The Mage Tales Prequels, Books 0-II: (An Urban Fantasy Thriller Collection)

by Ilana Waters

  Abigail saw Cunningham launch a bolt of magic at Titus. Her eyes went wide. Nooo! she thought. But Titus backed up just in time. Another centimeter, and the death ray would’ve sliced his chest diagonally in half. Instead, it merely tore his shirt open, revealing the taut muscles of his chest. He leaped down to the deck, grabbing Abigail’s hand on the way.

  “Okay, don’t panic.” Abigail’s feet slammed into the planks, but she felt only the force of it, not the pain. “But I have an idea.”

  Titus groaned. “How I wish you’d stop saying that.” Another bolt of Cunningham’s magic blew the top of the wheelhouse off.

  “You two insufferable blighters can’t hide forever!” she howled.

  “Grab one of those nets on the sides,” Abigail said. “The biggest one you can. Meet me at the end of the ship. The front end—er, bow, I mean. Not the stern.”

  “I know which end of a ship is which,” Titus said. Cunningham rose behind them, above where the wheelhouse’s roof had been. Her once-smooth hair was frayed, her eyes wild with fury. She raised her magic-laden arms above her head.

  “Then get going, already!” Abigail cried. Two bolts of magic crashed down as she and Titus dove for cover. Cunningham’s cries were a hurricane of screaming and swearing.

  To herself, Abigail whispered: “ ‘I am the fire / And we work in kind / What I desire / Is already mine.’ ”

  With one hand, she called up a wave from the side of the boat. It slammed into Cunningham, knocking her back onto the deck. It wasn’t long until she was hovering above the roofless wheelhouse again, looking even more ferocious.

  By that time, Titus’s supernatural speed and Abigail’s magic had retrieved the supplies they needed. Titus was coming toward Abigail, net slung over one shoulder, wind blowing his torn shirt open. Abigail had gathered enough magic in her body to bring down a Leviathan. At least, that’s what it feels like, she thought to herself.

  She called as much of the storm toward them as she could. Pulled energy in the atmosphere from miles around. The rain lashed at her arms; wind whipped hair around her face. There was only seconds between the lightning and thunder. Her skin felt alive, electrified. She could almost see the tiny, fine hairs of her body sizzling and snapping, even as they got drenched. Even though—no, because she and Titus might die, schoolgirl thoughts were skipping through her mind:

  He kissed me he kissed me he kissed me—

  It hadn’t been like she expected. Not like in the movies. His fangs didn’t cut into her and make her bleed. His mouth was cool, not cold. Still, it seemed like all of life and death had passed through them in that one kiss.

  Cunningham threw a bolt of magic between Abigail and Titus that nearly split the ship in half. The deck’s wooden boards cracked and splintered, careening Abigail to the port side, Titus to the starboard side.

  Jesus Christ, Abigail, she thought to herself as one shoulder slammed into the gunwale. CONCENTRATE. Or you’re both definitely going to die. She shot up and shouted to Titus.

  “Throw me the net!”

  Titus looked at her like she was mad. Still, he wordlessly heaved the net at her. Abigail stopped it in midair. Cunningham flung a bolt of magic at it. But Abigail was too fast. She sent the net sailing over Cunningham’s head, latching each corner to the broken, lopsided poles and antennae. She fastened the highest corner to the masthead. Now, Cunningham was caught between Abigail, Titus, and the makeshift web.

  “Drive her back!” Abigail hollered at him.

  “Into the net?” Titus’s face twisted in confusion. “That won’t hold her. She’s not a fish, Abigail.”

  “Just do it!”

  Dammit, woman! Titus thought to her. I wish you’d let me read your mind so I’d know what the fu—

  Cunningham glanced over her shoulder. Even with the sound of the storm, Abigail could hear the maddening cluck of her tongue. “Oh dear, dear, dear.” She shook her head. “You really think you’re going to throw me in there like an old tuna? Sorry to disappoint you, pet, but Eleanor Cunningham doesn’t go down that easily.” She waved one hand, and the huge metal winch on one of the cables shot out at Abigail. She screamed as it shattered her collarbone.

  “Gail!” cried Titus.

