Rise of the Discordant: The Complete Five Book Series

by Christina McMullen

  Well that, and the ornate trophy case that took up most of the back wall. Inside the case were countless gleaming gold and silver trophies from past tournaments. Eller sat behind the counter, polishing one such trophy and did not look up as we approached. Instead, he frowned down at the dusty rag in his hand.

  “I thought we had an agreement?”

  His voice was low and rusty. I wasn’t sure if that was from disuse or a lifetime of cigar smoking.

  “I thought so too,” Myrna said before I had a chance to explain the situation. “Yet there is a djinn down in Blackbird who has already managed to attach himself to someone.”

  At that, Eller looked up at Myrna. His eyes reflected surprise, but he bristled at the accusation in her voice.

  “Impossible,” he grunted, carefully setting the trophy back in the cabinet and resealing the magical ward. “No way a djinn would have made it within a hundred miles of town. My traps are foolproof.”

  “This one was bottled,” I explained. “He was found in the Antique Emporium and the seal was broken last night. We need to know if there’s a way to break the debenture.”

  “Well, that explains everything,” Eller said with a smug look in Myrna’s direction. “I can’t do anything if a djinn wanders into town prepackaged. You oughta know better than that, Seth. I’m afraid the only thing we can do now is wait for its master to make the inevitable mistake and capture it before it moves on to another soul.”

  “That’s not a possibility for several reasons,” I said through gritted teeth. “Not the least of which is that we do not stand by and wait for souls to fall to Chaos.”

  “As I see it, you haven’t much choice in the matter. Although…” Eller’s brow furrowed. “I heard tell you’ve got a Warrior posted local about a month back. I know they ain’t the easiest things to kill, but I doubt one little djinn would be much of a task for a Warrior with a reputation like the one yours has got.”

  I opened my mouth to answer several times, and several times, I shut it just as quickly. The arguments that would have sounded completely reasonable to anyone else would fail to convince Eller. Part of the reason we had agreed to allow his noninvolvement in the mystic community was that Eller’s thought process, while highly logical, was not at all flexible. We of Order were used to dealing with moral gray areas while Eller’s conviction to absolutes was black and white. Besides, I freely admit that while I consider myself intelligent enough, I lacked the aptitude for the mental gymnastics that an argument with Eller required.

  Myrna, on the other hand, had no issue with speaking her mind.

  “That you would suggest murder based purely on what someone was, without knowing anything about them or their situation personally, is despicable and unbefitting of our community.”

  While part of me agreed with her, I also knew that baiting Eller would get us nowhere and I flashed a look that expressed exactly that, but it was too little, too late. That particular djinn was already out of the bottle, so to speak.

  “I’d expect nothing short of sympathy for the devil from a Nyx.”

  “There are extenuating circumstances,” I said, cutting Myrna off before she could lay into Eller for the insult to her heritage. I had forgotten exactly how black and white his worldview was. By comparison, Desmond almost seemed like an advocate for Discordant acceptance.

  “I assumed so. Otherwise you wouldn’t be out here bothering me,” he said warily, relighting the cigar stump in his mouth and filling the area with acrid smoke. “I still don’t think there’s much I can do, but go on.”

  “For one, he’s not truly a djinn,” I began, glancing over at Myrna, who still looked murderous. “He’s an imp who was banished from the realm and allowed himself to be tricked into enslavement.”

  “Sounds like a damned fool,” snorted Eller, expelling another cloud of smoke.

  “I won’t argue the sense in his actions,” I admitted, “but poor decision making does not warrant a death sentence.” As briefly as possible, knowing Eller’s level of intolerance, I explained Howie’s situation. When I got to the part where I revealed that it was one of our Guardians that had cracked the bottle’s seal, he cut me off with a spluttering cough.

  “Oh, stop, stop!” he choked, stamping out the cigar and coughing himself hoarse. “Seth,” he wheezed as he caught his breath, “of all the convoluted insanity that has befallen you and your motley crew over the years, this takes all.”

  “I fail to see what’s so funny,” Myrna said through pursed lips.

