Sorcerer's Creed Books 1-3

by N. P. Martin

  There was no point in going to those places yet, however. It was too early in the morning, and given that Jennifer Crow was a vampire, she wouldn’t have hung out in such places during the day. So I decided to wait until early evening before I started my search. At least then, I would have been more likely to run into people who worked or hung out at night, and therefore would have a better chance of knowing Jennifer Crow. In the meantime, I decided to spend the day traveling around the city, seeing the sights and gauging exactly what kind of city Blackham was.

  I left the money for the food on the table, and as I was walking out of the diner, waitress Madonna said in a girlish voice, “See ya soon, cowboy,” and I left shaking my head, wondering what she meant by that in all her arrested development.

  6

  Black Is The Color

  From the little research I had done on Blackham before I got there (a quick browse through a guide book at the airport, which made the city out to be up and coming and culturally significant at the same time), I knew that it was divided in half by the Gadsten River. At the north end of the river, you had Bankhurst, where all the money was. I hadn't seen much of that side of the city yet, except on the cab ride from the airport, which didn't reveal much, except that it was constructed mostly of glass and steel (or so it seemed), and that the people who resided there had money. People like Angela Crow, I would imagine. She was a woman—excuse me, vampire—that appeared used to the finer things in life. The lifestyle and luxuries that only considerable wealth could buy, like a limousine and a driver. No doubt her living quarters were extravagant as hell, probably with a pantry stacked full of virgin girls to feast on whenever she got peckish. It was doubtful Miss Crow did much hunting for food. She probably had lackeys for that. On the other hand, it wouldn't have surprised me if she, in fact, did do her own hunting. Going by our recent encounter, she certainly seemed to have the predatory instincts in spades.

  South of the river was Freetown, where I was now based. Going by the old buildings and winding streets, the general look of age and dilapidation everywhere, it wasn't hard to work out that the most unsavory parts of Blackham were located there in Freetown. And judging by the residents I saw as I rode the subway and then started walking down the streets of a neighborhood called Treymont, Freetown had no shortage of miscreants, both human and supernatural. It didn't surprise me that the supernatural fraternity in Blackham seemed to be gathered mostly there, in the darker parts of the city. It was the same in every city I had been in. Vampires may like to play high society, but most other supernatural beings did not. Walking the streets, I saw several different establishments that were clearly hangouts for a certain brand of supernatural. The biker bar ran by werewolves, for instance. The New Age hangouts that were just fronts for covens of witches being another example. In my experience, every supernatural had their own place where they liked to hang out. The one thing each place had in common, though, was that they were invariably located on the fringes, far enough away not to be bothered by the maddening crowd, but still close enough to pick off victims from said crowd.

  So it was no real surprise that Jennifer Crow apparently gravitated towards Freetown as her favorite hangout spot. It was classic teenage rebellion really, assuming that I was right about her lavish background. I doubted Jennifer Crow wanted for anything, but she still felt the need to spend her time in a place that seemed to struggle for everything she took for granted. She was basically slumming it to piss mommy dearest off.

  In Treymont, I located a bar called The Dive Down Under. Yes, really. It was the first bar mentioned in the report on Jennifer. And going by my first impressions of the outside, it seemed like a Goth's paradise. Its wood paneling was painted black, and a few characters dressed mostly in dark leather hung around outside, though to be fair they looked more punkish (or should that be cyberpunkish?) to me thanks to their choppy haircuts and the wraparound sunglasses they were all wearing, even though it was almost dark. Whatever the case, the kids (as they seemed to be) all turned their heads to look at me as I stood staring at the front of the pub like a lost tourist.

  “You lost, cowboy?” one of them said, a young guy about eighteen with long, foppish dark hair and who wore a coat that hung down to his ankles.

  Cowboy? Really? That was the second time that day someone had called me that, though I didn't know why because I can't say I looked much of anything like a cowboy. Maybe it was just the coat, I didn't know.

  "Nice coat," another of them said, leaving me unsure if he was serious or not. With kids, it was hard to tell.

  “Thanks,” I said anyway, then stopped as I went to walk into the bar. “Listen, guys. Maybe you could help me out.”

  “You lose your fucking horse or something,” the guy in the long trench coat said, and they all snickered, except the guy who said it, who stared my way through his dark wraparound shades, which I guess was supposed to unnerve me or something.

  “No, no,” I said. “The horse is fine. Tied him up around the corner back there. He’s probably eating hay right about now. You know horses. They love the stuff.”

  All of them stared at me like I was a crazy person, though it was hard to tell through the wall to wall sunglasses. "Get the fuck out of here," the trench coat kid said as he fished out a pack of cigarettes and coolly popped one into his mouth.

  “I’m actually just looking for somebody,” I said, unfazed by the cold shoulders and wall of cool slammed down in front of me. “Her name’s Jennifer Crow. Any of you know her?”

  No one answered, but the kid in the trench coat lit his cigarette and then turned towards me, blowing smoke in my general direction. “Like I said. Get the fuck out of here.”

  I nodded, then smiled.

  So it’s going to be like that then, is it?