  “I’m fine,” Abigail replied through gritted teeth. As the bones in her chest throbbed, she felt the power of the waves and the clouds. She felt the ocean and the storm swirling with the rage and sadness for the girls she ached to save.

  “I am the sea,” she thought, “And we work in kind / Power of water . . .”

  Abigail willed some of her magic to heal her, though it hurt like hell. Her shoulders heaved as she panted with the effort. “That all you got?” she called to Cunningham.

  Cunningham laughed. “You’re a hard one, you little tart. I’ll give you that.”

  Abigail ignored her. Instead, she thought of ions. Of heat energy going from where there was more to where there was less. Of all the births she’d witnessed, the science classes she’d taken. The balance of nature . . . of life and death itself.

  Nature responded. The rain pelted harder; the wind blew fiercer. Lightning flashed on and off to the tune of thunder. A swirl of clouds formed above, a dark hole at its center.

  Okay, Titus, she thought to him. Here’s my plan. She sent every detail to him with her mind.

  Titus’s eyes widened. That’s either complete genius, he thought back, or complete madness.

  Or both. Look, she begged, are you with me or not?

  Before Titus could reply, Cunningham tilted her head and looked down at Abigail. “You know what? Maybe I’ve been too shortsighted. Underestimated your powers. Even if your boyfriend isn’t interested in my scheme, I could use someone like you on my team. Of course, you did kill the original members. Though I’d say in a field like this, that’s more like an entrance exam,” she chuckled.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “We’ll finish off these wet blankets—the vampire, Arthur, Richard, the whole lot. Then, you and I will go back to the PIA undercover. Meanwhile, we work together on this new enterprise.” She motioned toward the shipping container. “Split everything fifty-fifty. What do you say?” The amulet around her neck pulsed out a light, not unlike the gleam in Cunningham’s eyes. “The rest of my coworkers don’t know about your powers, or mine,” she said. “I’m sure I could get them to let you back in. Give you another chance.”

  It was now or never. There has to be enough energy here, enough magic. Abigail bit her lip. There just has to be. If not, all was lost.

  Titus kissed me, Abigail thought to herself. He kissed me. Anything is possible.

  Abigail’s eyes formed slits that seemed made of steel. “Give?” she repeated. “Bitch, I take my chances. Titus!” she screamed. “Now!”

  Titus lifted his head and threw his arms up to the swirling clouds. From the black hole came a flash that turned the night as bright as day. The thunder above them sounded like the sky breaking. Titus called a bolt of lightning to the masthead. It crashed down in a psychotic zigzag, electrifying the web behind Cunningham.

  The older woman flew back several feet and whirled around. She whipped her head toward Titus, then Abigail. Her teeth were bared like a vampire’s fangs, her hands ready to expel deadly magic. Titus was still ripping lightning from above. Abigail could see his lips pulled back, his bulging biceps. Veins were stretched across his forehead, muscles tight along his chest.

  But it wasn’t enough. Abigail knew it would take more. They had to make the current even stronger. What was it Mom said about never dropping a hair dryer in the bathtub? She was about to do the equivalent—on a much larger scale.

  I need you, she thought to the sky, the sea. The whole world. To magic, to energy, to life itself. We need you. Come to us!

  The rain hit the ship like a meteor. Waves rose up over the sides. Tunnels of water bore down. The ship lurched violently from side to side. Abigail rose in the air a little so she wouldn’t fall onto t
he deck. The sound of thunder filled her ears.

  But that was nothing compared to the fireworks of electricity coming from the net. The addition of the rain had made it absolutely lethal. The wind blew Cunningham’s hair and clothes behind her, as if she were standing in front of a giant fan. She fought not to go backward into the web of death, and even managed to advance several steps. Abigail’s heart hammered against her chest. Blood raced like quicksilver through her veins.

  “She’s getting away!” Abigail shrieked. “Dammit, Titus, do something!”

  Titus set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the net. Lightning gathered in the center of it. It reached out and grabbed Cunningham, like the hand of a white-hot skeleton, and pulled her in.

  Cunningham’s screams sounded like the wind howling all around them. Her body flailed and jerked like a child’s puppet. The smell of burned flesh filled the air; not even the downpour could wash it away. The amulet burst forth one more brilliant ray of light, then exploded into tiny slivers.

  Everything went dark.

