Moonshine Wizard

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  “It is?”

  “Yes, of course,” Sharp replied. “Think about it. You try to establish an evil empire, and the Hand senses your army from across the stars. Every army who opposed the Hand, every faction of rogue mages, every dark wizard training school, they all stuck out to the Hand like a beacon. Some still try, sure, but they never stay hidden for long. That’s why you don’t see armies of dark wizards marching across the world.”

  “So, what do you think it means?”

  “Well, it means that whatever they’re after is very important to someone. It means the payoff is worth the risk.” Sharp paused, then said, “Quite frankly, pal, it means you’re fucked.”

  ***

  Stepping out of the Beast, Bert realized just how tired he was. His muscles were stiff and sore. He hoped he didn’t look as bad as he felt, because he felt like shit, and really didn’t want to answer a lot of questions.

  As soon as he opened the front door, he found himself face to face with Jim.

  “Hey man,” Jim said.

  “Uh, hey,” Bert replied, a sea of clown faces swarming through his head as he remembered Jim’s phobia. If only he knew.

  Jim chuckled. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  I wish it were a ghost, Bert thought. A ghost would be way less terrifying. Unless it were a clown ghost.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, forcing a smile. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Kevin and I were playing guitar and drinking beer. Wondered where you were. Neil left a few hours ago. You always come home this late?”

  Jim’s eyes held a different question. So, they’ve sensed the Autumn Woe now too, he thought.

  Bert shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “Interesting day at the office?”

  Jim wasn’t subtle about fishing for information. Still though, Bert couldn’t come clean. He was under direct orders not to tell anyone, and the less they knew, the less dangerous it was.

  Bert shook his head. Jim held his gaze for a moment, but his girlfriend motioned for him to leave. It was clear Jim wanted to know what was going on, but fortunately his girlfriend seemed impatient. Bert said goodbye and watched them go.

  Kevin was still in the kitchen strumming his guitar. Bert grabbed a beer from the fridge.

  Kevin stopped momentarily to say, “Lilith went to crash in your room.”

  Bert nodded, tipped his beer at his friend and walked back to his bedroom. Kevin obviously wasn’t as concerned about the Autumn Woe as Jim.

  He opened the door and crept in, navigating by the dim light of the TV. She was in his bed, her head resting on one of his pillows. She snored softly, confirming that she was asleep.

  He paused, staring at her. She was gorgeous.

  Choking back the old feelings swarming in his chest, he tiptoed over to his closet and pulled out some clean night clothes, then headed for the shower.

  He let the hot water roll over his aching body and summoned a small amount of magical energy to expedite the healing process.

  Laying his head against the shower wall, he let his mind wander through the events of the day.

  The grumpy dark wizard, the gang of hipsters, the creepy ninja, and the fucking clowns were all after the same thing. And his name had been recommended to all of them. But by whom? And why?

  At least the rock troll just wanted to crush me, he thought. Under normal circumstances, that would’ve been the craziest and/or scariest thing that happened all year. Today, however, that was child’s play compared to the rest.

  He got out of the shower and headed for bed, trying not to wake Lilith. Despite his efforts, her eyes opened anyway.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. “I tried not to wake you.”

  “No, it’s all right,” she said, pulling herself into a sitting position. “I only traveled halfway across the country to see you.”

  “Sorry,” he repeated, feeling like an ass. “I feel terrible.”

  Her smile always made his heart skip a beat. “I’m just teasing. How was your day?”

  “Meh, pretty boring,” he lied. “Just couldn’t get away. What did you do?”

  “Laid around your house and watched TV. It was pretty nice, actually.”

  “Well, I hope it wasn’t too boring.”

  “No, listening to Neil, Kevin, and Jim bicker was fun. Listening to them play guitar was all right, too.”

  Bert chuckled. “Yeah, we’re all like brothers. We tend to argue.”

  She curled up to him and pulled his arm around her. The sweet smell of her hair filtered through his nostrils. Her soft body pressed against his. He could barely breathe.

  “I don’t know what it is about you, Waylon Drake, but when I’m with you I feel safe. I’ve missed that feeling.”

  He looked into her eyes. It took every bit of his will power to say, “I’ve missed you too, Lilith.”

  An awkward silence hung between them. His heart told him this was the moment to lean in for a kiss. But he panicked. In that moment, there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to kiss her, but he chickened out and the moment passed. She turned, saying, “Let’s see what’s on TV.”

  For a moment he thought his self-loathing was at an all-time high, then from across the room Sharp said, “Seriously, dude? After puking on a dark wizard, getting beat up by hipsters, choked by a ninja, wrecking the van, squeezed by a troll, slapped around by a blood ghoul, and meeting an army of evil clowns, you’re too scared to kiss a girl? You’re hopeless!”

  Bert laid his head back on the pillow, trying to ignore Sharp’s cackling. His thoughts remained on the beautiful woman curled up beside him, and he was just glad the day was over. Thinking about Lilith, his mind started to wander to the past, recalling old memories. Then his thoughts drifted to his childhood, and somewhere along the way he dozed off.

