Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  She needed to master her fear and plan strategically, practically. It was what Josiah would tell her to do—at least, after he’d finished going apoplectic at her current situation. Gods, she wished he were here.

  Think, Rosalind. Since Caine was a shadow mage, he was aligned with the night god. So were the vamps. Hadn’t Josiah said something about a vampire kingdom? Lilinor, perhaps? If that’s where she’d come, she would soon meet her parents’ fate.

  Mentally, she tallied the weapons in her belt. If she had to face vamps, her gun would be useless. Silver bullets were fantastic against some monsters, but silver was the night god’s element. Contrary to popular belief, vampires and incubi actually liked silver. It made them stronger.

  No, if this was Lilinor, she’d need her flamethrower, the one remaining hawthorn stake, and maybe the iron dust. That alone could cause intense pain to any magical creature.

  She just needed to stop the damn shaking in her hands if she wanted to use a weapon.

  She tiptoed over the old cobblestones. As she followed the narrow alley into a town square, she suppressed the urge to scream for Caine at the top of her lungs. He was her best chance at survival, but she couldn’t draw attention.

  She sniffed the air. Her ears pricked as something rustled nearby, and she pulled the stake from her belt, followed by the flamethrower.

  Thud.

  She spun, just as two pale vamps leapt to the street. A giant, ginger-haired man stood next to a raven-haired woman.

  No hesitating this time, Rosalind.

  “Well, look here,” the man said. “A human, offering herself up to us.”

  “I can see her veins through that shirt, pumping blood,” the woman said.

  Rosalind pressed the button, unleashing the flames, and the vampires scuttled back, clothes blazing.

  Someone grabbed her hair from behind, and Rosalind slammed her elbow into the monster’s ribs before reaching for the stake. She spun, ramming the wood into another female vamp’s heart. As the creature turned to ash, Rosalind snatched her stake from the dust heap.

  “She murdered Domenica!” someone shrieked.

  Rosalind whirled at the sound of footfalls, and jammed the wood into another vamp’s chest.

  They were on her like a plague of locusts, and before she could even get to her feet again, one of them grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms in a vice-like grip. He ripped the stake from her hands, then spun her around and slammed her up against the wall. Her back cracked against the stone. As he pinned her arms above her head, the vamp’s sharp nails pierced her wrists. Revulsion spread through her. This is how Mom and Dad died.

  The vamp’s hair was long and black, flowing over his shoulders, and his eyes blazed blood red. “She’s looking for someone strong. She wants me to keep her as my pet. She came here because she wanted it.”

  Rosalind burned with anger. The vamp’s vise-like grip dug into her arms, and he pressed his body against hers. Vampires were lusty creatures, but the look in this one’s eye screamed something more like “sex offender.”

  As he sniffed her neck, her legs flailed. Her kicks to his shins did nothing. His cold tongue shot out of his mouth, and he licked her neck, moaning.

  Freaking vile. Rage exploded in her mind and she rammed her knee right up into his groin. She heard a pained grunt, and his hands loosened just long enough for her to free herself. She whipped the iron dust from her belt, spraying it on the small crowd of vampires.

  Their screams pierced the quiet, and her stomach turned as the scent of burning flesh filled the air. Four vamps, blazing like torches—all except the raven-haired vamp, who turned on her again as his buddies turned to ash.

  Her mouth went dry. The screams would only lure more vamps. How the hell was she supposed to master her fear in this situation? It’s not like any human could hack her way out of a demon realm.

  “What the hell is going on?” A deep voice interrupted from the shadows.

  The vampire’s head whipped around, and he gaped as Caine stepped into the moonlight.

  Caine’s voice was cold and steady. “Were you trying to kill this girl?”

  “She belongs to me, sir.” The vamp licked his lips. “She murdered five of Ambrose’s soldiers. I’m going to play with her a while, and drink her slowly. I’d like to keep her as a pet.”

