power of the spell, I doubted that anyone could have reversed that curse.

  When Raphael finished soothing the sorcerer’s pain, Ian said, “Go back to your boss in Riverside. Tell him and everyone else of your kind that if they send any more assassins into my region, I will turn their hands into ash. No mercy. Now go.”

  The sorcerer didn’t wait to be told twice. He jumped up, ran to a car parked on the street nearby, and tore off.

  Ian motioned for me to follow him, and we sat alone in Raphael’s car. Eichmann had to be involved in this mess. I steeled myself for bad news.

  “First, as you’ve probably already figured out, Don Eichmann sent this assassin to kill you. I’ve had enough of being chased by hired guns. That’s why I burned off the hand he uses to cast spells.”

  “Okay, Laura has told me about the problems you’ve had with professional killers. I agree, no mercy. What else did you learn?”

  I didn’t ask him how he’d learned. I’d stood there the whole time and watched. The sorcerer hadn’t told Ian anything, simply screamed and begged. Our dread prince must’ve read the guys mind.

  “Second,” Ian said, “the assassin gave me a clear understanding of how powerful Eichmann is. Despite your incredibly hard work, and your success with fighting so far, you’re still considerably less powerful than him.”

  My heart sank. I’d done nothing all day long for weeks except train and fight. While I’d gained strength, it obviously wasn’t enough. And I didn’t know how to advance to a much higher level, which I’d need to beat Eichmann.

  “I’m not happy to hear that, but at least now I know, for sure, what I need to do. Or at least, you do.”

  He nodded. “Don’t look so forlorn. I’ve been in worse jams and pulled through, but we need to ramp up your power quickly because…the third piece of bad news I learned was that Eichmann plans to leave soon. He’s heading for Berlin in a week, and he plans to fight Dana and his other gladiators on the Eastern European circuit for a few years. He thinks that’s where the big money can be made.”

  I leaned my head back in my seat, stared at the roof liner, and groaned. “A week? Shit! I’ve got one week to beat the monster before he runs out of reach?”

  Ian took my hand in his. “I’m so sorry. Don’t give up hope. We’ll work harder to build your strength.”

  I grasped at any hope he could give. “How?”

  He sighed. “I didn’t say it would be easy. You’re going to have to get control of the anger you’ve buried deep.”

  I groaned. “Are you crazy? It’ll get me killed. You said so yourself.”

  “I don’t know another way.”

  Although I knew it was futile, I said, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He gave me a one-armed hug. “Knew you would. I’ve talked to Gill about it, and he thinks you need to visit Katie. Do it fast.”

  -o-o-o-

  WE LEFT THE car, and Ian asked us at the café to keep quiet about what’d happened. That was fine. The only person I would’ve told was Philippe, and he’d watched Ian’s take-down right next to me.

  Most of us ran back to the inn, but Raphael drove. When we got there, nobody celebrated. Philippe and I sat at our separate tables for a normal dinner.

  But the news of Ian’s punishment didn’t stay quiet long. Several online sorcerer newspapers carried garish photos of the assassin’s charred stump. The headline of one blared in big, bold type, Ian O’Rourke Declares Total War on Dark Magicians: “I’ll Turn Your Hands to Ash.”

  For once, a tabloid’s headline was accurate. All during dinner, folks came to our table to tell Ian they supported his punishment for the assassin completely.

  After dinner, Philippe and I found a quit spot inside the gazebo and talked over what we’d seen and what Ian had told me about visiting Katie.

  Then I asked my boyfriend, “What do you think? Would you be willing to come?”

  Philippe swirled a glass of cognac. “Of course, ma petite. I love the drive along the coast.”

  Chapter 22

  Saturday, February 20th

  PHILIPPE EXPERTLY PILOTED my Mercedes up the coast to San Francisco, where we had lunch at a fabulous French bistro. Then we took Highway 1 up through Stinson Beach, past Point Reyes and arrived at Gill and Katie’s place before dinnertime. We ate on the back patio and watched the sun set over the ocean. Just being there, comforted me in a way I couldn’t explain.

