by Linsey Hall
“Hey, pretty ladies.” The oily voice made my skin crawl. We could just not get a break in here. I looked up to see Clarence, our contact.
Clarence was a tall man, slender as a vine, and had the slicked back hair and pencil-thin mustache of a 1940s movie star. Unfortunately, it didn’t work on him. Probably because his stare was like a lizard’s. He was more Gomez Addams than Clark Gable. I’d bet anything that he liked working for OMB.
“Hey, Clarence,” I said. “Pull up a seat and tell us how to get into the temple.”
Clarence slid into a chair, his movement eerily snakelike. I shivered and scooted my chair away, bumping into Del. The scent of her magic flared, a clean hit of fresh laundry, as she no doubt suppressed her instinct to transport away from Clarence. If I had her gift of teleportation, I’d have to repress it as well.
“How about a drink first?” Clarence said.
Del growled, but Nix interjected, her voice almost nice. She had the most self control out of the three of us. “No can do, Clarence. You know… Mr. Oribis”—her voice tripped on the name, probably because she wanted to call him OMB—“wants the daggers soon. Maybe next time, though.”
“Next time.” Clarence shook his head like he didn’t believe her. He might be a snake, but he was a clever one. His chest puffed up a bit. “You know I’m the only one who knows how to get into the temple. How to get into any of the places in this jungle.”
“And we’re so grateful you’re meeting with us. Mr. Oribis is so grateful.” Nix dug into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled envelope that contained Clarence’s pay. We’d counted it and found—unsurprisingly—that it was more than ours combined, even though all he had to do was chat with us for two minutes. I’d wanted to scream when I’d seen it.
Clarence’s gaze snapped to the money. “All right, all right.”
Apparently his need to be flattered went out the window when cash was in front of his face. Couldn’t blame him, though. I was the same way.
“So, what are we up against?” I asked.
The temple containing the daggers had been built by supernaturals over a thousand years ago. Like other temples of its kind, it was magically protected. Clarence’s intel would save us a ton of time and damage to the temple if we could get around the enchantments rather than breaking through them.
“Dvarapala. A big one.”
“A gatekeeper?” I’d seen one of the giant, stone monster statues at another temple before.
“Yep.” He nodded slowly. “Impossible to get through. The temple’s as big as the Titanic—hidden from humans, of course—but no one’s been inside in centuries, they say.”
Hidden from humans was a given. They had no idea supernaturals existed, and we wanted to keep it that way.
“So how’d you figure out the way in?” Del asked. “And why haven’t you gone in? Bet there’s lots of stuff you could fence in there. Temples are usually full of treasure.”
“A bit of pertinent research told me how to get in. And I’d rather sell the entrance information and save my hide. It won’t be easy to get past the booby traps in there.”
Hide? Snakeskin, more like. Though he had a point. I didn’t think he’d last long trying to get through a temple on his own.
“So? Spill it,” I said, anxious to get going.
He leaned in, and the overpowering scent of cologne and sweat hit me. I grimaced, held my breath, then leaned forward to hear his whispers.
***
As soon as Clarence walked away, the communications charms around my neck vibrated. I jumped, then groaned. Only one person had access to this charm.
I shoved the small package Clarence had given me into my short’s pocket and pressed my fingertips to the comms charm, igniting its magic.
“Hello, Mr. Oribis.” I swallowed my bile at having to be polite.
“Girls,” he grumbled.
Nix made a gagging face. We hated when he called us girls.
“Change of plans. You need to go to the temple tonight.”
“What? But it’s dark. We’re going tomorrow.” He never changed the plans on us. This was weird.
“I need the daggers sooner. Go tonight.”
My mind raced. “The jungle is more dangerous in the dark. We’ll do it if you pay us more.”
“Twice the usual,” Del said.
A tinny laugh echoed from the charm. “Pay you more? You’re lucky I pay you at all.”
I gritted my teeth and said, “But we’ve been working for you for four years without a raise.”
“And you’ll be working for me for four more years. And four after that. And four after that.” Annoyance lurked in his tone. So did his low opinion of us.