  Chapter 14

  The little boy was bored. Waylon hadn’t wanted to come to church camp in the first place, but his mother had insisted. She’d said it’d be good for him. He disagreed. It was horrible. Especially at night in the bunkhouse. Most of the other kids were already asleep. A few, like him, were still up playing. The grownups had meetings in the evenings, so they knew they wouldn’t get caught for a while. In truth, he didn’t care if they did.

  Along with the few friends he’d made, Waylon was building a fort in the linen closet at the back of the room. It was probably the most fun he’d had since arriving at camp.

  There was a rattle as someone turned the doorknob at the front of the bunkhouse.

  The chorus of giggles and laughter died away, followed by the pitter patter of little feet as all the rule breakers snuck back into their bunks to feign sleep. The counselors were real sticklers about ‘lights out’ time.

  Waylon and his new pals held their position, hoping their ‘fort’ would hide them. There was no way they’d make it back to their bunks without getting caught.

  The door opened and heavy footsteps fell on the floor. It sounded like a crowd. It must be all of the counselors, Waylon thought, we must really be in trouble.

  The door slammed shut and he shifted slightly, peering out of small gap between sheets. Several shadowed figures milled about the room. He tucked his head back down and waited.

  Aside from his own breathing, and the hammering in his chest, the room was utterly silent. As the moments dragged on, he surmised that the counselors were probably trying to figure out which children were really asleep.

  Finally, there was a sound. The small squeal of a child being roused from sleep. It was the sounds which followed that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  The hellish shriek of a little boy. The sardonic laughter of a man. Then screams erupted around the room. Thumps as children were torn from their beds and thrown to the floor. Crying, more screams, and laughter. Bitter twisted laughter.

  Waylon dared not look up, so he didn’t see what was happening, but by all that was holy, he could hear it. And he was scared. The boy beside him trembled vio
lently, or maybe it was him. He wasn’t sure.

  Then the lights came on.

  Thinking it a prank of some kind, he peeked through the gap once more.

  Blood. Everywhere. So much blood.

  There was a group of men and women, pale skinned, wearing shoddy rags covered in soot and blood. They were tearing the other children apart. Ripping them from their beds and biting into their flesh as though they were nothing more than meat. One woman raised her head from the neck of child, revealing long, slender canines protruding from her mouth.

  Waylon knew what they were. Vampires. Like he’d seen in the movies he wasn’t supposed to watch. But vampires weren’t real, were they? That’s what everyone told him. Those things were just made up. Yet, here they were, murdering his bunk mates, draining their tiny bodies of precious lifeblood.

  Most of the children lay still, stricken with panic. A few tried to run. None escaped. Each time a boy bolted for the door, one of the beings pounced him, like a lion on a gazelle.

  And on it went. Minutes dragged on as he watched more and more of them die. Blood dripped from the walls, the ceiling, the monsters practically bathing in it. And still they laughed. With each kill their elation grew. Oh, how they laughed.

  When the last little boy fell limply to the floor, the monsters gazed around the room, ensuring they’d killed them all.

  This must be a dream, Waylon thought. That’s it, I must be having a nightmare. But when one of the beings turned toward the linen closet, he knew it wasn’t. This was really happening.

  The boy beside him whimpered, and Waylon clamped a hand over his mouth. It was too late.

  Their fort fell, the vampires ripping it away to reveal the hidden boys within. One by one, they were yanked from their hiding spot and dragged into the open.

  Waylon watched as one of the vampires sank her fangs into the neck of the boy beside him. She drew back, grinning a bloody smirk. Blood pumped from the wound and his friend’s eyes went dark. The next child suffered the same fate, and in a few moments that seemed a lifetime, Waylon was the only one left.

  Around his feet were the drained and dismembered bodies of the other children, some of them his friends. They were all dead, and he was alone with the monsters.

  Warm tears streaking down his chin, he couldn’t look away as they closed in on him. There was no escape. No hope of rescue. Fear clutched him like a vise. Slowly they danced around him, savoring their final victim.

  Then their hands were on him, holding him in place. Together they swarmed in, sinking their fangs into his flesh. One on each side of his neck, another in his arm, and one in his back. He lost count of the sharp pangs, like needles, stabbing all over his body.

  Then he felt something else. Something that burned through his fear. Anger. Fury at what the monsters had done. Mad because no one had protected them. No one had saved them. And most of all, angry that he was powerless to stop them himself. Rage seared through his little heart, boiling inside him, blossoming like a rose. He felt it rising, coursing through his veins, demanding release. Like a buried treasure chest, hidden away in the depths of the abyss, it wanted out. He found it, and even if he’d wanted, he couldn’t hold it in.

  The warm tears rolling down his cheek sizzled, and the next one to fall wasn’t a tear, but a stream of fire dripping across his flesh.

  One of the vampires pulled away and gave him a startled look. Waylon saw the fear in its eyes as it cowered. Good, he thought, feel what I feel, monster.

  The flames ran down his flesh like sweat, and another vampire pulled away, clutching its throat. And the fire grew.

  One of the vampires at his neck fell away, its head bursting into flames.

  All of the vampires fell away then, some lying where they fell, while others tried to escape.

