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

by J. C. Staudt

  “Without a belt or similar circle to complete the ward, there’s no telling.”

  “It was hard enough finding a new belt after Mottrov’s burning abdomen put a hole in the last one. Now I’m gonna have to find a supernatural smelter to turn this into something usable again. How did this happen? Who dumped all my stuff in here without checking it first?”

  “It was Fremantle.”

  “That overgrown pebble would do something like that to me.”

  “She’s immune to the flickerfrog poison. She was the natural choice to carry all our stuff down here. It was a huge pile, like a laundry basket full. I doubt she would’ve thought to check it for valuables.”

  “This is unbelievable. I can’t be around Lorne and Carmine without a way to look like their brother.”

  “Can’t you use an illusion spell?”

  “Sure, but those wear off. And they’re easier to see through. After a while, they’ll know I’m not Arden.”

  “Sounds like you’re up a creek, your highness.”

  Chapter 9

  The Guardians have divided the hospital’s modest gymnasium in half, converting one side into a small self-contained gun range while blanketing the other in weight machines and wrestling mats to be used as a training room. Desdemona and I arrive to find Shenn sparring with Fremantle while Quim and Calyxto sit watching, their legs dangling from the high stage at the front of the room. Shenn is limping, but she’s not going easy on Fremantle as she circles, throwing punches and kicks at the two handheld striking pads the big gargoyle is holding for her. When Shenn sees me, she delivers a rapid series of strikes that leave her spent and breathless.

  “That’s enough for now,” says Fremantle, lowering the pads. “You’re wearing yourself out.”

  Shenn grabs a towel and limps off through the far set of doors as Des and I come to greet Fremantle. Calyxto and Quim hop down from the stage and join us.

  “She’s a good fighter,” says Calyxto. “So angry. So fierce.”

  “So pissed at me,” I mutter.

  “We’re all pissed at you,” says Fremantle. “You are a stupid human, in my opinion.”

  “Yours and everyone else’s.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” says Calyxto.

  “I do,” says Quim. “I heard what you did down there last night. One of these days your luck’s going to run out, Cade.”

  “I’m aware of how stupid I am, Quim.” I rest the anchorstone on my thumb and flip it to Calyxto.

  He catches it. “What’s this?”

  “A gift from me to you. In my experience, it can be hard to resist using your powers when it’s the easy way out. As long as you’re carrying this anchorstone, you won’t be able to teleport.”

  Calyxto rubs the smooth stone with his thumb, lips quirked like a child who’s just opened a bad Christmas gift and is working up the morale to act excited about it. “I don’t know what to say. This is the kindest, most disagreeable gift anyone’s ever given me.”

  “I thought you’d hate it.”

  “Also—” he holds up his thumb and forefinger, half an inch apart, “—it’s a tad too late.”

  I don’t want to ask, but I do. “You’ve already used your powers.”

  “You may be wondering how the Guardians managed to kill the last flickerfrog so fast. Well, they didn’t. I noticed your silver ammunition wasn’t doing much. When I saw you go down, and the last frog latched onto Urdal with its tongue and reeled him in, I had to intervene. Zapped the ugly thing right through the eye with a bolt of infernal energy.”

  “It was… most epic,” Fremantle admits. “He saved Urdal’s hide, and yours as well. Were it not for the half-fiend’s quick thinking, I would’ve left you beneath the dead frog to suffocate.”

  “I meant to thank you for that,” I tell her.

  “Ryovan made me—” Fremantle breaks off as she catches a warning look from Des. “I mean… it was my honor to serve you, your highness.”

  I turn to Calyxto. “I can’t be mad at you for using your powers to indirectly save my life, but you know the Fae Council is keeping tabs on you. They’ll be after you now.”

  “So long as he stays within the confines of the hospital,” says Fremantle, “Mazriel’s wards will prevent the fae from finding him.”

  Calyxto scowls. “So now I’m not only forbidden to use my powers, I’m under house arrest.”

  “No magic performed within these walls is detectable by anyone outside. Should you choose to exercise whatever talents you might possess, the fae will be none the wiser.”

