Bounty: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Solumancer Cycle Book 3)

by J. C. Staudt

  It figures I’d go out in an embarrassing, demeaning way like this. Magic is responsible for more screw-ups in my life than good fortune. I’m sure that could be chalked up to user error, although I did improve somewhat before the end. A spell requiring me to juggle a dozen magic blades in the air would’ve scrambled my brain a few years ago. If anything, I’ve mastered the art of being barely good enough to get by. Until now, that is. If asphyxiation doesn’t get me, the poison will be waiting on the sideline like the second-string quarterback of my doom.

  Fair enough, death. I find your terms acceptable.

  Gunshots are hollow thuds. Screams barely register through the murk. Splashing footsteps, warping frogs, the din of battle. All distant. All insignificant compared to my dwindling air, the great cadaver venting gases as muscles relax and the surrounding structures slump toward their full heaviness. There’s one flickerfrog still out there, and barring a miracle it’s going to take longer to kill than I’ve got left.

  I push. I squirm and try to wriggle out. It’s no use; I’m out of magic, and the venom is working fast. I choke in a lungful of water. I’m stuck. Suffocating.

  A great sucking sound pulls on my eardrums. The weight lifts from my chest. Water rushes out, and my face touches the cold stale air. Fremantle stands above me, a living car jack holding one side of the carcass aloft. “Out, you stupid human.”

  I roll over and vomit water from my lungs, then crawl on my elbows until I’m clear of the carcass. Fremantle drops it, sending a wave over my head. She grabs me and slings me over her shoulder.

  The third flickerfrog lies dead in a heap, the center of its head caved in, blood spreading from its corpse. The Guardians are wet and dirty, traces of frog-slime oozing into their clothing and skin. They gather around, though I’m staring down Fremantle’s back and can’t see them very well.

  Ryovan inspects my leg. “This looks bad. If Mazriel were here, she could bind the poison to slow its effects until we got you some help.”

  “Forget me. Is anyone else injured?”

  “We’re all injured,” Shenn grumbles, limping past. “Let’s get out of here. Thanks to the prince, this turned out to be a catastrophic clusterf—”

  “They got away,” Des shouts, leaping down the half-dismantled staircase. She’s moving slower than before, lumbering under the weight of an injury. “If the prince survives, I’m going to kill him. I had her. I would’ve held onto her if I’d had help.”

  “Eh. Yeah,” Baz agrees. “No offense, your highness, but Christ, you’re a nutcase.”

  “Did you get a scent?” Ryovan asks.

  “I got more than that,” says Des. “I took a bite. They’re my kind. Dhampirs.”

  Baz shakes his head. “They’re elves. I’m telling you, they’re elves. I got the same scent as last time.”

  “You’re right,” Des confirms.

  “Eh?”

  “They are elves. They’re elven dhampirs. Half-elf. Half-vampire.”

  Chapter 8

  As Fremantle carries me outside and lays me in the back of the van, my mind blurs into poison-induced hallucination. I spend the ride home fluctuating between consciousness and sleep, never certain what’s real and what’s a dream. At some point they bring me into the hospital, cut through my clothes, strip me naked, and throw me in the decontamination showers. Then come the needles.

  Next I know I’m lying on a metal gurney in Janice’s room, naked and clean beneath a white sheet. Baz is lying on a gurney beside mine, Urdal on a third gurney next to him. Satielle is sitting in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest, rocking back and forth. Janice stands over me, looking down with a cigar between her teeth. “Thought you were a goner, kid.”

  I cough and wave away the smoke. “I will be if you keep breathing that crap on me.”

  She turns and rests her cigar on a crystal ashtray, exhaling smoke through her nose holes. “Didn’t look like you were gonna come through for a while there. Something in your body is making you extra-susceptible to flickerfrog venom. You want to tell me about the track marks on your legs?”

  I glance at Urdal and Baz, both asleep on their gurneys. “I’m guessing there’s no such thing as doctor-patient confidentiality in this place.”

  Janice shakes her head.