  Caine’s raven circled his head. Ice tinged his voice. “Step away from her, Horace. Ambrose wants her alive.”

  Horace’s lip curled. “But, sir. She came into our world. That means she wants to be my pet. She wouldn’t have sought us out if she didn’t want us.”

  “I already told you not to touch her.” Caine flicked his fingertips at the vamp.

  Horace’s body lurched, his neck arching backward at an awkward angle. The silent square filled with the sounds of snapping and crunching bones, then Horace’s agonized screams. When Caine lowered his hand again, the screams faded to a whimper.

  Horace crumpled to the ground.

  Rosalind gaped. Seven hells. Remind me never to get on his bad side—if I’m not already.

  Caine crossed to her, his eyes flashing. In fact, he looked like he might rip her head off. “What exactly do you think you’re doing here? Please don’t tell me you’ve got everything under control again.”

  She straightened. “I’m looking for answers. My life just fell apart within the span of an hour, and I want to know why. You apparently know a thing or two about it.” Her voice rose in volume. He scared the wits out of her, but she had nothing left to lose. And what good was living when your life was over? “I want to know who you are, and who I am, and why everyone thinks I’m a witch. And you’re going to tell me.” For once, she kept the tremble out of her voice.

  Caine’s predatory gaze slid over her transparent shirt, and she remembered what Josiah had told her: to someone like Caine, other humans existed only to satisfy their depraved desires.

  “You can’t stay here,” he said. “We’re going to see Ambrose. We’ll talk on the way.”

  We’ll talk. So he was going to tell her something. “And who is Ambrose?”

  “The Lord of this realm. And considering you just slaughtered five vampires in his kingdom, he’s just about the only person who can save your life at this point.”

  Chapter 7

  Side by side, they crept through the city’s winding streets. Caine’s raven perched on his shoulder.

  Rosalind suspected one thing: the angry set of Caine’s jaw suggested he regretted saving her life, or that he might hypnotize her to choke herself to death at any moment.

  “Are we in the vampire realm?” she asked.

  “Lilinor. I suppose you cleverly deduced that by the presence of all the vampires,” he said, his voice glacial. “How did you find me?”

  The vampire’s mythical realm wasn’t so mythical, apparently. “I followed your magic.”

  “How?” he demanded.

  “It smells like rainstorms, and it leaves behind a silvery shimmer.”

  He slid a disbelieving gaze at her. “You can see magic?”

  “Yes. It’s what makes me a good Hunter.” She might have been overdoing the bragging, but something about his cocky attitude really irked her, and she wanted him to know she had her own talents.

  “You didn’t look skilled when I first met you.”

  Jerk. “My skills are not the problem. I just felt bad for the redcap for a fraction of a second. It’s called empathy. Something that most people have, unless magic has sapped your humanity.”

  “That hesitation suggests a certain lack of skill. A lack of mastery over your own emotions.”

  Awesome. So even in the demon realm, I’m getting lectured. “Do we have to have this conversation?”

  “You’re the one who came after me for answers,” he said.

  “I want answers about why the Brotherhood think I’m a mage, not your analysis of my lack of skill.” She shivered, rubbing her arms. Even if his arrogance grated, she should probably be a lit
tle nicer to Caine—she was completely dependent on him for her survival right now, and had to keep him happy. “Thank you for helping me.”

  Only the bird responded, with a puff of feathers.

  “How do I leave Lilinor?” Rosalind asked. “What happens when someone gets to the boundaries?”

  “Do you always chatter like this?”

  She hugged herself, trying to stay warm in her waterlogged clothes. “I’m just curious. This is the first time I’ve visited an alternate universe. I never knew they were real before.”

  He cut her a sharp look. “There are no edges. When you get to the boundaries, you end up in another part of Lilinor. Only magic will get you from one world to another. That’s why you need me.”

