Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  Before Magnus could formulate the thought, who are you? the answer manifested into his head and reverberated all around him. The name shook the core of his very existence and did nothing to alleviate his rapidly thudding heart.

  Ashtar.

  Why was such a powerful, self-confident Warlock like Magnus so nervous? Well, it was because very few had interacted directly with the Master demigod; and those who had were generally known to perish, go insane or worse. Such was the lore. And here was Magnus, apparently in a private meeting with the Big Boss.

  * * *

  The low, guttural hum morphed into what Magnus perceived as words. “SLAVE MAGNUS—I AM DESIGNING A NEW STRATAGEM DUE TO THE ANCIENT ONE'S RECENT MOVEMENTS. YOU ARE INTEGRAL TO THIS. LISTEN AND OBEY.”

  Magnus could only choke out a “yes” before a torrential burst of data—Ashtar’s plans—blitzed into his mind in what seemed like an instant. Magnus could feel his eyes shutter then they snapped open at the sound of another thunderclap.

  “‘Yes’ what?” The Oracle’s voice scratched Magnus' ears. He was back in the cottage. She snapped her fingers before his face. “You spacing out on me again? Whaddya’ say, should we should start tracking down girl Leftbankers three and under?”

  He did not answer her. Instead, his mouth curled into a nearly imperceptible smile. His greenish-yellow eyes homed into hers and she didn’t seem to like something about that because she shuddered.

  “There’s a draft in here.” She looked anywhere but into the those panther-like eyes. “I’m gonna need some coinage for upkeep of this place. You hear me?”

  Magnus maintained his silence. His attention had moved onto the tabby, Gabi, who had rejoined them back in the living room but was still in partial-hiding and full alertness under a lamp-stand next to the kitchen. Gabi was locked onto Magnus; if one were inclined to, they might've thought the two were communicating telepathically. What they would’ve been communicating would be anyone’s guess, though most likely not amiable.

  The Oracle said, “What about the plan? Begin raiding Leftbanker’s homes until we can identify this ‘Anointed One’ who is supposed to play hero? Find a way to bind up the little tyke’s powers?”

  Magnus continued his stare-down with the cat, but finally answered. “There is a modification to the stratagem. We’re going to exterminate every female of the Ancient's—aged three and under.”

  The Oracle blinked, coughed, shuffled backwards a few steps, then realized Magnus was not joking. “That’s a bit … extreme, no?”

  “Gabi disapproves also. That’s too bad.” Magnus said, still transfixed on the cat.

  “What the hell has gotten into you? Our Order hasn’t engaged in mass kiddie sacrifice since the old days of … Ashtar …” She was struck by the sudden awareness of what was going and she knew it wasn’t good. She slowly began backing further away from the fireplace and particularly Magnus. “We’ll, um, have to put this to the rest of the council. They’ll have to sign-off on something of this scale.”

  Magnus stayed focused on the cat. Gabi temporarily tracked from his eyes down to his right hand, and perceived the grip of Magnus tighten upon the handle of the poker. “Unnecessary,” said the warlock.

  “You’ve lost it, my boy,” said the Oracle, trying to sound confident but the slight shake in her voice betrayed her fear and agitation.

  The cat’s eyes glanced back up to Magnus' face—this time, his mouth in particular. At the furtherance of the subtle grin curling on Magnus’s lips, Gabi bolted out of there, place unknown.

  “Nope, I've found it,” was all Magnus said. In one fluid series of movements he splashed the cold tea into the fire, tossed the cup into the fireplace, turned and rushed at the Oracle then rammed the poker straight through her heart.

  “Oh—” breathed the Oracle. She looked down at the instrument protruding through her chest, then stumbled backward and fell awkwardly over the coffee table.

