Drown Another Day

by F. A. Bentley

  Spirit Summons were convenient to both flavors of wizards. It allowed lone wolf mages to show up in ‘person’ from the comfort of their very own isolated windowless towers, and at the same time it let the archmages and heavy weights feel like they were important by holding meetings without a ninety percent absence rate.

  What a time to be alive.

  Flanked by his retainers, Philestos Swanquill entered a quaint little hotel and paid for a room in crisp hundred dollar bills. With Lis hanging on to my arm like a hot date, we made our way to the room.

  “Why can’t you just give me my orders yourself, Phil?” I asked.

  The Lord Demonologist wrinkled his nose at the words. “If it were up to me I wouldn’t be meddling this hard, but I’ve been overruled here.”

  “Politics?” I asked.

  “If I had to guess,” Lis began, jagged brows furrowing, “I’d say that rumors of what happened at the party are echoing through the Supernatural world as we speak, and that’s got Nine Towers in something of a tizzy.”

  Phil kept his face neutral. His aides however did not. “Due to Charles’ proximity and first hand experience,” Phil began, “He has been chosen to--”

  “Perform another nigh suicidal mission?” Lis asked ever so politely. “It’s a good thing Charlie is so tenacious, and Nine Towers is such a benign organization, otherwise a gal might start to think dangerous thoughts like ‘my goodness, I wonder how convenient it would be if an irredeemable troublemaker like Charlie were to suddenly, tragically die on his mission’.”

  Dead silence reigned in the room. The weight of Lis’ words were not enough to break Phil’s poker face, but he didn’t seem to trust himself to respond immediately either. When he finally did, his words surprised me more than I care to admit.

  “Angelic Ms. Devil, I have no intention of letting anyone make a pawn out of my warlocks. And I promise you, if I ever come across someone that does,” he said darkly. “There will be Hell to pay for it.”

  “I’m glad you two always get along so well. I can’t wait for my birthday party,” I muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I laid down in the bed, and Phil’s aides drew a few quick chalk circles on the hotel room floor. Within thirty seconds the ritual circle thrummed with magical life. A few chants, and the moment my eyelids closed, they opened to new and foreign sights.

  Suddenly, with vision still blurred, I found myself in a large, stark white room with several ornate tables surrounding me, a metric ton of paper sheets, and two grimacing faces.

  “You wished to speak to me, Archmages?” I asked.

  “Charles Locke, warlock first class, I hope you’re in top form, because the mission we’ve devised for you is going to need a hundred and ten percent,” spoke a short man with a stubbly chin. I could just make out fuzzy slippers beneath the ornate robes worn by all archmagisters.

  “Archmagister Gilbert Gelwer, always a pleasure,” I greeted, before turning to the tall, imposing figure beside him. “I don’t think we’ve been properly intro--”

  “I have no interest in playing nice with a warlock. Hear out your orders. When you’ve memorized them, you will be dismissed,” the imposing man replied.

  I pursed my lips. Gilbert sighed before hanging a thumb towards his fellow Archmage.

  “This is the Lord Evoker. Rodrigo Baltazar. He throws out fireballs like the Lord Illusionist throws out apprenticeship applications,” he said.

  “Noted. What’s the mission?”

  Baltazar cleared his throat. “Before we begin, I want to make something perfectly clear. I’ve read the reports. I’ve read your files. And I think you’re either a cheater, or an incompetent who happens to have enough luck to crawl on by mission after mission.”

  The guy reminded me of Cazador somehow.

  “Lord Evoker, I am sure your displeasure is not part of my mission,” I replied.

  “Such confidence. I hope you know what will happen to you if you fail,” Baltazar replied.

  He must have been six and a half feet high. Taller than me at least. His hair was combed back, and his hands were tightly held behind his back. A sharp beard that belonged on a renaissance era Spaniard graced his face and he exuded an aura of unyielding power.

