White Trash Warlock

by White Trash Warlock [retail]

  He found a note from his mother inside the house. It said there was food for him in the fridge. He microwaved it and wondered how it might be to have a family that actually talked about things. He ate, listening for Bobby, who didn’t appear.

  His phone beeped a while later.

  Goodnight, the text read. But I want a kiss next time.

  Adam’s heart skipped a beat and he smiled. He forced that orange, bubbly feeling down.

  “It’s the magic,” Adam said. “Just the magic.”

  He added Vic to his contacts anyway.

  25

  Adam

  Adam returned to the hospital the next day, to the magic closet of books and research. He rubbed his eyes and tried to stop thinking about Vic.

  Argent snapped her fingers in front of Adam’s face, pulling him out of his fixation.

  “Are you always so distracted?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing here,” Adam said, waving a hand at the texts. “And I can’t read most of it.”

  The queen made a small tsk sound. “Agreed. We’ve had our scribes scouring the texts for a while now.”

  “Then why make me do it?” he asked, blinking at her. Adam turned his frustration on one of the books, scowling at it, wishing he could make it burst into flames. Sometimes it was a blessing that he didn’t have more magic.

  “Humans are different. You might see something we cannot. It works both ways, you know. Just as mortals don’t see us, we often do not see everything in the mortal world.”

  “Wait,” Adam said, trying to shrug off his weariness and let her words sink in. “Say that again.”

  Argent began, very slowly, “We’ve had our scribes—”

  “Not that part,” Adam said, too preoccupied to mind his tone. “You said that magic works both ways.”

  “Yes,” Argent snapped. She narrowed her eyes in a way that suggested he should not have interrupted her. Adam flinched as Argent continued, “The veil between our worlds separates them. While some of us can cross back and forth, others, like you, can only see across it.”

  “But this is a spirit attached to mortals, to people in the real world,” Adam said.

  Argent scoffed at his use of the world “real,” but she unfolded her long fingers into a fan, gesturing for Adam to continue.

  “It’s a spirit, but it’s anchored to people like Annie or William Parker,” Adam said. “To mortals. That’s how it’s keeping itself in both places.”

  “Yes,” she said. “We merely need to sever those anchors and that should stop it.”

  Adam remembered Annie and the weave of bloody veins through her body. Frowning, he met her gaze and said, “Define ‘sever.’ ”

  Argent’s smile thinned to a line. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

  “Will you kill the anchors?” he asked.

  “If we have to,” Argent said. “Though it goes against everything we believe.”

  “Everyone it has possessed was connected to the hospital, to the old psych ward.”

  “They’ve finished tearing it down,” Argent said.

  Adam closed his eyes. He let a seething breath out through his teeth.

  “I was hoping there would be clues,” he said. “We should have another look.”

  “Agreed,” Argent said. “We’ll go in spirit.”

  *****

  In his bed, Adam assumed the position of the Chariot, right side up, hand positioned as if to grip a spear. He pulled his armor on, visualizing an invisible shield around him, pouring concentration and willpower into it until he almost slipped into true sleep. Braced for whatever they’d find, he slipped into the spirit realm.

  Adam stiffened when he found Silver, not Argent, waiting for him on Bobby’s lawn.

  The Knight of Swords took in Adam’s appearance, his jeans and combat boots, the black tee and the worn-out leather jacket he’d fished out of the Cutlass’s trunk.

  “You should dress for battle more often, Adam Binder. It suits you.”

  “My lord,” Adam said, eyes tightening. He could not tell if Silver was teasing him. “I expected your sister.”

  Though he’d kept the gray fedora, the prince wore jeans of a deep blue with faded patches that showed off his dancer’s legs. His white shirt, untucked, was unbuttoned a little at both ends, showing a belt buckle like a mirror framed by blades. He wore a buttoned vest over the shirt that accentuated his lean chest and a tie loosely knotted.

  “Lady Argent has asked me to escort you this evening. I hope that you do not mind,” Silver said, his chin ducking. As if an elf could be bashful.

