Soaring in Air: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Magic of Nasci Book 5)

by DM Fike

  Soaring in Air

  Magic of Nasci, Book #5

  DM Fike

  Avalon Labs LLC

  Copyright © 2020 DM Fike

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ASIN: B08JJMY1JF

  Cover design by: Avalon Labs LLC

  For Mary, who loves Ina and her world without knowing me.

  CHAPTER 1

  FOR THE FIRST time ever, I couldn’t feel the storm.

  Thunder booming above the roof kept me awake. I tried to sleep through it but failed. Blood pounded in my veins as the winds grew stronger. Even as a little kid, a sizzle deep in my bones alerted me to the storm’s approach, long before I knew how strange that was. Yet now I cowered under a comforter, lightning casting my bedroom in white with each strike.

  And I was completely disconnected from it.

  The rain slamming against the window created an irritating hum, like rubbing an old wound. It made me want to itch all over. I couldn’t take it anymore. Kicking back the covers, I marched to the living room’s sliding back door. I had to press my forehead against the glass to view any details of the neatly trimmed lawn. Even then, the water poured down in sheets, obscuring everything beyond the fence.

  A rational person doesn’t hang around in an active thunderstorm, and for good reason. Taller objects won’t necessarily save you since lightning might still choose you like a bad haircut. Even if you win that particular lottery, a concussive blast of shattered trees will kill you just as efficiently. About the best you can expect is to get completely drenched down to your underwear. Most people would have stayed inside.

  I’m not most people.

  I flung the sliding door open, the dull roar of pelting rain expanding into a rock concert of gushing showers. Barefoot and dressed only in a T-shirt and shorts, I squelched my way into the exact center of the yard. I brushed long strands of black hair away from my eyes, a losing strategy as rivers of water kept pushing them back into my vision. None of that mattered as I slid into a sigil stance: legs slightly bent, knees positioned slightly wider than shoulder width apart, and my hands poised at the ready to absorb and release the swirl of Nasci’s energy.

  And indeed, every flavor of pith presented itself in that moment. My toes sank into the mud underneath the grass. A howling wind whistled past my ears. Water coated my body like paint. I should have been able to grab all that pith and mold it into fire, the last basic element.

  But no matter how hard I tried, my pithways wouldn’t retain a single speck of magical energy.

  I, Ina, former shepherd of Nasci, had really screwed things up. Believing myself infallible, I’d absorbed a bunch of bad pith from vile creatures that a psychopath named Rafe controlled. In doing so, I’d given him the power to hurt lots of people. I deserved all the consequences of my overblown hubris: my inaccessible magic, my mentor’s abandonment, and even my self-imposed exile from the Talol Wilds shepherds.

  But the lightning now seething above my childhood home tapped something primal within me. Before my epic fail, I’d been the only shepherd known to wield lightning. I felt broken without that familiar tingle of electricity, like I’d lost a limb. The storm taunted me with its memory, urging me to find it again. While my rational mind accepted that I could no longer control elemental magic, my heart would not let go.

  So I reached up toward the exploding sky, willing lightning pith toward me. Maybe if a bolt struck me, my closed pithways would reopen. Maybe lightning would course through me again, and in its wake, the other elements would follow.

  Maybe I could redeem myself.

  “Gene!”

  Rough hands shook me out of my trance. I was so bent on the storm that I hadn’t even noticed my mother come outside. She hadn’t bothered to put on a jacket, pulling me while wearing only a cream-colored nightgown, which clung to her like a second skin.

  “Gene,” my mom repeated, shortening my birth name of Imogene. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

  Reality slapped me in the face. I wasn’t a shepherd anymore. I couldn’t just make things right with magic. Even if by some miracle I did absorb the lightning, I’d never managed to control it well. I could very well misfire and blow up the entire house with my mom and dad inside.

  My hands fell back to my sides. “I-I…”

  “For goodness sake.” Mom threw her arm over my shoulder and ushered me back toward the house.

  I endured her high-pitched rebukes as we dripped water all over the living room rug. She yelled variations of ‘What were you thinking?’ and ‘You could have been killed” at me as I stood like a pale mannequin. Her ruckus brought my middle-aged Japanese dad out with towels, his face neutral as he helped dry us off.

  “You’re not a little kid anymore. It’s time to grow up, Gene!” Mom thrust a manicured finger at me. “You can’t waltz around the woods for the rest of your life.”

  She was more right than she knew. But no matter how long she lectured me, I couldn’t take my eyes off the sliding glass door as the storm rolled away from the house. The lightning quieted into nothing, leaving only a thin drizzle of rain in its wake.

  Like everything else, it left me behind.

  CHAPTER 2

  “HAGGARD!”

  I whipped around to find a fierce woman with a blond ponytail and Amazonian build glaring at me. She stood in a pool of magma that snaked up her muscled legs, causing her fur-lined cloak to burst into fire at the edges. We stood on opposite ends of a long, rocky plain, the sky a swirling mix of sunset colors.

  “Tabitha!” I yelled. “Get out of there!”