  Lord Evoker meant that not only was he a fan of direct, harmful evocation spells like fireballs and lightning bolts, but that he was probably extremely talented at it too. Gilbert was right. I’d have to tread carefully around an archmage that had no interest in playing live and let live.

  “I’m prepared to risk my life. What is the mission, Lord Evoker?”

  A sneer scrunched up Baltazar’s nose, but my words were enough of a prod to get him talking about something relevant.

  “What do you know about the current scenario?” he asked.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say the Olympians and the Dagonians are about to have a disagreement,” I replied. “Had a front row seat to see the two bosses lock horns, so to speak.”

  “Good,” Baltazar said. “That means we won’t waste time explaining things to you. Your mission is simple. Olympus and these damn fish men are about to start the underwater equivalent of a World War.”

  I let out a ghostly whistle. “Never a dull day. What’s the reason for it?”

  Baltazar scoffed at me. “Who cares? All that matters is that this war must not happen.”

  With a flick of a wrist, the Lord Summoner conjured a trio of tiny creatures with huge noses and quills in their hands. Wordlessly, they passed a scroll of parchment to Gilbert before being dismissed with a snap of his fingers.

  “Instability beneath the waves is sure to affect the surface world. Shipping lanes will be besieged. Storms will rage, flooding coastal settlements the world over. Hurricanes might be summoned, fish that serve as food for most of the coastal nations of the world will be either displaced or killed to deny resources to either side,” Gilbert paused, glancing over the rest of the parchment before adding, “the list goes on.”

  “And if things get bad enough the Mundanes will notice too,” I said.

  Gilbert nodded gravely. “It is of the utmost importance that this war does not come to pass. As a Warlock First Class, we do not entrust this mission to you lightly, Charles Locke.”

  “How will I go about diffusing the situation?” I asked.

  “Methods don’t matter. Results do,” Baltazar spoke up.

  “So what then, shall I orchestrate a political marriage between a mermaid and the most handsome Dagonian I find?” I asked.

  Baltazar glared at me. I guess some people are born totally humorless. “If you want my advice, warlock, I recommend meeting with our allies in the Olympian camp, catching some Dagonians unaware, and then turning as many of them to ash as possible. It’s not a war if one side is sufficiently crippled before the first battle.”

  “Allies?”

  “Nine Towers is on friendly terms with the Olympians. See that this does not change. That is all, warlock. You may go.”

  “My pleasure. But before I do so, I would like to make a formal request for magical items. It sounds like I’m going to need more than a little--”

  “Denied,” the Lord Evoker replied.

  I blinked. “Say again?”

  “Due to shortages, magical weapons are being restricted to proper mages,” Baltazar replied.

  My heart sank and my mind swam. Without magical tools to rely upon, my chances of putting up even a mediocre fight were beginning to look dismal.

  “Is that understood, warlock?” Baltazar said.

  Chapter 10

  I weighed my options, and in the end decided Gilbert was my best hope. “Lord Summoner, is there any chance you can expand on--”

  “It’s not just you, Locke,” Gilbert hastily replied. “Warlock missions during war times are often deemed too dangerous to lose magical items on.”

  “Of course,” I replied with a smile. “Warlocks are a dime a dozen, but priceless magical heirlooms are invaluable.”

&
nbsp; The Lord Summoner bit his tongue, “All things considered, we could have put you on the quick response team. You’d have been sent to get violent with whatever the Dagonians throw at us in a moments notice. Teleported in, and then either live or die by your magical strength. But we are trying to be reasonable and set you to the task you’re best suited for, Warlock First Class.”

  “Understood,” I muttered.

  Not only do they want me to avert a goddamn war, but they want me to do it with my hands tied behind my back. Would the Olympians really provide as much aide as these two think they would?

  “If you ask me, this is a good opportunity for you, Locke,” Baltazar said. “A chance for you to get some practice with your own magics instead of relying on parlor tricks and sleight of hand. Drop your wand, shun that Infernal harlot, and pick up a real staff. What have you really got to lose?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Lord Evoker,” I replied politely. “If I did all that I might end up discovering I have power even greater than yours, and I’m sure that would violently end our friendship.”

