Apocalyptic Mojo

by Cheever, Sam

  Ardith held her hand out, palm up, with the strange coin resting on it. “Here goes.” She thought about the Watcher, called him in her mind, but nothing happened. No blue sparks, no pretty blue lights. She turned to Blackthorne. “This thing doesn’t wo—”

  Pain ripped through her. She gasped, reached for Blackthorne, and tried to tell him to hold on. But the agony wrenched her internal organs, twisted her limbs. She felt as if she were being pulled inside out.

  Ardith threw her head back and shrieked, certain her legs and arms were being ripped from her body.

  Blackthorne reached for her.

  Too late.

  She felt the touch of his fingers just as her feet left the ground, and then agony became her most intimate friend.

  The pain rolled over her, through her, tearing at her cells until she could taste it on her tongue. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move from the misery of it. Her muscles locked rigid under the onslaught. She screamed, writhing against the ripping agony, and wondered how long it would last.

  It seemed hours before the horrendous pain started to subside and her feet touched the floor inside the Watcher’s lair. When the pain finally slid completely away, she collapsed against the wall, amazed she hadn’t been torn to pieces.

  It had been even worse than the last time. She wondered how much of the pain the hunter had absorbed and realized she owed him a bigger debt than she’d imagined.

  The sound of a throat clearing brought Ardith’s head whipping up.

  The gnome stood before her, short and squat in his long robes. His beady eyes stared at her, showing no surprise. She knew he had to be a little bit shocked to find her in his magic hidey hole.

  Unless someone had warned him.

  “You return.”

  Master of the obvious. Ardith grimaced, pushing reluctantly away from the wall. The bones of her legs hurt when she stood. “Unfortunately, yes.” She took a tentative step and discovered she didn’t fall on her ass.

  Always a good thing.

  “And you’ve made me feel so welcome.”

  The beady black eyes, like hard little marbles, showed no reaction.

  “Right. Sarcasm…epic fail…got it,” she murmured. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the strand of longish blond hair. She looked at it, silky and soft across her fingertips and said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d been able to find something of Joris’ when she and Blackthorne had returned to Edwige’s cave.

  Tit for tat.

  Edwige had taken someone she cared about from her. Ardith would take the thing Edwige cared about most.

  Ardith held the strand out to the Watcher. “I need you to find him.”

  The Watcher folded his spidery-fingered hands at the front of his robes. “Do you have the price?”

  Ardith blinked. “Huh? What price?”

  “My services require payment.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “You didn’t charge the hunter. Before.”

  “I have an arrangement with the Sorceri. With you I do not.”

  Ardith realized the trap and swore silently. That damn Huntsman had known the gnome would require payment. Yet he hadn’t told her. She hated the authority.

  H-a-t-e-d them.

  “All right. What’s your price?”

  The gnome cocked his little head, his bulbous features looking deceptively pleasant. “What do you wish it to be?”

  Temper flared in her breast. She’d come all the way there…had her spleen basically ripped from her insides…wasted the time it took…and he was playing stupid games. She opened her mouth to tell him that, of course, she wished it to cost her nothing. But the glint in the little gnome’s eyes told her that would be a mistake.

  A big mistake. She thought over everything she knew about gnomes in general and the Watcher in particular. It wasn’t much. But she did remember one thing. Gnomes placed a lot of emphasis on value. How much did she treasure his services? It depended on how much she prized the outcome.

  Ardith caught his gaze, held it, and opened her mouth to take the biggest risk she’d ever taken. “Everything. I wish the price to be everything I have. Because that is how much I cherish your services.”

  The gnome didn’t move. His expression never changed. But the glint in his black gaze deepened. Finally he smiled. “You are wise beyond your years, witch.” He extended a spidery hand and took the strand of hair. “Come.”

  He stopped beside the scrying pool and reached for something on the ground, straightening with an enormous pair of scissors. “Come. Pay the price.”

