by M. D. Massey
In the next moment, three things happened at once. First, the mage sprouted a bunch of shadowy tentacles from his torso and back, like some sort of cross between a shadow demon and Doc Oc. Next, three of those tentacles shot out at Richard, grabbing him by the arms and legs and tossing him into the museum room. And third, a lone tentacle picked Theo up and dropped him right next to the grimoire.
"Holy crap—you’re a shadow sorcerer? Please tell me you’re about to summon a Hound of Ill Omen, because if you do I’m going to squee like a post-menopausal woman at a Michael Bublé concert.”
The mage turned his eyes on Theo, causing the child’s blood to run cold. Instead of human eyes, his eye sockets were now two bottomless pools of black emptiness that trailed away into nothing. Not only that, but his skin had gone pale, and he had streaks of black running through his skin like the Witcher when he drank a potion to buff his stats.
“Okay, I’m shitting my pants now, but this is still pretty damned cool.”
“This is no game, child! A mage’s dueling ground is a dangerous place to be a bystander, even for a skilled practitioner of the mystical arts. Whatever happens, do not get between us, or you will die. Instead, stick close to that pedestal and wait for your chance to flee.”
“Whatever you say, Kaecilius. Now, go kick his ass—I always thought he was a dick anyway.”
The mage scowled, then he took off after his opponent at speed, using those shadow limbs to walk him along several feet off the ground. Theo was scared, and that was a fact, but he was also enough of a true geek to be fascinated by what was happening. It was like real-life Dungeons & Dragons, and he was a first-level character in the midst of the inciting incident at the start of a new campaign.
“But wait—what if I’m an NPC? Aw, hell. First-level NPCs are like fodder for high-level player campaigns. Shit, I am so screwed.”
Although he’d suddenly become acutely aware of just how much danger he was in, the boy still couldn’t resist sneaking over to the doorway to watch the battle. And what a battle it was. Richard’s repertoire seemed to be limited to elemental magic—fireballs, lightning bolts, ice spikes, and the like, which he kept spamming at his opponent without letting up. It was completely uninspired, in Theo’s opinion, but effective because he seemed to be a bit OP.
On the other hand, watching the mage work was like seeing a master artist at his craft. He kept picking off Richard’s attacks with his many shadowy tentacles, while counterattacking by lashing the other magician with the same, or striking him with shadow bolts, or confusing him by disappearing in a cloud of shadow only to reappear in another place.
The strangest thing was that they were crashing into and through the displays without damaging a single one. Sure, they knocked a few over, but the glass didn’t break or even show a single crack. It was bizarre, but Theo was more concerned with the outcome of the fight than he was with figuring out why they weren’t breaking the scenery.
After the duel had gone on for a few minutes, Richard seemed to be gaining strength while the mage appeared to be slowing down. At first, he was able to keep up with the shopkeeper’s attacks, creating shields for protection against fireballs and lightning bolts and knocking the ice spikes and flaming meteors out of the air before they reached him. But then he misjudged the timing of his defense, and a flaming rock hit him in the shoulder.
The mage spun, grasping his injury as he fell to his knees. He recovered quickly, sending a salvo of shadow bolts at the fat magician, but Richard simply batted them away with flaming hands as he advanced on his now-wounded prey. Then, the mage growled, his eyes spewing trailing tendrils of shadow as he sprung a multitude of shadow tentacles from his body, each one snapping out to wrap the fat-assed magician up like thick strands of spider-silk.
At that moment, Theo was certain his new ally would be victorious. Each strand of smoke and shadow seemed to tighten around the fat man by the second, causing his face to redden as they slowly constricted him to death. But that was not to be the end of Richard. The corpulent comic book store owner screamed, flexing his arms as well as his prodigious belly, snapping the dark restraints all at once.
As he did, the mage’s shadow limbs seemed to thin and falter. Then, they dissipated into mist as the tall dark stranger stumbled to the floor.
23
Crowley couldn’t believe how much magical energy the fat magician had at his disposal. He’d fought and won many such duels before, even against fae sorcerers who had ample access to Underhill’s magic. This had been due to the fact that even a skilled mage had limits regarding how much power they could channel.
But this inferior, unskilled buffoon had spent years saving up magic and storing it in his massive, overweight body, and what he lacked in talent he made up for in sheer, raw power. He was a living magic battery, a human power sink for mystical potential. Therefore, he didn’t have to channel any energy, because it was already inside of him. How Crowley had failed to sense the man’s enormous mystical reserves was a question for another time, but one he would surely revisit—should he manage to survive this encounter.
Now, the shadow mage was spent, his own magical reserves nearly run dry. He could give himself over to other internal forces that were available, but that would result in a devil’s bargain that he might regret for all eternity. At least the child was safe, small comfort that might be.
Crowley raised his head to look his opponent in the eye as the boorish, overpowered imbecile grabbed him by the throat with a flaming hand. Richard lifted him in the air effortlessly, holding him aloft with strength derived from mystical forces that he had not earned nor even mastered. But it had been more than enough to stymy Crowley’s efforts to defeat him. The power gained from sacrificing young, innocent souls was nothing to scoff at.
