by Dante King
“Nah, I’m not nervous,” I replied to Nigel. “I just realized though, that this is an actual date. It’s not just a case of Cecilia and I ending up alone somewhere and getting it on.”
“Like all the other women you’ve boned, you mean?” Damien laughed good-naturedly.
“Right, right,” I said. “All those times, well, they all happened in the heat of some moment, you know. Then, once the sexual ice has been broken, it’s easy and natural and fun to go back to that. Whereas this... “
“Friend,” Rick rumbled as he lowered his special mug, which was more bucket than cup, “if I were you, I would be making sure that I was getting laid tonight!”
“Shit, Rick,” Damien said, “with the game you run, I think that’d be a lot harder than you imagine!”
“Oh, I believe that was what might be categorized as a ‘burn’, Rick,” Nigel said, happily egging his friends on.
“Bah,” Rick said, waving a huge hand in Damien’s face, “the only way that you’ll get laid this year, friend, is if you crawl up a chicken’s ass and wait.”
I roared with laughter along with the rest of the gang.
“Ah, this reminds me of my own glory days at the dear old Bramkin’s Academy,” Igor said, opening up a brown paper packet and pouring a stream of sparkling silver powder onto the kitchen counter.
“You didn’t go to the Mazirian Academy?” I asked in surprise.
“Oh no,” Igor said, dividing the mound of powder into twelve lines with a lazy wave of his vector, “that was Reginald, he was the War Mage. I always knew that my calling was as an Inscriber.”
With a deft precision that belied the fact that the blonde-haired man’s eyes were barely open, Igor sucked one of the lines of glittering powder up his nose, then hoovered the second one up the nostril that he hadn’t used the first time. He closed his eyes tightly, then his whole body seemed to turn to wax. He sank down with a little sigh onto a stool.
“I thought you were a Rune Mystic?” I asked as Igor offered a couple of lines of glitter to Nigel, who eagerly took up the invitation.
As my frat brothers helped themselves to the Pixy Booger Sugar—as Igor informed us that it was—the cousin of Reginald Chaosbane told me how Rune Mystics were, in fact, a type of Inscriber. They had a penchant for Chaos magic, which made them highly sought after and allowed them to mess about with various metaphysical properties when it came to their work.
“Metaphysical? You mean conceptual ideas?” I asked. “Like what?”
Igor offered me the last two lines of Pixy Booger Sugar, but I declined. Any other day of the week, I would have sucked those two little glittering rails up into my head and let them take me wherever they wanted. However, I didn’t want to jeopardize my chances with Cecilia. I had once underestimated the potency of a hallucinogenic before a date while at university, and the girl in question had shown up at the door of my room only to have me open it dressed in nothing but a showercap and convinced that I had turned into a mushroom.
I declined politely, and Igor leaned forward and sucked the narcotics up both nostrils at the same time.
“What conceptual ideas do you get to mess about with?” I asked again.
Igor gave me a shrewd look from the dark eyes that were so like his cousin’s. “Ideas such as life… and death,” he said.
Then, still holding my gaze with his enigmatic eyes, he keeled slowly over backward and fell off his stool.
The afternoon dissolved, and time ran, as time is apt to do when drugs and alcohol are involved. I knocked back a few beers, but managed to restrain myself from ingesting any of the myriad chemical and magical substances that Igor seemed to have stashed around his person. Instead, I egged on my bros so that they imbibed more and more and became more and more incoherent and hilarious.
I listened with rapt attention while Bradley and Igor had a half hour discussion, trying to get to the bottom of whether or not Igor was Bradley’s real father—something that you would have thought would have been a fairly easy conundrum to solve. However, Igor had, by his own admission, only been sober for fleeting moments throughout his adult life, ever since he had been given the boot from the Bramkin’s Academy.
After tying themselves in knots, Igor dismissed Bradley’s claims on the basis that he couldn’t really recall the beginning of the conversation they were currently having, let alone what he had been up to twenty-five years before.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Bradley said quite politely to Igor.
