A Prison of Worlds (The Chained Worlds Chronicles Book 1)

by Daniel Ruth

  “Is that likely?” Cromwell asked nervously.

  “Well, he is a magic user,” I said thoughtfully. “There's no real reason he couldn't use non-necromantic magic, but he might not have gotten the hang of it yet.” I nodded confidently. “Yes, he could definitely do that, though since he didn't do it here I would be more worried about magic circles. He actually does use those in his rituals so he must be somewhat conversant in them.”

  “What can he do with circles?” Conrad asked. Ugh, that was a tricky question. There is an entire school of circle magic. Some are simple protection circles, others summon and control elemental forces. They take a lot longer than the more conventional ‘wave your hand’ and toss a lightning bolt but they are probably more powerful. Not terribly transportable though.

  “A lot,” I admitted slowly. “It’s pretty rare but you can do tornados, instant death, fireballs, lightning. You name it.”

  “Do you have any advice?” Conrad asked solemnly.

  “Well, don't step in any big circles on the floor.” I started ticking points off on my hand. “Be careful of rugs and carpets that may cover these same circles from sight. I suggest you have a magic-sensitive with the group. I hear some werewolves can smell magic?” I asked tentatively.

  “Some can,” the armored man said shortly.

  “Okay, make sure you bring one and don't go on the carpet.” At this, I heard a muffled chuckle from one of the nameless officers in the room. I frowned; I really preferred when I said something funny on purpose. I made a mental note to ask Jeremy, he was better at catching nuisances. It’s a culture thing. “If he is a circle master he will hold up in a big room with circles in it. Stay out of line of sight and shoot him from cover.”

  “I am not sure how practical that may be,” Conrad frowned.

  “Well, he's going to have a lot of advantages. Your only other option is to destroy his circles. That’s easy if they are chalk but if he has built that room from scratch he could have had everything etched in the floor. Also, once a circle is activated they are pretty durable.”

  “What about gas?” Cromwell volunteered.

  “Good idea, but zombies are immune and there exist circles that will shield him. Damn, I hope this doesn't turn into a siege.” Still what were the chances that a necromancer ritualist had a fortress full of other ritual magic? I mean, necromancy is a niche that most wackos are happy to stay in.

  “Anything else you can think of?” Conrad asked. I could tell he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear more.

  “Anything more would be sheer guesswork,” I admitted. “All we know for sure is he raises zombies.”

  “If you find any books, I suggest you have me come by. Some special books are trapped.” Not only was this true, but I may be able to have the police do all the retrieval work while I get to do the research.

  “We will send Cromwell to get you if we find anything.” Conrad nodded in dismissal.

  I nodded back and headed out with one of the nameless officers as my escort. Looking around and called over my shoulder. “I would hurry up on gathering these parts. I think I saw an arm twitch.” I think I heard some scrambling behind me.

  Chapter 4

  The pleasant officer who dropped me off at my house flew off almost as soon as I stepped out of the vehicle. The backwash of the jet stream made me gently sway as I watched the police cruiser takeoff at a 45-degree angle and almost sideswipe a traffic control buoy. I frowned to myself. That couldn't be legal, could it? I guess this case was really spooking the police involved. It seemed they really weren't ready for the dark creepy things to crawl out into the light where they could see them.

  Shrugging, I turned and went into my home. Once inside, I could feel the tension from being around others for so long slowly unravel inside me. I plopped down in my comfy chair, and my hand absently lifted to caress the fine mahogany wood bookcase that was strategically in reach. A relaxed sigh escaped me. Home. Maybe later in the day I would go to the cellar and lift the two-ton duracrete plate in the ground, under which I kept my more expensive treasures. Touching our possessions and valuable objects is like therapy for those of our kind. It's hard to really explain, but trust me it beats a massage.

  I sat like that for about a half hour, just unwinding. It may have still been morning, but except for a few hours of sleep I had been up for a while. I would likely be up for hours yet, perhaps days, since my biorhythm is really not in sync with local phenomena such as the sun or moon.