  But as I rushed forward, I hit an invisible barrier. I couldn’t reach her.

  She scowled at me, the sharp lines of her face outlining her fury. “You did this to me!” The magma continued to claw up her torso, morphing her into an awful fiery version of herself, monstrous and golem-like. Soon, only her neck and face appeared human at all.

  “No!” I cried, pounding on the wall I could not see. “Please, no!”

  But I could do nothing as the magma ate her whole. Her human form collapsed inward like a sunken cake into the roiling lava below.

  The sound of a cupboard door slamming jolted me awake. Gasping, I sat straight up in bed, my whole body shaking. I’d been having nightmares for a while now, but lately they’d morphed into the same horrible guilt-dream since I’d left the homestead. I gulped, reminding myself over and over again I hadn’t killed Tabitha. That I wasn’t to blame.

  It didn’t work.

  The clock read seven in the morning. I was in Lynnwood, the Seattle suburb where my parents lived. Mom banged around the kitchen, a not-so-subtle human alarm clock. She’d mentioned last night that she would work the opening shift at the department store she managed and wouldn’t be home until later in the afternoon. I pulled the covers back over my head. Given what happened last night with the storm, I had no idea if she planned on lecturing me again before leaving.

  But she didn’t. I heard her shuffle around for her purse and shoes, then the door to the garage banged shut. She clearly wanted to wake me up with the noise, but she had at least spared me a direct confrontation.

  Her absence didn’t alleviate all my discomfort, though. A long
summer day stretched out in front of me, yet another meaningless rotation of the planet. With no plans and little motivation to make any, I trudged into the kitchen to forage.

  The only good thing about coming home was the food. Shepherds consume mostly fruits and vegetables, adding carby breads and dairy only when the seasons allow. They’re not vegetarians by choice but by necessity, since there’s not a ton of wild game left to eat with shrinking animal populations. But here in the land of consumerism, I took advantage of a fully stocked kitchen to cook some eggs and bacon. I poured myself a large glass of orange juice as a chaser. The smell of breakfast wafting in the air, I placed my meal on the dining table alongside my mom’s tablet so I could watch bad television as I ate.

  I’d only gotten in one good bite when my dad came to evaluate the remnants of the coffee pot. Not finding enough brew to his liking, he filled it up with more water.

  “Good morning, Imogene,” he greeted quietly.

  I swallowed before answering. “Morning.”

  Dad wore a button-up shirt and slacks, his faculty badge hanging on a lanyard around his neck. He must have been prepping for a late morning economics class.

  Unlike my mom, my dad wasn’t much of a talker, so I didn’t expect much chatter when he sat down beside me, mug in one hand, briefcase in the other. I was still scrolling through the true crime documentaries when he surprised me by asking, “May we talk?”

  I powered off the tablet. “Sure, Dad. What’s up?”

  He cleared his throat. “About last night…”

  I knew where this was going. We used to roll our eyes when Mom would go overboard on some minor mishap, like me getting a ‘C’ on a history test. “You don’t have to apologize for Mom. I know she means well.”

  He carefully placed his briefcase on the table between us, cracking it open a few centimeters. “I’m not apologizing for your mother. I’m worried about you.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m okay, Dad. Really.”

  He straightened in his dining chair, staring at a spot above my shoulder instead of my face. “You don’t seem fine. You’ve spent more than a week moping around the house, watching TV and keeping to yourself. Add onto that your strange behavior last night, and we’re both genuinely concerned about you.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I told you when I came home, I had a falling out with my ‘friends.’” The word sounded weird, even to me. With few exceptions, I hadn’t really been friendly with most of my fellow shepherds.

  Dad shifted from left to right a little, clearly uncomfortable, but he soldiered on. “Maybe you should seek professional help. I’m friends with staff at the Student Counseling Center on campus. I can schedule an appointment for you.”

  There wasn’t a licensed practitioner in the entire state of Washington that could walk me through the emotional minefield of losing your magical abilities. “I don’t need a shrink. I need time.”

  He sighed, rummaging around his briefcase. “Please keep it open as an option.” He retrieved a set of papers, started extending them to me, but then hesitated.

  Curiosity got the better of me. “What’s that, Dad?”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “Your mom asked me to give you this. Take it as you will.” He dropped the papers near his end of the table so I couldn’t quite read the bold title on top.

  His voice wavered as he stood from the table. “Remember, Imogene, we only want what’s best for you.”

  Without further ado, he shuffled to the garage door.

  I waited until I heard his car drive away before grabbing the papers he’d left behind. It was an application, not for a therapist, but for a job. A stocking position at Mom’s store to be precise.

  In the past, I would have gotten angry. Apparently, when life doesn’t go my way, my dad thinks I should consult a shrink, and my mom’s convinced a job will fix everything. But I didn’t have the energy to feel anything but drained. I finished my food, not really tasting it, and settled down into a recliner. I chose to watch something happier than my own life, a 12-part documentary on a string of unsolved murders on the East coast, thousands of miles away from here.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, my mom came home with groceries and found the application still on the dining room table. The only reason I knew was that, when I went to get a drink, I found it adhered above the fridge’s water dispenser with a “Live Laugh Love” magnet, right where I couldn’t miss it. Classic passive-aggressive Mom. I responded by barricading myself in my room.