Igor wagged his head in agreement. “That’s your opinion.” He twirled a finger through his messy mustache. “And opinions, after all, are like assholes. Everyone has one, and more often than not they’re a bit shitty.”
Bradley’s brow creased at this bit of barroom philosophy. Igor put his arm around him.
“I’ll tell you what, son,” the Rune Mystic said, blurring the already completely fucked lines of the conversation further, “I’ll take you to watch some good old topless centaur dancing fillies, and we’ll try and get to the bottom of this conundrum, yes?”
I returned my attention to Rick, Damien, and Nigel having a competition to see who could fit more comfortably into the fridge when I heard the doorbell ring. I exited the madness of the kitchen, opened the door, and came face to face with the vision that was Cecilia Chillgrave all dolled up.
She was attired in a glittering blue dress—though calling it blue was a woeful understatement. It was blue with its shoes kicked off and its hair down.
My mouth was open, but shutting it would mean redirecting valuable energy away from my eyes, and I wasn’t prepared to do that.
“What are you looking at, Justin?” the elven woman asked, looking at me from under her pale lashes.
“You,” I said, my mouth running on autopilot. “Just you.”
Cecilia giggled and looked pointedly at me. “You’re ready, are you?”
I glanced down and realized that I was still dressed in the gear that I had been wearing earlier when we had been fighting in the dungeon. Mercifully, the stink of the Abomination seemed to have faded.
“I, uh, would you just wait one second while I get changed into something a little more appropriate?” I asked the shimmering elven marvel.
“Sure,” Cecilia smiled, and she turned away and pulled out a pocket mirror as I shut the door softly on her.
“May I suggest the cloak that I provided you after the Exhibition Matches, Justin?” Igor said from behind me.
“Goddamn it! Where the fuck did you sneak up from?” I said, almost having a heart-attack. “I didn’t hear you at all.”
“Don’t blame me, lad,” he said. “Blame this exquisitely luxurious hall carpet.”
I looked down. We were both standing on solid marble.
Igor handed me the shapeshifting cloak that he had presented me at the end of the War Mage Exhibition Matches. Where he had gotten it from I had no idea, but I was quickly learning not to ask too many questions where this trippy character was concerned.
“How the fuck is this going to help Igor?” I asked.
“It takes on any shape that you care to imagine,” he said simply.
Not having the time or the inclination to throw out a bunch of questions at this drooling, drug-addled sponsor of mine, I pulled the cloak around my shoulders. In my mind, I conjured up the sort of sweetly cut tux that James Bond wears in Casino Royale. To my absolute delight, the shimmering fabric morphed, flowed, and covered my body, turning into the exact same sort of tuxedo that made Daniel Craig such a heartthrob, despite having a face like a potato. Not only had the enchanted garment worked its magic in the form of a tux, it had also provided me with gleaming leather shoes, a matching belt, and a rather dapper bow tie.
I looked up, meaning to thank Igor, but he had somehow vanished as quickly as he had come.
Shaking my head, I opened the door. When Cecilia saw me standing there suited and booted, her blue eyes lit up like stars.
“That was fast,
” she said, running her gaze over me from toe to crown. “And this is better.”
I shrugged nonchalantly and held out my arm. Behind Cecilia, a magical horseless carriage waited.
“I guess that’s one of the perks of having Igor Chaosbane as my sponsor,” I said.
“And he’s only the first of what’s likely to be many,” Cecilia said, taking my arm. “Have you spoken with Madame Xel yet? She is your agent. She should be working for you, finding you even more sponsors who can bring even more to the table for you.”
Madame Xel was the ball-achingly sexy succubus potions tutor at the Mazirian Academy. She was also my newly appointed agent. She was so alluring, so unashamedly sensual and erotic, that she could have seduced the Dalai Lahma.