  “No,” Adam said. “Not at all.”

  Adam did not think Silver liked him very much, but he didn’t doubt the prince’s power. Pale, cold light surrounded him. Adam had no doubt that, like Argent, Silver carried any number of blades, though he wore none openly.

  Adam wished he could read the elf. He looked as if he were around Adam’s age, but centuries swam in his eyes.

  “This way then,” Silver said, gesturing to the street. “I believe you invoked the Chariot to make your crossing?”

  “I did,” Adam said. He’d guessed Argent would bring a car.

  He hadn’t realized the elves could sense the type of invocation he used to cross over. Usually it was just the Hanged Man, or his own card, the Page of Swords. They were just a means to focus the mind, to shape his intentions when he reached the Other Side. He hadn’t meant to announce them.

  Silver led Adam to the curb where Bobby’s Audi waited. Adam and Silver stood completely on the spirit side, but Adam glanced back to make sure Bobby couldn’t see the stolen car. He saw now that he hadn’t imagined it. The house looked duller, like Annie’s absence had robbed it of light.

  “Buckle up,” Silver said as Adam closed his door.

  Unable to tell if the prince was joking, Adam obeyed. He watched out the window for Bobby to run at them yelling, “Stop, thief!”

  “Can you even wreck a car in the spirit realm?” Adam asked as Silver put the Audi into drive and took off so fast that rubber should have squealed. Adam gripped the armrest. He didn’t know if the quiet was an effect of the spirit realm, Silver’s driving, or the quality of the car.

  “Argent has had several collisions,” Silver said. “There is a dragon that lives on Lookout Mountain. It carried off her favorite roadster once.”

  “Seriously?” Adam asked.

  “Yes. A Triumph Spitfire, 1974. She never did get it back.”

  A dragon versus the Queen of Swords would have been a magical tussle Adam would have liked to have witnessed from a serious distance. Through a telescope. Or on video. Through a telescope on video—somewhere far removed from the blinding damage it would have done him to be anywhere near that much raw magic.

  Silver flicked on the stereo. Adam settled down into his seat until the Brit-pop with a dance beat made him perk up.

  “I know this band,” Adam said. “Years and Years.”

  “They’re quite good,” Silver said, smiling.

  “I thought you’d only listen to classical music,” Adam said.

  “Some things are instant classics,” Silver said, his gray eyes focused on the road ahead. He tapped the steering wheel as the boy on the stereo sang about being a king under another’s control.

  Adam reached for the volume, let his hand linger to ask permission. Silver nodded with the smallest curve of his mouth.

  The cheery music lifted Adam’s mood even if the company did not. They drove, listening in silence, sliding over dark streets lit only by the large spirit moon. Mercy appeared, limestone and glossy windows. The past shone through in the spirit realm, so much more than in the mortal world. Buildings tended to reflect the intent and spirit their creators and inhabitants imbued them with. Sad institutions twisted and crunched together, implod
ing from weight. Other structures glowed. Some broke apart, but did their best, their pieces orbiting one another in a slow death dance.

  The spirit floated over Mercy, closer, bigger, like a gory second moon. Adam shuddered and pulled his defenses tight, making sure the thing couldn’t spot him. Silver had done the same, though it was hard to conceal so much power. A little leaked through, like a sliver of moon behind the clouds.

  The physical anchors for the watchtowers did not correspond to their distance in the spirit realm. In the mortal world, they were a ways west, toward the mountains. Here, the towers were equal distances from Mercy, equidistant from the menace and where Adam needed to go.

  “It’s at the middle,” Adam said.

  “Dead center,” Silver confirmed.

  Adam had wondered why they’d driven. “You wanted me to see this.”

  “No,” Silver said, shaking his head. “But I needed you to.”

  “What’s the difference?” Adam asked.

  “One is required if we’re going to stop it. The other means deepening your involvement, something I would not have done had I other options.”

