by N M Thorn
“River,” he said and cleared his throat, realizing how hoarse his voice sounded. “You have no idea how much—” He cut himself off and rubbed his forehead awkwardly. “Thank you. I’ll wait for your call.” He took the napkin with Az’s address on it and gave it to River.
She snapped a picture of the address with her phone and tapped his shoulder, winking at him. “Much better, soldier.” She headed toward the exit, but then halted by the door and turned around. “Eat before you leave. I left breakfast for you in the microwave. Just press the start button.”
Before he could say anything, she walked out the door, leaving him alone. For a few seconds, he gaped at the closed door, massaging his arm absentmindedly. Even though he had healed all his injuries yesterday, he still felt sore, and the lack of restful sleep for a prolonged period of time left him drained and slightly disoriented. After a while, he got up and headed to the bathroom.
An hour later, Damian left Paradise Manor and started on his way to Sam’s shop located in downtown Blue Creek. November started with temperatures cooler than normal, and without the scorching Arizona sun blasting from the unblemished sky, his walk was easy and enjoyable.
A small brass bell rang above his head as he pushed the door open and walked inside the shop. The store was as clean and organized as ever, new tools hanging on the display, reflecting the rays of the morning sun coming through the window. A slight scent of cleaning chemicals hung in the air, entwining with the smell of lacquers, paints and wood.
Sam sat behind the counter with his usual newspaper in his hands. At the sound of the bell, he raised his eyes and glanced at him, his hard features warming up a little. Without any rush, he folded the newspaper and placed it on the counter, arching his eyebrows at Damian.
“Well, hello there,” he said, rising to offer his hand to Damian. “I didn’t expect you to show up today.”
Damian shook his hand, staring at him with surprise. “Why is that?”
“River called me.” Sam waved his hand, lowering back on his stool. “She’s running a background check on the local fortuneteller, and since he resides in Blue Creek, she wondered if I knew anything”—he twirled his wrist with a half-shrug—“unnatural about him.” His stare became heavier, and he leaned forward, rising slightly. “You know she’s worried about you, kid. More than she should.”
“I know,” replied Damian calmly. “I told her that she shouldn’t worry about me. I’m an immortal Child of Earth. I can’t die, and if I get hurt, I can always self-heal. There is no reason to worry.”
“Yeah,” Sam huffed, gazing heavenward. “Your stupidity seems to be just as undying as you are. You’re what? Like a thousand years old or so? And you still can’t see beyond your ego. Yes, you can’t die, but she can.”
“Sam—,” started Damian, but the old hunter raised his hand, wagging his finger at him.
“You put my little girl in danger, and I swear, I’ll find a way to kill an immortal Child of Earth.” Sam glanced back at his newspaper, but then slammed his hand on it, frustration emanating from him. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. To be honest, if I knew you were a friggin’ Destiny Enforcer, I would never get you involved in the first place. You have more supernatural assholes who have a grudge against you than hairs in that black mane on your head. Just being next to you is already dangerous for her.” He shook his head, crestfallen. “I spent my life trying to protect her from the World of Magic. Now, she is exposed, and there is no way back.”
Damian dropped his head, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, Sam. You’re right. I have orders to remain in Paradise Manor, but I’ll talk to my superior and move out tomorrow.”
Sam took a deep breath and exhaled with a soft groan, a muscle playing in his tightly pressed jaw. “Don’t do it, kid. I shouldn’t have said that to you. It’s not your fault. You actually saved her life, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.” He glanced out the window and added, “I know you’d never let anything happen to her. Besides, she loves having you and that crazy brother of yours around. At least she is not alone in that giant, empty house. So, yeah... don’t listen to an overprotective old man.”
Damian smiled tiredly, leaning forward slightly. “So, do you know anything of any use about Az?”
Sam shrugged. “Nothing special, at least on the surface, and I don’t think River will find anything on him either. He is...” He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. “He’s one of those psychics, you know? He has a little shop where he sells some magical bullshit and pretends to be clairvoyant, and he lives in the back of his shop. I think he’s just a charlatan who preys on people who don’t know any better.” He fell silent, his fingers playing with a set of keys lying on the counter. “Unlike you, I can’t see the flow of magical energy, but I think he’s not touched by the World of Magic. I’m not sure he is even exposed to it.” He shrugged again, opening his arms slightly. “Like I said—a plain and simple charlatan. A slippery fellow, if you ask me.”
“Thank you, Sam,” said Damian. “I guess I have to go and check him out. Let’s see if he has the information I need.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” muttered Sam, throwing the key on the counter. “Even if he has what you need, he’s not going to give it to you without getting something in return.”
“I figured as much—” The loud ring of his cellphone interrupted him, and he straightened, pulling the phone out of his pocket. River’s smiling face appeared on the display and he swiped his finger across the screen, answering the call and placing it on the speaker. “River, hi, I’m here with your father. Did you find out anything interesting?”
“Nothing special,” she said, her voice sounding distant across the line. “You were right.”
“What did you say?” Damian chuckled. “Could you please repeat those last three words?”