  “Well then I don’t really want to tell you.”

  “You’re not a heroin addict. Heroin doesn’t look this bad on a person. And you’re dosing subcutaneously, not intravenously—under the skin, not in the veins.”

  “I know what those words mean.”

  “Then please explain to me what you’re doing to yourself.”

  “Blood. I’m injecting blood.”

  Janice’s disgust registers clearly despite her lack of skin. “This is for magic-y purposes?”

  “Magic-y. Yeah.”

  “And I’m guessing you have no idea what this stuff is doing to you.”

  “Letting me cast spells.”

  “It’s killing you, Cade.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I’m a doctor, and I’m also dead. I know stuff about things that kill people.”

  “Your second-hand smoke is killing me faster than blood magic will.”

  “Doubt it, Kemosabe. You understand I gotta tell Ryovan about this.”

  I look away. “Could you just not mention it to him unless he asks?”

  “I feel like that would be borderline breaking the rules. Like a pregnant woman driving in the HOV lane.”

  I sigh. “Fine. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Nine forty-three a.m. You slept straight through the night. By the way, I ran those tests on the sample you brought from your sister’s boyfriend’s shirt. Interesting stuff.”

  “What’d you find?”

  “Succubus. And a whole lot of it.”

  “You’re telling me Steve is getting raped in his sleep by a sex-demon.”

  “That, or he’s picking up women in the wrong part of town. You don’t hook up with a succubus by accident. You invite her into your life by opening yourself up to dark magic via ritual or séance. Looks like Carmine’s new boy toy is involved in the occult.”

  Ryovan walks in with Desdemona and Mazriel. “How is the prince this morning?”

  “I feel hungover. Otherwise, not bad, considering.”

  He nods. “That was a reckless stunt you pulled.”

  “You almost got us all slaughtered,” Des adds.

  “Where did you put it?” asks Mazriel.

  I look around. “Put what?”

  “Please don’t play dumb,” says Ryovan.

  “I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

  Ryovan’s stare is piercing. “The book.”

  “Oh, that. Right. Don’t worry, I’m just borrowing it. I’ll have it back in no time.”

  “How about right this instant?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had one of the grimoires?”

  “Because it’s a spellbook, and you’re a wizard. We happen to need it to do our job.”

  “Couldn’t I check it out for a while, like a library book? Maybe make a few photocopies?”

  “That book doesn’t leave this hospital.”

  “Don’t I own the book, since it’s in the hospital?”

  “I’m afraid not, your highness. Your father handed it down to me.”

  “And you’re not going to let me look at it. Why?”

  He sighs, frowning. “There is a forbidden spell in that book capable of opening a temporary portal between realms. Not worlds, mind you. Realms within our world. It would be entirely possible to invite unwanted beings into places they don’t belong. I understand you want to search for your father, but this spell would do more harm than good in that regard. So you see, I didn’t want to leave temptation too close at hand. Now, if you don’t mind…” He holds out a hand.

  “Sorry, but I’m all out of magic.”

  Ryovan sighs and crosses the room to stand beside m
e.

  Reluctantly, I touch his shoulder and draw a small amount of magic from him, using it to pull the book from its hidden pocket up my proverbial sleeve. Next time I try stealing this thing I’ll have to leave a more accurate copy behind.

  Ryovan hands the grimoire to Mazriel.

  I give her a wink and a smile, trying to make light of having pulled one over on her.

  She glares back at me, but tosses a small smooth stone into my lap. “The trinket you requested. The one who possesses it may not move through the Between.”

  “Oh. The anchorstone. Thanks. That was quick.”

  Mazriel glowers, hugging the grimoire to her chest.

  “I hurt,” says Urdal, waking with a groan.

  Ryovan goes over to him. “Glad to see you awake, old friend. How do you feel?”

  “As though I’ve been poisoned.”

  “Where are the others?” I ask. “Are they okay?”

  “Shenn sprained an ankle and bruised her knee,” says Janice. “If she’s following my orders, she’ll be resting.”