  For a terrifying moment she thought he meant to kill her with the stupid scissors. She hesitated. She could think of easier ways to die.

  The Watcher smiled. “I wish only a lock of your hair. If I need your help in the future I will call you. That is your payment for my services.”

  Expelling a relieved breath, Ardith stepped closer and knelt before him. He took a few snips from the end of her thick braid and pocketed the hair.

  As she got to her feet he was already beginning to scry for Joris.

  Ardith stood quietly by his side, watching. She hadn’t been lying to the little gnome. His services were worth everything to her. They were worth Draigh’s release. They were worth the freedom of her people and the hunter’s.

  She would capture Edwige’s pretty little pet and use him to draw the rogue to the capital city where Draigh was being held.

  Then she would kill the evil bitch herself and give the people what they wanted.

  What they needed.

  An example. A sacrifice. A sense that they were safe once again.

  That was more than her people would ever have. Thanks to the rogue bitch, Edwige.

  ~AM~

  A huge raven pecked at the dirt just beyond the cell’s only window. Every once in a while it would train its beady black gaze on Draigh and caw smugly. Draigh threw rocks at it for a while, but the nasty creature kept returning. He’d seen the raven before…somewhere…but he couldn’t remember where.

  The cell they’d put Draigh in was barely larger than a closet. He’d heard the soldiers laughingly refer to the prison as Hotel Claustrophobia. They weren’t wrong. The tiny cells were like coffins. Dank, slimy coffins. He’d struggled to breathe properly since being locked into one.

  Draigh had worn a track in the dirt floor that ran from the bars to the outside wall, all six feet of it. The cell had a single, tiny window set high in the wall. It was covered in bars made of some kind of impermeable dark metal and had no glass, so that rain occasionally filtered in to increase the mold in the disgusting place. Bugs were a regular nuisance.

  He hadn’t minded the daily torture sessions the humans had subjected him to nearly as much as the enforced inactivity of the tiny cell.

  The only thing keeping him sane was the knowledge that Ardith hadn’t been captured. His careful questioning of the guards told him there were only four magic wielders in the prison. Three men and an old crone who probably wasn’t even a witch.

  Humans thought all witches had large, hooked noses and warty faces.

  The torture had been an attempt to get him to give up the names and locations of his peers in the authority. Though he doubted the humans understood the difference between the council of witches and the authority. They seemed to think all magic users belonged to one, massive group living in a dank cave somewhere plotting how to murder and eat children.

  Not for the first time, Draigh cursed that asshat Grimm for his dubious contributions to human literature. It was his fault humans had such a horrible perception of witches and warlocks.

  He glanced at the bug-infested cot hanging off the wall and grimaced, choosing instead to continue pacing. With such a horrible future facing him, his thoughts fled to Ardith in self-defense. He relived their moments of incredible passion in her small, messy bed in historical Salem. His body tightened at the memory. His cock twitched.

  She came alive again in his mind—her incredible jasmine scent, the
satin perfection of her skin, and the way her lush curves felt pressed against his hard frame. Draigh groaned as hunger swamped him. Physical need wrapped its steely fingers around his lungs and squeezed, making the simple process of drawing air into his chest nearly impossible.

  He closed his eyes and his hungry imagination pulled her forth. He heard her sighs again in his mind…felt her warm, sweet breath against his face. He rested his head against the cool metal bars at the front of the cell. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe. His fingers encircled the rough metal…squeezed the bars so hard they groaned.

  Realizing he was creating his own personal form of torture, Draigh opened his eyes and pushed thoughts of Ardith away. He resumed his pacing, willing his cock to soften and his muscles to unclench.

  But her ghost stayed with him, riding him hard. With a start, he realized that Ardith was his only regret. He’d finally found her and, in mere hours, he would lose her. Forever.

  His thoughts were like a knife in his chest, agonizing in their hopelessness. So he forced his mind back to his current reality.