  She’d always wondered how the alternate universes worked, and the raw fascination almost suppressed her fear. This sort information was gold to the Brotherhood—another bit of ammunition if she wanted to redeem herself. “Do you think space-time is warped at the boundaries by an intensely dense magical aura? Maybe shadow magic and light magic are magnetically attracted at a universe’s edges. The aura is staggeringly dense there. That might explain why I felt so sick when I came through.”

  “Gods below. Are you still talking?” His bird twitched her wings and flew off. “You’ve even managed to bore Lilu.”

  Rosalind narrowed her eyes. “I had to fight a flock of vampires to get this far, and I endured a neck-licking from Horace. I realize it was immensely stupid of me to come, but can I at least get an answer or two? Starting with an exit plan?”

  “There’s no way out of Lilinor unless I create another portal. We must speak to the Vampire Lord first.”

  “You need his permission? Interesting. I thought you were powerful.” Hunting for psychological weaknesses—not a lesson the Brotherhood taught, but one she’d learned from the mean girls who made fun of her clothes in middle school.

  “I am powerful. I command Ambrose’s entire army against the legion of light demons.” His voice betrayed only the faintest hint of irritation.

  “You’ve commanded an entire army, but you have to ask permission to make a door.”

  “A portal. It’s not a door. And, more than that, the shadow demons have a hierarchy.” Caine’s attitude suggested he didn’t bend easily to authority. He must struggle with his own rebellious impulses.

  “I have more questions.”

  Caine pressed his fingers to his eyes as if trying to manage a migraine. “I deeply regret pulling the vampires off you.”

  As she followed him up the winding cobblestone road, she gazed up at him. “I need to know why everyone thinks I’m a mage.”

  “Fine.” His pale gaze met hers for a brief instant. “But you’re so ignorant, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  “For one thing, the Brotherhood are notoriously inept.”

  “No, we’re not,” she protested. Though obviously, they’d screwed up in her case.

  “The Salem Witch Trials. The Scottish Witch Hunt… all the European witch crazes. The Brotherhood’s rampant slaughter led to panic. That’s why the magical lands were created in the first place.”

  That wasn’t how she’d learned it, but she got the idea. He was talking about magical lands like Maremount—New England’s own hidden land of mages.

  “The real demons needn’t have bothered, because your Hunter predecessors spent most of their time murdering the innocent. The Brotherhood—or the Purgators, as they used to be known—have been screwing up for thousands of years.”

  Of course, he saw things from the demon point of view. “When I said start at the beginning, I didn’t really mean thousands of years ago.”

  “Almost none of the Brotherhood’s victims were actual mages,” he continued on. “The Hunters went after the poor, the weak, the desperate. The cranky and ill-tempered. Those who worshipped the wrong gods. Anyone they didn’t like. Anyone who didn’t fit in. If any real mages were among their victims, it was pure accident.”

  An extremely biased account. “So, assuming you’re telling me the truth—” which, by the way, she really wasn’t assuming “—what you’re saying is that they’ve screwed up again with my case.”

  They passed a candlelit tavern, and she caught a glimpse of vampires packed inside, drinking from silver goblets.

  “That’s actually not what I’m saying. For once, they got it right.”

  A cold sense of dread snaked up her spine. Everything he said was pretty much the opposite of what she knew to be the truth.

  Or what she’d thought was the truth.

  And yet, somehow something about the way he spoke suggested honesty.

  “I don’t understand. How can I be a mage if I’ve never learned a single spell? No one is born a mage.”

  He led them up a narrow, winding lane. Steep-peaked stone houses towered over them at crooked angles. “That’s true. Neither you or I came into this world as a mage. Neither did we learn magic in the conventional way. We both have your parents to thank for that.”

  A cold sweat broke out on her brow. He knew who her parents were. “What did my birth parents do? How do we know each other? Were you there when they died?” He wasn’t her brother, was he? She remembered his gray eyes…

  He paused, his gaze locking on hers. “We’re not from England, for one thing.”