The shopkeep eyed him with a gleam in his eye, his flaccid lips nibbling at a crumb in his beard as he did. “You were tough, I’ll give you that. And that shadow magic—wow! If I didn’t think you’d turn on me at the first opportunity, I’d keep you as a slave and make you teach me that stuff. But I can’t risk it. So, any last words?”
Crowley spat in his eye.
Theo could hardly believe what he was seeing. The dark, mysterious mage was about to get his neck snapped by that fat human shit-stain, Richard. Not that Theo had room to talk about being overweight—he could stand to lose a few pounds himself.
But as Theo saw it, being out of shape was a personal choice that hurt no one. On the other hand, being a total dick and treating the people around you like shit? That was totally uncalled for, and Richard absolutely pushed the envelope when it came to insensitivity and cruelty toward others.
As he watched Richard squeezing the life out of the mage, Theo realized that the comic store owner was just another bully, another person who lorded his position, popularity, and power over others just to feel good about himself.
The mage was kind of an asshole too, but he at least seemed to be working on it. A real asshole wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for some dumb kid. So, Theo wasn’t going to let him die, not if he could help it.
He looked around for a way to help the mage, but all he saw were swords and axes and stuff like that. Theo wasn’t a fighter, and he had no idea how to crank a crossbow, much less aim one. Heck, he’d be more likely to kill the mage than put a bolt between Richard’s beady little eyes.
And even if he did, he doubted it would hurt him—not after all the punishment he’d absorbed during his battle with the mage. If he could take that, a crossbow bolt wouldn’t do much more than tickle him.
So, how was Theo going to make a difference?
He glanced around one more time, then it hit him—the spellbook. If Richard’s power came from the ledork, then maybe Theo could cast a spell to cut him off from the source. It was worth a shot.
The boy dashed over to the grimoire and began to read aloud. The words were strangely written, and he stumbled over their pronunciation at first. But as he read, the spelling became
clearer, as if the book were adapting to his speech patterns. Theo then started over again, reading the entire spell in a single breath.
When he finished, it was like everything froze for an instant, like time had been captured on the surface of a bubble that was just about to burst. Then there was a pop—not an audible one, but something he felt down in his soul, a release of energy that made him dizzy and a little bit nauseous as well.
At that moment, he caught the sound of laughter coming from the reading room, soon to be drowned out by Richard’s wailing cry.
“Noooooo! What have you done?”
Theo stumbled to the museum room doorway, breathing hard from the exertion as he reached the threshold. He felt like he’d run a marathon, and he leaned heavily against the doorway as he watched events unfold between the two magic-users. As the boy looked on, the tall, dark stranger slipped from Richard’s grasp, landing somewhat unsteadily on his feet as his opponent stumbled to his knees.
"Please don’t kill me,” Richard begged. “If you want the spellbook, you can take it—I’ll find another. You want gold? I have plenty of that, and bearer bonds, e-currency, you name it. I’ll even let you take Gaz. I mean, he’s just going to kill me now anyway.”
The man stared down at Richard with cold eyes. “It’s not what I want from you, it’s what it wants. And it is very, very hungry.”
A shadow rose up from the tall man’s shoulders like a cobra’s mantle, high above him until it scraped the ceiling. The darkness then broke like a wave over Richard, enveloping him as it consumed the store owner from the inside out, until nothing was left but an empty, dried husk.
Theo would hear Richard’s screams in his nightmares for years to come.
24
Crowley sat with the boy in a back room of the comic book shop, thumbing through the comics he’d taken as the boy did the same with his own stack. Once the illusions fell, the child’s only concerns had been whether Richard actually had any rare editions of collectible comic books, and what would become of them.
Theo had momentarily forgotten about the older teen, so enrapt was he with the events that had occurred during Crowley’s battle with Richard. That was just as well, as Gaz had finished the youth off as soon as he was freed of his bond with Richard. The shadow wizard would have to concoct a suitable lie to assuage the boy’s guilt, should he start asking after Rhone—and he’d have to deal with the lidérc as well.
But one thing at a time. The creature had been contained, and while Theo was unaware, he was now bonded with the imp. Crowley knew how to rid him of it, but for now he thought it best to keep their bond a secret, until the boy was of sufficient age to decide how he wished to deal with it. Until then, it would remain hidden safely away in the basement, where the shadow wizard could keep an eye on it.
And, of course, there was the matter of the boy’s affinity for magic.
“Can I keep the grimoire? I promise I’ll only look at it. I won’t even cast any more spells.”
The shadow mage frowned. “I told you more than once already, the answer is no. Now, it’s time for you to leave. There will be some very nasty people along shortly who will be very concerned about a young, seemingly mundane child who witnessed a duel between two powerful magicians. If you wish to retain your memories of the last week, and also to avoid potentially suffering permanent and irreversible brain damage, I suggest you take your comics and run on home.”
“Man, you’re no fun.”
“So I’ve been told. If you wish to keep yourself and your family safe, I strongly advise you to avoid speaking of what you’ve seen with anyone—not even your closest friend.”
