Sorcerer's Creed Books 1-3

by N. P. Martin

  Jennifer stopped pacing to look at me. "You'd do all that for me?" she asked.

  I nodded after a moment. “I would. Just you, though. No Jasper.”

  She shook her head dismissively. "Forget Jasper. I just hang with him sometimes. He thinks that makes us fucking boyfriend and girlfriend or something."

  "Alright," I said, standing. "I'll make the arrangements. You'll be going to Ireland first. The only person I know who can get you passage to Babylon is my uncle, and he lives there. In Ireland, I mean."

  Jennifer gave me a nervous smile, and for the first time since entering the room, she looked vulnerable, not to mention her age. "Will you be going with me, Creed?"

  I shook my head after a moment. “I don’t know yet.”

  And that was the truth.

  12

  Photograph

  The timing of everything seemed fortuitous. I had been considering going off-world for a while up until then, and now I had the perfect excuse to do so. But something was stopping me, and I wasn't sure what it was. Clarity maybe. A rare glimpse into the reality of my own existence, one which was, for a change, free from the self-deceit and delusion I had been laboring under for so long, telling myself that staying on the move was the only thing for me to do, despite the emptiness of such an existence.

  A truth my Uncle Ray had seen all along. That's why he kept setting up those encounters for me wherever I went in the world, knowing they would force me to go deeper into the reality of my existence as I went about helping people and using my magick skills to do so. Ray knew I didn't have a purpose and that my existence held little of any meaning. Personally, I was mostly fine with that aimlessness, choosing not to care. But then I would end up helping someone on behalf of Ray, and however long the job lasted, I would feel different. I would feel energized, purposeful, like what I was doing held real meaning. In helping Jennifer, that sense of purpose had returned, and I felt once again like I was doing what I was meant to be doing. But I knew, as soon as the job was over, that the old sense of meaninglessness would sink in again, and my feet would start itching once more. Then I would be off on the road again until Ray would decide to maneuver me into doing another job.

  As I walked around the Sanctum on Poker Street, exploring the many rooms (and hidden rooms) within—marveling at the amount of arcane material lying around still (left there on purpose, no doubt, by Ray, in his continuing effort to get me to lay down roots)—I realized that it was that sense of purpose I now had which was making me doubt my desire to keep on the move, and to head to Babylon with Jennifer. I also knew that if I did go with Jennifer, it wouldn’t be long before she never saw me again because I would be off when I hit Babylon, pounding the roads that would take me to strange but familiar places, exploring cities and out of the way spaces that would ultimately serve only as marker points on my aimless, never-ending journey around the universe.

  Sitting on the bare wood floor in one of the upstairs rooms (the room piled floor to ceiling with old books and wooden crates whose contents at that point were a mystery), I came across an old photograph sticking out of one of the books as if it had been left there for me to find. It was a photo I had never seen before, of my mother holding a small boy in her arms, both of them smiling for the camera. The picture was taken outside, in the grounds of the house I was brought up in. I recognized the ancient oak tree in the background (my brother Fergal had tied some old rope to one of the thick branches to make a swing one time, but my father, when he found out, cut the swing down because he said we were abusing the old tree and that it would sour our magick if we didn’t stop, though we all knew he only cut that rope because he despised seeing us having anything approximating fun).

  My mother looked young and beautiful in the photograph, her fiery red hair tied back, her summer tan contrasting against the white dress she was wearing. Her smile was one of love and happiness, a smile I saw less and less of the older I got. The boy in the picture was me at four or five years old. I was quite small as a child, fragile looking in my short trousers and tan T-shirt. My smile was also one of happiness. This was before my father properly sunk his claws into me and before my at times brutal (but always intensive) Mage training began.

  Looking at myself in the picture, I saw a young boy who was wide-eyed with promise, someone who should have gone on to live with strength and purpose. Seeing my mother's face in that photograph—her pride and joy in bringing such potential into being—I could have cried as I imagined how disappointed she would be if she knew how I was living, how I was wasting the gifts I had been given.

  And it was a gift, this way with magick that I had, despite being acquired by enduring years and years of pain, suffering, and at times torture at the hands of my main teacher, my father. Despite how it all ended (in the death of my entire family), it didn't change the fact that I possessed something that could be used to help people and that I as a person could help people. If my mother were there, she would have insisted that I take responsibility and live as she had taught me to live (despite my father's never ending stream of indoctrination).

  "August, my dear boy," my mother used to say to me. "Life is pointless if you don't use what you have to help other people."

  Reaching out, I gently ran my finger over the photograph as if I was touching my mother’s beatific face. “I miss you,” I said, and a single tear ran down my cheek, which I wiped away.

  Putting the photograph into one of the pockets of my trench coat, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I wondered what my next move was going to be.

  As it happened, I didn’t have to wonder too long because the front door banged several times and someone turned up who would decide my next move for me.