“I haven’t actually. Not yet. I have Potions Class with her tomorrow, so I can ask her about the agent business then,” I said. “But let’s not talk about her tonight, huh? Tonight is all about you and me.”
Cecilia leaned in close to me, so that her breath tickled my face. It smelled like lemon and promises. “My, my, you are a gentleman under that rough, aren’t you?” Her hand abruptly cupped my cock and gave it a slow squeeze.
“Ha,” I managed to gasp.
“Too bad that I’m not a lady,” the sexy elf breathed into my ear.
Chapter Five
I was sporting quite the half-stack down the front of my tux trousers as the horseless clattered down the hill on which my fraternity house stood. The magically imbued vehicle carried Cecilia and myself into the sleepy university town of Nevermoor. It was mid-week and not very late, and so the village was filled with shoppers rather than drinkers. There were a host of different races on view as our magical open top carriage wended its way through a few side streets and onto Nevermoor’s main drag.
Nevermoor was, as far as university towns went, unique in the universe. For one, it wasn’t constantly filled with fucked up young people after dark. This was likely because the students at the Mazirian Academy were slightly older than your typical college freshmen, but it was also more convenient to have a drink at the Academy itself. With its own bars and lax poolside rules, the Academy held far greater appeal for those wanting to get properly Charlie Sheened.
“You know, I’ve never actually taken a tour through town at this time,” I said as we trundled past shops selling anything and everything that any magic user could need.
Alchemy ingredients were present in profusion. My attention was drawn to a sign for Harpy saliva, swearing by its aphrodisiac properties. I also saw advertisements for swamp cabbage, pearl bark, long lengths of dragon arteries, dung beetles, and yeti fur.
There was a magic carpet dealership with the wizarding equivalent of the wacky waving inflatable tube guy outside of it; a phantasmic version of the same thing being projected out of a small crystal. Street merchants dressed in elaborate robes hawked artifacts and dusty books from the beds of carts and, in one case, off the back of a gleaming sable unicorn.
Cecilia and I passed a blacksmith, a couple of armories, and a bunch of taverns out of which spilled warm, inviting firelight. There was even, I noted, a tattoo parlor of sorts. Through the window, I could see a Frost Elemental lying facedown on a table while a thick enchanted needle, glowing red hot, punched a pattern into the blue skin across her shoulder blades.
“It’s definitely worth a walk around when you get the chance,” Cecilia said. She looked away from the street theater occurring all around us and back at me. “If playing pranks on other fraternities and getting yourself into near-death situation after near-death situation allows you any free time, of course.”
I grinned and gave her a little nudge with my shoulder. “Yeah, well, all that shit does leave me rather strapped for time, you know.”
“I’m sure it does, darling,” Cecilia replied.
We passed one inn, The Slippery Pickle Tavern. I caught the beguiling scent of roasting meat and tobacco smoke, as well as the sound of a folk band beating out a catchy rhythm.
“So, we’re not hanging around town tonight, I take it?” I asked as the tavern slipped behind us and we left Nevermoor’s mainstreet in our rearview.
“No, we are most assuredly not, darling.” Cecilia fixed me with her blue eyes as the horseless took us through a few backstreets. “I doubt this will be like any date that you’ve been on before. Certainly not like any of the other little assignations that we have been on.”
“Should I be nervous?” I asked, opening my eyes wide and giving a little mock shiver.
Cecilia graced me with one of those cool, crooked smiles of hers that always made me want to take her clothes off there and then.
“Justin, darling,” she said, “I’ve seen you face down trolls, an insane shaman, an undead manticore, and a bunch of other stuff that would have left most of the boys I’ve ever known running to hide behind their mother’s skirts—if said monsters and nasties left them the limbs required to do any running, of course. I don’t think a date with little old me is going to do much to raise your pulse.” She leaned toward me again, her blonde hair somehow managing to catch the weak light of the gibbous moon. Her small hand ran up my thigh.
“Depends what we do on this date, I reckon,” I said, looking straight into those ice-chip eyes of hers.
