Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Nulthir held Furball close to his heart, and the little fella purred softly. Aww.

  “Why are you here?” Nulthir regarded the tiny owl-monkey-cat in his hands, but Furball just neeped again, which wasn’t helpful. The kit hadn’t mastered mind-talking like his grandparents yet. “What am I going to do with you? I can’t leave to take you home, not until I finish my rounds and maybe not even then. Nor can you stay. It’s too dangerous for you.” Nulthir ran his free hand through his damp hair.

  “Neep?” Furball asked, but the kit used those neeps to communicate a wide variety of things, none of which Nulthir could translate without help from Furball’s relatives. But they weren't here right now. He’d have to find a way to keep Furball safe until he could return the little critter to his flat. That shouldn’t be too hard if all the inmates stayed in their cells. But that was a big if. The persistent dampness down here was hell on locks.

  Furball opened his little beak and yawned as he wrapped his prehensile tail around Nulthir’s thumb. Like his progenitors, Furball was an amalgamation of raptor, monkey, cat and only Fate knew what else, and he was so adorable when he pricked his little cat ears up like that.

  Nulthir stroked the critter’s soft fur. “What do you hear?” Nothing that could be communicated solely through neeps. Nulthir listened but loud snoring and the occasional grunts and snorts drowned out any other sound now that Furball had quieted.

  Furball’s left ear twitched then he tried to crawl up Nulthir's sleeve, but it was cinched tight against his forearm by a leather vambrace with metal splints. Furball just cowered there, shaking and making soft clucking sounds that wrenched his heart.

  “What’s wrong?” Nulthir ran his free hand down the little fella’s back, but that didn’t soothe him. “What frightened you? There’s no one here but you and me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth then Nulthir heard footsteps coming this way. Uh-oh. “I need you to stay out of sight and be quiet. Can you do that for me?” Nulthir whispered in a vain attempt to keep this conversation from carrying at least until the snoring started up again.

  Furball’s whole body bobbed in a grateful yes. Good. Nulthir scanned his person for somewhere safe to hide Furball. Hmm, not his utility belt. Its pockets had no room for anything else because they were already stuffed with the tools of his two trades and his gauntlets. Damn it! Those footsteps were getting louder and nearer.

  His uniform tunic had a pocket. Nulthir eyed it speculatively. Furball was small. Was he small enough to ride inside it? Maybe. At least half of Furball’s girth was fur. Nulthir felt the little creature’s heart racing against his palm. “It's okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered, wondering what had happened to the snoring. Why hadn’t it started up again?

  A warning prickled his spine. The runes tattooed there started to tingle. Hmm, that wasn’t good. Something must be magically awry. He'd better get Furball out of sight fast. “Okay, we’re going to try something. I need you to be quiet. Signal me if you’re uncomfortable. Got that?” Nulthir cringed when his whispered words echoed, but they quickly died out, leaving an eerie silence behind. Something was up tonight, and it was his job to find out what. Fantastic.

  Furball’s fur parted. A small black hand protruded from it and extended his thumb. Was that a thumbs-up? Furball rocked the upper part of his rotund body forward in a kind of nod. Alrighty then.

  Nulthir slid Furball into his breast pocket, and his little passenger peered over the top of it. Furball seemed to be comfortable enough.

  “I need you to scrunch down as far as you can and be quiet.” Nulthir grabbed the dawn rune pendant he always wore and dropped it under his tunic, hiding its magic-fueled light. There was only a small chance someone would see it and recognize it for what it was, but it was better not to take that chance.

  Furball nodded and sank deeper into his pocket until only the tips of his pointy ears were visible. That would have to do because they were out of time. In the low lighting, the creature might go unnoticed. Prison was no place for a baby, even one with claws. Hmm, maybe he’d better cast some protection on the kit.

  Before Nulthir could consider the merits of that, he traced a protective rune over his pocket and its furry occupant, who was staring up at him with wide trusting eyes. “Hard as diamond, soft as down, keep this little one safe and sound.” The rune glowed green for a moment then faded as it settled into the wool, but it was still there. Nulthir sensed its web of protective magic wrapping Furball up in its warmth. If only he had time to layer more spells onto that simple one, but he didn't.

