Bermuda Triangle Blues: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (Scions of Magic Book 4)
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Bermuda Triangle Blues
Scions of Magic™ Book Four
TR Cameron
Michael Anderle
Martha Carr
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2020 TR Cameron & Michael Anderle
Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design
http://jcalebdesign.com / jcalebdesign@gmail.com
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, January, 2020
ebook ISBN: 978-1-64202-712-9
Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-713-6
The Oriceran Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017-20 by Martha Carr and LMBPN Publishing.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Author Notes - TR Cameron
Author Notes - Martha Carr
Other series in the Oriceran Universe:
Other LMBPN Publishing Books
Connect with The Authors
Bermuda Triangle Blues Team
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Dave Hicks
Dorothy Lloyd
Diane L. Smith
Deb Mader
Nicole Emens
Jeff Eaton
Larry Omans
Paul Westman
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
Skyhunter Editing Team
Dedication
For those who seek wonder around every corner and in each turning page. And, as always, for Dylan and Laurel.
— TR Cameron
Chapter One
Caliste Leblanc squinted into the bright sun of a Monday afternoon from her seat on the ground in Jackson Square and struggled to control her temper. She and her busking partner Dasante had made the effort to find the perfect location for a round of frozen fighting, the slow-motion combat ballet that never failed to draw a crowd. Her subtle injections of magic to enhance the action—like the small ripple of force that caused her hair to move at an apparent close miss—set them apart from those around them.
They’d done five-minute rounds with pauses to rest between because even though they were both in shorts and t-shirts, the heat was uncommonly brutal. She’d passed on her normal black top and wore a white one with a Tweaker album cover on it above her cutoff jeans. Dasante sported a similar ensemble.
During the last break, their space had been invaded by a half-naked cowboy with a guitar and an oversized hat. Sure, he’s nice to look at with the muscles and all, but A, he’s messing with our crowd, B, his schtick is totally derivative, and C, he seems to be tone-deaf. Oh, and D, he’s singing Taylor Swift. While she enjoyed the woman’s music and spent hours at a time with it stuck in her head, the man’s version was more travesty than tribute.
She dragged her gaze away from the man’s bulging biceps—which seemed to hinder his playing—when Dasante laughed and said, “You can quit staring now.”
“Yeah, yeah, so not my type.” She smacked him with the back of her hand and her knuckles rapped his chest lightly. “Do you think he’s ever had a lesson?”
Her friend’s dark skin and eyes contrasted with her green eyes and pale skin with the faintest hint of a tan. His long, dark, straight hair was also dissimilar as her locks were red, curly, and generally untamed. He was what you’d describe as lanky and she’d be called athletic by admirers and powerful by those who met one of her fists in a fight.
That farcical hombre is gonna discover exactly how powerful if he doesn’t get the hell out of our performance space, like, soon.
Amusement rippled through the mental channel she maintained with Fyre, the Draksa who had adopted her. The canine-sized dragon lizard had opted not to hang out with them in his Rottweiler disguise. Instead, he was perched atop the church at the back of Jackson Square, allegedly keeping watch for danger. More like occasionally opening a sleepy eye when he rolls over to a new position. Another surge of mirth from the creature confirmed it.
Dasante shook his head. “No training in anything musical, anyway, but probably weightlifting or something. He’s impressively built if you’re into that kind of thing.”
Cali laughed. “Is your masculinity threatened, D? Do you need me to track down a cute girl for you?” There had never been anything romantic between them and it wasn’t a scenario she could ever imagine happening. They were close but nothing had suggested he felt that extra spark and it was definitely lacking on her part. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t risk her life to save his—she’d do that in a second. Friends matter. She could count hers on one hand, so each was inordinately valuable to her.
He snorted in disgust. “No, I’m good, thanks. Hey, I just realized I haven’t seen your elderly boyfriend around lately. Did you two break up?”
Cali rolled her eyes. Why does everyone love this joke so much? “First, Tanyith is hardly elderly. He’s only twenty-seven or something.”
“Eight years. That’s a big gap.”
“Shut it. Second, he’s not now, has never been, and will never, ever be my boyfriend. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be interested. He registers as a friend. Exactly like you.”
“But I’m a better one.”
“Well, of course. Duh.”
Dasante laughed and slapped his hands on his thighs. “We should probably get back to it.”