  Magnus procured a few gold coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the “vessel” that once belonged to the Oracle. His boots clomped on the hardwood as he walked over to the long-beaked, spindly bird-demon rack. His cloak was now virtually dried, so he tossed it around himself then grabbed his gloves and put them on. When the door opened, the maelstrom outside made its presence immediately known—and the wind stoked the flames in the fireplace further. To Magnus, the wind, rain, lightening and thunder had a greater immediacy, vitality, being—as though it were an appendage of the body to be harnessed, molded, forged, controlled…

  Across the muddy walkway and inside the stable, his trusty steed nonchalantly gnawed on some dried grass. Magnus re-saddled the horse and mounted it, then rode out of the stable back into the rain—his rain. The lightening continued its electric display and the thunder, its clamor. The horse stopped just shy of the gate as Magnus inhaled the charged air; every pellet of water that stung his face was measured as part of this macabre baptism and committed to his memory.

  Then it happened: a fierce bolt of lightening struck the cottage. Then another, and yet another. The fire inside spread more quickly than one would have anticipated, and within a minute or so, the entire place was utterly engulfed in flames.

  Magnus gestured with his hand and the rudimentary gate opened. Squish-squish-squish went the hooves of the horse as they passed through the gate and continued on the muddy trail. Not once did the thought cross Magnus’ mind that his eyes would never again behold his childhood cottage. By tomorrow it would be nothing but a pile of muddy ash and rubble. And Mysterium would be his alone.

  II

  John Temple

  John, I am going to tell you this only once and I’m not going into detail. Just listen: get you and your daughter out of town ASAP. Far away. Don’t ask questions. Don’t come back.

  He played it over in his mind. His employer and friend, the Prime Master of Mysterium, Bachar had said it exactly like that. It was a legitimate warning, and one that the former advisor to the PM would heed. Ten years he had been the Prime Master’s advisor. No more. Not since the outbreak.

  “I saw it happening,” he said, tossing a few pairs of wool socks into the duffel-bag on his kitchen table.

  “I saw it hawpenning too, papa!” his jade-eyed, brown haired toddler waddled toward him. “Heew, papa.” She handed him a tiny pair of her own socks.

  “Thank you my little latke. Can you go get your shoes for me? Thanks.” The little girl shuffled away. He tossed some other articles into the duffel bag and rummaged through a cupboard. He threw a pocket-knife, a roll of duct-tape, a tarp, and other miscellaneous items he thought would be useful into the bag.

  The back door burst open and a young man with frantic eyes and a face that could have used a shave exploded into the kitchen. “They’re doing it John. They are actually incarcerating any of us caught practicing the power of the Ancient. And they’re rounding up anyone who is calling bull on this so-called virus outbreak.” He went to the refrigerator and opened it. “They got Caleb—and he was just questioning the alleged link between our magic and the virus. Nobody’s heard from him in a week. You gotta do something, man!… You have any non-tap?” He shut the fridge.

  John zipped up the duffel bag. He walked to the closet and grabbed a bottled water. He tossed it to the young man. “I gotta do something? Yeah, like what?”

  The young man caught the water, uncapped then pounded it in one fluid motion. “You’re connected. Bachar––the head honcho. You talk to him…or maybe we nab the son-of-a…”

  “Uncle Joshua!” the little girl was back in the kitchen, one little shoe in each hand.

  The young man—Joshua—lightened up, or at least pretended to. “Hey, my little warrior princess!” He tossed the empty bottle into a trashcan then snatched her up and held her over his head. “When did you learn to fly?!”

  She giggled as he spun her around over his head.

  John was setting a case of bottled water onto the kitchen table. “Nope. The connection has been severed
since the ‘outbreak.’ No Leftbanker may come into contact with any Rightbanker—especially governing officials. Bachar’s office clipped me yesterday. All he told me was to get out of town, pronto. Besides, he’s not the one really pulling the strings.”

  Joshua was still playing “airplane” with the youngster. He put forth his best effort not to sound too frenzied. “They’re fricking quarantining us, man. It’s pretty much impossible to cross the river into right bank—not that I care about going over to that pretentious hotbed of narcissistic Oligarchs. You can read between the lines. They ban our magic, then they contain us, then they…”

  “Get her shoes on, please.” John was going over the checklist in his mind, and looking around the kitchen for anything he might have forgotten to pack. “Yeah. That’s why I am getting out of here, and quietly encouraging you, our families and your zealot buddies to do the same. I already tried to warn the elders. They think I’m being overly dramatic from getting fired.”