  A clanging sound startled them both as the footsteps and banging suddenly stopped. What the hell was going on back there? Were the inmates restless? Or had one of them escaped? The locks had all felt solid when Nulthir had checked, but they weren't the best locks money could buy, and there had been incidents in the past week where they’d failed.

  “Stay out of sight, okay?” Nulthir reminded Furball. “I have to check something.”

  Furball gave him another thumbs-up, then pointed in alarm at the shadows between them and Green Block just as the green light illuminating that cell-lined cave winked out, dropping the tunnel leading to it into deep shadow. Nulthir turned, but Blue Block went dark a moment later. That's when the screaming began.

  “Shh.” Nulthir rested a hand on his pocket to comfort the quivering Furball and quiet his distressed chirps. Apparently, Furball did make other sounds when he wanted to.

  Nulthir filed that away for later and widened his eyes in a vain attempt to improve his night sight, but he needed some light to see. He didn’t have any, unless he wanted to pull out his dawn rune again. Nulthir considered doing just that as he walked back toward the cell-filled cave known as Blue Block. But if he brought out the dawn rune again, he'd be visible, and he didn't want to be.

  Until he had a better handle on the situation, Nulthir was stuck navigating the unrelieved darkness of the tunnel, but so was everyone else down here. It covered this section of the prison’s inner ring, hiding the source of those attenuated screams. Nulthir fingered the nightstick clipped to his utility belt but didn't draw it yet. It hung next to a collection of keys that jangled when he moved. Hmm, maybe he ought to do something about that, so he wasn't advertising his presence. Nulthir unhooked the keys from his belt and dropped them into his trouser pocket. Hopefully, his hip pocket would muffle their clicking.

  Furball shifted in his breast pocket and let out a frightened meep. That was three sounds he had made in the last few minutes. That was progress of a sort. Too bad Nulthir didn’t speak bird.

  “Shh.” Nulthir rubbed the top of Furball’s head since that was the only part of him within reach. The lovable little creature nuzzled his hand. “I love you too, you little fuzzball.”. He didn’t see or sense anything amiss, but he trusted the shivering ball of fur in his pocket.

  Furball could see quite well in the dark. If only the little guy could tell him what he saw. That would be a huge help since Nulthir had no idea what had caused those screams; why they were quieting; or what he was slowly creeping toward.

  Nulthir grasped his nightstick and glided forward, keeping the wall to his left. That still left three directions for an attack to come at him, though, only two were likely because the tunnel was only about four feet wide. That was wide enough. A power so cold it burned, struck Nulthir in the side, staggering him. Another bolt of that same killing cold slammed into him before he could recover his scattered wits. Icy magic burrowed under his skin, and his pulse hammered out a song of fear so loudly, it almost drowned out Furball’s frantic meeps. That killing cold sped through his body, dragging a black void behind it.

  Nulthir fought it as he dropped to his knees, but he couldn’t throw off the attack. It was like nothing he’d ever faced before. He couldn’t even think of a way to counter it. The power was so cold, and it was pulling something out of him. Just thinking was growing more and more difficult. But Nulthir tried to hold on. He cou
ldn’t pass out. If he did, the magic he'd hidden since he'd sought refuge under this mountain would be revealed, and his life would be over before he’d even lived much of it. He had to fight it, but how?

  Furball shrieked, hopefully in fear, not pain, as another blast of magic so cold and dark it gave off no light at all struck Nulthir—this time in the back, and he fell forward, shielding Furball with his body. He caught himself before he hit the ground. “It’s okay, Furball. I won't let anyone hurt you.”

  Furball didn’t reply, not in words, but Nulthir heard something. Maybe the little guy was calling psychically for help. No, that couldn’t be right. Nulthir wouldn’t be able to hear such a call because he didn’t have the mind gift. But could Furball mind-call his family? More importantly, should Furball do that? Or would the scared kit just call his family into a trap?