  Gill and I chatted about fighting magic, and at one point, he said, “You’re doing extremely well with Ian. I’m not surprised one bit, I trained that boy.”

  Katie poured me another glass of a fabulous pinot noir. After I thanked her, I said to Gill, “He’s amazing, but I’m just not getting the whole back-to-nature thing. He’s got such an amazing connection with the natural world. I just can’t get it to work for me.”

  Gill nodded. “Different strokes, and all that jazz. I’ve never understood that kind of magic either and never needed to. Every witch has to find his or her own way.”

  In the silence that followed, I could sense him sifting through my mind. Not that I minded him doing that. I was truly desperate.

  Finally, I asked, “Find anything helpful?”

  “Not sure, girl. Like I said, Ian’s real good for you. If you had more time, I know he’d get you where you need to be.”

  I stared at the last rays of the sun filtering through clouds far out to sea. “I agree, but I don’t have time. After Eichmann takes Dana to Germany, I’ve got no chance of getting her back.”

  After another long stretch of silence, Gill said, “There is one thing. You’ve got a whole lot of anger stashed away, locked up tight. I get why, I surely do, but if you could control it, you could kick some serious ass.”

  “That’s what Katie thinks,” I said, “but I can’t control it. The last time I tried to use that anger, it almost drove me nuts.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck with a gnarled old hand. “Yeah, I saw that memory. Nasty business, but Saint Katie is better at controlling her temper than anybody I’ve ever met.”

  “I hope you’re right. In the morning, we’re going to talk, mom-to-daughter.”

  I didn’t think she had any chance coming to grips with my horrible past life, but I had nothing to lose by trying to work with her.

  -o-o-o-

  Sunday, February 21st

  AFTER A FABULOUS full Irish breakfast prepared by Oran Byrne, Katie and I walked down the steep road to the beach. The wind was from the east for a change, so only the tiniest waves lapped at the shore. I still hadn’t gotten comfortable with the ocean since that rogue wave hit me and Tess, but I tried to put that worry out of my mind.

  “I don’t want to get your hopes too high,” Katie said. “I know how to control my own anger, but I’m not sure how to help others.”

  That didn’t surprise me. It was like working on a bomb squad. It had to be tough to dismantle an emotional bomb without getting blown up. “I’m just overflowing with crazy these days.”

  Katie hugged me, and it helped calm me down a bit.

  “I haven’t felt this frustrated since the early days of being enslaved,” I said. “Back then, one shock followed another rapid-fire. The only way I could endure it was to lock all my fury away.”

  “Of course you did, honey. No other way to survive. Maybe the best way to release some pressure is to tell me about it. Not right here, the water makes you too nervous. In a safe environment. And I know about a potion that can numb you to the horror long enough to tell the tale.”

  I was skeptical but saw no alternative that might work better. “You mean, like a patient in a psychiatric office?”

  “Just like that, but at our house, with the secret sau
ce that’ll take the edge off the pain.”

  As I thought about her offer, she picked up a piece of an abalone shell that reflected a dozen different colors.

  She grinned at me. “I’ll bet Travis would love to see this.”

  She was always thinking of others. “What the hell? Nobody has a better idea, and time is running out. One of our detectives told me Eichmann is throwing a going away party Tuesday night. It’s my best chance to get him before he leaves. I’m afraid he’ll go even faster than he’d planned, just to get away from me sooner, but he has to attend his party.”

  -o-o-o-

  WHEN WE GOT back to the house, Katie shooed away the nanny and the guys, except for Travis. Then she mixed up her secret sauce and refused to tell me what was in it. It tasted like a mint julep, heavy on the bourbon, but Katie swore that it was filled with extracts from healing herbs. For good measure, she downed a glass with me.

  Then she took me to the living room and stretched me out on their sofa. She sat near my head where I couldn’t see her but it was easy to talk back and forth.