  The commotion on the street had been steadily growing over the last several hours. From the crowd’s intensity, he could almost hear the hours moving inexorably closer to the moment when he and his fellow prisoners would be marched outside to the gallows. He wished he could see outside—look into their faces to judge their intent—but he knew it wouldn’t matter. They were beyond reason at that point. Only the deaths of the unfortunates in the prison had a chance of appeasing the terrified masses. And not a single one of the four who would be executed had been involved in the slaughter that had engaged the public’s terror.

  Only one woman was responsible for that.

  “It does give me pleasure to see you this way.”

  Draigh stopped pacing and turned, a snarl escaping before he could stop it. Only the mercury-laden cuffs on his wrists and ankles kept him from embracing his beast and flying at her. “What are you doing here, witch? Come to gloat over your handiwork?”

  The guards standing on either side of the rogue frowned, throwing her a speculative look. Draigh had a brief moment of hope that they had captured her and would be marching her out to the gallows with him.

  But Edwige laughed. “Nice try, sorcerer. You can’t pin your crimes on me. It was my invaluable information that led to your capture. Your kind killed my entire family…tore them to bits…and left me alone to deal with your treachery. I do this for them. For my sweet mama and papa…and for little George.” She sniffed and a single tear slid down her round cheek.

  It was a masterful performance. Draigh looked beyond the witch to the men who thought they were protecting her. “You clasp the very devil to your breasts while you imprison those who could protect you from her. I pity you for your ignorance. When this all sours, remember my words. And quickly cleave to the council of witches and the authority. They will be the only ones who will be able to save the human race from complete obliteration.”

  Edwige laughed her bright laugh and turned to the soldiers. “I suggest you muzzle this one. Others who are not as intelligent as yourselves might start to believe his blather.” She gave Draigh a coy smile and turned away. “I look forward to watching your gorgeous neck stretch, sorcerer. And even more, your beheading after. We can’t let you come back in the form of a raven now can we?”

  Her laughter trailed behind her down the damp hallways and made Draigh shiver, a disturbing portent of what was to come.

  “Is it true? What you say?”

  Draigh’s head whipped around. The younger of the two soldiers stood in the shadows across the hall. Draigh could tell by the young soldier’s stiff comportment that he was uncomfortable with his momentary questioning of orders.

  Draigh moved to the bars and clasped them, speaking as earnestly as he could. “You know it is. Or you would not have remained behind to ask. Edwige is pure evil. It is her army that slaughtered your people. My people were trying to find and punish her when I was captured. You must let us do our jobs. Or millions more humans will die.”

  The young soldier moved out of the shadows, his brown eyes earnest and filled with doubt. “I don’t like her. I…feel…something when I’m around her that makes my skin crawl.”

  Draigh’s eyes widened. The boy was a sensitive. He must have some small amount of magic of his own. “What is your name, soldier?”

  “Richard.”

  “Well, young Richard, your senses do not steer you wrong. Take care around Edwige. If you can, try to convince others that she is dangerous. And do not ever let her know of your doubts. She’ll kill you without a thought.”

  Richard stared at Draigh for a moment and then nodded. “May God save your soul, sir.” With that dubious hope, young Richard took off after his compatriot and Edwige.

  Watching him go, Draigh had a moment’s fear for the humans. They were wrong in trusting Edwige. He could fault them for that. But they were only ignorant because their government had kept them that way. It wasn’t their fault.

  Unfortunately, they would pay the price with their lives none-the-less.

  The crowd suddenly surged into renewed violence outside. Something hit the bars of his small window and hands clawed at them, filthy, hate-filled faces pressed against the tiny portal.

  “Die, magic monster.” one screamed through the bars.

  Another clawed at the rusted metal and shrieked, “Hang from your filthy neck, murderer.”

  Spittle shot through the bars, landing in the dirt by Draigh’s feet.

  It was much harder to keep his fear for them at the forefront from that moment on.

  ~AM~

  Ardith stood in the shadows, watching the handsome, young apprentice. Joris was still unaware of their presence in his rooms. Blackthorne had used his dislocational magics to tuck them into the back corner of the large room, high above Capital City, where Edwige’s apprentice was staying.