  “You don’t think I can handle myself,” Adam said, straightening. His back pressed into the leather.

  “The spirit bested you before,” Silver said, his tone even.

  Adam couldn’t really argue. From the beginning, he’d underestimated the thing. He’d known he didn’t have the magic to face anything so powerful, but he’d let Argent convince him that his lack of power was an asset. Still, he snapped, “I didn’t know you cared.”

  “No,” Silver said. “No, you didn’t.”

  Adam looked sideways at Silver, trying to process the exchange. That led him to recounting all of his conversations with the elves since he’d gotten to Denver. Remembering Bobby’s question, asking if the towers kept something in or something out, Adam reversed what he thought he knew about the Guardians and whispered, “In. You’re keeping it in.”

  “We have been, I think,” Silver said.

  “You don’t know?” Adam asked, turning to face the prince.

  “Not for certain,” Silver said. “There have been a lot of Guardians, many changes as the Towers shift ownership. We don’t always know which things are locked in the basements, so to speak. My father may know, but he will not answer me on this matter. I may never know, not even when I assume my full mantle.”

  “Huh,” Adam said. “What does that mean?”

  “I am a prince,” Silver said, the light around him growing colder. “Someday I will be king.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it,” Adam said.

  Silver’s grip on the steering wheel loosened. “When I wear the crown of the King of Swords, I will change. I will be something, someone, else.”

  “What are you saying?” Adam asked. “That your aspect, this you, will go away?”

  “You are perceptive, Adam Binder,” Silver said. “We have many selves. I happen to like this one.”

  “If it helps, your highness,” Adam said. “Your father is immortal. I doubt you have to worry about it happening anytime soon.”

  “Let us hope not,” Silver said.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Adam watched the twisting, fun house mirror versions of the trees and buildings go by. Little was static. Only the streets seemed normal, though occasionally their white lines grew centipede legs and scurried out of the Audi’s way with a hiss and show of fangs, like possums would.

  Adam pondered what Silver had confirmed, that the immortals worked in aspects. He liked being right. The feeling was rare enough in his life.

  And yet, there was something sad about the way Silver discussed his father. It mirrored something in Adam’s own feelings. His father had been missing for so long. He had no way of knowing if they were different or similar. He hoped not, at least when it came to magic. To twist life and bend it into bone charms. But if Adam could find him, perhaps he’d come to understand him, bridge the gap between the laughter and rage.

  Silver pulled to a stop outside the hospital. Looking to Adam, he raised an eyebrow. “You are silent, Adam Binder. That is uncharacteristic.”

  Adam was thinking, trying to remember if Perak had ever mentioned any kind of conflict with his family. Adam ducked his head. He’d never asked about the elf’s relations, what struggles he faced with them. Adam had been selfish, thinking such conflicts unique to his life.

  “I just thought family squabbles were a mortal thing,” Adam said.

  “And I suspect you learned to argue from us,” Silver said. The elf paused, his mouth open a little, like he had something else to say. Then he closed it again. Instead he nodded and said, “Happy hunting. Be most careful.”

  Adam didn’t know how to read Silver’s odd body language, but his step lightened to know he wasn’t joining him. Elf or not, prick of a prince or not, Adam would not see him destroyed. The spirit could do that, and he suspected it wanted to. Adam set off toward the hospital.

  26

  Adam

  The streetlamps bent and twisted. The hospital did not look like a single building but rather several floors, each floating but connected by stretched electrical cables and copper plumbing. Some of the walls remained, but others opened into space, like the back of a dollhouse. They had yet to clear all of the construction debris. Chunks of it orbited the site, floating and slowly spinning in the breeze.

  Adam walked around the outside of the hospital’s property, hoping the fences would be less of an impediment on this side of the veil. His suspicion proved right. The posts were bent and twisted like the streetlamps. Adam squeezed between two, a feat he wouldn’t have managed on the mortal side if he kept eating like he had. Still, it was nice, not going to bed hungry. He had to give Bobby that, being a doctor paid for food atop the dickish cars and ugly houses.