  Once I was sufficiently relaxed, I got down to work again. Concentrating a little, I put myself in the light trance favored for forcing the brain to operate at increased speed, comprehension, and retention and dug into the remains of pile of books on the floor. There is a certain rhythm involved in such study that defies description. I realize that most of these books were written by quacks and cover silly things such as tooth fairies and the aliens that built the pyramids; however, with the right state of mind the brain acts like a sieve, shifting out the nonsense and capturing the few nuggets of truth buried in these stories. It helps to be psychic in these situations; not only do you go through these books quickly, but my heightened intuition worked well with my instinctive understanding of magic to make this kind of study possible.

  Two hours later, I was done with the latest stack of books. A few kernels of new truths nestled in my mind and I was ready for a snack. I laid the last book aside and lazily stood up and stretched, hearing the minor pops and pings of joints just a little too relaxed. I moved over to the fridge and grabbed the rest of the cooked pig.

  I willed my nails to sharpen a bit. I couldn't form talons anymore, but my nails were still as strong as the rest of me, and with a little effort they worked almost as well. Stripping the meat from the bone, I gulped it down within a few seconds, paused to look at the big bare bone that was all that was left, and shrugged. I brought the bone to my mouth and with minimal effort reduced it to mulch and swallowed it. Good to the last drop. Ever since I arrived here, I had been almost constantly hungry with only varied degrees. The ambient energy was low, and apparently I needed to function with a less efficient energy source. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed eating, but I never had to spend so much time doing it. Sometimes I even got an urge to raid a farm for sheep for a late night snack. I would prefer not to get so close to my roots.

  Washing my hands, I levitated my coat over to me and slipped my arms in. Now that I was relaxed and recharged, it was time to completely tense up again and follow up on the lead Jeremy had left for me. As I left my house, I paused, looking fondly back at the somewhat humble estate behind me. I still doubted the missiles were coincidence; it may be time to institute more thorough protections for my home. I had some minor protection circles that I had gleaned from my studies since I had started applying myself. Nothing like what I was looking for, but enough to make supernatural creatures uncomfortable if they came by. Like a mystic hotfoot. Such measures would be useless against humans.

  For the more mundane hazards, I did have some contractors build in some large durasteel beams inside the door and walls that would keep mortals out unless they were willing to use explosives. Which they just may might. Damn. Now I didn't want to leave my home where I had all my cool sparkly stuff. After standing on my doorstep in indecisive idiocy for a good five minutes, I sighed. I couldn't guard my lair twenty-four hours a day. Only senile ancient lizards did that. It was a sign that they were due for the big sleep.

  Disgruntled, I let the energies rush through my brain and with a mental twist impossible to explain to those that can't do it, moved and locked the sturdy metal beams in place in the walls across the doors and windows.

  With a final glance over my shoulder, I started sauntering out of the residential area toward the commercially zoned area. As I progressed, I passed that invisible line that only the government knows of. The one that divided homes and businesses. Slowing my walk, I dawdled to enjoy the shopping center’s tiny businesses that nestled around the perimeter of
the residences. Around my neighborhood, there weren't any skyscrapers, but you could almost see a linear progression as the buildings rose in height the further away they were.

  Moving around the parking lot and keeping a wary eye on the traffic peppering the air above me, I headed towards the line of taxis as they rested like boxy-shaped birds of prey. As one scooped up the man in line before me I handed the dispatcher my address and credit tag. He in turn gave me an incredulous look for me being gauche enough to use such an ancient method of payment.

  I really should learn to use a floater myself. It’s not like I couldn't afford one but... well, I just don't like machines that much; the newer technology tended to do odd things around me. The suburban area was the closest you could come to the wilderness in a city this size, outside the admittedly generously partitioned state owned parks. It's hard to get a reputation as a respectable occult book researcher if your address is in the park. It’s a cruel world, but that’s just how it is. Besides, as time passes I have gotten very attached to my new home.