  How handy for them that Edwige’s troupe was already in the Capital.

  Also, how concerning.

  Joris stood on a small balcony, his hands clasped behind him, and watched the riots far below. Every once in a while he’d lift a hand and skim his fingers down the glossy curtain of his hair. He was obviously a vain man, particularly seeming to favor his golden locks. She couldn’t see his face, but he seemed pleased by what he saw in those roiling streets. He nodded frequently, and the fingers tangled together behind him twitched with emotion.

  The commotion from beyond his little balcony had grown just in the few minutes since she and Blackthorne had arrived. Ardith wasn’t sure why she hesitated in the shadows, something about the young apprentice intrigued her.

  He was an elegant creature, filled with self-assurance. Almost cocky. Not like any apprentice she’d ever known. She guessed that came from Edwige’s obvious infatuation with him.

  Ardith could feel Blackthorne’s impatience pulsing against her from behind. He was leaking magic in copious amounts, the strands of it pinching against her skin like tiny barbs.

  She’d thrown him a glare but he hadn’t pulled the energy back. It was obvious Blackthorne felt threatened in those rooms. Ardith could admit to herself he had a right to feel that way. After what she’d encountered in the cave—in Edwige’s rooms—Ardith was very concerned about dealing with the rogue’s apprentice.

  A door across the room opened and a young woman with perfect porcelain skin and bright-red hair bounced in. She was dressed much like Ardith, wearing a skintight leather bustier and micro-mini leather skirt. Creamy white lace flowed from beneath the skirt, down her slim thighs to her knees and climbed her arms from her wrists. A web of it encompassed the crown of her small head.

  Unlike Ardith’s serious black leather, the clothing the young woman wore was stained a ridiculous hot pink, creating quite a color scheme with the fiery red hair.

  Joris turned at the young woman’s approach and smiled. There was heat in the smile, and undisguised pleasure. “Dallie. You’ve come.”
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br />   The little imp crossed the room and threw herself into Joris’ arms as he turned. “Of course I came, you goose.” The woman trailed slim fingers through Joris’ golden hair. “You asked me to, didn’t you?”

  Joris and the impish Dallie locked lips in a kiss of such heat even the immovable Blackthorne started to squirm after a couple of minutes. When Joris finally pulled away, he sighed. “Unfortunately, you’re late. I expect her back any minute. If she finds you here you’ll be in danger.” He touched the young woman’s vibrantly painted lips in another, much briefer, kiss. “You can’t stay.”

  The girl pouted prettily, pursing her hot-pink lips. “How much longer do we have to put up with that bitch? I’m tired of sneaking around, Joris.”

  The apprentice dragged her up against his body, wrapping one hand around the back of her neck, under the flame-colored bob of her hair, to pull her close. He slipped his tongue across her lips. “Soon. I promise, Dallie. Very soon. The humans are in full-out revolt now. As soon as the magic ones are executed we’ll make our move. The power that the witch planned for her own will be ours. Even now our forces surround the capital building, keeping to the shadows. When I give the word a million humans will be slaughtered and the capital will be taken. Edwige will be the next and final execution. I’ll make sure the finger of blame is pointed directly toward her.”

  Ardith shared a look with Blackthorne. The big mage’s eyes widened, the whites of them glowing with barely suppressed power against his ebony skin.

  It was quite an ambitious plan for a witch’s apprentice. Ardith couldn’t help wondering if he had anything to back it up. Joris stepped away from the girl, grinning. “You need to go, but before you do, watch this.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her out onto the balcony.

  Turning toward the crowd, Joris raised his hands and started scrying on the air. Silver sparks danced away from his fingertips and formed a thin stream of magic that swirled on the air and then plunged downward, out of sight. Almost immediately the crowd started to shout and scream. Shots were fired. Something crashed. And the general mood of the crowd grew much more violent.