  Ryovan gives a long-suffering sigh. “She should be resting. Last I saw her, she was sparring with Fremantle.”

  “She still is,” says Satielle from her seat in the corner.

  “It’s a grade-one sprain,” Janice clarifies. “Not the worst. The knee’s bruised pretty badly, though.”

  “Your friends are watching them spar, Prince Cade. The changeling and the fiend. They’ll be glad to see you well. They haven’t slept a wink.”

  “Can I see them?”

  “Best use caution, your highness. Shenn’s upset with you.”

  “What else is new?”

  “This time it’s worse than usual,” says Des. “She’s madder than I am, and I’m pissed. I’d like to kick your ass so far through that bed you can’t get out of it for three weeks.”

  “I’m sorry I jumped the gun.”

  Des squinches up her face as though she finds my comment lacking. “What you did back there is the kind of thing sorry doesn’t fix. You have no respect for the way we do things around here. Look, I get it; you’ve been a lone wolf for so long it comes natural to you. But you need to learn to pay attention to the people around you. Not just the way you talk, but how you listen.”

  “What she’s trying to say,” says Ryovan, “is that while it’s been a bumpy transition so far, there’s no shame in making adjustments as we go. It’s almost like we’re under new management.”

  “And management don’t know what the hell it’s doing,” Baz adds, blinking awake.

  “Baz,” says Ryovan. “How are you?”

  “I been better, boss.”

  “I have no problem admitting last night’s mission was a disaster,” I say, “and it was mostly my fault.”

  Des lifts her brow. “Mostly?”

  “Okay, entirely. One hundred percent.”

  “In his highness’s defense,” Urdal points out, “he did kill a flickerfrog. After being poisoned, and while flying through the air.”

  “Don’t forget vomiting. I’m pretty sure I was vomiting at the time.”

  Ryovan clears his throat. “Heroics aside, there’s one good thing that came out of last night. We know who’s attacking the portals.”

  “The dhampirs are led by Irys Montrovia,” says Des. “Gilbert Mottrov’s daughter, born of an elven mother.”

  “Told you I smelled elf,” says Baz.

  “You were right. I could taste her bloodline. I knew it was her, even beneath the mask.”

  “You can taste heredity in others of your kind?” I ask.

  Des nods. “Bloodlines are my specialty.”

  “Remind me never to invite you to a family reunion.”

  “I don’t feed on humans. If you hadn’t charged in like a maniac, we might’ve been able to capture her. Instead I chased her down outside the train station and got this for my troubles.” Desdemona lifts her shirt to reveal the bullet wound in the left side of her abdomen. It’s already scarring over, thanks to her body’s fast healing.

  “Do you think Irys is acting on her own, or under Felix’s orders?”

  Des laughs. “Irys doesn’t follow orders. Gilbert was able to keep her reined in, but there’s no way she’s giving her half-brother the same respect.”

  “Don’t she and her dhampirs protect the Ascended?”

  “They guard the coven masters only out of reverence. Irys is young, but very much set in the old ways. She even took her family’s ancestral name rather than use her father’s modern spelling. You remember Strix Montrovia, one of the vampire lords Gilbert Mottrov tried to resurrect the night you killed him.”

  “It was the night before, actually. He’s the one I cut in half with a keg of sacred beer.”

  “We’ve had our run-ins with Irys before. There’s something not right in that woman’s head. I swear she’s got a gear loose.”

  “Make no mistake,” says Ryovan. “This is a murder mystery. We now know who the killer is. What we don’t know is why she’s doing it, or how. That, my friends, is what we must learn.”

  “Felix has the Book of the Dead. Isn’t it possible he’s using it to find the portals?”

  “No,” says Mazriel. “The Book of the Dead does not speak of the great cataclysm. It contains no magic of this kind. Yet there is other magic capable of detecting weaknesses in the fabric of worlds.”

  I give her a skeptical look. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  She gives me a cold stare. “Other magic.”

  “I say we track Irys down and ask her ourselves. Either she’s got her own way of finding the portals, or… she’s got our way.”