River snorted. “Oh, shut up, smartass.” A loud clicking sounded on the other side of the line as she typed something on her computer. “Anyway, this man is squeaky clean—your regular, red-blood American taxpayer. His real name is Azul Moreno, so Az is his real name, a shorter version of it. He moved to Blue Creek about forty years ago and opened his psychic business right away. You know how popular all that was in the seventies and eighties.”
Damian nodded. Sam chortled, amused, and tapped him on his shoulder. “River, our elderly friend here just nodded, in case you couldn’t hear that.”
River laughed quietly.
“He should be pretty old, assuming he’s a human,” said Damian, throwing a killer-stare at Sam. Then he arched his brow at the hunter and added with an evil smirk, “At least Sam’s age.”
“Who’re you calling old, kid? I’m not old. I’m a vintage model, and compared to you, I’m a spring chicken.” Sam snorted, leaning his back against the shelf behind the counter.
Damian heard a soft thud on the other side of the line and River spoke to someone, her voice muffled as she probably covered the receiver of her phone. A male voice answered her, and another thud of a closed door announced that the man left the room.
“Sorry,” said River, sounding clear now. “I have to go. Damian, be careful out there, and if you need my help, call me.”
She hung up, and Damian put his phone in his back pocket. Then he said his goodbyes to Sam and left the store, heading in the direction of the address Kaleb had given him. Once he reached a place where no one could see him, he snapped his fingers and vanished.
Chapter 12
~ Damian Blake ~
It’d been a few months since Damian moved to Blue Creek. The town was relatively small, and he had made a point to explore every single neighborhood, carefully searching different areas for the presence of the supernatural. Walking for hours from one street to the next, he had committed to memory the plan of the town, discovering abandoned buildings and obscured places suitable as teleportation points for him.
One of these points was located only a couple of houses away from the address Kaleb had given him.
It was an old house, half-demolished by time and an unkind desert climate. Its roof had partially caved in, and the glass of the windows had been gone for years. Its walls had lost whatever paint they used to have, and now they were gray and dirty, standing out like a sore thumb among the other well taken care of houses in the neighborhood.
Jamie had told Damian that the last owners of this house passed away in some tragic accident about ten years ago, and since that time, no one wanted to buy it, whispering about strange lights and sounds coming from the place. Despite the efforts of the local Real Estate agents, the rumors of it being haunted spread wider, turning every potential buyer away from the property.
Once Damian flagged this place as a potential teleportation point, he had checked it for any paranormal presence but found none. However, he detected a barely noticeable residue of some magical energy. It was so light and vague, he couldn’t identify its origin and decided not to worry about it, at least for now.
Damian manifested inside the house, in the middle of what once had been a large living area. Now it was half-demolished, like the rest of the building, and covered in dirty strings of spider webs. He headed to the window facing the main street and made sure no one was watching the house. Then he crossed the living room toward the door and walked outside, putting his dark sunglasses on.
Since Az’s place was only a few yards away, he opened his other sight and carefully scanned the area around. His intuition whispered in his mind, suggesting that despite everything Sam, River and Kaleb had told him, Az couldn’t be a regular human. However, he didn’t discover any presence of magical energy around the house or even in a few blocks’ radius.
If Az was a real psychic, he would emit at least some energy of his magic, but since Damian couldn’t discover anything supernatural, the only thing that made sense was that he was nothing more than a human charlatan.
Not the first one, and definitely not the last, thought Damian, walking slowly toward Az’s house.
In his experience, ninety-nine percent of all people who claimed to be psychics or have extrasensory abilities lied, entertaining their clientele with cheap parlor tricks and sound effects to entice them to open their wallets willingly. Most of them were harmless, but some of them fed on people in distress, exploiting their grief and desperate situations. When their actions became too malicious, the local authorities, inconspicuously encouraged by the Destiny Enforcers, had to step in. Luckily, something like that didn’t happen too often.
Just to be on the safe side, Damian completely suppressed his magical energy signature before reaching Az’s home. He halted and observed the house once more before crossing into the property. It was a small, one-story building with a tiled roof and a tiny front yard decorated by a few spiky representatives of the local flora. Except for the window display, it looked like the rest of the houses in the neighborhood.
The window was decorated with a large neon sign, stating ‘Psychic Reading by Az, the Great and Powerful. Mystical Astrology, Palmistry, Potions, and Divination. Walk-ins Welcome’.
“Isn’t that swell,” muttered Damian, shaking his head. “The Great and Powerful, my ass...”
The ‘Open’ sign in the window on the other side of the entrance was off, but he didn’t care. He crossed the front yard, walked up the steps, and raised his hand to knock on the door but then changed his mind. Placing his palm against the rough wooden surface, he sharpened his senses. Since he still couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, he took a deep breath and knocked.
Damian waited a few seconds, but the door remained closed, so he knocked again. After a short while, a soft shuffling noise sounded inside, and the door cracked open just a little with the chain remaining locked.
“I’m closed,” a slightly raspy voice of a person who had just woken up sounded through the opening. “Come back in an hour... no, make it two.”