“Well, you won’t have to wait long to find out,” Cecilia said softly. “This is where we get out.”
We had rounded a corner of squat stone cottages, their roofs thatched in the common Nevermoor style. A short way ahead was an area that reminded me of the druid stone circles you might find in Great Britain. The stones were huge, pill-shaped boulders standing in a perfect circle. There were ten of them. Before each one was a flaming torch set inside an iron sconce. The entire stone circle was cordoned off, not by rope, but by beams of hazy golden light that stretched from one iron sconce to the next. A white gravel path led from the stone circle to the road and, where the path joined the road, stood a small stone booth by a gleaming silver gate. The whole setup struck me as a cross between a bus station and a summoning circle.
“Ten stones,” I said, “does each one represent one of the ten types of magic?”
Cecilia nodded as our horseless pulled up near the booth. “That’s right smartypants,” she said. “I’m always delighted when you remind me that not only are you quite courageous and easy on the eye, but you’re no oxygen thief either.”
I laughed. “Wow, you sure have a way with words, don’t you?”
Cecilia winked at me. “It’s that highborn education, darling.” She opened the door of the carriage and stood up. From where I sat, she looked every inch a queen. Her dress and hair shimmered in the dim combined light of the moon and stars. Her pale blue eyes caught and reflected the light of Nevermoor like a pair of perfectly cut sapphires.
“After you,” I said, gesturing at the carriage door.
“Once again, the gentleman,” Cecilia said approvingly.
“It’s more about me being able to watch your ass moving under that dress.”
Cecilia laughed. “What a charmer!”
As we walked up to the little booth, Cecilia pointed the stones out to me.
“The ones on the west side represent and store the Elemental magic types,” she explained, “while the ones on the east side represent and store trace amounts of the Elder Magics. You need at least traces of all types of magic if you wish to operate a portal station.”
“A what?” I asked.
“A portal station,” Cecilia repeated. “A place where one can travel from anywhere to anywhere.”
We approached the booth and were greeted by a wizened old dwarf with a milk white beard and so many wrinkles that he looked like his head was made of melting wax. He was dressed in a snazzy mustard yellow uniform embroidered with silver thread and wore a squat little porkpie hat of the same color. On his chest was pinned a gleaming silver badge that read, PORTAL PORTER.
As Cecilia glided toward the booth, the dwarf snapped to what might have been atten
tion, had he been seventy years younger. As it was, the three-foot high geriatric hauled himself to his feet laboriously and stood wheezing, his mustache blowing as he puffed.
“Good evening, Miss Chillgrave,” the old dwarf said in a croaky voice.
“Good evening, Petram,” Cecilia replied cordially.
“And where will you and your companion be traveling to this evening, Miss?” Petram asked.
“Chilaria,” Cecilia replied.
“The castle, I assume?” the old dwarf said.
“No. The tower,” Cecilia answered.
Petram raised a single wiry eyebrow but said nothing. He inclined his head and waved us through the silver gates, which didn’t open but simply melted away as we stepped up to them.
I followed Cecilia up the white gravel path leading to the stone circle.
“So, we’re teleporting?” I asked.
“Corporeal transportation,” Cecilia corrected me with an alacrity that I was sure Nigel would have approved of—or, at least, he would have had he not currently been stuffed to the gills with Igor’s collection of narcotics and attempting to squeeze himself into the fridge.
“Right, that’s the one,” I said. “So, where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” Cecilia said. “It’s a bit of a surprise. It’s a special place.”
We stepped into the middle of the stone circle, and Cecilia took me by the hand.
Before I could ask any more questions, I experienced the weird sensation of having my stomach drop out through the soles of my feet while simultaneously doing a somersault. The world around me stretched and contorted, or else my vision blurred. The ground beneath my feet was there one moment and gone the next and then was back again. My eyelids fluttered, and every muscle in my body seemed to relax and tense in rapid succession.