Cali’s affirmation was blocked by a surge of worry from Fyre. “Hold on a sec.” She growled at the limitation of her mental magic, which allowed her to send words to the Draksa but only receive emotions in return. Her eyes compressed into narrow slits as she looked carefully around the area and twisted first to peer over one shoulder and then over the other.
Her searching gaze immediately located the source of his concern. The man’s stride stood out among the casual walkers and gawkers who filled the tourist venue. He had a purpose, and from the way his lip c
urled when his gaze met hers, she was apparently part of it.
She rose smoothly to face the stranger and whispered, “Trouble. Get some distance.” Dasante had learned not to argue with her early in their friendship, and he kept it casual as he wandered away toward a performer they knew who was currently painted silver and pretended to be a robot. It took the unknown man another fifteen seconds or so to reach talking range, and she raised a hand to halt his advance.
The stranger stopped with a nod. “Caliste.”
It was easy to identify all the tells of an Atlantean—tall and muscular with dark skin and eyes and ropy braids that looked heavy enough that they likely reached most of the way down his back. He was dressed in a tight black t-shirt and tactical-looking pants, with boots of the same color. A thick necklace hung to his chest, with ornaments of gold, shells, and shark’s teeth. It could easily be mistaken for a cheap affectation, but she guessed it was nothing of the kind.
Perhaps it’s a status symbol. At least a show of wealth and presumably power. Given his build, probably an enforcer. She’d faced a couple of New Atlantis’ elite soldiers and was not at all pleased to see one out in the open among so many innocent people. “What do you want? If you’re here for the next round, I’ll need a little time to summon my allies.”
She hadn’t voluntarily entered into the ritual combat cycle but had survived the unexpected ambush and only found out what was going on once the battle was over. She and Fyre had fought to victory in the two-on-two battle that followed it, and the interval of safety she’d been promised before the three-on-three could happen had expired days before. This didn’t feel like that, though.
The man displayed perfectly white teeth as he laughed. “No, this isn’t what you’d call official. You’re wasting our time, and you need to die. You can come along quietly and fight me where we won’t be disturbed, or we can do it here. I promise that most of the people around us won’t survive if you choose the second option.” Her thoughts must have shown on her face because he laughed again. “I’m aware of your pet. If he descends even a little from where he’s circling, I’ll send out a burst of magic sufficient to kill everyone who’s not shielded. Sure, you’ll live, but I know you won’t enjoy being responsible for the deaths of all these innocents.”
The way he sneered the last word was telling.
“Awesome, you’re a jerk and a racist. That’ll make beating the snot out of you all the more rewarding. Where do you want to do this?”
The rooftop was sticky under her sneakers and generated an odd squelch with each step she took. It was flat with pipes protruding here and there as well as a large piece of heating or cooling equipment that had once doubtless been bright silver but was now ashy and dirty gray. Her foe matched her circular pacing about ten feet away and a look of eager anticipation dominated his face.
She shook her head in annoyance at the whole situation. A perfectly good afternoon of busking demolished by an idiot with something to prove. “Why are we doing this again?”
His voice was low and pleasant. All in all, if she’d met him under different circumstances, she wouldn’t have found him offensive. “Because you are a problem and I am adept at fixing problems.”
“Who have I offended this time?”
The man shrugged. “Those who are smart enough to turn to me to prevent further offense.”
That’s not helpful. “So, Atlanteans, I guess. The gang in town or the other jerk-faces who brought the Kraken?” He scowled at the mention of the second group. “That answers that. Never mind. Why the hell didn’t you people come and help against that thing?”
He shook his head. “That’s above my pay grade to know. I like to keep things simple.”
“All right, simpleton. Unless you plan to talk all day, how about we get to it?”
In response, he simply nodded and darted toward her, clearly familiar with hand-to-hand combat. She resisted the urge to summon her sticks or to have Fyre end the situation for her. For the former, she would presume the rules of the ritual challenge were in play and not escalate until necessary to avoid him using a weapon or magic. For the latter, if he was smart, he had an ally to make good on his threat to hurt the innocents in the square. And so far, he’d given her no reason to believe he was stupid.
