Magic Below Paris Complete Series Boxed Set (Books 1 - 8): Trading Into Shadow, Trading Into Darkness, Trading Close to Light, Trading By Firelight, Trading by Shroomlight, plus 3 more

by C. M. Simpson

  What followed was a rapid-fire conversation of clicks, whistles, and mangled gutturals. Marsh had the impression of words being spoken just beyond her hearing, and Roeglin frowned. Before either of them could protest, Tok turned to them.

  We buried the paths we took to the surface. They did not take us through the building I can see in your mind. We could not find our way back to the portal if we wished to. We are sorry.

  Marsh scowled at him, and the thought crossed her mind that the mantid might perhaps be too afraid to aid them. Thinking about it, though, she decided it might not be the case. If she’d been fleeing the horrors the druid had described, she might not remember which paths she’d taken either—especially if she’d destroyed the tunnels behind her.

  Who knew what changes a cave-in could make? Well, she did, but that wasn’t what she meant.

  “You’re tired,” Roeglin observed. “We’ll speak with Tok and his people later. I’m sure we can arrange for trading before this season is fully gone.”

  Agreed, Captain. We will meet before your winter comes in full.

  From the shudder than ran through the mantid’s body, it had caught some of what “winter” meant and was dreading its coming. It turned away.

  I wish you fortune in your hunt for the portal and in your preparations. We will be ready when you call.

  Thank you, Roeglin replied, and Marsh found herself feeling left behind again.

  “Call for what?” she asked.

  Roeglin pulled her close, his lips brushing her hair. “For help,” he whispered. “They have offered to help us if we need them when we close the portal.”

  The portal. It dawned on Marsh that they might indeed have rid the Devastation of its raiders, but her words to Izmay about something coming to mend its supply lines had more weight than she’d thought.

  They’d taken out one enemy, but what if they’d traded it for something worse?

  Author Notes - CM Simpson

  January 25, 2020

  Well, it’s out later than I’d planned, and much later than you expected, so I really appreciate you being here and am grateful and amazed that you’ve read this far.

  These last two months have been a bit of a rollercoaster, but finally smoothed out over the last fortnight. So much has happened that much of that time is now a jumbled blur. I’ve had the flu—twice!—, and mum tripped over her new dog and broke her femur, dad got run into while visiting her in hospital and there was something else, but I can’t remember it—which is probably a good thing...

  My head is still spinning, but things are a lot better, now.

  As I write this, I’ve just finished the final chapter of this book and turned it in to the editor...who was nice enough to not come after me with a big stick for being four days over the most recent deadline I told her, which was over a month later than I wanted to finish...which is why, as soon as I finish writing these notes and seeing how the cover’s coming along, I’ll be starting Book 7, the second-last book in this series.

  I’m still having trouble grasping it.

  This year has flowed by like quicksilver and, as Halloween approaches, I wonder where on Earth it’s gone to—and how it’s managed to pack so much in, in such a short span of time. If I can catch up with it, I’ll ask it.

  In the meantime, I’ll start work on the next book in this series so you don’t have so long to wait.

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  January 27, 2019

  I spoke with another individual who is working in the background on The Kurtherian Gambit – Endgame Final 3 books, the conclusion of the fight between Bethany Anne, those on Earth, those in the Federation and that @#@#%! Kurtherian who screws with Earth in the future.

  Paris figures prominently in the story.

  Now, we just have to notify Colleen … Shhh, she doesn’t know about it, yet ;-)

 

  Diary Entry - Week of Jan 26th to Feb 1st.

  Thank you for everything…

  Full stop.

  We authors wouldn’t be able to do so much in our lives without readers and we recognize it. While we provide escape, excitement and friends you (hopefully cherish, or hate) you provide us with the means to travel, eat, have a roof over our heads etc.

  This past week, I’m still suffering.

