Blood Magic

by N. P. Martin

  “Doesn’t work that way, Creed. You know that better than anyone.”

  “It’s a cruel world at times.”

  Leona said nothing as she pulled away and reached into her pocket to get her ringing phone. “God…” she said when she looked at the screen.

  I didn’t need to ask who it was. “Jesus, the man is incorrigible. I don’t know how you put up with him. If it was me—”

  Raising a hand in front of my face, Leona cut me off before I could say anymore, which was probably just as well given the stream of drunken nonsense that was about to spew from my mouth. “Yes?” she said into the phone, unable to conceal her weariness, bless her. Even hardened soldier badasses like Leona got tired sometimes.

  While Leona talked on the phone (or rather listened, as it seemed Brentwood was the one doing all the talking), my eyes drifted to the front of the pub when the double doors opened, and an unusually tall man wearing dark brown corduroys, and a beige shirt with the sleeves rolled up, walked in. There was a slightly strange, placid smile on the man’s face as he went and stood at the bar to be served. As I continued staring at the guy, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about him, but I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was; the drink wasn’t helping in that regard. He looked normal enough in a bookish sort of way. With his light beard and short, mousy hair, he reminded me of an English Lit teacher or a book store owner, someone who didn’t look remotely threatening, and yet, there was still something about him that made a tight knot form in the pit of my stomach. When he had given the barman his order, the tall man started casually looking around the pub until his eyes finally stopped on me for a second. A slight smirk creased his still placid face as he stared at me as if he knew me.

  Who the hell is this guy? I kept wondering, unsettled now by the fact that he appeared to recognize me from somewhere.

  Before I could think about it more, however, I felt Leona nudge me with her elbow. “What are you staring at?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. What did Brentwood want?”

  Leona gave a small sigh before answering. “He wants me to go to New York.”

  “New York? When?”

  “Now.”

  I stared at her in amazement. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “What’s so urgent?”

  "He never said much. A few bodies have turned up, and The Division thinks it might be something to do with an out of control Adept. That's all I know."

  I slumped back into my seat like a huffy child. “Can’t someone else handle it? You deserve a rest at least.”

  She laid her warm hand on my cheek and kissed me softly on the lips, which only made me feel worse, because it’s a rare and nearly absent occasion in our history, where Special Agent Leona Lawson is willing to show tenderness. So, it goes without saying that not only would I be unable to capitalize on such a development, I would also be missing it once she left. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low, husky voice that stirred up feelings of desire in me, a desire which I knew would go unfulfilled. "You know the job. It never stops."

  “Then maybe we should stop.”

  She kissed me again, longer this time, then said, “You couldn’t if you tried.”

  “And neither could you. Yeah, I know. Just saying, though."

  “I tell you what. When I get back, we’ll go somewhere. How about that cabin of yours, in the mountains? We had fun there last time, right?” She smiled and kissed me again.

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  "I know you will." She got up, and I grabbed her hand to stop her from going, giving her the doe eyes in the vain hope that she would forget about going to New York and stay with me instead. But no suck luck.

  “I love you,” I said as she walked away.

  Leona looked over her shoulder and gave me another smile, but she didn’t say I love you back.

  She never did.

  60

  No Rest For The Wicked

  MILDLY DEPRESSED NOW by Leona's unexpected departure, I drained what was left in my glass and slammed it back on the table, a little too hard perhaps, but I was pissed off. Not at Leona so much as with Brentwood. The stern-assed son of a bitch thought he owned Leona sometimes, the way he expected her to follow his every order like they were both still in the Army. It wasn't fair on Leona as far as I was concerned, even though it didn't seem to bother her much. The idea of her leaving The Division and partnering up with me properly had come up before, but she never seemed keen on the idea, despite my enthusiasm. Maybe it was time to broach the subject again? When she got back from New York that is, whenever that would be.

  She can’t even tell me she loves me. Why would I think she would leave the Division to come work with me?

  Honestly, I didn’t.

  “You look like you could use a drink,” a voice said, startling me out of my drunken reverie.

  When I looked up, the tall man from the bar was standing there, his weirdly serene face looking down at me as he held a shot of whiskey in each hand. “Do I know you, Mister?” I asked him, taken aback slightly by the aggression coming through in my voice.

  The tall man smiled, appearing not to be put out in the slightest by my hostility toward him. “May I?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he came and sat beside me, placing the two shot glasses carefully on the table, like they contained nitroglycerin instead of whiskey.

  Shifting away slightly, I stared hard at the guy. “Why do you seem familiar?”

  The man turned his head slowly, and I saw that his eyes were now a deep orange color, as if infernal hellfires burned within them. “Maybe because I am familiar to you.”

  “Baal,” I said, suddenly realizing who he was. I would have been more put out by the demon’s presence if I hadn’t of been so drunk. As it was, I was too drunk to care, and besides, I’d been expecting him anyway. Just not so soon. “You found yourself another body then?”

  The demon nodded. “I did. This man stopped to help me as I lay on the ground in that necrotic hunk of meat you last saw me in.”

  “And for being a good Samaritan, you stole the dude’s body?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “No good deed ever goes unpunished, eh Baal?”