  I would have walked away, but there was a girl there, small in stature, wearing a black dress with red Doctor Martin boots. The whole time, she was making a show of being bored and looking around her while her friend “dealt” with me, but when I mentioned Jennifer Crow’s name, her head snapped around towards me as if she knew the name. Then she quickly looked away again. That was enough for me to deduce that she knew something. If not precisely where Jennifer was, then at least Jennifer herself.

  The girl wasn't going to talk to me. Not unless I made her. Ordinarily, I didn't like to make people do things against their will. Just because I knew magick didn't mean I could use it on whoever I pleased to further my own ends like some sociopath. But this was a special case. My life was literally on the line, so if that girl knew something that could help me find Jennifer Crow and save me from being drained dry by a twelve hundred-year-old platinum blond vampire, then I could put whatever qualms I had aside easily enough.

  Staring over at the girl (who was still making a point of not looking at me) I inwardly repeated the words to a spell that would basically give me full control over her. She would have to obey whatever I said to her (you can see how this magick thing could get dangerous in the wrong hands, can’t you?). “Excuse me,” I called over to her. “The girl in the dress. Can you come here, please?”

  The girl turned her head towards me, a deep frown on her face, like a subtle force was exerting itself on her, and she didn't understand what it was. Of course, a subtle force was exerting itself on her. My intent, backed by my magick, though she obviously didn’t know that, which is why she looked so freaked out when she found herself walking towards me.

  “What the fuck?” one of the boys said. “Donna, where the fuck are you going? Fuck that weirdo.”

  They’re calling me a weirdo? The nerve.

  Donna stopped right in front of me, that same look of confusion on her face as she looked up at me. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said. “I don’t know why I even came to you.”

  “That’s okay, Donna,” I told her reassuringly. “Why don’t you just tell me what you know about Jennifer Crow and then you can go back to hanging out with your cool little gang again. Okay?”
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  She nodded, which caused her to scowl more deeply as she couldn’t understand why she was bowing to the whims of a stranger. “Yes.”

  I smiled. “Good girl. Now tell me what you know.”

  “Tell him nothing, Donna,” one of the boys said.

  Pissed off at their interruptions, I gave them my best dark and menacing look, which isn't too hard for me because I tend to scowl a lot anyway as it just seems to fit most situations. The gang all turned their heads away from me after a moment, their former bravado now waned somewhat. Smiling again, I looked at Donna. "Go on, Donna. You can speak now."

  Donna shook her head as if she didn’t want to, but spoke anyway as she had no choice in the matter. “We hung out a few times, that’s all. Sometimes we run in the same circles.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Two days ago. There’s an old tenement building over in Astoria.” She stopped and shook her head like she was fighting against the control I was putting on her. To be sure she didn’t break that control, I applied a smidgen more magick to it to tighten things up.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s in Amsterdam Street somewhere. A lot of artists hang out there. Jennifer runs with that crowd mostly.”

  “Do you know what Jennifer is, Donna?” I asked her, lowering my voice slightly. “Do you know what she is?”

  “Yeah. She’s just a rich girl from Bankhurst. But she’s okay. I guess.” She didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.

  “Okay. You’ve been very helpful, Donna. Thank you.” I was about to release her from the spell I had cast upon her when her foot suddenly shot forward and she planted one of her hard, Doctor Martin boots into my balls, dropping me to my knees quicker than a silver bullet drops a werewolf. After that, little Donna of the small stature spun around and charged at her friends before wildly attacking them, screaming like a hellcat as she did so.

  “Shit…” I said, wincing from the sickening pain in my testicles.

  I should probably explain something here about magick. The thing is, there are a lot of paradoxes attached to magick. One of those paradoxes is this: If you use magick in front of the uninitiated (Sleepwalkers, with no knowledge that magick even exists), then there is a high probability that whatever spell you happen to cast will lead to some unfortunate consequences. The bigger the spell and the more magick being used, the more disastrous the possible consequences. Which is why you had to be careful when using magick in public. Whether or not you chose to use your magick in public was dependent on how badly you wanted results, and at that point, I needed results. I knew there was a possibility that something could go wrong, but since the spell wasn't a particularly powerful one, I had decided to take the risk.

  And then the girl I used magick on turned into a hellcat. Not literally, of course, but she was doing a good approximation of one as she swiped and clawed viciously at her friends, who were doing their best to get the hell away from her as they spilled out onto the street screaming and cursing in shock. As magickal side effects went, I’d had worse happen, though my throbbing testicles would likely have disagreed.

  I stood up and gingerly cupped by balls as if to make sure they hadn't been driven into my body by the force of Donna's kick, which thankfully they hadn't. "Okay then," I said, hobbling away from the pub and nodding at the pile of black, wriggling clothing on the pavement as I tried to ignore the screams. "Good talk guys. Thanks."

  Hey, they wanted edgy? They just got it.