  Mark W. Stallings (successful businessman who sold his company to pursue a writing career full time in 2020 and 2021) texted me this week asking how 2020 was treating me. I responded, “Like her b#tch.” I’m sorry, but 2020 is kicking my rear-end with this jet lag issue. I came back from Asia on Jan 12th and it is taking me two weeks to recover.

  It has been horrible for sleep deprived me to function. I hate it (sleep deprivation.)

  I’m not made for this type of abuse LOL. Write 10,000 words in a day? Ok. Fine. I can do it, I don’t like it but I can do it. However, make me stay awake at odd times of the day, sleep when it is light outside, be wide awake in the quiet of the morning when there are only the zombies or partygoers moving? That’s not me.

  No, really. I was NEVER a partying type person. I’ve never even been drunk. I didn’t go out and stay up until the morning regularly or call in sick to work.

  In short, I had a pretty ho-hum life as a young adult. Well, in reality anyway.

  As a reader I had a FANTASTIC life but that is another story for another time.

  Now, because of 20Booksto50k™ I have travelled parts of the world, and because of LMBPN Publishing I have travelled other parts of the world every year. The absolute hardest part for me has not been the hotel rooms, foreign cities or even (for those that know me) the food in foreign countries.

  No, it’s time changes and jetlag.

  I’m sure my parents wondered what was wrong with me as a high school kid. I would go to sleep at 9:30PM at night because I had to get up at oh-dark-thirty for school in Texas. Seriously, why the hell do they have teenagers get up to start school so early? Teenager bodies aren’t made to get up early. It’s a form of torture.

  I bet it really has to do with getting kids out of the house.

  So, that’s a long-winded way of saying jetlag won last week. As of this morning, I think two things have helped me almost get over it.

  I started walking to help lose weight (I have a menudo challenge (the soup, not the boy band) with my older brother Darryl… If I fail to drop 10% of my weight by June 30th, I must eat a bowl of menudo. While I eat more Mexican food than I eat hot dogs and hamburgers (or even steak), I have not found menudo very appetizing and I’m willing to move heaven and earth to lose the weight.)

  So, last week I went to bed late due to exercising late (solved the problem of taking naps at 5:30pm) and when I did rest, I had better, deeper sleep.

  I hope to wake up normally tomorrow.

  PLEASE OH GOD LET ME WAKE UP NORMALLY TOMORROW!*

  Ad Aeternitatem,

  Michael Anderle

  * It’s Monday night, Jan 27th…15 days after getting back and sleep is still screwed up. I think I might need to turn to something a bit harsher to get back on track.

  Trading to the Deeps

  The Magic Below Paris™ Book Eight

  1

  A Morning Rendezvous

  Marsh stood on the wall above the gate, watching the sunrise. Day came slowly, touching the craggy spires of the long-dead ruins with faint outlines of gold and pink. It was a spectacular sight, but it wasn’t what she’d come for.

  Somewhere to the south-east, her brother and his wife were already at work, and in the cavern above them, her uncle would be cursing his troops through their morning drill. The patrols from Ariella’s Grotto would be securing the surface above their home, and the druids they’d lent would be working double-time to speed the growth of one last crop for Briar’s Ridge.

  In the fields beneath the castle wall, she could see their druids doing the same. Winter was coming, they said, and she had no reason to doubt it.

  Beyond them, Mordan and her cubs were hunting. T
he kat was inordinately pleased to have her children back, even if they were mostly grown, and the kits were adjusting to having a mother again, which reminded her…

  Aisha? Where are you? she asked, sending the thought through the link between them.

  Nooowhere? The reply came back full of false innocence and carefully shielded so as not to give a single clue to the girl’s whereabouts.

  Don’t make me come out there to find you! Marsh warned.

  Couldn’t! came back as fast as light and still shielded.

  Merde, but the girl was getting good at controlling her mental abilities.

  Wanta make a bet? Marsh asked, and proved she could put the sound of gritted teeth in mind-to-mind communication.

  Silence followed.

  ”Ugh!”

  A smothered giggle came through the link, followed by an all-too audible yelp of surprise…from the direction of the ruins.