  Nulthir opened his mouth to warn Furball, but the runes tattooed on his back heated up as they activated. They generated a field that cut some of the force pressing him down into the ground, and the sudden relief from the cold took his breath away. What had Mommy dearest inscribed back there—a transmutation spell maybe?

  That would make sense, given its placement. The dark magic’s pull on him lessened as other spells tattooed on his skin lit up under his uniform, but his defenses had kicked in too late. That strange cold magic had taken something from him, and the loss was knocking him out. Footsteps came again as he collapsed on his side, too weak to hold himself up anymore.

  Another cold blast hit him. The blood roared in his ears. What kind of magic was so dark and bitterly cold? That question pursued Nulthir as the darkness closed in on him, but his last thought was of Furball. The poor dear was terrified and exposed. Nulthir curled his rapidly numbing body around the frightened little creature who was chirping as if his little life depended on it, and it probably did.

  Hide, Furball. Nulthir tried to send that thought the way Furball’s grandsire, Thing, had taught him when he was a child chasing shimmering leaves under the boughs of the enchanted forest. But the blackness swept him under, and Nulthir was lost in its embrace.

  Chapter Two

  Help, screamed Furball, startling Amal out of an afternoon nap. She mantled her wings. Beside her, her mate, Thing, almost fell off the shelf he’d perched on as that shrill call for help repeated in their minds.

  Calm down, honey, and tell me what’s the matter, Amal sent to her terrified grandchild. Furball wasn’t hearing anything. He was too busy broadcasting a distress call so loudly, it drowned her out. But he was just a baby who hadn’t gotten the knack of listening while sending. Amal made a mental note to work on that after they saved him from whatever had startled the little kit.

  “Did you get anything?” Thing flapped his wings hummingbird fast to turn his fall into a door-ward swoop without waiting for an answer. He knew she’d follow him, though. They were a team.

  “No, Furball’s too worked up to hear anything. Did you get anything?” Amal launched herself off the shelf where she’d been napping.

  Nulthir is in trouble, Thing said mind-to-mind.

  “You know that for certain?” Amal asked aloud in their language of whistles, chirps, and occasional peeps.

  Language was the music of the mind. Every language had its own tonal center and distinct harmonies that made up its unique key. Only Nulthir couldn’t wrap his mind around the atonality of theirs. That wasn’t his fault, though. He didn't possess the mind gift, and thus didn’t have the right equipment to tap into different mental frequencies. He was locked into only one headspace, the one for human speech.

  Amal wasn't troubled when she stretched out her thoughts to confirm Thing’s prognosis and didn’t bump into his mind. She often couldn’t make contact even when she and Nulthir occupied the same room. Amal doubted Thing had made contact either given the wild look in his owl eyes. He and Nulthir had a close bond, and the silence drove her poor mate crazy with worry.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Amal chirped when she couldn’t get through to her mate’s frantically reaching mind. Thing wouldn’t stop trying to reach Nulthir until he either made contact, or they bumped into him in the flesh.

  “We don’t know that.” Thing punched the symbol chalked on the wall adjacent to the door with his clawed hand.

  When it lit up a shimmering green, the door swung open, admitting them to the corridor beyond. They both shot up to the ceiling forty feet above, putting their aerodynamic bodies well out of sight of any of Nulthir’s human neighbors. They didn’t know he lived with a menagerie of magical bipeds with wings, and they must stay ignorant of that little detail until the laws changed. Behind her and Thing, Mixie and Yarn, Furball’s rather confused parents, shot out of the door followed by Crispin and Thistle.

  “Fair flying,” Dale said as he touched the rune to close the door before any more grandchildren ventured out.

  One grandchild in peril was enough for one night. Thankfully, the rest of the family had chosen to stay where it was safe. Crispin’s brother, Dale, would protect them, nor was he the only one to stay behind. The six of them should be enough to pull Nulthir out of whatever jam he’d gotten himself, unless it was magical, and it might be.

  Nulthir was clever enough to handle anything the mundane world could throw at him. Amal shelved her worries until she saw how matters stood. There was no use borrowing trouble when the world was so good at dishing it out.