His fist lashed out at her face. She batted it away easily and continued to circle as he stepped back to avoid any potential counter. The early part of a fight was always either a crazed frenzy or a slow dance of discovery. He snapped a short kick at her thigh but she blocked it with a raised foot. Instead of stepping onto his, he adjusted his position and motion to whip it toward her head.
Cali lurched back in surprise and grimaced when the toe passed an inch from her nose. Okay, there’s some Taekwondo in there. And he has the speed to be reasonably safe with the high kicks. Her style was all about practicality and avoidance, although her Aikido teacher had adapted the base teachings to include direct attacks as well. The philosophies didn’t mesh but somehow, Sensei Ikehara made it work.
He put the foot down and pivoted into a back kick, but she was ready for the predictable move. She sidestepped, caught his ankle, and yanked in the direction the leg was traveling. He stumbled forward and in the instant when he was focused on regaining his balance, she drove a boot up at his groin. He blocked it with a downward strike and backpedaled out of melee range.
The man grinned at her. “So, the stories are true. You are indeed an adequate opponent.”
Cali frowned. “Adequate? That’s what they say about the person who’s kicked their asses twice now? You must not think highly of the enforcers.”
“Some are better than others. From what I hear, the Empress sent some of her most expendable.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock as a memory hit her of Emalia’s voice reading her fortune and drawing the Empress card as her enemy. Holy hell. It doesn’t only represent the Atlantean gang leader. She’s actually a real person.
His hands snaked behind his back and emerged holding two military-looking knives. He must have mistaken her expression for a reaction to his weapons. “These, however, are more than adequate.”
She sent a command to each of the thick bracelets she wore, gifts from her boss Zeb. The black bands with their scarlet runes turned liquid and flowed down her hands to reform in her fists as two-foot-plus long sticks. She twirled them once and rolled her neck. “Yours seem a little small. But, you know, they say it’s not the size of the boat, it’s the motion of the ocean and all that. I’m sure you’re able to compensate.”
He growled and advanced, weaving the blades before him in a shimmering wall of steel.
Chapter Two
Sweaty hair distracted her focus and Cali swept it out of her face and wished for a ponytail holder. The wooden sticks were warm in her hands as if they were as eager to fight her enemy as she was. He held the left knife with the point forward and the right one reversed along his forearm so he could slash with the forehand and stab with the backhand. Her work with Ikehara on defending against the short blades had, thankfully, included dealing with both options.
He stabbed low with the left, and she whipped her right-hand stick down to block and aimed for his wrist. Her foe halted the feint in mid-strike and her weapon caught nothing but air. His other hand slashed across at chest height, snagged her top, and cut a small hole in it as she leaned out of the way. “Bastard. I like this shirt.”
The Atlantean offered no reply as he shuffled in close to negate the extra reach her sticks provided. Again, this was something she’d practiced with Ikehara, and she shifted her hold to give her a shorter striking range. He stabbed and she blocked in a flurry of six or seven traded blows before she found an opening. She whipped the stick down in a short crescent that intersected with his left wrist and caused him to drop the knife. He lunged toward it and she slipped forward hastily to kick it beyond his grasp.
The action was successful in that it knocked the weapon too far away for him to retrieve it. Unf
ortunately, it opened her to his rapid attack. The metal pommel of his second knife slammed into her head above her ear and she staggered sideways. He followed her to launch a left hook into her ribs and swipe the blade at her face.
Cali flung herself aside, narrowly avoided the slice, and tumbled into a somersault. She rose with a wide sweep of her stick to intercept the next strike from his knife. Still in motion, she whipped her right weapon at his head and he leaned back to avoid it. The backhand follow-up forced him to retreat, and he grinned at her from six feet away. “Apparently, the rumors that you were adequate were exaggerations.”
Fighting always filled her with an energy that pressed against her internal defenses and sought to explode out in bursts of magic. Reining it in was increasingly difficult and all the more so when she dripped with sweat and endured insults and wardrobe damage. Her attempt to come up with a clever reply failed, so she let her weapons do the talking instead.
She whipped the right-hand stick overhand at his face. It rocketed across the distance between them and his wide eyes revealed his surprise that she’d thrown her weapon away. Heh. Just you wait. She attacked with the second and looped it wide toward the side of his skull. He yanked his head sideways to take a glancing blow while he jerked his knife up in a frantic block against the other assault. She altered her attack and targeted his wrist, which made him drop that blade as well.