  13

  An Unfriendly Visit

  As soon as I heard the door bang, I knew it had to be someone from Angela Crow's brood as no one else knew where I lived (at least I didn't think so, though you wouldn't know with my uncle, who could have informed half the city I was around for all I knew). And indeed, upon opening the door, I wasn't surprised to see the wolfish face of Sebastian staring back at me. The vampire was wearing motorcycle leathers and cradled a black helmet in his hand. Outside, dusk had just fallen, the street now bathed in twilight. Sebastian's blue eyes were intense, even though he was smiling at me. "Hello, Creed," he said. "Are you going to invite me in?"

  Every word that came out of his mouth sounded threatening to my ears. “No limo tonight?” I asked, looking past him to the red motorbike parked on the street.

  “Just me. Can I come in?”

  “That depends.”

  He kept his smile up, but it didn’t distract me enough not to notice the flash of irritation in his eyes. “Depends on what?”

  “Are you here to threaten or hurt me?”

  The vampire shook his head. “That depends,” he said, his smile widening. “Have you done something to warrant me threatening or hurting you?”

  I smiled back. "Not that you know of."

  Another flash of irritation in his eyes. “Well then, I think it’s safe for you to let me in, wouldn’t you say?”

  Staring at him, I eventually stepped to one side and told him to come in. The way I saw it, there was no point delaying the inevitable.

  "Thank you." He stepped past me and waited for me to close the door, then followed me as I walked into the living room. I stood by the fireplace as he spent a minute looking around the room with a slight look of distaste on his face like the place was a hovel compared to the grandeur he was probably used to.

  “So,” I said, eager to get rid of the vampire as soon as possible. “What brings you here? I said I would bring Miss Crow her daughter by tonight when she rudely jacked my head earlier.”

  Sebastian sat down in one of the armchairs, but not before he had wiped the cushion over first with his hand. His stare was unnerving, I have to say. Eyes like orbs of pure ice. Cold. Emotionless. I couldn’t help wondering how many people Sebastian had killed over the course of h
is lifetime, murdering them in horrible ways before drinking every drop of their blood. Maybe he didn’t drink all of them. Maybe he just killed some of them for the sake of it. For the sheer pleasure. Whatever the case, I felt like immediately rescinding his invitation into the Sanctum, just to get him away from me. As it was, I held back, unwilling to come across as hostile or uncooperative, which probably wouldn’t have worked out well for me. Or Jennifer, for that matter. “I’m just here to see how things are going,” the vampire said, his unsettling grin appearing permanent on his face. “Have you located the girl yet?”

  Do I tell him? I wondered. Probably best not to lie. Something told me he would know. Mind reading was not uncommon amongst older vampires, and Sebastian came across like he had been around for a while. “Yes,” I told him. “I found her.”

  He didn’t seem especially surprised or pleased that I had managed to track down Jennifer. “Good. Did you speak with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Not much.”

  “Not much?”

  “She told me she didn’t want to go home.”

  “Did she say why?”

  I shook my head. “No, not really. Mommy issues from what I can gather.”

  He stared at me for an uncomfortably long time before speaking again. “Mr. Creed, I hope you are not thinking about helping the girl in any way. I hope you know what the consequences would be if you did.”

  Shit. Did he just read my fucking mind? Careless. I should have shielded myself when I had the chance.

  I wondered how much he uncovered from digging around in my noggin. "I'm well aware of the consequences."

  “Are you?” He stood up slowly, his grin now a predatory sneer. “I don’t think you are.”

  “Look,” I said, raising my hands. “Why don’t I just tell you where she is and you can go get her yourself? At least then—”

  “I already know where she is.”

  I frowned. “So why—”

  "Why send you to look for her?" He took a few steps toward me. "Don't be fooled by the girl's seeming innocence. She can still be formidable when she wants to be. And slippery. Last time I tried to bring her back, she almost killed me. Then she went to ground and wasn't seen again for weeks."

  Was he talking about the same girl? Vampire or not, Jennifer didn't strike me as the type of person who could nearly kill a psychopath like Sebastian. But then again, who knew? She was a full-blooded vampire, a direct descendant of a powerful vampire queen. Someone like Sebastian was probably turned at some point, and therefore wouldn't possess the same inherent power. Made vampires were the watered-down versions of the real thing, which made them no less dangerous to most people, myself included. "So you think she'll come quietly with me, is that it?”

  “She’d better, Mr. Creed,” the vampire said, taking another step forward. The bastard was too close for comfort now. Was he trying to intimidate me? If so, it was working. “Jennifer is royalty, and therefore a future leader of our species. If she were to disappear again, perhaps to somewhere off-world like Babylon maybe…” He paused to watch my reaction, my eyes giving away my surprise, and probably, fear. “You can rest assured that her mother will get mad, and when Angela gets mad, blood is usually shed. A lot of blood. They call her The Crimson Crow. Did you know that?”

  “I may have heard it mentioned.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Not really.”

  “It’s because she plucks the eyes out of her victims, preferably before she kills them. Then she eats their eyeballs.”