  “What are you saying?” Ryovan asks.

  “I’m saying maybe someone’s feeding her the information.”

  “A spy. You think one of us is a traitor.”

  I may live to regret voicing this theory, but it’s not like everyone else in the room isn’t thinking the same thing.

  “That’s ludicrous,” says Baz. “I’ll vouch for any one of the Guardians any day of the week. We might get in each other’s faces, but we got each other’s backs. With all due respect, your highness, you’re wrong.”

  “I hope I am.”

  “Nonetheless,” says Ryovan, “we must consider every possibility, including the uncomfortable ones.”

  “Damn, you really opened up a can of worms when you killed Giga Motts, your highness,” says Baz.

  “Thanks for that. I didn’t feel bad enough already.”

  “Alright, settle down,” says Ryovan. “The fact is, we can’t touch Irys, or we bring the whole coven down on our heads. We’re in a stalemate, and have been for quite some time.”

  “But if we find out how she’s finding the portals, we don’t have to kill her. We can just take away her source.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “So we’re back to square one. We know it’s her, and we can’t do shit about it.”

  “We’ll find a way. We need to be patient and wait for the right opportunity.”

  “While we’re being patient, I might as well make a confession.” I throw off the covers and stand up. A wave of dizziness passes over me, and I gasp at the pain in my creaking bones and aching muscles. Ryovan averts his eyes. Des and Mazriel and Satielle do the same, only they steal glances at my crotch first. Baz and Urdal chuckle from their gurneys.

  “Jesus. Really, Cade?” says Janice, taking in an eyeful as she gestures with her cigar. “There are females present.”

  “What’s the matter, Doc Zombie? Never seen a twig and berries before?”

  “If I were on duty, I’d have cause to arrest you,” says Desdemona.

  “Princes are supposed to act distinguished, and stuff,” Satielle adds. “What are all those dark veins in your legs?”

  “That’s what I need to come clean about. I’ve been using blood magic.”

  They exchange glances.

  No one speaks.

  “Guess that’s settled, then. Where’
d you put my clothes, Doc?”

  “It’s not settled,” says Ryovan. “We’ll talk about this, but now’s not the time.”

  “Your clothes have been destroyed,” says Janice. “They were contaminated with poison.”

  “You didn’t destroy my belt, did you?”

  “We burned everything. Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because my silver belt buckle was enchanted with Arden Savage’s likeness.”

  Janice blows smoke through her nose holes. “Sounds like something you ought to take up with the incinerator.”

  “You have an incinerator?”

  “Most hospitals do,” says Desdemona. “I’ll show you. As long as you bring a sheet.”

  I grab one off the gurney and cinch it over my shoulder, toga-style. We stop off at my room, where my Arden-sized clothes sit in a neat folded pile on the bed beneath my wallet, keys, and phone. No belt. I should’ve left it here, but it feels irresponsible leaving magic items lying around.

  Who would’ve thought it would be so hard to be two people at once? This double life isn’t what I imagined. Back when I decided to become Arden Savage, I didn’t know the Guardians existed. If they’d gotten hold of me a few months sooner, my whole world would be different. I wouldn’t know Lorne or Carmine. I’d be all-in on my old self, trying in vain to lead like my father wanted me to. There I go, thinking about my father in the past tense again. Giving up on him isn’t where my heart is, but I’m running out of options for finding him. That’s why the Book of the Sightless has my full attention. If I can just get a look inside. If I can just read that forbidden spell…

  Desdemona recommends I put on a dust mask before we enter the incinerator room. She opens the square metal door at the back and pulls ash from the outlet chamber with a long metal tool that looks like a garden hoe. She sifts through the ashes and uncovers a lump of silver about the size of a half dollar coin.

  “This is all that’s left of my magic belt buckle?”

  “There would be nothing left but tiny particles if not for the enchantment holding it together. It’s a miracle this much of it survived.”

  I touch it to make sure it isn’t hot, then pick it up. “I wonder if the enchantment is still on it.”