  “No!” he screamed, the inferno pouring out. He wouldn’t even let one of them get away. He pushed the fire on, consuming the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling. Surrounding himself in flame. There would be no escape.

  The vampires screamed in agony as their flesh melted away, but Waylon felt no pity. He pushed the flames ever onward, until he saw nothing but orange.

  The walls around him crumbled and the roof began to collapse, the pieces disintegrating as they fell, showering him in ash.

  When there was nothing left to burn he stopped. The bunk house was gone. Nothing remained save the ash he stood in. Even the metal beds were gone.

  He fell to the ground and hugged his knees, quietly rocking back and forth as he cried. This time they were only tears.

  ***

  He didn’t know how long he sat before someone found him. One little boy, surrounded by nothing but ash. No trace of the bunk house, the other children, or even the vampires.

  The policemen asked him lots of questions, but he refused to speak. Refused to even acknowledge them as they checked him for wounds and cleaned him up. They took him to the station and put him a little room, where they offered him doughnuts and asked more questions. Still, he maintained his silence.

  Then a new man entered the room. He wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t in a uniform like the officers, or in slacks and a button up like the detectives. He was something else. This man wore faded jeans and a pearl snap western shirt. His eyes were dark and perplexing, terrifying. But he had the warmest smile the boy had ever seen.

  The man sat down across from Waylon and stared at him, as though he were looking through him. Finally, he grinned, and for some reason, it made Waylon feel a little better. Unlike the men before, this guy seemed genuine. Like a real person.

  After a short time the man said, “That was some trick you pulled, kid.”

  Waylon looked up at the man, surprised. How could he have known?

  “I can do a trick too,” the man said. “Want to see?”

  Waylon didn’t answer.

  The man held his hand out and a single blue flame appeared in his palm. After a few moments, it took shape and became a rose. Then the flame transitioned into a pirate ship, firing little blue balls of flame from its cannons. They sailed a few inches from the ship then puffed away into nothingness. Then the flame took on the form of a horse, and galloped up the man’s arm. When it reached his shoulder it turned into an eagle and soared around to his other hand where he caught it, and the flame disappeared.

  Waylon’s jaw dropped. He’d never imagined anything like it. It was the single most amazing thing he’d ever seen. With the ease only a child possessed, for a moment, the monsters were forgotten.

  The man said, “Personally, I liked your trick better. What’s your name, my friend?”

  “Waylon Drake, sir,” the boy stammered, instinctively sticking out his hand as he’d been taught.

  “Well, Waylon,” the man said, shaking the boy’s hand, “my name is Charles Anthony, but my friends just call me Tony. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you know what? I think the two of us have an awful lot to talk about.”

  Chapter 15

  Bert sat up in a cold sweat, the memories of his childhood fading with each heavy breath. It had seemed so real. That’s because it was, he reminded himself. He hadn’t had that nightmare in a while. He chalked it up to stress.

  As his mind became more awake, he realized a phone was ringing. His phone. It was an old flip phone he occasionally carried. Usually he just left it on the night stand beside the bed. He got tired of replacing the damn things every time he zapped one. It wasn’t the money so much as having to deal with the sales people, and the stupid shit eating chagrin on their faces when he asked for a ‘new’ flip phone from the back. They didn’t keep them on the display anymore.

  Moving to a sitting position, he scooped it up, ensured his wards were still in place, and used his willpower to push magical energy away from his body. Then he answered.

  The voice on the other end was frantic. “Bert, is that you?”

  He snapped awake, recognizing the voice of Hunter’s wife. “Allie?”

  “Bert, I need you
r help.”

  He could tell she was on the verge of breaking down. His stomach knotted. For Allie to be calling him this late, it could only mean something was wrong with Hunter. “What’s going on, Allie?”

  “It’s Hunter!”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, pausing as she began to cry. “He’s sick or something. I tried to take him to the hospital, but he said no. He said to get you.”

  “Why me?”

  “I don’t know. He said you told him if anything really weird ever happened to call you.”

  “So, what’s weird?” he asked, trying to sound reasonable while his mind raced. He’d tried to explain to Hunter that he had some understanding of the unnatural, without telling him about the supernatural.

  “He’s... I can’t explain. Please, just come over. Maybe you can convince him to go to the hospital.”

  “Okay, Allie, I’m on my way.”

  “Please hurry.”

  He hung up the phone and scooped his dirty jeans off the floor. He dressed quickly, then headed for the door. He almost made it out the room without his gear. He cursed and ran back, grabbing the pile in the corner.

  In the darkness Lilith stirred. “Bert?”

  “I have to go. My friend Hunter is sick or something. I’ll be back soon.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure everything is fine.”

  She shook her head and started to get up. “No, I’m coming with you.”

  “Okay, but we’ve got to hurry.”

  She started to get up, then paused. “Maybe it’s better if I stay.”

  Without thinking twice about it, he kissed her on the cheek and headed for the door. It wasn’t until he was headed down the highway that Sharp pointed out he’d kissed Lilith. Between awkward embarrassment and concern for his friend, the knots in his stomach tightened.