The Memphis Knights

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  “Oh, those witches.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t have any issue with them, but I was told you guys didn’t want any mages in town until this was resolved?”

  “There’s a difference of opinion on that,” Uriah said, walking toward the door. “Victor, my father’s second and acting commander, doesn’t want any magic users in the city. I, on the other hand, asked you here and agreed to receive aid from the Coven. What I don’t want, is anyone from any of the groups we work with regularly. That includes the rest of your Cabal and the Appalachian Argument. We also have some dealings with the Great Lakes folks and the Southern Circle. We rarely interact with the Coven, though, so chances of them being involved is limited.”

  “Makes sense,” I agreed. “Though, I’m not sure how the witches will feel about me being here. Part of my job is to hunt down ‘illegal’ witches, which they aren’t of course, but rumors are they don’t like our liberal use of the word ‘witch’. As far as I know, we’ve never been close allies with them.”

  Uriah paused and thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’ll go in and warn her that you’re here.”

  “Seems the polite thing to do,” I said. “I’ll wait outside.”

  The others moved into the house while I stood in the yard by myself.

  After a few moments, I walked over to the two homeless guys.

  Both looked like they were in their sixties, but it was hard to tell beneath the layers of grime they wore.

  One of them looked up at me as I approached, while the other rocked back and forth and babbled to himself. He looked vaguely familiar, but I supposed I was just on edge from having fought a demon. The underworld attracted many of the downtrodden, so I’d interacted with my fair share of homeless.

  “Afternoon,” I said to the one who noticed me.

  He gave me a curt nod.

  “Nice weather,” I said, glancing up toward the sky.

  “Yeah,” the old man agreed, watching me with a skeptical eye.

  “Storm’s coming,” the other old man said, feverishly looking up at the blue sky above our heads.

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “Don’t mind him,” the first old man said. “He’s lost a few screws and the those that remain are loose.”

  “Is he a friend of yours?” I asked.

  The first man shook his head. “Nah, we just look out for each other, is all. Best to stick together, I always say.”

  I glanced down at the small bed roll beside him.

  “You camping here?”

  He nodded.

  “Why here?” I asked.

  “Knight’s house,” he replied. “The Knights protect us.”

  “Protect you from what?”

  “The darkness!” answered the second man, eyes wide. “But who protects them? Devils and darkness ahead! Buggery and botulism!”

  “See what I mean?” the first man said, hooking a thumb toward the other man. “He’s a bit mad, but he’s not wrong. You know about the Knights?”

  “A little,” I said, offering him a little nod.

  “Dark magic, wizardy, and witchcraft!” screamed the second man. “That which comes from the shadows must not enter the light! Blood and ash and demons and the dead rising! Dark wizardy!”

  I stared at the crazy man, amused that he didn’t know I was, in fact, wizardy myself.

  “He’ll simmer down in a bit,” the first man said. “He seems to go off on one of these rants every few minutes or so, but I’m pretty sure he’s harmless. Still, I might ought to get him to a hospital.”

  “Will you?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said, shrugging. “We got to watch out for each other, you know?”

  “I do know,” I replied.

  I turned as I heard the door to the house open. Hamish waved me over. Glancing back down at the old man again, I said, “Wait, here. I’ll see about getting your friend a ride to the hospital. And we’ll see about getting you a hot meal, too.”

  “That’d be nice,” he said, his surprise evident. “Thank you.”

  “We’ve got to watch out for each other, right?”

  I turned and started for the house.

  Hamish waited for me on the steps, a concerned look on his face. “You’re cool to come inside.”

  “Am I?” I asked, giving him a skeptical eyebrow.

  “The witch is very excited to meet you,” he said in a tone that made my sarcasm sense tingle.

  “Is she?”

  “Yeah, man, it’s cool.”

  “Is it?”

  He sighed. “Okay, you were right. She’s a little apprehensive. I don’t know why.”

  “Hamish, you’ve seen my sword, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It was made for killing witches.”

  “Right,” he said. “So, it’s fair that she’d be a little reluctant.”

  “It’s a misunderstanding,” I replied. “Her Coven should know this. They have Arcane Guardians as well. Just not a Blade Mage.”

  “Well,” he said. “Just be nice or something.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not,” I agreed with a shrug. “So, let’s go meet this witch.”

  Chapter 8

  Uriah and his bikers were gathered in the living room. One passing glance told me the others were legit like Uriah. Real modern day warriors. Which would’ve made the awkward expressions on their faces comical, if it wasn’t for the fact they were uncomfortable because their leader had been murdered in this house recently. This wasn’t a pleasant homecoming for Uriah, and his friends didn’t know what to do for him. I didn’t either.

  The living room didn’t feel quite right to me. It took me a moment to realize why. On the surface, it seemed normal enough. There was a sofa with a matching love seat, two recliners, a coffee table, a television, and a few other odds and ends. All standard, except for what was missing. There were no photos on the walls. No clutter lying about. No indication that anyone actually lived there.

  I glanced over at Uriah and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said this is your father’s house?”

  “It is,” he replied, glancing around. “But he hasn’t lived here in years.”