  Joshua had set the little girl on a chair and was putting her shoes on her feet. “They’re fools. And the family won’t listen. You know our sister and parents—they believe anything the fricking governing authorities spoon-feed them. And if our elders say don’t sweat it, they won’t. They’re in line getting the so-called vaccine right now. They’re rubes––not even realizing they’re killing their own magic...our heritage...”

  “Yeah. Well, you and your buddies can come with me.” He heaved one of the duffel bags.

  Joshua finished tying the shoes. He lifted the tyke off the chair and held her up again. “Thanks, but no thanks. We’re going to opt for direct kinetic action.” He set her on the floor and grabbed the other duffel bag.

  “OK little latke. Go get you pillow and blanket for me, please,” said John to his little girl. She skipped out of the kitchen, excited to have shoes on her feet. John went out the backdoor of the kitchen with Joshua trailing him.

  John unlocked his pickup-truck, which was parked in the small driveway immediately outside the kitchen. He opened the driver-side door and set the duffel-bag in the back seat, then moved out the way for Joshua.

  “Where you headed?” Joshua set the other bag in the backseat, then went with John back into the kitchen.

  “Probably Madlands. That seems to be the best bet. They have no diplomatic ties to us. And you can be a shifter-mage-vampire-bastard-hybrid walking naked down the street there and nobody will bat an eye.” He lifted the case of bottled water.

  “She’s going to get some culture.” Joshua said, holding open the door.

  “My little latke will be fine.” He carried the water out to the truck and set it in the bed. He secured it with a bungee-cable so it wouldn’t slide around.

  Out skipped the girl with her blanket and pillow, her long brown hair bouncing and her face beaming. This was all exciting to her, like an adventure.

  “Nice work, my little latke!” John picked her up and Joshua went and opened the passenger-side door for them. John placed her in the seat. “Buckle up, please.” The little girl fumbled with the belts and clipped them into place.

  He shut the door and walked back around to the driver’s side. Joshua was testing the bungee, absent-mindedly checking to make certain the case of water was fastened.

  John took out his keys from his pocket and removed a key off the ring. “Hey, Joshua.”

  His brother came around. John handed him the key ring, which had two remaining keys. “The house is yours. Not sure how safe it’ll be for you and your buddies to use as a command base, seeing how it is the property of an ex-government official. Use it as a chill pad. Up to you.”

  Joshua nodded his head. “Thanks.”

  The two embraced. “Fight the good fight,” said John, then he got into the vehicle.

  “Will do. Be safe.” Joshua closed the truck door for him.

  John rolled down the window. “Well, may the Ancient One guide your steps.”

  “Selah,” said Joshua.

  “Wait! Aryay! We need Aryay!” came the voice of the little one.

  John turned to her and said, “Of course, little latke. Uncle Joshua will get him… It’s her little stuffed lion. In her room on the dresser, facing the bed.”

  “Got it.”

  Within a minute, Joshua returned with the little stuffed lion. He handed it to the little girl, who was very pleased. He fiddled with the keychain. “What’s the other key?”

  “It’s an elevator key. You might be able to get to the admin floor with it, if they haven’t already replaced them. Not sure if it’ll work, but I’m sure your zealot buddies might find a creative use for it if it does.”

  “Thanks.”

  John started the truck.

  “Hey bro…” said Joshua.

  “Yeah?”

  “You said Bachar’s not the head of the snake. Who is?”

  III

  Gabi the Tabby

  The industrial part of the left bank of Mysterium was a ghost-town at night aglow with hollow orange hued lights sparsely illuminating factories, warehouses, utility stations and was intersected by a two-lane road. John’s daughter pointed out the window at the water-vapor billowing out of the smokestacks, “Dragon breath!”

  John smiled. “That’s water vapor. We boil water to help power the city. Like lights.”

  She pointed to the brightest star hovering above in the night sky. “Like the guiding star?”

  “Well, almost.” His eyes went from the star back to the road and two eyes glowed right at him in the headlights… He slammed the brakes and instinctively braced his daughter with his right arm, though she was secure in her seatbelt. He hadn’t heard a ‘thump’ so he didn’t think he ran over whatever it was… “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  “O.K. daddy.”