  I watched the world go by as we flew to our destination on the fancier side of the city. A familiar feeling of nostalgia rolled through me. It was just as well the trip was short so I didn't have much time to be maudlin. I was almost grateful for the landing, as uneventful as it was.

  Here in the heart of the city the buildings rose up around me like canyons and the wind whipped at my coat. I didn't really feel the cold, but there were homeless people huddled on the sidewalk wrapped in blankets sitting on top veritable geysers of hot air coming up from the sewer grates. I looked at them in puzzlement; I could have sworn the police would have moved them on to the poorer side of town or shuffled them into the Blight. Maybe they just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

  The taxi had dropped me off in front of the Hotel Riviera, which was where Mei Ling was supposed to be staying. I casually strolled in through the revolving door and walked up to the front desk.

  “Excuse me, I am a friend of Mei Ling,” I offered to the fellow at the console. A little mental push reinforced that statement to ensure that he knew I was Mei Ling's friend. The man looked me in the eye with a hint of vagueness that informed me my suggestion had been accepted. Either that, or he had to go to the bathroom and his mind wasn't on his job. Sometimes the subtler abilities are a bit of a crap shoot. “Could you give me her room number?”

  “Room 2845, here's her room key,” he said handing me a small card. I looked at the card and at the man and I can't swear that my mouth didn't open in shock. I had used this trick before, and no one had ever actually given me the key without me asking. The security here was either really appalling or something fishy was going on.

  “Um, thanks.” Gathering my wits, I stuck the card in my pocket and backed away before he changed his mind. I headed to the stairs and started climbing. It was only 28 floors so it’s not like it would take long and I needed time to think.

  Trudging up the stairs didn't take much energy. I had supernatural endurance; if I wanted to, I could sprint up there and hardly take a deep breath. My mind, however, ran in circles. No one just handed the key card to a woman's room without a little more resistance than that. Even I expected to have to plant a few more suggestions before I got that far. So either this was a weird case of mistaken identity or it was a trap. I actually perked up at that. Problem solved.

  A few minutes later I came to the correct floor and stepped out, walked around the corner past some big hulking guys waiting for the elevator and continued on around the corner to the hallway where room 2845 was. I knocked at the door and waited. Why did I knock? Well, aside from this perhaps being a trap, I wanted to get Mei Ling's help, and she was more likely to give it if I didn't break into her room.

  I knocked once more, and then I waited for a minute. Satisfied no one was going to open the door, I unlocked it with my key card and walked in. I am not sure what I expected, but four very large guys in suits wasn't on the top of my list.

  “Excuse me, but does Mrs. Ling know that you’re here lying in wait for her when she comes back?” I asked politely while examining their auras. Hmm, supernatural... probably shifters of some kind. Maybe from that wizard the girl was hunting. The female sounded more of a loner, though Jeremy didn't really say much so I could be wrong. Besides, bounty hunters hanging around with men in suits? Very unlikely.

  “Who are you? What are you to the woman?” the man in the middle spat out. He was perhaps the best dressed, though I am not really a fashion expert.

  “The woman. Not on a first name basis, eh,” I said with a smile. Meanwhile, the four spread out around me. “I am George Carson, and I am your doom,” I shouted with theatric growl and eyebrow wiggle. That wasn't really my name; I didn't want these people following me home. They didn’t look like cute puppies.

  They must have been on edge because they immediately jumped me. I had kinda expected that. Shifters of any kind have a fight-or-flight reflex that is a bit on a hair trigger in high-stress situations. The only thing that seems to short-circuit them is when another shifter or someone in authority plays dominance games. Then different set reflexes get triggered.