  “Thankfully not.” The demon grinned broadly at me, the hellfire gone from his dark blue eyes, his complete lack of goodness showing all the more in his new face. Behind his new gaunt features and unwavering calm, his delight in his evil nature and casual sadism bubbled just below the surface, but nonetheless it still came through in his weird and particular mannerisms; such as which words he emphasized and paused at, no doubt a relic of his ancient status as one of the Old Ones, those creatures who've been around since before we homo sapiens walked among this realm of ours. Baal was scarier now than he had been as a full-fledged monster. If I weren't so drunk, I would have been a lot more nervous about the fact that he was sitting comfortably beside me, like we were just a couple of friends having a drink together.

  “By the way,” Baal said. “Do not call me by my true name again. If you do I’ll be forced to rip your tongue out.” He smiled at me then, all too casually like a father gently correcting their child. “You can call me Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel?”

  He nodded. “For my own amusement. The real Gabriel has no sense of humor whatever. None of those winged automatons do.”

  “You’re referring to angels?”

  “Angels, yes. Narrow-minded automatons that they are.”

  “I’ve never met one, so I couldn’t comment.”

  “Thank yourself lucky you have yet to put up with their insufferable presence.”

  “Yet not so lucky as to escape your presence.”

  Baal, or Gabriel, made a slight growling noise in the back of his throat. “You summoned me here.”

  I couldn’t argue with him there, so I let it go. “So let me guess,” I said, aware that Blaze was wide awake now, his eyes firmly
on the demon. “You’re here to call in your debt, right?”

  “Correctamundo,” the demon said, grinning again.

  "I didn't know they spoke dude in the Underworld.”

  “It was a favorite expression of this man.”

  "Before you pitched his soul into the Underworld like you were tossing away a piece of rubbish, you mean?"

  “Speaking of souls. I believe you owe me your father’s.”

  “About that,” I said shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “His soul was destroyed. I couldn’t save it.” Not that I would have saved my father’s soul, even if I could have, though I wasn’t about to tell Baal, or bloody Gabriel that.

  As it was, the demon didn’t seem too concerned at my lack of offering. “That’s okay. If you find who I’m looking for, that will more than make up for your empty hands.”

  “This person must be pretty important to you.”

  Gabriel focused his stare in front of him for a moment, as if deep in thought. “They are.”

  He reached down then and lifted the shots of whiskey off the table, handing one to me, which I took resignedly, knowing I didn't have a choice. Then he grinned at me as he held his glass up, waiting for me to do the same. With a sigh, I clinked my glass against his. “To your success in finding who I’m looking for,” he said. “I sincerely hope you do not disappoint.”

  I downed my whiskey as I wondered what fresh hell awaited me around the next corner.

  Gabriel lifted his own glass slowly to his mouth and poured in the whiskey in a weirdly deliberate manner, closing his eyes for a second as he swallowed and then stared right at me.

  All I could think of was that it might as well have been my soul in the demon’s glass. For he owned me now, at least until I managed to get him what he wanted.

  If I managed to get him what he wanted.

  Either way, I knew I would come to regret ever dealing with the demon in the first place.

  Of that, I had no doubt.

  **The story continues in the next book, Blood Debt.**

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  Before You Go…

  Corvin Chance Series

  They knew I was back. I don’t know how, but they did. Who? you might ask. Well, I’ll tell you who, once I figure out who’s following me and then do something about it, of course. At this point, as I walked along the Lower Ormond Quay with the River Liffey flowing to the right of me, I was more inclined to avoid whoever was following me. I’d only just arrived back in Dublin after a stay in London, and I was in no mood for confrontation.

  I was picking up on goblin vibes, though I couldn’t be sure until I laid eyes on the cretin. I did, however, know that Iolas employed goblins to do his dirty work for him, as the wiry little bastards were sneaky and good at blending in unseen.

  As I moved down a deserted side street, hoping my pursuer would follow me, I weighed up my options. There were a number of spells I could use: I could create a doorway in one of the walls next to me and disappear into the building; or I could turn myself to vapor and disappear that way; or I could even levitate up to the roof of one of the nearby buildings and escape. Truthfully though, I didn’t like using magic in broad daylight, even if there was no one around. Hell, I hardly used magic at all, despite being gifted with a connection to the Void—the source of all magic—just like every other Touched being in the world. Despite my abilities, though, I was no wizard. I was just a musician who preferred to make magic through playing the guitar, real magic that touched the soul of the listener, and not the often destructive magic generated by the Void.

  Still, Void magic could come in handy sometimes, like now as I spun around suddenly and said the word, "Impedio!" I felt the power of the Void flow through me as I said the word loudly, and as I looked down the street there appeared to be no one there.

  Only I knew there was someone there. I walked quickly back down the street and then stopped by a dumpster on the side of the road. Crouched behind the dumpster was a small, wiry individual with dark hair and pinched features. He appeared frozen as he glared up at me thanks to the spell I had used to stop him in his tracks, preventing him from moving even a muscle until I decided to release him.

  "Let me guess," I said. "Iolas got wind I was coming back, so he sent you to what… follow me? Maybe kill me, like he had me ma killed?"