  To be fair, he really pissed me off.

  Before I could hear Baltazar’s response, I found myself violently banished from Nine Towers back to Venice. My body jolted like I’d just finished having a nightmare (not that my spirit summoning hadn’t been one), and with heart pounding in my chest, I gazed around the hotel room.

  “What happened?” Phil asked, shocked to attention from where he had been comfortably sitting.

  “I may have been too honest with the Lord Evoker,” I replied. “Where’s Lis?”

  Phil dragged a wrinkly hand down his face as he sank back down into his chair. Looking at him again, he seemed exhausted. Bags hung beneath his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before.

  “After we had a little chat, angelic Ms. Devil decided to go back to the villa to prepare for something,” Phil said. “She seemed sharper than usual. I wonder why?”

  A good question. Normally Lis was quite relaxed and laid back. But recently, she’s been downright animate. The thought of her taking advantage of the pressure to try and trick me into committing some great sin was not one that sat lightly in my head. Marshaling my mind, I pushed the frightening possibility onto the back burner. I’ll cross that burning bridge when I get to it.

  “Don’t let her hassle you too much,” I said. “You deal with Devils on a daily basis Phil. Lis is just a small fry to you. Isn’t she?”

  The Lord Demonologist laughed harshly. “Devils, Demons, Daimons, Imps, Succubi, Lillim. All have their own preferences and leanings, their own weaknesses and objectives. It’s easy to bargain with them for a veteran like me.”

  “But?” I asked.

  “But Lisistrathiel is beyond my area of expertise,” Phil muttered. “Regardless, Charles I must confess that I came here with an ulterior motive.”

  My eyes narrowed and my back straightened. Philestos weaseled his way out of Infernal contracts quite literally on a daily basis. It must be child’s play for him to do things beneath the council’s nose.

  “What do you have for me, Phil?”

  Philestos grinned, “I’m sure you were just a bit upset when they told you about our war time item restriction. And if I recall correctly you were fond of using secondary items beyond your wand, yes?”

  My eyebrows rose and my heart skipped a bit, “You magnificent, burnt up bastard.”

  Sure enough, Phil reached to his left hand and pulled a ring from its place. He placed it in my hand without any pomp before mumbling a small, “There we are.”

  It was quite thick for a ring, and certainly didn’t shine with any golden or silver luster. On closer inspection, it seemed to have been carved from marble. Odd red growths clung to it vindictively and it felt cool to the touch. It almost looked like coral.

  “It’s a ring of water breathing. A precious family heirloom of mine and a priceless artifact, among other things. It’s not exactly a rod of disintegration, but it’s something. Olympians and Dagonians are on the menu, Charles, and that means that either way you’re going to end up in deep waters,” he said before rising from his seat and putting on his hat.

  “I’ll put it to good use. Thank you,” I said.

  Philestos walked to the hotel door, opened it with a creaking whine, and looked back over his shoulder towards me.

  “Good luck, Charles Montgomery Locke,” he said before closing the hotel door shut.

  “I’m going to need it,” I replied.

  Chapter 11

  It was well past midnight by the time my taxi arrived back at the villa I’d rented. It was a fancy rural style pad just outside Venice’s center with a little garden and ritzy columns around the front.

  The inside was just as elegant, but with a dash of functionality: A kitchen, an area to entertain guests, and of course a bedroom. That’s where I found her.

  “Lis,” I called out, closing the door behind me.

  The room was bathed in dull yellow light, the beige walls lent themselves well to an atmosphere of hushed relaxation. Lis was sitting on the gigantic king sized bed with feminine products scattered all around her like the corpses of her fallen enemies. By the looks of it, she just finished painting her toenails.

  “All done with that smooth talking grandpa?” she asked, flexing her toes and eyeing them carefully.

  “He was kind enough to lend me something that might be of use,” I replied.