  “He hasn’t?” I asked.

  He shook his head and turned to his fellow Knights. “Would you guys mind giving the Blade Mage and I a chance to speak privately?”

  Hamish and the bikers went out the front door, everyone except Tooter.

  When they were gone Uriah said, “Dad moved into the clubhouse shortly after mom died. Said he couldn’t stand being here alone.”

  “Okay,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But if he didn’t live here, then why was he here the night he was murdered?”

  Uriah shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean he’d come by occasionally to check on things. He was here often enough people knew the house was protected. You saw the homeless guys outside. I don’t know what he was doing here that night. That’s part of the mystery.”

  “Okay, so where did he live? Have you guys already searched for clues?”

  There was a pause and Uriah looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Look, I’m going to trust you. I’m going to tell you something that not everyone in the club knows about, all right? I need you to promise me you’ll keep it to yourself.”

  “You have my word,” I said with a nod. “I can keep a secret.”

  “Dad had a girlfriend the past year or so. He’s been staying with her in another house across town. Most everyone in the club just thinks he found a different place so he could get some peace and quiet.”

  “So, he had a girlfriend,” I said, shrugging. “Why is that a big deal?”

  “It just is,” Tooter said, chiming in for the first time. “Doesn’t matter why.”

  “I kind of think it does,” I said, glancing at the big man. “Or else Uriah wouldn’t have mentione
d it, right?”

  “Right,” Uriah said, sighing. “His girlfriend is a witch.”

  “What kind of a witch?”

  “The good kind.”

  “Well, fuck,” I said, shaking my head. “That doesn’t complicate things.”

  “You see the dilemma?”

  “I see that you just added a suspect to the list.”

  “I don’t think it was her, Wyatt,” he said. “Anna is a good lady.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So, why didn’t your father tell the other Knights he was dating a witch?”

  “We’re Templars,” he said, as though it should be obvious. “Some of the brothers are a little more...old fashioned. They wouldn’t approve. Especially because he was our leader.”

  “And if they found out now, they’d want to hunt her down and chop her up,” I said, shaking my head again. “Shit the bed, Uriah.”

  “Exactly. They can’t know. Especially not until we find the killer.”

  “You do realize she’s a suspect, right? Like... I didn’t have any suspects. Now I have one.”

  “I know,” he said. “But it wasn’t her. I don’t believe she would do it. She loved him.”

  I stared at the Knight for several seconds then shook my head. “Is this the real reason you allowed the Coven’s witches into Memphis?”

  There was another awkward pause. Finally, he nodded. “She’s from the Colonial Coven. She took leave to come be with my old man. He wasn’t sure how the brothers would feel about their leader dating a witch, so he was holding off on telling everyone. She was on the war path, Wyatt. So, I agreed to allow an entourage of her sister witches to come investigate.”

  “And the witch who’s here?”

  “One among the entourage,” he said. “The others are with Victor. They don’t know she’s here, though.”

  “Dare I even ask?” I said, shaking my head at him. “This is getting more complicated by the moment.”

  “I’ll let her explain,” he said, shrugging. “Something about a probational thing.”

  “I knew it was all going to be down hill after the ribs,” I replied. I shook my head in disbelief.

  I heard a door close from somewhere in the house and looked up as the witch approached.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but she didn’t look like a witch. In fairness, though, I didn’t look much like wizard, so, fuck me for pre-judging, I guess.

  I guessed she was within a few years of my own age. She had a kind of rocker vibe. Not quite punk, but definitely not emo. She wore a black hoodie with the cowl pulled down nearly to her eyes. What little of her hair I could see was mostly black with streaks of silver and neon blue. Faded black jeans and boots. A black cord around her neck with a little fox charm on the end. As she drew closer, I saw that one of her earrings was Jack Skellington. The other was Sally. She wore heavy eye shadow as well, but was minimal on the rest of her makeup. The other thing I noticed as she got closer was the wording on her hoodie. Smile Empty Soul. At least she had good taste in music.

  In one hand she held a charcoal gray staff. Near the top was a dark leather band that held in place three raven feathers and a series of silver charms.

  She didn’t speak as she approached, nor did she look directly at me. She kept her gaze on the floor.

  “Wyatt,” Uriah said, motioning toward her. “This is Eilidh.”

  “Hello,” I said, reaching out my hand. She stared at it for a moment, biting her lip. I took the hint and dropped it.

  “Did you see enough?” Uriah asked her.

  When she spoke, her voice was soft, but with a hint of defiance. She didn’t look at him either. “No, I just didn’t want to seem rude in the presence of the great Blade Mage. Also, I heard you talking about me and thought I’d better explain myself.”

  “Sorry,” Uriah said, his voice sincere. “It was unkind. I apologize.”

  “It’s fine,” she told him. “I just wouldn’t want the Blade Mage to get trigger happy around a witch.”

  “I’m just here to try and help Uriah and the Knights,” I said.

  “So they told me,” she replied, a hint of fire in her voice. “Yet, how many witch’s heads have you claimed with that sword of yours?”