  “Of course you do,” he said, dismissing the psychic with a snort before turning his narrowed eyes to me. “Seth, would this Guardian happen to be the one who nearly became a portal last night?”

  “Um, yes,” I stammered. For someone who wanted nothing to do with us, Eller sure knew a lot about our current events.

  “And it never occurred to you what might happen if he were to make but a single slip of the tongue?”

  “Well of course,” I said with a frown. “He’d fall to Chaos, which is what we are trying to avoid by coming to you to seek help.”

  “He won’t fall, Seth.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I suppose it should come as no surprise that your particular Guardian pair wound up in this hell hole, but it sure don’t help matters to have yet another weak link the Discordant can sink their claws into.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Myrna, putting a hand to her mouth in horror.

  “Can’t I? Are you telling me you didn’t realize that the alterations to his soul were permanent?” Eller tilted his head toward the trophy case that was giving off a hum of magical energy. “They sure as hell noticed. Been swarming in there all morning. I had to reinforce the spells on some of the more crafty ones.”

  A sense of dread settled into my stomach when I realized exactly what Eller was implying and that he was absolutely correct. I didn’t know how he was getting his information, but his sources were thorough. I was more than a little ashamed to admit that I hadn’t even considered that the abnormalities in Jem’s soul would become a source of constant concern. The method was inconsequential. If Jem fell to Chaos, his soul would become a portal.

  I glanced again at the trophy case, which spanned most of the wall behind the counter. “How many of those are occupied?”

  “All but one,” Eller replied.

  I didn’t bother trying to count the vessels, as there were easily several dozen, maybe even one hundred or more. This meant there were potentially more than a hundred djinn clamoring for a chance to break free and wreak havoc on Blackbird. That the only barrier now standing in their way was the willpower of a teenage boy was enough to send my thoughts spiraling toward major panic.

  “Is there anything we can do?” I asked, adding hastily, “Other than retirement.”

  “The kid means that much to you?”

  “No one of Order takes the destruction of a soul lightly,” I admonished. “Jem’s situation is unique indeed, but he is not a martyr and we are not murderers. There must be some other way of breaking the debenture.”

  “You know as well as I do that those odds are stacked in their favor.”

  “There’s always a loophole,” I said, more to myself as I wracked my brain for any memory of someone surviving a djinn with their soul intact. “I’m sure there’s been someone in the history of the Cycle who has beaten a trickster at their own game.”

  “You’ve been reading too many fairytales, Seth,” Eller said, shaking his head slowly. “No, I’m afraid there really ain’t much. Of course…” He looked back at the display case and reached under the counter, bringing up a box containing more trophies that hummed with a different kind of magic. “You might keep the kid from being influenced if he’s got a vessel he can order the djinn into.”

  “That’s a problem,” I said with a grimace. “Howie’s banned from returning to the realm and Jem’s too nice to stuff him into a bottle. These trophies have an even smaller port. Can you spell
something larger?”

  Eller puffed himself up. “You know for a fact I can. Spelled the whole damned Taj Mahal, didn’t I?”

  “Could you spell a room for us?” I asked, knowing I was now pushing my luck.

  “Theoretically, I could, but you know damned well that I won’t. However…” He held up one meaty hand to silence my protests while he rifled around in a drawer with the other. “I think I’ve got… Yep. Here it is.”

  He held out a scrap of yellowed paper. Whether it was yellowed from age or cigar smoke, I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that it held a powerful spell, but not one that I or any other Agent had the proper magic to invoke.

  “I’m afraid this isn’t going to be of much help if you won’t cast for us.”

  “You know I can’t go down there.” Something that almost looked like regret flashed in Eller’s eyes, but it was gone before I could fully question if my mind was playing tricks on me. “You got the blonde one. She knows enough to lead the spell.”

  “Louise?” Myrna asked skeptically and understandably so. Louise Woods may have been the leader of the Rosewood coven, but of the three witches, she was the least magically inclined.

  “Weak she may be,” grunted Eller, “but cunning and shrewd. She has more than a passing familiarity with most sects of eastern and western mysticism.”