  The hole gaped like an open wound in the earth. The construction equipment stood nearby. In this place their teeth seemed longer, their yellow paint rustier, but they did not writhe with life. Things of metal, iron especially, usually didn’t.

  Adam knelt to better examine the ground. He’d always suspected the earth of sentience, of at least plant-level intelligence, if not something greater. He imagined it watching him, much like the spirit had. If the earth felt pain at the construction, then he didn’t want to know how much man’s other activities, like strip mining and deforestation, upset her. With a shudder, Adam shut down that line of thinking.

  Spirit walking never felt like a dream. This body felt real. It could be hurt, it could feel pain or pleasure. It could bleed. It could come. And if he died in the spirit realm, his body would die too. These were the things Perak had taught him. That too, the old ache, was something he didn’t have time for as he approached the site. They’d dug into the earth, taken out the old foundation, and exposed a basement.

  He risked an upward glance. The spirit hadn’t focused on him. It floated, untethered to the hospital. It seemed as uninterested as a sleeping cow ripe for the tipping. Adam didn’t buy it. The thing had some sort of consciousness, more than plant. Animal at least. Cunning.

  Still, he had come to see the site from the spirit realm. Adam climbed down and immediately froze.

  What is that ?

  A disk of glassy stone, about the width of the Cutlass, was set in the ground. Adam blinked, made certain his Sight wasn’t wrong.

  He could not read the symbols carved into the obsidian, but they spiraled over the large disk, unreadable to his eyes.

  And they were broken. Someone had taken a hammer to the disk, cleaving off shards. The discarded tool lay nearby, glowing with familiar enchantment. The magic imbuing it was sick, familiar. The taste of battery acid and rotten blackberries wafted from it.

  Adam lifted a long piece of the stone, ran a finger over the elven writing. This was their script, a form of it, he
was certain.

  He had to get this to Silver, to Argent. Maybe there was something in those texts about the disk that could tell him what it was for.

  A flash of yellow warned Adam. A tendril fell from the sky. He managed to dodge as it drove into the earth. Eyes opened along its length. They blinked and focused, at first without any unity, then turned on Adam like he’d shouted. The obsidian shard had gotten its attention and it looked mad.

  Another tendril dove, a third.

  “Oh shit.”

  Adam looked for the edge of the pit, intending to run, but a tendril lashed around his waist, tripping him. He dropped the shard. Threads of the tendril, slimy and muscled like earthworms, wound about his hands and legs.

  He didn’t have time to curse again as it bound him. The tip wriggled free and darted for his nostril. Wet and pulsing, it reached inside, burrowing, burning as it pushed toward his brain.

  Everything went red as the spirit wired itself to him. With it came memories, images of its ancient past, and Adam glimpsed what it had been. A giant beyond giants, towering higher than the redwoods. It wasn’t a god. It came before the gods. Moving through the world, it stomped out villages, kicking over hills and sacred groves.

  Adam recognized the elves, though they were clad more in leaves and mud than anything like cloth. They approached the humans, whose own state was even poorer. The spirit felt nothing for them, thought nothing of them.

  Their alliance, the first peace between spirit and flesh, was formed to end that common threat.

  The giant, the titan, could not imagine them a threat, that the tiny things it had swatted were capable of massing an army. It took them all, elves and humans. It killed so many, but on they came. They swarmed, and so many more of them died when it fell, collapsing atop them with force enough to shake mountains.

  Yet they had brought it down. Then Adam felt its rage and secret terror through the red haze of its assault on his mind. The spirit pushed into him, trying to wrest control of him. Adam pushed back with all his willpower and spite.

  They screamed together. In the spirit’s memories, the army of immortals and mortals tied it down with ropes and vines. Adam felt every knife, every nick and slice, as they carved it up and burned its pieces. Its memory of the moment weakened it and gave Adam strength. He pushed it back, willed himself to remain who he was. It would not have him.