  7

  Knock Knock

  I took a cab to Astoria, so I could nurse my swollen testicles in peace without a subway car full of people staring at me strangely as I made periodic faces of pain and discomfort. That girl had a kick on her, I'd give her that. She was also fearsome when she got started, as I was sure her friends would no doubt attest to when they grilled her on what the hell she was playing at attacking them like that (luckily for them and her, the spell would have worn off quickly). And she would either tell her friends that she didn't know what came over her, or that I was somehow controlling her and making her do things. Either answer would not be satisfactory or consoling to her friends, I was guessing.

  You see why I don’t like to use my magick too often? Or at least not directly on other people? Shit can happen. Then I end up feeling guilty for the other people involved. Like Donna. She was probably a decent kid. Now her friends would think she was mad. They might even disown her. And all because I needed information. And because my life was on the line, of course. Can’t forget that. That gave me some leeway, right?

  “Where you headed?” the cab driver asked when I got in.

  “Astoria,” I said. “Amsterdam Street.”

  The cabbie, a gray-haired man in his fifties with a gruff disposition, shook his head as he pulled out into traffic. "So which is it then, artist or junky?"

  I made eye contact with the gravel-voiced cabbie in the rearview mirror just as another wave of sickening pain traveled up from my groin and into my lower belly. It must have looked to him like I was trying to take a shit in the back seat of his precious cab. “Excuse me?”

  “Are you stringing out in the back of my fucking cab? Cause if you are—”

  “No! I’m not strung out. Jesus, I’m just in a bit of…pain, that’s all.”

  The cabbie seemed to stare at me a long time in the mirror, which made me nervous because he wasn’t looking at the road. “Sorry, buddy. I thought you were a junky. The only people who want to go to Amsterdam Street are junkies and artists. I’m taking it you’re an artist?”

  “An artist? Of sorts, yeah.”

  “What’s your thing then? Painting? Sculpture? Not that fucking pussy performance art that’s everywhere at the minute?”

  Could slinging magick be construed as performance art? Possibly. “I’m just looking for somebody there.”

  “Let me guess. Family member?”

  “Sort of.”

  The cabbie shook his head as he made a right turn into a market street that was full of stalls stacked with fresh food and bootleg clothing. As Halloween was a day away, pumpkins were in abundance, as was the amount of people there to buy them. "Thought so. You wouldn't believe how many kids run to that place like it's a fucking mecca, excuse my French. Who is it, your sister? Brother?"

  “Sister,” I said.

  “She a junky?”

  “Yeah. She is.” Well, she was. A blood junky.

  “I’m sorry, man. I hope you find her.”

  “So do I.”

  The cabbie concentrated on the road for a few minutes until we were on the freeway heading for Astoria. “I couldn’t help noticing your accent,” he said. “Irish, right?”

  “Well spotted,” I smiled, going through the motions. I’m not big on small talk. It always seems pointless to me, to talk for the sake of it to complete strangers.

  “I’m Irish myself, you know. Well, third generation anyway. My great grandparents on my father’s side are from Cork. What part you from?”

  “Fermanagh.”

  “That’s up north, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You know, my father told me once that—”

  That’s about as much as I heard before a sudden stabbing pain in my head made me cry out and grab my skull with both hands. “Jesus Christ…”

  “Knock, knock, August.”

  It was a voice in my head. A voice I knew straight away. Angela Crow’s voice. “How are you doing this?”

  “What?” the cabbie asked, thinking I was talking to him. “I ain’t doing nothing buddy.”

  “We exchanged fluids, remember?” Angela Crow said.

  The stabbing pain finally stopped, and I let out a breathe. "A migraine," I said to the cabbie. "Just give me a minute here."

  The cabbie stared at me in the mirror and nodded. “Sure, buddy. Take your time.”

  “You can enter my head whenever you want now?” I said silently to the vampire in my head.

  �
�Temporarily, yes. We can arrange to make it permanent if you like.” She gave a small laugh that echoed unpleasantly around the inside of my skull.

  “No thanks. What do you want? I’m out looking for your daughter.”

  “I need her back by tonight.”

  “Tonight? Why? I’ve only just got my first lead. It mightn’t pan out.”

  “Then find another one, August. As long as Jennifer is back in my possession by tonight.”

  Or what? I felt like saying but didn't. "Your possession?”

  “She is my daughter. She belongs to me.”

  I shook my head at her cold arrogance, a trait that reminded me so much of my father I had to grit my teeth to keep my anger down. "Whatever you say. Why do you need her back so urgently?"

  "Do your job, August, and you will find me a generous benefactor. I could set you up in this town, help you network. Introduce you to all the players."

  “And why would I need a benefactor? I don’t plan on staying here.”

  "Oh, you will stay, August. This town is made for you. You'll see, but only if you do as I ask of you. If you don't…" She trailed off and I shook my head.

  "I don't owe you anything, you know. Not a damn thing."

  “Don’t be naive, August. You owed me the second you invited me into your Sanctum. The second you set foot in this city. My city.”

  “And that’s really how you work things, is it?”

  She laughed again, and I found myself wincing at the sound. "August dear, you will soon learn that this whole town works like that."

  A second later, I felt her presence disappear from my head as if she had hung up the phone on me.