  Calyxto’s face lights up. He tosses me the stone and gives a whooping shout as he blinks from spot to spot around the room, his voice strobing with each shift in location. He returns to his original spot, an ecstatic grin plastered across his face.

  I cut Fremantle a look. “Why’d you have to tell him that?”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “Because you don’t want a stir-crazy fiend running around your hospital.”

  Fremantle appears unconcerned. She looks straight at Calyxto as she speaks. “If he causes trouble, we will throw him out so the fae can deal with him.”

  “I won’t cause trouble,” Calyxto promises, saccharine-sweet.

  I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. “If you want him, he’s all yours. I should be getting home.”

  “There is another portal opening tonight,” says Fremantle. “I understand Ryovan wishes you to attend.”

  “I think I’ve done enough damage for now. Anyway, I need to talk to Ersatz about getting my belt fixed.”

  “This Ersatz person sounds smarter than you,” says Fremantle.

  “He is. You’d never know it by the way I constantly ignore his advice.”

  “Perhaps if you were not so stupid, you would listen to him.”

  “Solid observation.”

  “Can you drop me off on your way home?” Quim asks. “I’m exhausted. Calyxto and I were up all night worrying about you. Even after Janice told us you were stable, we still couldn’t sleep.”

  “To be fair,” says Calyxto, “I could’ve slept. I only need three hours a night, though, so it was no big sacrifice staying up with this one.” He gestures toward Quim.

  “Are you sure it’s safe for you to go home?” I ask.

  “Trezzo won’t come looking for me right away. At least I don’t think he will.”

  “Will you just let me pay your debt so you can put this behind you?”

  Quim sets his jaw. “You’re not waving your magic wand and solving all my problems this time, Cade.”

  “Do you have a plan for solving this problem yourself?”

  A pause. “I’ll think of something.”

  “How incredibly stubborn of you.”

  He looks at his feet. “I just want to go home.”

  “Well come on, then.”

  After stopping by Janice’s room to wish Baz and Urdal a speedy recovery, I swap my bedsheet toga for the outfit I wore to Lorne’s party. By now I’m used to wearing Arden’s clothes while in my natural form, and I suffer through the ride home with his narrow sleeves and short pants constricting my circulation. Quim slouches in the passenger seat with a dour look on his face, giving monosyllabic responses to my attempts at conversation.

  “Call me any time of the day or night,” I tell him as I pull up in front of his apartment building. “I’m here if you need anything at all.”

  “Or if I change my mind, right?” he says derisively.

  “Or that.”

  Quim grunts and gets out.

  It’s almost noon by the time I pull the Mas into its spot in the basement parking garage beneath my building. I feel so drained I swear I could fall into bed now and sleep until tomorrow morning. It isn’t just the lingering effects of the flickerfrog poison that are wearing me out. It’s driving around in Arden’s car while I look like Cade; Quim’s debt to Trezzo; Irys Montrovia’s unprovoked attacks on innocent othersiders, and our helplessness to s
top her; Shenn’s unbridled rage toward me, and how much I deserve it; Carmine’s new boyfriend and his apparent interest in the occult; Lorne’s asking Bisquick to be his best man instead of me; the destruction of my spellvault belt and my theories on whether it was accidental or not; Calyxto’s use of his powers, the Fae Council’s certain response, and the tightrope I’m sure he’ll be walking while the Guardians let him stay at HQ; and the fact that I find myself tempted to steal the Book of the Sightless from Mazriel’s lab again. A whole host of problems lay before me, and all I want to do is dive into bed and sleep them away.

  When I enter the apartment and toss my keys onto the side table, Ersatz greets me with his typical candor. “You look like death.”

  I peel off my too-small clothing on my way into the living room and fling myself onto the couch wearing nothing but a pair of shorty-short boxers. “Yeah, I feel like it.”

  “Why aren’t you in disguise?”

  “Fremantle incinerated my belt. You’ll find what’s left of it in the pocket of those pedal pushers Arden Savage called pants.”