  “Dan! You put me down! Put me down, NOW!” Aisha’s piercing shriek bounced off the ruined buildings and echoed through the rubble.

  “That little rat!” Marsh exclaimed, picking a patch of shadow a hundred meters from the wall and stepping into it.

  I’m coming, Mordan.

  Aisha wailed again. “You are a bad kitty, and I don’t…I don’t like you anymore!”

  Marsh could feel Mordan’s amusement. She bolted in the direction of the kat’s presence. How was your hunt?

  There will be food for the winter, was the kat’s satisfied reply, and the cubs’ skills are improving.

  The kat was standing in the hollowed-out lower floor of a ruined building. Rubble formed small towers and a low barricade to the rest of the Desolation, except for the rear, where some of the upper floor remained. There were multiple exits leading to faint paths, and Marsh’s heart beat faster. It wasn’t the most defensible of positions.

  Aisha dangled from Mordan’s mouth. The little girl’s arms were crossed, and fury filled her face.

  When Marsh came to a halt before her, the kat dropped Aisha at her feet.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Marsh grabbed her as the little brat tried to bounce away.

  “But, I promised…” Aisha began and froze.

  “Promised what?” Marsh demanded.

  “Not to tell?”

  “Uh-huh…but if you don’t tell me, it’s not going to happen,” Marsh insisted.

  Aisha frowned, and Marsh sensed a wisp of conversation she couldn’t quite grasp.

  “Aisha, you know that isn’t fair, right?”

  The child stuck out her tongue and shrugged Marsh’s hand off her collar. When the woman reached for her again, she knocked the hand away, smirking.

  “All’s fair in love and war,” she said, repeating one of Gustav’s favorite sayings and stepping away.

  Marsh lunged after her and ended up on the ground. Mordan fell beside her.

  “Aisha!”

  The child’s giggle drifted back to them as Aisha scurried through a gap between two piles of rubble and disappeared.

  She has learned much. Mordan’s disgruntled tones echoed through Marsh’s skull.

  Roeglin? Marsh sent and was rewarded by his immediate response.

  Yes?

  I really need a druid who can manipulate stone.

  Aisha? he asked, and Marsh was grateful for the concern in his voice.

  She’s fine for now, but she won’t be when I get my hands on her.

  Laughter sputtered along the link between them. I’ll be right there.

  And the druid?

  I’ll bring Brigitte.

  The thought of what the shadow mistress would say made Marsh groan. Do you have to?

  “Already done,” Roeglin replied, and Marsh twisted her body to look back the way she’d come.

  “Shadow-stepped,” he explained.

  “How’d you know where to look?”

  “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Roeglin explained, then relented. “I climbed to the top of the gate and looked for Mordan. I guessed if she wasn’t out there chasing Aisha down, then she was in just as much trouble as you were.”

  As he spoke, Brigitte stepped out of a patch of shadow at the edge of the ruins. At first, her appearance made Marsh tense, but then she recognized the woman’s sapphire eyes. They were the one thing that made it obvious she wasn’t a shadow monster, despite her midnight skin and hair.

  “Good morning, Marsh,” she greeted her, crossing to Mordan and laying a fingertip against the stone circling the kat’s ankles. “She’s getting sneakier.”

  “She did it without taking her eyes off my face,” Marsh told her.

  Brigitte finished what she was doing with the kat and approached Marsh.

  “Ooh, that really is nice work,” she observed. “I wonder if…”

  Marsh groaned, and Brigitte chuckled.

  “All right. Give me a moment, and I’ll get you out of there.”

  Marsh waited, then felt the pressure of stone against her shins ease.

  “So, how did she manage to do that without either of you noticing?” Roeglin wanted to know.

  Marsh shook her head and scrambled to her feet, scanning the surrounding ruins. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out. She was just talking to us.”

  “So, she didn’t do anything to your mind to prevent you from feeling it?”

  Marsh glanced at Mordan. Did she?