  Two grabbed me by arms and the third slugged me in the face. It was a pretty good one too, I actually felt it. I immediately retaliated by slugging him back with a slight boost of psionic energy. Of course, I still had nimrod number one holding my right arm, so he went flying across the room when my right cross landed. The guy I landed my punch on, well it wasn't pretty. It looked like half his face was caved in and I don't think a man's head is supposed to jerk on top of his neck that way. It wasn't my fault, no one told me shifters were that fragile. You always hear 'invulnerable except to silver and magic' and you built up this image of a juggernaut.

  I am not completely invulnerable to everything, but I am made of very sturdy stuff; my entire race is. While I was coming to terms with the unexpected frailty of shifters when other supernatural entities were involved, the guy holding my left arm was trying to kick me in the back of the leg while twisting my arm behind my back. I brought my arm in front of me, which in turn brought the guy wrestling with it for the ride and smacked him hard on the back of his head. This time I did not add any psychic energy to multiply the kinetic force. He went limp, but I didn't see any embarrassing displacement of brain matter.

  By this time, the man I had incidentally thrown across the room had gotten back up and looked ready to charge me. What concerned me a bit more was the apparent leader, who had stood outside of easy reach and pulled a gun. It may have been a laser gun; I can't really tell about these things. I hate guns. I am not immune to them and they tend to sting.

  He started to fire at me which immediately confirmed the stinging thing. I can't really measure it on a scale, but I would imagine it hurt me about as much as a hornet would hurt a human. I retaliated by encasing him in a bubble of psychic energy and watched him twitch as his own bullets bounced around inside the sphere and riddled him with holes. I suppose they must have been silver bullets or he would have just ignored them. As it was he fell down in a big puddle of blood that pooled in on the bottom of the bubble.

  The fourth man had just leaped at me, apparently not registering that his boss was shooting me with silver bullets. He did notice that his boss seemed to mysteriously collapse in a pile from spontaneous holes. I think I mentioned that werewolves have a fight-or-flight reflex? This was enough to toggle him from kill mode to run mode because he swerved to avoid me as he headed out the door. I made a grab at him and came away with the torn rear half of his suit jacket.

  Rushing out to the hallway, I saw the man turning the corner, and tried to telekinetically stomp down on the part of his brain controlling his motor skills. I spat in annoyance as I felt my aim to be off. I think that the attempt may have made his toe twitch a bit, but no cigar on the paralysis. Sometimes this stuff is hit or miss.

  I almost ran after the guy but stopped myself. It wasn't like he was going to call the police. If I went running after
him I may get him, but chances were the residents here would call security on me. Looking down at myself, I saw that my right hand was covered in blood and I had several holes in my clothes where the bullets bounced off me. The tender bruises from the slugs were already fading, but I didn't look very respectable.

  Going back inside the apartment, I looked around. The boss in the bubble was pretty obviously dead. His aura was rapidly fading and would be undistinguishable from the background in about an hour. The same was true for the poor fellow I had hit in the face. It looked even worse without adrenaline surging though me. I grabbed an extra sheet from the closet, threw it over the corpse, and instantly felt better.

  The still-living shifter was groaning. Apparently that shifter healing was finally kicking in. Since he was sitting still, I took the opportunity to give his brain a telekinetic poke to freeze his legs and arms. It was actually very difficult to do this, especially to a supernatural and not paralyze his speech centers, but I managed it.

  “Hrgph you!” He muttered while sprawled on the floor. Maybe I did tag his verbal control center a tiny bit. It's harder than it sounds to get some and not others, trust me.

  I leaned over the man and glowered evilly, cranking up my aura. I winced as the fridge in the kitchen sparked and shuddered to a halt. “I am your worst nightmare.”

  “Are you with that bitch?” he glowered angrily back. Apparently he slept like a baby at night. Okay, time to play domination tactics. If I could project submissiveness into his emotion centers, I might be able to trigger his submission instinct. The trick is it's hard to project an emotion you don't feel. I can do happy, sad, anger, and normal ones, but our species doesn't do submissive very well. We even die angry. Hmm, let's try peace and see if it's close enough.

  “Who sent you?” I spat out, trying to appear dominant and intimidating.