  Not that I felt proud of myself. At some point life would have to go on. Moping around my parents’ house didn’t solve anything. I just had no idea what to do next. I’d loved being a shepherd, protecting nature and slaying monsters, and I couldn’t imagine a single thing in the modern world that would suit me as well. So I continued binging my show, not really paying attention to the details of the grisly murders.

  The doorbell rang as Mom shuffled pots and pans around for dinner. “Gene!” she yelled. “Can you get that for me?”

  I considered pretending I didn’t hear her, but that would have been a true jerk move. Besides, maybe slamming the door in the face of a religious zealot would cheer my sour mood. I put down the tablet, emerged from my hidey-hole, and answered the door.

  I did not expect Vincent Garcia.

  Instead of his park ranger uniform, he wore an athletic shirt that hugged his chest, cargo shorts, and a baseball cap over his ebony hair. He took off sunglasses to reveal slight shadows under his dark eyes, lips set in a grim line. Behind him, he’d parked his personal silver Subaru on the street, a sign he wasn’t here on official business.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  My mouth went completely dry. Although Vincent wasn’t technically part of my shepherd life, we’d met through a series of unfortunate magical events. Despite my resolve to put the past behind me, a decent chunk of my heart soared at seeing him for the first time in weeks.

  Still, he had no business barging in on my life unannounced. I swallowed to get some saliva flowing again and said, “I did like you asked. I called you after Mt. Hood.”

  He leaned toward me with a grimace. “You left a short message and then ditched your phone. I had no idea what really had happened. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

  I waved my arms at the house. “Well, here I am, alive and dandy at my parents’ place.” A question popped into my head. “Wait. How did you find me here?”

  He at least had the humility to appear sheepish, although he grumbled, “I know your full real name. There’s not that many Imogene Nakamoris running around.”

  My mom poked her head around the kitchen wall before I could reply. “Gene, who are you talking to?”

  “Nobody,” I said.

  “A friend,” Vincent said at the same time.

  My mom homed in on Vincent’s reply. She assessed him like a robot from the top of his head down to his shoes. Her face slowly morphed from one of polite distance to full-blown cheery customer service agent, teeth flashing as she scooted around the wall.

  “Well, hello, there.” She extended a hand to him. Vincent hesitated but eventually lifted his own arm to return the handshake. That’s when my manipulative mother pulled him into a half-hug. “So nice to meet Ina’s boyfriend!”

  Vincent balked, seeking me out for some sort of an explanation.

  “He’s not my boyfriend, Mom,” I said through my teeth. I knew exactly what she was up to. She’d tried to set me up before, believing that I lived on some sort of new age commune and ran around with a bunch of hippies. She must have been thrilled to have such a normal (and handsome) guy come knocking at the door looking for me.

  My mom reluctantly let go of Vincent. “Don’t just stand there, Gene. Introduce us.”

  “Vincent, this is my mom. Mom, this is Vincent. Now can you please—”

  My mom cut me off, focusing solely on her new prey. “And what do you do for a living, Vincent?”
>
  Wiping sweat off the back of his neck, Vincent replied, “I’m a police officer, ma’am.”

  My mom stiffened in horror. You could almost see the question marks forming in her brain about how I came to meet a cop.

  “Game warden,” I clarified. “He works with Fish and Wildlife. I’m not in any trouble.”

  “Of course not,” Vincent said. Then he went too far. “In fact, Ina… I mean Imogene, has assisted me on a few cases.”

  “She has?” My mom’s head bounced from me to Vincent and then back to me in confusion.

  I hated that I had to choose the lesser of two evils here. My mom would freak out if she thought I’d gotten into any trouble with the law. Ultimately, I decided that was worse than the alternative.

  Fighting off the urge to scream, I clenched my teeth and said, “We did kind of date for a while, Mom. Very casually. He discussed a few of his cases, and I made some small suggestions that helped him out. He’s being way too modest.” I paused to give him my best death glare. “Vincent could have solved them all by himself.”

  “Oh.” My mom’s pupils went back to their typical size. She grew a satisfied smile. “Then I was right. You guys were a couple.”

  Vincent’s jaw dropped open. “Uh,” he managed.

  If Vincent felt completely adrift in the middle of this mad conversation, it served him right for showing up out of nowhere. I latched onto his arm before he dug us in any deeper. “We really need privacy, Mom.” I stepped outside. “Sorry.”

  “Take your time!” she called sweetly, waving at us. I did not like the gleam in her eye as I shut the door behind us.

  Standing on the front porch wouldn’t be far enough away. Mom would eavesdrop on the wall. “C’mon.” I marched him toward his car.

  He coughed. “Why did you tell your mom we dated?”

  “It’s better than thinking I’d gotten arrested for tying myself to trees in front of bulldozers.”