  The kat lashed her tail. I do not think so, but the stone did not touch me until I moved.

  “It was the same with me,” Marsh confirmed, and Brigitte nodded.

  “She circled their feet with stone, but the stone did not touch their feet or ankles until they went after her,” she confirmed.

  Roeglin snickered. “That little wretch.” His face sobered. “Do we know why she was out here?”

  Marsh shook her head. “She would not tell me, and I couldn’t get a glimpse of what was going on inside her head. You’ve really helped her improve her shielding.”

  “But I haven’t,” Roeglin protested. “We’ve been focusing on drawing memories and turning them into pictures…”

  Marsh stared at him. “You haven’t been teaching her to shield?”

  He shook his head.

  “How about how to communicate with more than one person so one can’t hear what she’s saying to the other?”

  His eyes widened. “That’s an advanced skill!”

  “So that wasn’t you, either?”

  “No,” Roeglin replied, but the crunch of several pairs of boots on stone alerted them to the approach of others, and they turned.

  Gustav came into the clearing and stopped. Izmay and Henri were not far behind him. He took in the situation with a sweep of his eyes and then scanned the perimeter. “Which way did she go?”

  “Who?” Henri asked, then saw the remains of the stone shackles around Marsh’s feet. “Oh.” His brow furrowed with concern. “Is she okay?”

  Marsh rolled her eyes. “Of course, she’s okay. She gave us the slip and went that way.”

  “So, are we going after her?”

  Mordan let out a rumbling growl and padded toward the exit Aisha had taken. When she reached it, she stopped and looked back at them over her shoulder. Her tail flicked with impatience, her ears flattened, and then she snuffed the air and stalked in the direction Aisha had taken.

  Henri looked uncertainly from the kat to Marsh and then at Gustav. “So, are we going after her? I mean, she’s too little to be wandering out here all by herself.”

  Marsh stared at him.

  Izmay snickered. “Oh, sure she is, and you can tell her that, ‘kay, sweetie?” She patted his armored shoulder and trotted after the kat.

  Gustav, Zeb, and Brigitte moved out after her. Henri hesitated, staring open-mouthed after them. He turned to Marsh.

  “What did I do to deserve that?”

  Marsh shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe you should ask her.”

  He gave an exasperated groan and followed Izmay and the others, leaving Marsh alone with
Roeglin.

  They exchanged glances.

  “You coming?” Marsh asked, and Roeglin reached for her hand.

  It wasn’t hard to find the rest because Bristlebear and Silvermoth emerged from the bushes at the clearing’s edge to show them the way.

  That kat thinks of everything, Roeglin muttered, his words coming clearly over the link between them.

  Mordan snorted, sending the impression of a disgusted tail twitch through their minds.

  They chuckled, releasing each other’s hands as they moved from a walk to a trot.

  Aisha’s trail led from where Marsh had found her and into a thicker cluster of ruined buildings.

  I’ll murder the little brat, Marsh muttered, slowing to duck through a ground-floor entry that was mostly intact but covered with vines.

  I’ll help, Roeglin offered, but his eyes were on the narrow passage ahead of them, and he sniffed the air in much the same way the kat or a wolf would.

  Marsh did the same. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that ruins were like caverns. Each had their own distinct scent, indicating when a ruin was something’s home or undermined by water and rot. This one smelled musty and abandoned, but otherwise okay.

  Or as okay as any of these ruins were.

  Marsh shuddered. The things that had happened in some of them had left echoes. She hurried forward until the tunnel gave way to a larger space. Enough sunlight filtered through holes in a distant ceiling to reveal a large inner chamber.

  “Whoa,” Roeglin breathed, turning his head to inspect it. “I wonder what this used to be.”

  “Who cares?” Marsh muttered, heading for the room’s center. “She’s over there.”

  Aisha stood at the end of the room, her small face screwed up in concentration as she called rivers of stone from the ground, dragging them over the existing walls and filling the myriad cracks and gaps she found along the way. The only exceptions were the windows—those she left clear.