  “Let’s hope it’s enough,” I said, taking the scrap of paper. Judging by the wide ruled blue lines, the yellowing was indeed from the smoke and not because it was ancient. While it was true that Louise dabbled in nearly every world religion at one point or another, including those required to effectively perform the cleric’s spell, she was by no means an expert on any of their practices.

  “It’s going to have to be,” Eller said with an air of finality.

  Myrna opened her mouth, but I shot her a sharp glance before whatever scathing retort she planned had time to form.

  “Thank you,” I said, steering Myrna towards the door. “For the spell and allowing us an audience despite our previous arrangement.”

  That Eller had given us anything at all was more than expected. He hadn’t solved any of our problems and we did, in fact, leave with knowledge of an even bigger problem than we had arrived with, but we were now warned, at the very least.

  Five minutes later, with my stomach tucked firmly up into my ribcage and my heart in my throat, Myrna dropped me off at home with the promise that she would take Eller’s information and the spell over to the coven for examination.

  “Hungry?” Jem asked. His hopeful smile as I entered the kitchen faltered when he saw my grimace at the thought of putting anything into my stomach.

  “If Myrna was driving, I doubt Seth will want to eat anything for a week.” Desmond answered for me. He and Nai, who was too wrapped up in something on her phone to even notice my arrival, were waiting at the table for Jem to finish cooking lunch. Not seeing the djinn, I had a moment of panic before I noticed him lounging on top of the refrigerator like a misbehaving housecat.

  “I’m sure my internal organs will sort themselves out eventually,” I said with a wink, though I had to admit, whatever Jem was making smelled delightful. Not wanting to ruin their dining experience, I waited until everyone had finished eating before I relayed what Myrna and I had learned from Eller.

  “So he’s a cleric,” Desmond said, piecing together a profile on Blackbird’s second most elusive mystic. “What sect?”

  “He’s the descendant of clerics,” I corrected before dropping the bomb. “Eller is an atheist.”

  “An atheist mystic?” Jem asked. “How does that work?”

  “It happens more often than you’d think,” I explained.

  “Not that this helps us much,” added Desmond with a scowl. “That may explain why he refuses to involve himself with the community, but it does not excuse him.”

  “Okay, really?” Nai huffed, pushing away from the table and crossing her arms. “Of everything that Seth just dropped on us, you two are going to focus on the mystic’s religious beliefs?”

  “This is important information for planning our next move,” Desmond began, but Nai exploded.

  “Next move? Why do we even bother? Of course there are a million stupid djinn waiting to level this place! Blackbird is freaking cursed and I don’t really care what the Creator has to say on the subject. This town needs to be nuked.”

  “I’m not saying I disagree necessarily,” Desmond argued, “but since that isn’t an option, let’s work with what we have, shall we?”

  “W-w-what if I just cycle?” Jem asked, looking terrified at the prospect.

  “I’m afraid that would only make things worse,” I said as pangs of sympathy prickled in my gut. The sliver of Chaotic magic embedded in Jem’s soul was not unlike the protection covenant that I’d had with Amara. “As long as your soul survives, you are going to be a magnet for those who would wish to create a living portal. Cycle and you’ll just become an easier target.”

  “Why don’t you just kill Howie?” Nai asked.

  “Hey! I got ears, ya know!” The imp hopped off the refrigerator and hovered near Jem, as if seeking protection.

  “Don’t think that hadn’t crossed my mind,” Desmond muttered, cutting a look at Howie that seemed to dare him to say anything. “But I’m afraid that with Jem’s soul being compromised, that’s not an option.”

  “Huh?” Jem looked as if he was going to be ill.

  “If I were to kill Slick here before his bond to you is severed, you’ll become an open link to the realm. What we need is a way to sever the link and not through the usual contract fulfillment methods.”

  “We’ll work on that,” I assured Jem, keeping what Eller said about fairytales to myself. “In the meantime, there is a preventative measure we can put in place.”

  “Oh?” Desmond looked unconvinced. To be honest, I couldn’t blame him.