  “And where are we from?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “From Maremount.”

  The ground wavered beneath her feet. She came from a land of mages?

  She took a shuddering breath. “But I’ve been with the Brotherhood since I was five. I was too young to be a mage. They can’t possibly blame me for a spell I cast when I was a little child.”

  When he stepped closer, she had to fight the instinct to step away. Don’t show fear, Rosalind.

  He touched her hand, and his energy fluttered over her skin—that strange, inexplicable thrill. As he lifted her fingers, he examined her ring. “Iron dampens the magic. If you take this off, you’ll lose your mind. That’s because you’re possessed with an extra spirit. You have two souls. One is your own, and the other belongs to a mage, long-since dead. Your parents imbued us both with a mages’ souls. The spirits they gave us were supposed to grant us powerful magic, and your parents believed they could control the mages within us. It didn’t work out. And without a lot of training, your mind will splinter. You won’t be able to handle both souls.”

  She slipped her hand from his grasp, horror vibrating through her skull. For about the tenth time tonight, the world almost seemed to stop, and an overwhelming sense of vertigo flooded her mind.

  Two souls? Her mind rebelled against everything he was saying. She was stuck in an unending nightmare.

  She was a Hunter, but one corrupted by a dark magic. And her own parents had done it to her. If she took off the ring, she’d devolve into a predatory beast, like Caine.

  She wanted to believe he was lying—just another mage trick—but in the darkest recesses of her mind she had the strangest sense that he was telling the truth.

  “So that’s what Mason meant about me being corrupted.”

  “You’re not corrupted. You could have tremendous power if you accepted it.”

  “I don’t understand.” She could hardly breathe as her world crashed down on her. “Did vampires kill my parents?”

  “No. Your parents sent you out of Maremount. They gave you to someone from the Brotherhood to keep your power in check. They probably paid someone to keep the magic hidden. To make sure you kept that ring on.”

  “Mason,” she said, her pulse racing. “And all this time, my parents let me think they were dead. And they’re alive in Maremount.” Her voice broke.

  “Please don’t start crying.”

  She tried to force the tears back. “Why did they send me away?”

  “They saw what happened to me.”

  Something in his tone told her not to ask what he meant—not now, at lea
st.

  No wonder Mason had never shown any interest in her. He wasn’t really a father at all—more like a warden. Her stomach hollowed out. This was all too much to take in. “My parents ruined me.”

  Her drenched clothes hung like ice against her skin, and she shivered, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

  He looked her over. “We need to get to Ambrose before you freeze to death. Let’s go.” He turned, stalking up the hill.

  Caine’s revelation crushed her. She’d always imagined her parents as loving and kind, maybe other Hunters. Not demonic cultists who’d been paying someone to look after her, and who’d let her think they were dead. Seven hells. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Her fingernails pierced her palms, but this time, she wasn’t going to let herself cry.

  She glanced at him. “Why is it that you’re able to live with two souls? Why haven’t you lost your mind?”

  “Keep your voice down. You’re going to attract a legion of human traffickers who will force you into one of the brothels.”

  Obviously, she needed to get this witch’s soul the hell out of her body. And then she’d explain it all to the Brotherhood—how none of it was really her fault. If she exorcised the spirit, she could get her life back. After all, she was still human. “How do I get the mage out of me?”

  “I think you need to focus on the problem at hand. You must have had ambrosia recently, because you smell like a Hunter. It marks you out as a demon’s natural enemy. Any one of this world’s inhabitants would love to keep you as a pet. And if you get even the slightest cut on your skin, the whole city will descend to feast on a Hunter.”

  She frowned. He was being dramatic. “That seems a bit extreme. And you’re human. Why don’t they kill you?”

  “Never mind that.”

  The narrow street opened into a long esplanade dominated by the towering stone castle. Moonlight glinted off its sharp spires, and a silver portcullis barred the gate. Gargoyles leered from buttresses high above.