  “Just one,” I admitted. “But she was a real B-word.”

  “And how many witch’s lives did it claim before you were the wielder?” she asked, finally looking up at me. Her gaze only held mine for a moment, but in that moment, I realized two things. First, her eyes were a piercing blueish gray. Secondly, she had soft delicate features. Oh, okay, fine. She was stunning. Absolutely beautiful. My heart skipped a beat in my chest as I gawked.

  After a few seconds, she said, “Well, how many?”

  “How many what?” I asked, coming back to reality.

  “How many witches were killed with that blade before you carried it?”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I replied, feeling my hackles rise a bit. “I didn’t kill them. And whoever did, well, the sword chose them, didn’t it?”

  An awkward silence hung in the air between us.

  Finally, I stuck out my hand once more and said, “Let’s try this again. Hi, Eilidh. I’m Wyatt Draven. I’m the Blade Mage of the Ozark Mountain Cabal, but not by choice. The sword chose me and now I’m stuck with it. And, an additional fun fact about me, I have absolutely no interest in killing witches. Zero. I was actually quite close with a witch for a short time. In fact...” I lowered my voice into a conspirator’s whisper. “We were rather intimate.”

  She stared at my hand again, but this time I didn’t lower it. After a few moments she reached out and took it, her grip firm but gentle.

  Looking up at me, she had the hint of a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I might’ve rushed to judgment. The elder sisters speak well of the other guilds mostly, but we hear stories about Blade Mages.”

  “I believe a lot of that has to do with confusion around the term. ‘Witch’ doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone. A lot of folks in my Cabal take it to mean someone who utilizes magic for evil, but even among our own mages, there are some who prefer to be called witches. We don’t kill them for it, by the way.”

  “Very funny,” she said, but her smile spread a bit more. “I didn’t mean to seem stand-offish. I am... Well, I’m a bit shy by nature.”

  “Well, I’m a bit of a doofus,” I replied. “So, don’t worry about it.”

  “So, are we all friends now?” Uriah asked, glancing between the two of us.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I replied. “She still hasn’t explained this whole probationary thing.”

  “Oh, right,” Eilidh said, looking down once more. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just... Well, I’m something of an outcast among my own coven.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Um, I’ve been known to challenge authority on occasion. And I’ve been known to disregard my superiors’ orders from time to time.”

  “Well, it sounds like you’re in good company so far,” I replied, shrugging. “But why the probation? What’d you do?”

  “It’s not really probation,” she explained. “More like... Sister Betran is supposed to keep an eye on me, and since she led the contingent here, I had to come with. She didn’t want me involved in the investigation, but Anna did. I’m a pretty good sleuth and I can dowse like nobody’s business. So, Uriah’s guys snuck me over.

  “And what did you do to land this... Not quite probation of yours?”

  She pursed her lips, seeming about to explain, but instead, she said, “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

  “I get that,” I replied. “You don’t have to. It just means I won’t ever trust you. No big deal.”

  She glanced up at me again, trying to assess whether I was messing with her. Finally, she said, “What would you do if you were in a situation where your boss told you to do something a certain way, but you knew it was wrong? And if you did as you were told, it might cause someone you care
about harm? Maybe even their life?”

  I met her gaze and nodded. “Good enough explanation for me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, he ain’t,” Tooter added from the other side of the living room. I’d nearly forgotten he was there. “This is Wyatt Draven. His Cabal wanted him to execute his best friend for murder. He told them to suck it, tracked down the real killer, kicked a bunch of ass, and got his best friend cleared. His Cabal hates him.”

  “Is that true?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

  I glanced between Tooter, Uriah, and Eilidh, unsure what to say. Finally, I shrugged and said, “That’s the really short version, I suppose.”

  “But you’re the Blade Mage,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t be an outcast.”

  I shrugged again. “Tell that to my Archmage.”

  “So, we’re both black sheep then,” she said, nodding.

  “Great, so now are we all friends?” Uriah asked again.

  Eilidh glanced at me from under her hood. “I’ll agree we can be reasonably reluctant allies.”

  “Great,” Uriah said. “Then let me show you where my father was murdered.”

  As we started down the hall, I said, “Reasonably reluctant allies would be a good band name.”

  Neither of them so much as chuckled. Sort of made me miss Axel. Just a bit.

  Chapter 9

  “I see why you believe a mage is responsible,” I said, nearly choking on the words.

  Every object in the room was covered in sigils. Across the walls, on the ceiling, on the dresser, and even the chair in the corner. Like graffiti artwork, someone had taken care to smear the symbols of their dark magic. The room was their canvas. The Templar’s blood was their paint. Only the floor and the bed were spared. The bed was another matter, though.

  On my back, Drynwyn pulsed with a furious anger. In my chest a fire burned and threatened to burst free. The weight of the corruption in the room was palpable. The remnant stench of beautiful magical energy twisted into something so dark and terrible I thought I might wretch.

  I felt my breath, sharp and ragged, hang in my throat. My heart beat thumped in my chest, the feeling reverberated in my skull. My knees buckled beneath me and I nearly lost my balance.