  Since she couldn’t get a fix on Nulthir, Amal sent her thoughts winging out ahead of her in search of the still frantically mind-calling Furball. Where are you, my child?

  But Furball just screamed mentally for help again as loudly as he could. Amal already knew he was in trouble, just not the location of said trouble. Mount Eredren was a huge place with many levels rising to its peak and just as many delved under it. Furball could be anywhere in that vertical sprawl, but not Nulthir. He had a job.

  “He’s with Nulthir,” Thing said, reading her mind.

  “You’re certain?” Amal veered around a flying buttress that had been carved to look like a beaming angel as Furball mind-called again. This time, she caught a glimpse through Furball’s eyes of a figure sprawled on the ground. That must be Nulthir. What could have possibly happened to him? He was a strong young man and quite magical, in his own way.

  “You saw?”

  “Yes, where is Nulthir now? On his rounds?” Amal veered left to fly around a grinning gargoyle and pumped her wings to fly even higher, so she could hug the glowing mosaic that covered the ceiling. The makers of this place, an ancient and long-deceased race of stone mages, had strange notions about decor.

  Pedestrians sometimes looked up at the artwork, but birds were a common sight since the outer ring of every level above ground was an open arcade leading to a wrap-around balcony that encircled the mountain. All kinds of birds skipped the whole flying south for winter bit and nested on the flying buttresses that held the ceiling aloft. But none of them were birds of prey.

  “Yes, he's at work.” Beside her, Thing jinked to avoid a carved devil brandishing a pitchfork at the passersby far below. A nest made of grass and thread crowned the marble devil’s head, and two brown birds poked their heads out and squawked at Amal and her family.

  “Shut your beak. We’re leaving.” Amal put on a burst of speed to prove it. Really. Those birds acted like they owned this airspace. As if.

  “How did he get out?” Crispin asked as he flew even with his parents, but his glare was meant for Yarn, his sister’s mate, who was bringing up the rear. Yarn was supposed to be watching Furball when the little one had disappeared. Crispin had asked a valid question.

  One Amal wanted an answer to, and so did her mate. Thing’s curiosity was palpable and more than a little edged. Furball couldn’t fly yet. His wings were too small. Nor could he open the door or walk far on his stubby little legs. But that was the only way out. So, how had Furball left Nulthir’s flat?

  Yarn didn’t have an answer, nor had Amal expected him to. Yarn wa
s a bit of a dreamer. His attention had probably wandered, and that's when Furball had somehow left.

  “Did anyone see him leave?” Amal asked, not expecting an answer.

  “No, I sent a message to Dale, and he says the same thing. No one saw Furball leave. No one even knew he was missing until he called for help.” Crispin dropped back to fly even with his very pregnant mate.

  Hopefully, he'd convince her to turn back. Thistle didn't need this kind of stress this close to her due date. But that was one decision Amal wouldn't get involved in. Instead, she concentrated on reaching Furball psychically and physically.

  Amal dodged flying buttresses carved to look like chubby cherubs and shot into a dark spiral staircase. None of those glowing crystals had been left to light this stairwell, but that was fine with her. The darkness would hide her family from prying eyes. There was only one problem with that. Her eyes weren’t as sensitive to light as Thing’s. Her mate had more great horned owl in him then she did, but her mage sight was better—it was almost as good as Nulthir’s—and this place was riddled with magic.

  They’d wrapped every square inch of the city they’d carved inside the cone of Mount Eredren in layer upon layer of spells for strength, stability, and a host of other things—some of which Amal couldn’t even parse as she spiraled down the stairwell at top speed. Since there were no obstacles here, she made great time hugging the central pillar the staircase wound around.

  When Amal reached the lowest level, she banked hard to the right through a portal that dumped her into a rough tunnel and arrowed straight for Furball’s frantic mental cries for help. Behind her, Thing struggled to keep up. He was the silent flyer, and she was the fast one, capable of speeds only a peregrine falcon could match due to her sleeker body and long, pointed wings and tail. She kept her arms and legs tucked in tight against her belly to further reduce the drag.