  Ersatz scuttles over and digs out the hunk of silver, bringing it to the coffee table. “How could she do this? I’ve never met the brute, but I already dislike her.”

  “That’s funny, because she thinks pretty highly of you.”

  “Does she?”

  I nod, rubbing my eyes. “She says you sound smart. Way smarter than me.”

  Ersatz puffs his chest. “I nonetheless resent the defacement of my hard work.”

  I study the blob of silver. “Is it still enchanted?”

  “That will take some looking into. At the moment, those marks on your thighs are causing me a deal of concern.”

  Dammit. I’m so exhausted I didn’t think about hiding the marks. I want to blame the small clothes, which makes me want to blame Fremantle for burning my larger ones, which makes me hate the flickerfrogs for their poisonous-ness, which in turn makes me hate myself for charging into the fray like a fool. I yawn and stretch before I answer him. “This pill-popping nonsense isn’t cutting it anymore, Ersatz. I’ve been injecting blood, and I don’t regret it.”

  “Clearly not, judging by the number of apparent injections you’ve given yourself.”

  “Janice says the stuff is killing me.”

  “She is not wrong. When you seek power at any price, you will find it—to the detriment of all. Should you continue to use blood magic this way, your resistance to both magical and biological attack will continue to weaken until nothing remains. Now, tell me what happened last night.”

  I’m half-asleep before I’ve recounted the tale, and at some point during my explanation of the myriad problems in my life, I conk out. It’s dark outside when I wake up, and a vague memory of Ersatz putting me to sleep with a spell hovers in the back of my mind. I’ve barely opened my eyes when his voice hisses in my ear. “Try it on.”

  On the coffee table lies a necklace consisting of a simple leather thong attached to a bag of mesh netting. Within the netting is the lump of silver, all that remains of the spellvault belt buckle. I sit up with a yawn and pick it up.

  “Try it on,” he repeats.

  “Around my neck?”

  A nod.

  The silver is heavy for a pendant, but if it works I’ll go with it.

  I put it on.

  Nothing happens at first. Then my body complies with the enchantment, cracking into its new shape and size. “Still works.”

  Ersatz purses his lips. “Not exactly. Look in the mirror.”

  My appearance in the hall mirror startles me. I’m not Arden Savage, but I’m not myself, either. I’m an unsettling mixture of both of us. I watch the expressions change on this strange but familiar face, unable to look away. This is the truth of me. It isn’t right, but it’s the truth. In some weird way this face embodies the weight of my circumstances. It’s exactly the way I’ve been feeling. Pulled. Split. Unresolved.

  I turn away from the mirror and remove the pendant. There’s a painful crack as I return to Cade. I set it on the coffee table.

  “I’ll restore the enchantment,” Ersatz promises. “Get me the Book of Mysteries.”

  “Whatever you need. As long as it works.” I fetch the grimoire from the gun safe and bring it out to him.

  He sits on my shoulder while I thumb through, dictating each page turn until he finds the spell he’s looking for. He scuttles down to the table and drags the pendant onto the book, murmuring to himself as he reads. “By the way, you mentioned something about a wedding before you fell asleep.”

  “Oh yeah. Lorne’s marrying Dani. And he didn’t ask me to be his best man.”

  “Biddix got the job, eh? And how does that make you feel?”

  “It makes me feel like not talking about how it makes me feel.”

  He sighs with relief. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “To appear as if I cared.”

  “When did you start pretending to care?”

  “Thought I’d give it a try. Doesn’t suit me. Lorne’s wedding isn’t the only thing bothering you, is it? Tell me the rest.”

  I catch him up on everything I neglected to mention before I fell asleep. Quim’s gambling debt, Carmine’s new boyfriend, Calyxto’s power trip, Shenn’s grudge, and the fact that the Guardians have been keeping the Book of the Sightless a secret from me this entire time.

  The little dragon’s eyes go wide at this last revelation. “They have what?”

  “You were right. They have the third grimoire. I was so surprised, I tried to steal it.”

  He looks at me, eyes narrowed. “You have it?”

  “Tried being the operative word.”