  With a series of questions, she asked me about the days leading up to my eighteenth birthday. By then I’d known no Prince Charming was going save me from the savagery I’d been terrified of for most of my life.

  Whatever was in Katie’s potion, it definitely numbed me to remembering those early days of slavery. The bourbon didn’t hurt.

  I’d thought I’d forgotten the names of some of my masters, but they were burned into my consciousness, hidden in the part of my mind I always avoided. After a couple of hours of me doing most of the talking, the potion began to wear off.

  Katie wisely mixed up another dose for both of us, and I kept rattling on. Actually, after I’d started, I couldn’t stop. Someone needed to know about the rapes and beatings and other humiliations I’d endured. Katie happened to be the poor woman who I vomited all that ugliness over.

  It took longer than I’d expected, but by dinnertime, I was spent. I’d told it all, at least all I remembered. Relief flooded through me, and I finally thought to ask, “Are you okay? That had to be hard to hear.”

  I sat up and looked at her for the first time in hours. Her face was as pale as death.

  “I knew it had to have been awful,” she said, “but hearing the details made me angrier than I’ve ever felt in my life. Death is too good for those bastards. I hope you win against Eichmann and torture him for months to come. When he’s a broken husk of a snake, then you can kill him.”

  That wasn’t the Katie I knew talking. For the first time, I felt like somebody really understood what I’d endured and what my sisters and mom were still living through. Katie and I held each other and shared a good cry.

  -o-o-o-

  WHEN THE GUYS got back, Philippe asked me, “Did it help?”

  I threw my arms around him. “I’m not sure, but I think so. I feel a lot better having gotten it off my chest.”

  Gill said, “Let’s find out how you’ve changed, but not here, outside. I don’t want you to blow the house up.”

  He, Philippe, Katie, and I walked out back, and stood in the center of the lawn. Travis didn’t care for loud noises, so he stayed inside with the nanny.

  Gill pointed me west. The wrought iron fence was the only thing in between me and the endless expanse of ocean.

  “Imagine that a Suarez still owns Dana, and he’s standing in front of you. Keep your mind open to all the ugliness you just relived. Fire when ready.”

  He put his hands over his ears.

  I close my eyes and thought of the last time Tanner had beaten me. When the fury welled up in front of me to the point where my knees weakened, I yelled, “HOLARTHON, ELBO CHOQUE!”

  A loud boom echoed off the house, and a bolt of white lightning fired out of my staff, blinding me. I staggered backward from the recoil and landed on my butt.

  Gill chuckled and clapped his hand slowly. “That’s more like it. If you can hold your head together for a few days, you should shock the shit out of him.”

  Well, that’s the trick is in it? Keeping my head together after I’ve relived six years of a nightmare.

  -o-o-o-

  Monday, February 22nd

  BY MORNING, KATIE’S potion had worn off completely. My stomach churned so much I couldn’t eat, despite Oran offering to make my favorite omelet, namely maple bacon with three cheeses.

  When Gill came to the table holding his son, he looked at me askance. “Feeling a bit peaky?”

  “What do you think,” I said. “I spent the night tossing and turning as I imagined a thousand ways I could screw this up.”

  He chuckled. “I know the feeling. Best not to dwell on it too much. Now that your head’s clear, we’ll practice a bit, after breakfast.”

  That made as much sense as anything. The rest of them ate, and I sipped tea.

  We had a full day to kill before Philippe and I would travel to Riverside, so no rush today. Several times, Gill and I stood in the back yard while dense fog swirled around us. I showed him all the Holar spells I knew. He mostly watched, but every so often offered a slight variation on what Ian had taught me. It was a totally surreal experience, like a dream.

  I fired a dozen shocks and stuns, despite the difficulty I had in keeping my head together. Katie’s potion and support had released the worst of my anger, but I barely kept it under control.

  Finally, in the late afternoon, Gill said, “That’s enough. We don’t want to wear you out. From now until you join Eichmann’s party, don’t think about this. Just show and go.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  His loud cackle caught me by surprise. “Good. It’s always best to be on edge before a big extravaganza. I sure as hell wish I could see the fireworks. I’d even be happy to take out the bastard out for you, but I think this is something you need to do for yourself.”