  I nodded, doing a pretty good job (I hoped) of not appearing too rattled by the fact that he had read my mind and saw that I was planning to help Jennifer Crow flee to Babylon. I was still cursing myself for that one. "Look, I get it," I said. "Your queen will kill me."

  He snorted. “Not just kill you. She’ll make you suffer in ways you could never imagine.”

  I could imagine actually. Very well. “Shouldn’t the choice be down to Jennifer?”

  Sebastian shook his head at what he saw as my naïveté for asking such a question. “You don’t live in our world, Mr. Creed. Believe me when I say, Jennifer doesn’t have a choice in any of this. She knows that already, she just isn’t ready to accept it yet. But she will. In the meantime, we put up with her occasional bouts of rebellion.”

  I felt like telling him that Jennifer seemed to have made up her mind already about her future, but I knew he wouldn’t want to hear it. Instead, I told him what I thought he wanted to hear, just to get rid of him. “Fine. I’ll bring the girl to you. She’ll be here, before midnight. Trust me.”

  Sebastian stared at me once more, clearly trying to read my intentions, but I didn't let him this time, walling off my mind with magick. When he felt the resistance I was offering, he backed off. "Don't get involved, Mr. Creed," he said, just before he left. "Just do your job, and all will be well."

  Somehow, I didn’t believe him.

  14

  Point Of No Return

  After Sebastian had left, I sat in the living room, staring into the cold grate of the fire as I considered my options. According to Sebastian, I had no options, but that was bullshit. There were always options. Years of growing up solving what amounted to magickal puzzles had taught me that there was nearly always a solution to even the most difficult of problems. You just had to figure out the best approach to the problem and then keep prodding at it until a solution revealed itself.

  The situation I was currently in was no different. A solution existed that might just resolve things, but not necessarily to everyone's satisfaction, and certainly not without significant risk to myself. The question was, did I want to put myself at risk for the sake of a sixteen-year-old vampire girl that I barely knew?

  I could have just ran, of course. I could have fled the city, never to return. Forget I was ever there and continue on with my aimless traveling, maybe to Babylon with the aforementioned vampire girl, or maybe alone, which seemed a safer bet. Thinking about it, though, I didn't fancy looking over my shoulder the rest of my life, waiting for some vampire to trek me down and kill me. Besides which, I didn't feel like going on the road again. I was sick and tired of constantly moving around at that point. My soul was suffering, demanding that I put down roots somewhere. And maybe also, I wanted to become a valid member of society, so I could use my gifts to contribute, to help people. Blackham was starting to seem as good a place as any to do that. It was certainly a place where I could thrive if I wanted to, doing the job my uncle had intended for me all those years, whatever title you wanted to give that job (magickslinger? Arcane fixer? Occult detective maybe?As in Magick He Wrote? You see what I did there?).

  The more I thought about it, the more staying in Blackham seemed like a good idea. The only thing was, if I was going to stay, I would have to deal with the vampire situation first, which also meant deciding what I was going to do about Jennifer Crow.

  It was time to pay the girl another visit.

  After I had taken a cab to Amsterdam Street (with a thankfully much less chatty driver this time, and one who spent the entire journey listening to a Richard Prior live recording on tape, laughing hard even as he took my money), Jennifer Crow let me into the tenement once I banged on the front door. This time, she ushered me up a flight of stairs and into a bedroom that had a single mattress covered with a few scratchy looking sheets, and candles in bottles placed on the floor amongst scattered items of mostly black clothing, all of which I half expected to see before going in. What I didn't expect was the art that covered every grubby wall in the room. Charcoal drawings mostly, with a few oil paintings in between.

  "You did all these?" I asked as I examined the art pinned to the grubby walls. Many of the charcoal drawings were of people, some obviously of those who shared the building with her, others that looked like vampires. The few oil paintings looked surrealist in nature, depicting Daliesque dream images of dark, stick-like figures stalking
nightmarish landscapes.

  Jennifer looked around for a moment as she stood next to me. "All my own work."

  I nodded approvingly. “You have talent.”

  She smiled, but it was a plaintive smile. "Mother doesn't approve, thinks I'm wasting my time when I should be learning how to become a ruthless bitch like her. Needless to say, I don't get to practice my art much at home. It's why I like coming here, so I can indulge my creativity. Creating these pictures makes me feel like I have an actual soul, you know?"

  “Who says you don’t have a soul? Your mother?”

  “She said vampires don’t have souls.”

  Cruel bitch.

  “Vampires have souls, Jennifer,” I said. “Including you.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, her because she saw some depth of understanding in my eyes, me because I was looking deep into her like I was trying to see the soul she thought she didn't have. Which I was in a way, using every sensory power I had to gauge her essential nature so I could make up my mind about what to do about her. "What?" she asked after my stare went on a little too long for her liking.

  “Tell me, Jennifer.” I firmly took hold of her strong shoulders. “Are things really that bad for you? Do you really want to disappear? For good?”

  She frowned. “You think I’m lying?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not. I’m just making sure before going down a dangerous path.”