  Chapter 22

  Late afternoon, a few days later . . .

  Two men were sitting at a table in the window of a London café, anxiously glancing into the street. They both had bruised faces in various stages of healing. The older one wore a sweater vest and drummed his fingertips on the table. The younger one had a new pair of glasses, and kept tapping his spoon against a teacup. Milky-white tea sloshed over the rim.

  “Hurry, Richard!” Arthur said in a low voice as Richard mopped up the tea with a napkin. “She’ll be here any minute.” He looked around the café for the third time in as many minutes.

  “Are you sure this is a safe place to meet?” Richard crumpled the used napkins and peered over his shoulder. “We’re pretty exposed. If anyone from the PIA sees us with a supernatural—”

  “This is where she said to meet,” said Arthur, “and it was the only free table, so—”

  “Boys!” A small woman sailed through the door in a crocheted knee-length dress. She bore a small, paisley handbag and turquoise jewelry. Chopsticks jutted out at an angle from her hair. “So glad to finally see you. Your injuries look better than I thought they would.” She stood over the table and squeezed both of them, one arm for each.

  “So do you.” Arthur’s voice was muffled in the crook of her elbow. “Can hardly tell you’ve been in so many scrapes over the past few days.”

  “All thanks to my new self-healing abilities,” Abigail chirped. “You’ll be happy to know Titus is fine, too.”

  “Erm, yes,” said Richard. He straightened his glasses, which were knocked off center by Abigail’s embrace. “We’re quite relieved.”

  “You may want to keep your voice down,” Arthur whispered to Abigail. “If the PIA finds out we met with—”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Abigail pulled a chair up to the table. She sat down and waved her hand over the three of them. “There. A ‘don’t-look spell.’ Not quite as powerful as invisibility, but it should keep anyone from noticing us.”

  Arthur exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “Thank goodness. I almost forgot you could do that.”

  Richard looked at his chest and arms, as if expecting to see fairy dust. “Yes, more magic worked on us. Wonderful.”

  Abigail held up a hand to each of their faces. “Yes, better than I thought. But you poor things are still so beat up. Sorry I didn’t do this before, but with all the girls to take care of, well, you know . . .” She closed her eyes. Sparkles floated in the air before Arthur and Richard, this time looking very much like fairy dust. Their eyes bulged as the cuts and bruises on their faces lifted and faded, along with any lingering pain. Abigail put down her hands and opened her eyes.

  “Blimey,” breathed Richard, putting one hand to his pristine cheek.

  “Amazing!” Arthur said.

  “How are the backs of your heads?” Abigail asked. “When you hit that container, I thought for sure . . .” She shuddered.

  “Bit of a headache before,” Arthur said. “But it’s gone now, thanks to you.”

  “Though you could’ve been a little gentler pulling us off the docks,” Richard muttered.

  Abigail gave him a look. “Hey, be grateful we retrieved you at all. Titus wanted to leave you there.” Richard’s jaw went slack. “Just kidding!” Abigail gave a smile, which quickly disappeared. “Maybe.”

  “I suppose we’re lucky you remembered to include our crossbows.” Richard sipped his tea.

  “You have no idea. I mean, we were busy sinking a few dead bodies at the bottom of the ocean.” Abigail turned a bracelet around and around on her wrist. “Not to mention a rather large ship. Almost wish you guys could’ve seen it. It was pretty rad.”

  “No evidence left, then, eh?” Arthur asked.

  Abigail shook her head. “None that mortal authorities will find, which is how we supernaturals like it.”

  “Erm, yes.” Richard tugged his collar. For a few moments, the table filled with an awkward silence.

  “We are sorry to see you leave the PIA, of course,” Arthur finally said. “Oh! I nearly forgot. Here are your things.” He pulled out a small suitcase from underneath the table and handed it to Abigail. “As per your request, I collected them from your flat.”

  “Thanks, Arthur.” She tucked the suitcase under her chair.

  “Still, are you sure it’s wise, running off with this Aurelius fellow?” Arthur’s scratchy voice darkened with concern. “I’ve been doing some digging on him. Not exactly the friendliest of chaps.”

  “No argument there,” Abigail said. “But he did save my life—and yours. Several times, in fact.”