  “How nice. What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think that I’m going to be hard pressed to even survive this--”

  “I mean what do you think about my toenails.”

  I shot her a glare before turning my eyes to her feet. Of course, she painted the toenails black, but that wasn’t the enthralling part. Her toenails were long and universally sharpened to razor tipped perfection. Them being attached to diabolically sexy legs was just frosting on the cake.

  “Are you going out somewhere?” I asked.

  “Envy is a cardinal sin, Charlie,” she teased. “You should be more worried about yourself than me anyways. Trust and believe.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. What do you know about Dagonians?”

  Lis grinned from ear to ear, “Now that, Charlie, is a really interesting subject. What do you know about em?”

  “Fish men. They’re on the same level as Demons as far as spooky Supernatural horrors are concerned. They live in the oceans and everyone is terrified of them. That’s all I’ve got,” I said.

  Lis shook her head, retrieving an eyelash curler from the night table and putting it to use. “That’s pretty much all anyone knows. Dagonians are indeed a race of beings that look like a great big fish made lots of babies with a frog. They’re monstrous, super secretive, and they can grow to be uh, pretty big if memory serves.”

  I heaved a sigh. “Perfect. We’re being attacked by a race of deep sea horrors that have come to enslave or slaughter us filthy top-worlders. Do I have this correct? It’s like a B-Movie plot.”

  Lis shook her head, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions if I were you. Though it probably deserves to be emphasized that everyone’s afraid of Dagonians. They’re scary. They don’t die except via violent ends. They’re alien, gross, icky, and they come from a place that other Supernaturals avoid like the plague.”

  “Avoid?” I asked.

  “It’s called the Dreamlands,” Lis said, breaking out the lipstick. “The Norse have Asgard, the Olympians have Olympus. Angels Heaven, Devils Hell, and so on. Eldritch get the Dreamlands.”

  “So the Dagonians aren’t fish men, they’re Eldritch?”

  Lis shrugged. “Aymen, Ahmen. Same difference. The important thing is the here and now. Why are they here? What do they want now?”

  “Good questions. What could be so important that they’re willing to start a war with the Olympians? Land? Wealth?”

  Lis smiled, raising her hands over top of her head and stretching from side to side. “I wonder,” she
mused.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “These Dagonians didn’t just come to the Mediterranean all alone, after all. They have a modern fleet from America, and more where that came from I’ll bet. They really brought their A-game.”

  “That’s not surprising at all,” Lis said, moving on to back stretches.

  I blinked. “A major superpower of the world is unwittingly supplying a colossal amount of military gear to a villainous race of aquatic monsters?”

  “Well Charlie, I mean, Dagonians are the Supernaturals of America. I’d be more surprised if they hadn’t.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true. I heard they have a sunken city with nice windowless towers and cyclopean architecture just off the East Coast. I’ve always wanted to go there. Charlie, we should go there for your next vacation.”

  “Lis this is serious. A Siren I met told me the fish masks at the party were ‘Hybrids’. Which means they’ve infiltrated the fleet and probably a whole lot more of the American military than I dare to dream of.”

  “Oh. A Siren, huh?” Lis asked.

  “Envy is a cardinal sin,” I shot back.

  A pause, and then Lis threw her head back in laughter. I smiled. She always did appreciate my quick wits.

  “I deserved that. Well said Charlie.” she replied, dragging a hand through her hair. With a sigh of exertion, Lis slowly pulled her leg vertically upwards in a standing split. Slowly and sensuously, she caressed a hand up her thigh and straightened her leg fully out.

  It was at that moment that I realized what Lis was wearing. Black yoga pants, tighter than my pants currently felt. Her feet were naked but for the paint on her toenails, a sporty fire-truck red tank top covered her chest, and almost completely hidden from view I could just make out the strap of her pure white bra.

  The stretching. The get-ups. The hard and fast dancing. The poking and joking and prodding, more forceful and forward than ever. Any other man would have had his blood pumping hot and fast, but it turned my veins to ice.