by Chris Lowry
He said nothing which made me want to fill the silence with the noise of my voice, and I knew that was his training clashing against mine. Even though he was and is a mentor, I learned much of my magic from hands other than his, and of course there is innate talent too which can have a bigger affect on the world we create than any of us realize. I knew he was playing salesman to me, wanting me to talk more because no one can stand an idle silence.
I thought for a microsecond of stretching it out, a test of will between the two of us, and instantly felt a hum and sparkle of electric energy charge the air, like you sometimes feel when the clouds are thick with the promise of rain, and the metal gray sky shakes with thunder just before the lightening cracks. The mere thought of a challenge, the hint of it set off a wave of charms and spells interwoven around his being that was effective as racking a Mossburg shotgun in the dark.
"The West Marshal," I continued and felt the tension in the air around us ease. "He should be based in Los Angeles. The ley line runs through San Andreas, and so the nexus of power is there."
Those eyes watching me again. No nod of the head to continue. No movement whatsoever. It was as if I were speaking to a marble bust of an ancient Greek God and I suppose that might not be too far from the truth. Before he was Merlin, he had to be someone else, and before even that he may have been something more.
"Why then does he live in Las Vegas."
"Because."
"Because is not an answer."
Now when one chooses a battle, one must choose wisely. One does not simply tweak the nose of the Judge of Magic, an ancient being with more power in his little pinky that I carried in my whole boot. Both of them.
For a moment I thought I was going to end up toad dust. Sure it would be a waste of a good Marshal, if I did think so of myself, but like I've mentioned before I'm not the best Mage out there, and there would be plenty of others willing to step into my place if the Judge would only ask.
Then the corner of his eyes crinkled and he laughed. I didn't get the joke.
"Son, if I had a couple more men just like you we'd round up all these varmits likety split."
Gulp.
"Yes Sir."
I felt like I dodged a bullet. One that came very close to parting my hair.
"Las Vegas son," he continued. "Why do you think they set up shop at that particular oasis?"
"Water."
"That, sure, and plenty more besides. It's got nature magic in the hills and canyons, and the ancient ones who were here so long left a lot of it around when they designated it, and consecrated it. But what makes Vegas such a special place now is the magic we bring to it now."
I crinkled up my brow, trying to work one eyebrow up in a what you talking about Willis moment.
"The magicians?" I guessed. Vegas was lousy with magicians. The ones with their own shows, cabarets, and street performers. You could swing a familiar cat by the tail and hit a dozen minor magic users on the Strip.
"The greenbacks. The sawbucks. Money," said the Judge.
We didn't have much use for money since we could conjure up just about anything. Alchemy was pretty much magic 101 and anyone who learned the Arts figured out that casting pretty quick because unless you were willing to spend a lot of time hunting and grinding, ingredients cost money. Space cost money.
Plus most magic users were extremely long lived so setting up an investment fund for the long term just made good sense. I put a big bang into my alchemy lesson when I first came into magic and sunk it all into an annuity that paid me each year, just so I could live on the interest and never touch the principle.
What I'm saying is I never thought much about money because I put my money to work for me a long time ago and just forgot about it. But I kind of knew the power of compound interest and even thought I didn't obsess on it, I knew my net worth was pretty high. All the wizards I knew had values that doubled Buffett and Soros, only you would never see or hear their names in any circle.
Since I didn't pay attention to money, I wasn't aware of it's power, except peripherally.
But it made sense.
"Tell me why," the Judge instructed as if reading my mind. I suppose he was.
"Vegas was a place of power before, and when they began building the casinos and tourist attractions, it became a mecca for money. People would save for it, plan for it, believe in it and their faith in Vegas built the power up."
There was the nod and the smile I wanted, like a good teacher's pet.
"The people kept coming in droves and now by the millions," I said, thinking about how much ad money went in reminding people to visit Sin City, and even now it was being billed as a family vacation, with shows and rides and attractions. That must have expanded the number of believers who in their faith gave even more power to the place.
Of course the Marshal would be in Vegas.
The ley line there, while weaker than San Andreas was made stronger through the power of the people who went there, and who believed in the money they brought their to sacrifice to the gambling gods in the hopes of a bigger return. And when they left Vegas, they still continued to worship it from afar.