  He was right, of course. After working this hard, and going through this much mental anguish, I needed to release the rest of my pent-up hatred for sorcerers in general and Eichmann in particular.

  -o-o-o-

  Tuesday, February 23rd

  I WAS AS ready as I ever would be, but after we finished breakfast, Gill took me into the parlor for one last chat.

  “So, what’s your plan?” he asked.

  “Hit him at his party. You know what scares me the most? He could disappear early, but he has to show up at his party or he’ll be laughed at by everybody.”

  Gill nodded. “Wouldn’t that be a pisser?”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I plan to barge into the place, make a hell of a fuss, and track him down. I’ll challenge him right away. With his ego, he can’t turn down a public challenge.”

  “That’s taking the bull by the horns. What if somebody stronger than him shows up at the party, though?”

  I’d thought about that. “It’s a matter of pride. If I barge in there, he has to be the one to throw me out. So, I fight him, and I’ll either win or lose. If I lose, I’m toast anyway. But if I win, then I’ll have my power and all of his. I should be able to take on any other sorcerers spoiling for a fight.”

  He sipped on his coffee for a minute. Finally, he grinned. “I really like your style. Win or lose, they’re going to be talking about you for months to come. Damn, I wish I could see it.”

  “You might be able to. Somebody at the party is sure to record it with their phone. The video ought to hit the dark web pretty fast.”

  -o-o-o-

  Sunshine Café, Riverside California

  LATE IN THE morning, Philippe and I flew from Oakland to Riverside, an hour east of LA. At a coffee shop near Don Eichmann’s house, we met Tran Anh Thao for lunch.

  “From all indications,” Thao said, “the party is still on for six p.m. I’ll enter first to make sure Eichmann is there. Then, I’ll text you to confirm, and you can take care of your business.”

  “Great plan. I’m going to go in as Real Me
. This afternoon, I’ll perform a couple of Dunarsh spells so my aura reeks of dark magic. That should get me through the front door. If it doesn’t, I’ll blast the guard.”

  We went over a drawing that Thao had made of the house, then there wasn’t much else to say. We’d coordinated over the phone earlier, and I was as ready as I was ever going to be. I’d even kept my anger under control, although I’d snapped at Philippe a few times.

  The problem was, I’d had too much time to think. My pot was boiling over, and it took most of my strength to keep from going postal as we’d endured the hassles of modern flying.

  Once we’d made it to the café, I was a bundle of crazy. From moment to moment, I was either on the verge of melting into a puddle of black ooze or about to become a mass murderer.

  Through it all, Philippe was a saint. The poor guy had been stuck with a raving lunatic for days, leading me around like a circus lion with a bad toothache.

  -o-o-o-

  Don Eichmann’s House, Riverside, California

  I DON’T KNOW how we filled the afternoon, but at six-fifteen p.m., I found myself sitting in the back seat of a green sedan a few blocks from Eichmann’s. Philippe had driven to a park, and for the last two hours, he hadn’t spoken.

  I probably shouldn’t have told him he was acting like a fussy old woman, but at least that shut him up.

  Thao texted me. It’s show time. He’s in the backyard.

  “Drop me off, and wish me luck.”

  For the umpteenth time, Philippe said, “Maybe, this isn’t the best plan. There will be so many of them. We could plan the attack better.”

  “Just drive, and don’t hang around after you drop me off.”

  He grumbled but started the car and steered toward Eichmann’s.

  “And don’t say anything mushy,” I said.

  “Heaven forbid.” He sounded more than a bit pissed at me.

  My annoyed boyfriend stopped in front of a huge stucco mansion with a red tile roof that looked like it belonged on the Riviera. “At the risk of being too friendly, good luck. I hope to meet Dana soon.”

  I did, too. “I’ll call you, but it could be a trick. Thao will know whether I’ve won or lost. Talk to him before you come back.”