“I would love to,” said Damian, smirking, “but I think we should talk now. It’s urgent.”
“Trust me, your destiny is not going to change if I read it two hours later.” A grunt of displeasure followed by a jingle of the dropped chain reached Damian’s ears, and the door finally swung open.
Damian looked down, and his jaw dropped. A tiny, scrawny man stood in front of him, barely reaching his chest. His gray hair, soft and wispy like the white tuft of a dandelion, surrounded his narrow face covered in a multitude of wrinkles. A pair of round glasses with thick lenses sat on the bridge of his slightly upturned nose, making his gray eyes look unnaturally large. He was dressed in striped pajama pants and a long robe thrown over his bare torso.
He tilted his head back, taking in Damian’s appearance, and his lips stretched into a tightlipped smile which completed his resemblance to a tiny, gray mouse. Stepping aside, he gestured for Damian to come in.
“Well, you woke me up already, young man,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Come in then. Tell me what’s so urgent.”
Damian crossed the threshold and wrinkled his nose at the overpowering reek of incense and scented candles. The small entrance hall was separated from the living area by a beaded bamboo curtain, which chimed softly as Az pulled it apart to let him proceed. The living area was a spacious room decorated in the best traditions of fortuneteller’s stereotypes, with a heavy inclination toward the Disco era. Crystal balls, Tarot decks, multicolored crystals, burning candles, large books in thick, leather bindings—you name it, it was here.
A small, round table covered with a dark, velvety tablecloth was positioned in the center of the room, and four chairs surrounded it. Making tiny, shuffling steps, Az made his way to the table and sat down, gesturing at the chair across from him. Damian pulled the chair out and lowered himself on it, observing the room with interest.
“So, what can I help you with?” asked Az, his steel eyes staring at him through the thick lenses of his glasses without blinking. “Are you looking for a reading, or do you already know your destiny? Do you need to make a connection with someone behind the veil? Or maybe you need a love potion?”
He spoke slowly, in a monotonous, droning voice, and Damian was positive he had repeated this speech more than a hundred times before. But then Az cocked his head, giving him a quick once-over, and his lips formed a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Ehh...” he hummed. “I don’t think you need any of this crap. A strapping lad like you doesn’t need any potions. So, what are you looking for, young man? Let’s see if I can help you with whatever troubles you.”
Damian tilted his head a little, meeting Az’s slightly humorous gaze calmly. “I’m looking for someone, and I wondered if you could give me an idea of where I could find this individual.”
“Oh?” Az’s eyebrows climbed up, and he pulled away just a little. “That’s quite an unusual request, but I’ll do my best to help you, Mister—” His voice rose at the end, and he fell silent, expecting Damian to introduce himself.
“Damian.”
“Damian,” repeated Az, observing him with sarcastic twinkles in his eyes. “Is it like Beyonce? Or do you have additional parts to your name?”
“Aren’t you clairvoyant?” Damian smirked, arching his brow wryly, but then changed his mind and introduced himself, offering Az his hand. “Damian Blake, sir. Nice to meet you.”
The old man took Damian’s hand, his thin, bony fingers squeezing it stronger than he expected, and to his shock, Damian detected a faint wave of magical energy rushing through him as Az checked him out.
Holy shit, thought Damian, putting extra effort into completely shadowing his own magical energy. The old man may not be a fraud after all. Then what is he? A psychic? A wizard?
“Damian Blake,” said the old man with an appreciative nod. “I’ve heard of you, young man.” His wide smile exposed a set of perfectly straight, white teeth, too white and straight for his age. “The Shadow Slayer... in my modest home, wow! You’re a legend. At least among the undead. I think since you moved to Blue Creek, every vamp is sha
king in their pants.” He laughed, his high-pitched laughter unexpectedly contagious, and Damian couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, it’s an honor to meet you.” His laughter dwindled into a friendly smile, and he sat back down. “So, what can I do for you, Damian?”
“I’m looking for a necromancer,” replied Damian straight, observing Az’s reaction. “Do you know of anyone who is into the Dark Arts, especially necromancy?”
Az coughed and cleared his throat, averting his gaze modestly. “Well...” His voice disappeared into silence, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth.
“I understand your hesitation,” continued Damian, “but I need to find this person, and if you know anything about their whereabouts, please let me know. It’s important.”
A light blush colored the old man’s cheeks, and he finally raised his face, meeting Damian’s eyes. “Well, when I was younger, I fiddled with the Dark Arts a little,” he mumbled, a guilty grin splitting his face, and then waved his hand with a small shake of his head. “Necromancy included. Stupid, I know.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled nervously. “The Destiny Council taught me a good lesson. Never again.”
“Necromancy is a forbidden branch of magic.” Damian observed the old man with new interest. “I’m surprised the Destiny Council let you off their hook.”
“Yeah, me too.” Az chuckled again, nervousness making his eyes shine brighter. “I guess that was because I was no threat. My skills with magic were extremely limited, and to be honest, I’m not that powerful and gifted as a wizard at all. With age, I learned to accept my limitations. So, I do the best I can with what I have.” He waved his hand around the shop.