Because all that magic would draw a lot of magic users. Wizards, mages, witches and warlocks. Low level magic users performing on the street feats that boggled the mind, and the crowd was wowed and believed, which fed the magic. Multiply that by thousands and you created an exponentially powerful place.
It's no wonder the Marshal of the West was one bad hombre.
He had to be to deal with all the Vegas madness, and he still had the rest of the US to cover as well.
"And you sent a Witch there," the Judge concluded.
"Get out of my head," I warned him.
Thunder rumbled the foundation of the stone building we were in.
"Please," I added.
The judge crinkled his eyes again and smiled.
"Son, go West young man."
And he flashed me into a junk yard on the outskirts of sin city.
"Damn it," I grumbled.
There was thunder here too shaking the air around me, and even though it was in the middle of a desert, he dropped me in a rare rainstorm. Magic doesn't work that well in running water. When it rains hard enough, it doesn't work at all and I was soaked to the bone within seconds of popping out into the space. Looked like I had a long wet walk to the Strip.
Served me right for smarting off.
Probably wouldn't be the last time it happened.
The kitsune and Marshal drive around in the pickup truck to collect the dragon eggs.
“Do you think they’d make a good omlette?”
“What is an omlette?”
“Never mind. What are you going to do with the eggs?”
“They will be sent to Mt. Fuji.”
“Into the volcano.”
“Some. Some will be trained in the ways of magic.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“It is not mine to say. I too follow orders.”
“What if I destroyed them?”
“I cannot allow that.”
“I don’t think you can stop me.”
He turned toward her and raised a finger.
The sky flashed in a silent explosion of white and when it cleared the Marshal stood alone in the field.
“She could have killed you, you know,” said Elvis.
“I know.”
“You’re just a wizard. She’s a god.”
“Small g.”
“Small g. Big g. You don’t tangle with deities man.”
“Elvis, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”
“Right isn’t always smart.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Elvis spun around in the air.
“She took the truck,” he said. “Won’t bother me so much, but you…”
“These boots were made for walking,” said the Marshall and took off up the dusty road.
“She could have killed you, you know,” said
Elvis as he drifted behind.
“I know.”
“But she didn’t. Kitsune’s are tricksters, but when you threaten them, they’re pretty much cut and dried.”
“So the truck was a trick.”
“But leaving you alive, that I don’t understand.”
“Maybe that’s a trick too. Maybe we’re two ghosts wandering the desert together.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“What? I can’t haunt a ghost that’s haunting me?”
“She should have killed you but didnt,” said Elvis. “She must have liked you.”
They reached the edge of the crater and started up the road to the rim.
“It happens. I’m a likable fellow.”
“Sure you are. Likable. Gullible. Blind.”
“Blind?”
“Did you notice where the ghosts went for the last three witches you’ve killed?”
“Hell, I suspect.”
“Nope. I’ve watched them whirl away, all to the same point.”
“So where are they?”
“I dont’ know yet. Just a general direction.”
“So what does that mean?”
“They’ve got a summoning spell triggered on their death. Someone is calling them.”
“Trouble.”
“With a capital T.”
We reached the rim. I could feel the popping sensation when we moved out of the spell circle cast by Okori.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I told Elvis.
“Do you have a fix on where we find our next contestant?”
The ghost closed his eyes even though I suspected he didn’t need to do that. He was being dramatic. I could expect a hip wiggle at any moment.
“That way,” he pointed East.
“Any particular point Elvis? East is a lot of country to cover.”
“Kentucky. Coal Mines. Start in Lexington.”
I flicked my finger and we whirled up into a transport spell. Just as the world around us shimmered, I saw a tail flick in the bushes and the bright eyes of a fox watch us disappear.
CHAPTER
Some men liked to chop of the heads of their enemies and shove them on a stake for all the world to see. A warning.
But not this one. She liked to take their heads and add them to a rope of braided twine only through the use of her magic, the heads of her enemies would remain alive. Their eyes would roll and twitch and move, their mouths flipping and gaping and shaping words no one could hear for their voice boxes were missing. These heads would bang together with knocks and chatters every time she moved and this old evil witchy women loved to dance so she moved a lot. She liked to shimmy to a song in her mind and the clacking heads would try to keep time in some macabre hypnotic rthymic roll. It was sick and amazing and some of the strongest mojo I had ever seen.