  He nods his disappointment. “Ah.”

  “They say there’s a forbidden spell in the book and they knew I’d be tempted to try it. A spell capable of opening a gateway between realms.”

  Ersatz thinks. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd?”

  “What?”

  “Irys Montrovia is finding the portals, and the Guardians possess a spellbook capable of divining such knowledge.”

  “That’s exactly what I said. Ryovan and the others refused to believe there’s a spy.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean there’s a spy. I meant there’s a copy.”

  “Of the book?”

  “Yes, of course, the book. What did you think I meant—a copy of Irys Montrovia?” He laughs.

  Now my head is spinning. If the Mottrov family owns a second copy of the Book of the Sightless, which other grimoires do they own copies of? Could they be close to a complete set? Could they have a complete set? Unlikely. If all the books had been gathered, all would’ve been revealed…

  “Is this theory based on anything you know, or is it wild conjecture?”

  “The latter,” says Ersatz. “Far-fetched though it may sound, it is a remote possibility.”

  “Mazriel says there’s other magic capable of predicting the portal locations.”

  He frowns. “I believe the Guardians of the Veil are a noble organization by and large, but that doesn’t mean all its members are. Until we get to the bottom of this, do yourself a favor and keep your distance from them.”

  “You sound like Quim, telling me not to trust the only friends I have.”

  “We’re the only friends you have. Or have you forgotten?”

  “I meant the only friends I have other than you and Quim. He’s gotten himself into his own heap of trouble.”

  “Yes, this Trezzo individual you mentioned. Why don’t you meet with him and pay Quim’s debt?”

  “Quim won’t let me.”

  “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, I always say.”

  “Not in Quim’s case. And Trezzo has ties to the Warrendale Crew.”

  “So go as Cade.”

  “It was a hassle getting ten grand in cash to pay for Arden Savage’s funeral. How do I get my hands on a quarter-million dollars?”

  “Wir
e the money. Even unscrupulous organizations like the Warrendale Crew keep bank accounts for that sort of thing. And please don’t involve the Guardians in this transaction. Arrange a meeting, and do it on your own. I’ll go with you, if you like.”

  “Fair enough. I know just who to call.”

  Chapter 10

  Auntie Gragie is suspicious and obstinate when I call Gutter Sharks identifying myself as the agent of someone who owes a gambling debt to Narl “Trezzo” Mogru. I refuse to tell her my name when asked, but she organizes the meetup quickly enough when she hears how much money is on the table. Gutter Sharks is an establishment I never imagined returning to, especially in the form of Cade Cadigan. Showing my real face in goblin-controlled Warrendale while my alter-ego is on the local gang’s most-wanted list doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies. Neither does driving a hearse that isn’t mine while wearing a Glock in a concealed shoulder holster beneath my hoodie. Even with Ersatz by my side and a case of residue pills in my pocket, the absence of a blood reserve in my thigh makes my heart race and my palms leave sweaty imprints on the steering wheel.

  The little dragon slithers into my hoodie before we exit the vehicle and head for the entrance under the darkening sky of a cloudy spring evening. The only hobgoblin in the alley’s long main room is sitting by himself at one of the bolt-down tables, amusing himself by squeaking back and forth on the round swivel stool. When I take a seat across the table from him, he stops spinning and blinks at me. “You the guy?” he asks in a high scratchy tenor.

  “Yeah. Thanks for meeting with me.”

  It’s a common misconception that hobgoblins are a hybrid race between orcs and goblins. Looking at Trezzo, I can see why people make that mistake. He’s taller and thicker than a goblin but lacking the bulk and muscle of an orc. His skin bears a purplish hue, a blend of orcish green and the muddier red-brown complexion of most goblins. A tall half-empty glass of pale ale stands in a puddle of condensation on the table in front of him, its off-white foam cresting his upper lip. He digs a small spiral-bound notebook from the breast pocket in his flannel shirt and thumbs through several pages curled with ink. “The money’s there, I always make time. Your guy… lemme see here… Mister Quimby… Takk—Takk—”