  “It’s something at least,” I said and explained the containment spell. “Myrna’s taken it to the coven and we’re hoping Louise can work out the mechanics of the spell quickly. But be warned,” I said to Jem. “Just because Howie’s out of normal hearing range doesn’t put him out of fulfilment range.”

  “Um…eurgh…”

  I felt bad for the teen, who wore the waxy sheen of someone who was about to lose their lunch.

  “Hm…”

  I looked up and saw that Nai had gotten up and was messing around in the small utility closet under the stairs.

  “It’s a tight fit, but way roomier than a bottle,” she noted with a characteristically sadistic glint in her eye.

  “I was thinking we could set up in the attic,” I said, waiting for her inevitable protest against the idea.

  “Actually…” Desmond drawled before she had a chance to say anything. His eyes darted around the kitchen until they landed on the imp, who had gone silent and pale as soon as I brought up the spell. “I have a better idea.”

  Chapter 4

  Roomies

  To tell the truth, there weren’t too many folks in the ol’ family tree that I could say I looked up to more than Great Uncle Howie. That guy had a sharp wit and sharper tongue and there was no denying he had class. But family being family, lookin’ up was one of them things better done from a distance.

  I don’t care what he says, it weren’t my fault he got kicked outta the realm. He was only following me ‘cuz he didn’t trust that I was gonna go get the money I owed him and come right back. Matter of fact, there was probably a reason he didn’t trust me. I was planning on giving him the slip, but that don’t matter none. Had he trusted me, he coulda gone back after I got kicked out and robbed me blind. Of course, he wouldn’t have got much, but as it stands, neither of us ain’t got nothin’.

  Sure, getting my uncle to switch places with a djeenie weren’t my best idea ever, but the way he was carrying on, you woulda thought I was the worst nephew in either realm. If I really wanted to get rid of him, I woulda slapped a cement overcoat on that bottle and thro
wn it into the ocean. Alls I was doing by gluing down the stopper was preventing some hapless mug from losing everything on account of having his hopes and dreams come true. I know, I know. Empathy ain’t so much a demon-like trait, but you should already know by now that I’m kinda damaged as a demon thanks to hangin’ around Des for so long.

  Besidesways though, I really did think Great Uncle Howie was gonna just pop back into the realm like all those djinn used to do when they was put in their bottles. Man, was that unnerving. Especially when a bunch of ‘em would show up at once. It sounded like the world’s largest role of bubble wrap was being stepped all over. I figured once he was back, ol’ Howie would find a way to shake the djinn act, and then find a way to get back into Ajhe’s good graces. Er, graces at least. Weren’t nothin’ good about Ajhe, but Uncle Howie ain’t nothin’ if not diabolically resourceful.

  What I weren’t expecting was for Jem, of all folks, to find and crack open the bottle. I felt terrible. Now, if it were Nai that cracked the seal, that woulda been a fight worth putting money on. But Jem, sheesh. It didn’t much matter that he had so much Discordant influence that he were practically Nyx himself ‘cuz the kid was too nice for his own good. Knowing as I did what the usual outcome of finding a djinn was, there was slim hope for the kid.

  Not that Des was gonna let that happen. Leastways, I didn’t think he was gonna let that happen. To be mostly honest, I was kinda surprised he didn’t try to whack ol’ Howie as soon as he seen him. Des never did have much patience for his antics and I weren’t foolin’ myself about the fact that he only spared my life ‘cuz he thought I was too pathetic to be a real threat. Uncle Howie though, that guy weren’t no slouch when it came to demon business and I knew there was no love lost between him and Des.

  But that weren’t none of my beeswax. Lucky for me, Great Uncle Howie was stuck to Jem, which made him Des’ problem, not mine, what with the kid not being old enough to hang around here too much. Good thing too ‘cuz I had a bar to run and I was already up to my ears in distractions as it were. Donna would be out again on account of her being magically damaged the night before and Saturdays was always a little hectic. The last thing I needed was my uncle breathing down my neck about that stupid wager. No matter though. Ain’t nothin’ Saturday could throw at me that Sunday couldn’t make all better.