  Anger threatened to rise up in me as blue magic sparked across my hand. Eight words, that’s all it would’ve taken to kill the frozen goblin in front of me, to shut down his life support system and render him dead in an instant. It would’ve been so easy to do, but I wasn’t a killer… at least not yet. If I was going to kill, it had to be the right person, and this creature before me was not the right person.

  The goblin was straining against the spell I still held him in, hardly able to bat an eyelash. To an ordinary eye, the goblin appeared mundane, just a smallish, weasel-like man in his thirties with thinning hair and dark eyes that appeared to be too big for his face. To my Touched eye, however, I could see the goblin creature for what he really was underneath the glamor he used to conceal his true form, which to be honest, wasn’t that far away from the mundane form he presented to the world. His eyes were bigger and darker, his mouth wider and full of thin pointed teeth that jutted out at all angles, barely concealed by thick lips like two strips of rubber. His skin was also paler and his ears large and pointed.

  "I don’t know what you’re talking about," the goblin said when I released him from the spell. He stood up straight, his head barely level with my chest. "I’m just out for a stroll on this fine summer evening, or at least I was before you accosted me like you did…"

  I shook my head in disgust. What did I expect anyway, a full run down of his orders from Iolas? Of course he was going to play dumb, because he was dumb. He knew nothing, except that he had to follow me and probably report on my whereabouts afterward. Iolas, being the paranoid wanker that he was, would want eyes on me the whole time now that I was back in town. Or at least until he could decide what to do with me, as he probably saw it.

  "All right, asshole," I said as magic crackled in my hand, making the cocky goblin rather nervous, his huge eyes constantly flitting from my face to the magic in my hand. "Before you fuck of out of it, make sure Iolas gets this message, will you? Tell that stuck up elf… tell him…"

  The goblin frowned, his dark eyes staring into me. "Go on, tell Iolas what?" He was goading me, the sneaky little shit. "That you’re coming for him? That you’re going to kill him for supposedly snuffing out your witch-bitch mother—"

  Rage erupted in me then, and before the goblin could say another filthy word, I conjured me magic, thrusting my light-filled hand toward him while shouting the words, "Ignem exquiris!"

  In an instant, a fireball about the size of a baseball exploded from my hand and hit the goblin square in the chest, the force of it slamming him back against the wall, the flames setting his clothes alight.

  "Dholec maach!" the goblin screamed as he frantically slapped at his clothes in an effort to put the flames out.

  "What were you saying again?" I cocked my head mockingly at him as if waiting for an answer.

  "Dhon ogaach!" The goblin tore off his burning jacket and tossed it to the ground, then managed to put out the remaining flames still licking at his linen shirt. The smell of burnt fabric and roasted goblin skin now hung in the air between us.

  "Yeah? You go screw yourself as well, after you’ve apologized for insulting my mother."

  The goblin snarled at me as he stood quivering with rage and shock. "You won’t last a day here, Wizard! Iolas will have you fed to the vamps!"

  I shot forward and grabbed the goblin by the throat, thrusting him against the wall. "Firstly, I’m a musician, not a wizard, and secondly—" I
had to turn my head away for a second, as the stench of burnt goblin flesh was atrocious to my nostrils. "Secondly, I’m not afraid of your elfin boss, or his vampire mates for that matter."

  Struggling to speak with my hand still around his throat, the goblin said in a strangled voice, "Is that why… you ran away… like a… little bitch?"

  I glared at the goblin for another second and then let him go, taking a step back as he slid down the wall slightly. His black eyes were still full of defiance. He was tenacious, I’d give him that.

  "I’ve listened to enough of your shit, goblin," I said, forcing my anger down. "Turn on your heels and get the hell out of here, before I incinerate you altogether." I held my hand up to show him the flames that danced in my palm, eliciting a fearful look from him. "Go!"

  The goblin didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed off the wall and stumbled quickly down the street, turning around after ten yards as he kept walking backward. "You’ve written your own death warrant coming back here, Chance," he shouted. "Iolas will have your head mounted above his fireplace!" His lips peeled back as he formed a rictus grin, then he turned around and ran, disappearing around the corner a moment later.

  "Son of a bitch," I muttered as I stood shaking my head. Maybe it was a mistake coming back here, I thought. I should’ve stayed in London, played gigs every night, maybe headed to Europe or the States, Japan even. Instead, I came back to Ireland to tear open old wounds… and unavoidably, no doubt, to make new ones.

  Shaking my head once more at the way things were going already, I grabbed my guitar and luggage bag, and headed toward where I used to live, before my life was turned upside down two months ago, that is.

  As I walked up the Quay alongside the turgid river, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. It was a balmy summer evening and the city appeared to be in a laid back mood as people walked around in their flimsy summer clothes, enjoying the weather, knowing it could revert back to dull and overcast at any time, as the Irish weather is want to do. Despite my earlier reservations, it felt good to be back. While I enjoyed London—as much as I could while mourning the death of my mother—Dublin was my home and always had been. I felt a connection to the land here that I felt nowhere else, and I’d been plenty of other places around the world.