Theo stared down at his comics, running a finger across the cover of Moon Knight #1. “If I do, will you eat me like you did Richard?”
Crowley paused. He considered his next words quite carefully, as it was a sensitive topic for all involved.
“No, because despite my admittedly unpleasant disposition, I’m not the type to feed young boys to creatures from the shadow dimension.” He leaned forward, lifting the child’s chin with a long, scarred finger. “However, if you reveal my secret to anyone, there will be dire consequences. Am I understood?”
The boy nodded, eyes wide. “STEM Scout’s honor, I won’t tell a soul.”
Crowley considered him for what was most certainly an unbearably long time for the child. “Indeed, it would be best that you didn’t.”
Theo gulped.
“Now, gather your things. It’s time for you to go.” The shadow wizard watched the boy in silence as he packed his booty in his backpack. “Oh, and Theo? Stay away from the comic book shop for a few days, then resume your usual routine. And if you should see someone who looks like Richard at the front counter, treat them as such. But do not, under any circumstances, accompany them anywhere alone, no matter what they promise you.”
Theo double gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s a good child. Now run along.”
The boy scrambled out the door just as fast as his stumpy little legs would carry him. Crowley walked to the door, considering the possibilities as the chubby youth disappeared around the corner. He would need to take on an apprentice, eventually—and the boy did show promise.
But that could wait. At the moment, Crowley had to find a doppelgänger on short notice, and deal with Maeve’s fixers to boot. He sighed, rubbing his temples, then he locked the door. Thankfully, the lidérc would know where the gold was hidden and the bodies buried.
Thus, from the shadow mage’s point of view, the day was already starting to look up.
Author’s Note
The events of this short story occur just after Book 9 in the Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series. To avoid spoilers, make sure you’ve read Druid Apprentice before you jump into this story.
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
In which Colin helps Larry the Chupacabra break up with his ex…
25
The trail led us to a dark, narrow lane behind a popular upscale bar, just a block over from the city’s famed 6th Street district. Trash and other less sanitary detritus littered the pavement, and the air carried the scents of vomit, human urine, rotting garbage, and stale beer. There might have been worse ways to spend my last 72 hours in Austin than hunting down a zombie corgi, but at the moment I couldn’t think of any.
“Larry, do you have her scent or not?”
The scraggly chupacabra kept his nose to the pavement as he replied. “Keep your panties on, druid,” he said in a thick Brooklyn accent. “I’m workin’ on it.”
“Well, hurry the hell up. I’m freezing my ass off, it’s late, and there are some very bad people looking for me. The last thing I need is to be cornered in a dark alley by Aenghus or one of his cronies.”
“Like I told ya’, if you’d stop killing gods, they’d stop wanting to revenge murder you.”
“Dermot was a demigod,” I countered. “And I killed Kulkulkan’s avatar, not the god itself.”
“Same diff’,” Larry said as he sniffed a suspicious-looking puddle. He took an experimental lick, wrinkling his snout before continuing. “You kill their offspring, they go all ‘eye for an eye’ and stuff. Seems like simple math to me.”
“They’re coming after me because they see me as a threat, not because—” I paused mid-sentence, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ah, forget it. Just focus on finding your ex and let me worry about which gods are hunting me and why.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” Larry replied sardonically.
My tragically ugly companion continued down the dark alleyway, sniffing the pavement and stopping at random intervals to examine whatever captured his interest. At first, I’d thought he was sussing out a spoor trail that would lead us to the pint-sized, undead rat killer who currently stalked the streets of downtown Austin. But after Larry gobbled down a half-eaten order of street tacos, I began to suspect that catching his ex was not exactly his highest priority.
As the mangy, bald canid dug t
hrough a pile of trash that had spilled out of a restaurant’s dumpster, I noticed movement in the shadows down the alley.
“Um, Larry?”
“Hold on a sec, I’m kinda busy here,” he replied as he continued to root through the garbage.
“Larry, there’s something coming our way, and I don’t think it’s friendly.”
“You’re a druid. Use your magic whatchamacallits to scare it off.”
“My ‘whatchamacallits’?”
“Yeah, don’t you have a magic wand or somethin’? Just expelliarmus the thing, or whatever you wizard-types do.”
The ominous shadows at the end of the alley spread in a slow, inexorable march toward us. Instinctively I took a step back, but Larry remained oblivious to the danger. The chupacabra crouched on his forepaws with his snout deep inside an over-flowing garbage bag, ass in the air without a care in the world. I shook my head at the cryptid as my ears picked up the faint click-click-click of tiny claws skittering across concrete.
That can’t be good.
Muttering a trigger word in Gaelic, I cast a night-vision cantrip so I could see what the hell we were dealing with… because it sure wasn’t a damned zombie corgi.
Shit fuck shit!
“We got company!” I yelled as I backed away from the rapidly-spreading shadows.
Larry pulled his head out of the trash bag, spinning around with a growl. “Damn it, druid, how do you expect me to work in these conditions? I mean, I don’t go to your junkyard and tell you to deal with customers while you’re wrenching on some old heap.”
“Larry, look behind you—slowly,” I whispered as my fingers danced through a series of intricate, arcane gestures.