  He put the vehicle in park, got out and walked over to the front. He scanned the immediate vicinity, then crouched down and checked under the truck. Nothing. Must’ve dashed off.

  He walked back to the truck, still scanning the vicinity for the critter. He got in…

  What the?

  On his daughter’s lap was perched an orange tabby-cat, purring in cadence with each soothing pet from the young girl.

  “Aryay’s friend came! His name is Gabi. He wants to come with us.”

  Eeehyaar, the cat nonchalantly meowed, then raised his chin so she would pet underneath it.

  Would this be prudent? John made eye contact with the cat and for a second sat transfixed, as though the animal were communicating with him. A wave of warm comfort poured over him, and he found himself nodding his head.

  “Yeah, of course Gabi can come. Nice to meet you, pal. I’m John and you’ve already acquainted yourself with my little latke.” He rubbed the side of the cat’s chin and under the ear. Gabi accepted the gesture and rubbed his head against John’s hand and released another eehyaar. It was more like scratch than a meow.

  John shut the door, put the truck in gear and drove on.

  The checkpoint ahead was manned by two young men that looked like they would've rather been anywhere than on that back road on the outskirts of town at three a.m. Their snapping to attention when John’s headlights flashed on them suggested that this had been the first vehicle to come by in hours.

  The vehicle slowed down and one of the guards waved him in closer, then signaled for John to stop. John rolled down the window.

  The young officer flashed a light into John’s face. “Evening sir. You are aware Mysterium is under quarantine? Nobody is to leave.”

  “Yes officer—I am on an emergency diplomatic mission to Alexandria under Prime Master Bachar’s order. Last minute.” He reached to his right and grabbed his “official” looking folder he had saved from his recently terminated governmental position, and procured a letter. It had the official Seal of Mysterium letterhead and some official sounding language about allowing John Temple—Advisor to the Prime Master—and his daughter to pass. It even had Bachar’s signature on it––his parting gift
for John’s loyalty and friendship.

  The young officer took the letter and illuminated it with his light. He read it then trained his attention back into the cab.

  “Okay, sir. I will need to call this in for verification.”

  “Huh, the stamp and signature from Bachar’s office are not sufficient?” John tried to play it casual.

  “Not right now. All entry and exits have to pass through the Emergency Office of Security.”

  That meant one thing, and John knew it wasn’t good. That meant Magnus.

  “I’ll be right back, sir.” The guard was about to turn around but paused as Gabi meowed. He flashed his light at the orange tabby and simply stood there outside the truck, completely mesmerized by the cat.

  Gabi made a series of purring sounds ranging in pitch and frequency, and really peered into the young officer’s eyes, almost like a grinning, feline Svengali. John looked at the cat, then at the officer, then back at the cat, wondering what was going on. This strange stare-down lasted a good half minute until Gabi licked his paw and broke the gaze. The officer blinked out of his trance and handed John the paper. He snapped off the flashlight.

  “You guys be safe out there.” He motioned for them to pass.

  “Thank you, sir.” John nodded then rolled up the window. He eased on the gas and slowly pulled away. He reached over and rubbed Gabi under the chin. Gabi purred.

  Home free, thought John. Half an hour since the checkpoint and it had been nothing but open road and starry skies. Only about five miles until they were in the neighboring territory, completely outside the jurisdiction of Mysterium. As the truck rounded a bend John’s heart began to thrust: cones and flashing lights shattered the splendorous tranquility of the night sky. Another checkpoint.

  He slowed the vehicle down and this time the guys ahead didn’t look like they'd just awoken from a half-sleep. Their eyes diamond-drilled past the headlights right through the windshield and bore into the truck. A big bearded guy who looked more like a war-savvy soldier than an officer held up his black-gloved hand for John to stop. He approached the driver side of the truck, and his partner—who looked about the same—flanked to the passenger side. They wore all black and John looked for any insignias or patches on their sleeves to let him know what kind of unit these guys were from, but saw none. Great. Dark operators. Probably a secret unit under Magnus’ command.