  Arthur nodded. “True enough. Still, I’m going to keep researching him, if you don’t mind. Just to see if there’s anything else we should be aware of.”

  “Like if he’d spontaneously go back to the dark side.” Richard ran his eyes over a painting on the wall.

  Arthur nudged Richard in the ribs. “Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m something of an expert on him, soon. Witch and vampire. Very interesting. Do let him know how grateful we are, won’t you?” he asked Abigail. “To him and to you, for saving us. Which is why we’ve decided to erase all traces of your employment with the PIA.”

  Richard’s head snapped around. “We have?”

  “Yes.” Arthur poured milk into his tea. “Not right away, of course. It’ll take years. But, as I understand it,” he leaned toward Abigail, “you may have something of a surfeit in that department.”

  Abigail smiled at Arthur, then stared at the spoon in his cup. It stood up and moved in circles until the milk combined perfectly with the tea. Arthur grinned. Richard swallowed hard.

  “I know how difficult it can be for supernaturals once the PIA has a dossier on you,” Arthur said apologetically. “Not the way you’d want to start your new life, I imagine.”

  Abigail searched Arthur’s mind for traces of lying, or jealousy. She’d been getting better at reading thoughts lately. But she could see no deceit, no hidden desire for immortality or magical powers. Just a sense of relief for her safety, the girls’, everyone’s. And Richard is still too freaked out to know what to think.

  Halevai, she sighed to herself in Yiddish. Everyone should have such friends.

  “I appreciate that, Arthur.” She laid a hand over his. “I really do.”

  “In fact,” Arthur continued, “if we ever see each other again—any of us,” he pointed to himself, Richard, and Abigail, “I think we should pretend we’ve never met. That includes Mr. Aurelius. Safer for everyone that way.”

  “But what do we tell the senior members?” Richard asked.

  “The truth,” Arthur said. “Well, part of it. That Eleanor was involved in some unsavory business with supernaturals, and it got her killed. That we lost track of Abigail Silver after she left the PIA. They can’t eliminate her if they don’t know where she is. And supernaturals are very good at hiding,
which is part of what makes our job so difficult. An entirely plausible explanation that they’ll have no trouble accepting. Besides, it’s not like it’s the first time this has happened.”

  “There have been others?” Richard’s eyes bulged.

  Arthur patted his shoulder and smiled broadly. “Welcome to the PIA.”

  Richard ran one hand over his perfectly parted hair. “I suppose . . . I mean, Ms. Cunningham did have us delay our report on that whole clock tower fiasco. So, no one realizes yet the extent of . . . everything.”

  “Sort of like a parting gift from Eleanor,” said Arthur.

  “Good riddance,” Abigail muttered.

  “But to not tell,” Richard sighed. “No one will ever know about that priceless shot I made.”

  Arthur patted his shoulder again. “We’ll know, son. But yes, I don’t recommend telling anyone else. Not your father, not even your girlfriend.”

  “So, no report, then,” Richard said glumly. He threw out his hands. “What the devil am I supposed to do now?”

  Abigail smiled. “Malcolm will need help alphabetizing the Reynolds wing,” she said. Richard made a face, and Arthur laughed.

  “But how are you going to explain to all those trafficking victims what they saw?” Richard pressed. “You and the vamp—er, Mr. Aurelius—can’t possibly mind-boggle all of them, or whatever hypnosis it is that you do.”

  “Ah, but that’s the beauty of it.” Abigail leaned forward. “They didn’t actually see anything. They heard arguing, things breaking, and . . . okay, people dying. Which I’m sure was all very frightening. But none of them speak English, so they can’t know for sure what was going on. We told them the drugs they were given cause hallucinations, which will explain away a lot. Like witches with magic in their hands, guns, crossbows, fangs, et cetera. Plus, the opening of the container was opposite the ship. Which means they missed Titus and me battling Cunningham to the death. Basically, all they need to know is that they’re safe, the bad guys are dead, and they’re going home, where they belong.”

  Abigail could see the questions forming in Arthur’s mind. He opened his mouth. She held up her hand. “I appreciate your concern, Arthur, but it’s best you don’t know the particulars. Plausible deniability and all that. We had to pull a few not-quite-legal strings to guarantee the girls’ safe passage.” And I’m not entirely sure Titus didn’t kill someone.