Del’s and Nix’s brows crinkled in distress. We’d always suspected that OMB wasn’t planning to let us buy our freedom, but he’d dangled that carrot in front of us. What he’d just said made that seem like a big fat lie, though. One we could add to the many others he’d told us.
An urge to rebel, to stand up to the bully who controlled our lives, seethed in my chest.
“No,” I said. “You treat us like crap, and I’m sick of it. Pay us fairly.”
“I treat you like crap, as you so eloquently put it, because that is exactly what you are. FireSouls.” He spit the last word, imbuing it with so much venom I thought it might poison me.
I flinched, frantically glancing around to see if anyone in the bar had heard what he’d called us. Fortunately, they were all distracted. That didn’t stop my heart from thundering in my ears as rage replaced the fear. I opened my mouth to shout at him, but snapped it shut. I was too afraid of pissing him off.
“Get it by dawn,” he barked. “Or I’m turning one of you in to the Order of the Magica. Prison will be the least of your worries. They might just execute you.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.” Our government hunted and imprisoned—or destroyed—FireSouls.
“Oh, I would. And I’d enjoy it. The three of you have been more trouble than you’re worth. You’re getting cocky, thinking you have a say in things like this. Get the daggers by dawn, or one of you ends up in the hands of the Order.”
My skin chilled, and the floor felt like it had dropped out from under me. He was serious.
“Fine.” I bit off the end of the word, barely keeping my voice from shaking. “We’ll do it tonight. Del will transport them to you as soon as we have them.”
“Excellent.” Satisfaction rang in his tone, and my skin crawled. “Don’t disappoint me, or you know what will happen.”
The magic in the charm died. He’d broken the connection.
I collapsed back against the chair. In times like these, I wished I had it in me to kill. Sure, I offed demons when they came at me on our jobs, but that was easy because they didn’t actually die. Killing their earthly bodies just sent them back to their hell.
But I couldn’t kill another supernatural. Not even OMB. It might get us out of this lifetime of servitude, but I didn’t have it in me. And what if I failed? I was too afraid of his rage—and the consequences—if I didn’t succeed.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Nix’s green eyes were stark in her pale face. “He means it.”
“Yeah.” Del’s voice shook. “We need to get those daggers.”
“Now,” I said.
“I wish I could just conjure a forgery,” Nix said. “I really don’t want to go out into the jungle tonight. Getting past the Dvarapala in the dark will suck.”
Nix was a conjurer, able to create almost anything using just her magic. Massive or complex things, like airplanes or guns, were outside of her ability, but a couple of daggers wouldn’t be hard.
Trouble was, they were a magical artifact, enchanted with the ability to return to whoever had thrown them. Like boomerangs. Though Nix could conjure the daggers, we couldn’t enchant them.
“We need to go. We only have six hours until dawn.” I grabbed my short swords from the table and stood, shoving them into the holsters strapped to my back.
A hush descended over the crowded bar.
I stiffened, but the sound of the staticky TV in the corner made me relax. They weren’t interested in me. Just the news, which was probably being routed through a dozen techno-witches to get this far into the jungle.
The grave voice of the female reporter echoed through the quiet bar. “The FireSoul was apprehended outside of his apartment in Magic’s Bend, Oregon. He is currently in the custody of the Order of the Magica, and his trial is scheduled for tomorrow morning. My sources report that execution is possible.”
I stifled a crazed laugh. Perfect timing. Just what we needed to hear after OMB’s threat. A reminder of what would happen if he turned us into the Order of the Magica. The hush that had descended over the previously rowdy crowd—the kind of hush you get at the scene of a big accident—indicated what an interesting freaking topic this was. FireSouls were the bogeymen. I was the bogeyman, even though I didn’t use my powers. But as long as no one found out, we were safe.
My gaze darted to Del and Nix. They nodded toward the door. It was definitely time to go.
As the newscaster turned her report toward something more boring and the crowd got rowdy again, we threaded our way between the tiny tables and chairs.
I shoved the heavy wooden door open and sucked in a breath of sticky jungle air, relieved to be out of the bar. Night creatures screeched, and moonlight filtered through the trees above. The jungle would be a nice place if it weren’t full of things that wanted to kill us.
“We’re never escaping him, are we?” Nix said softly.
“We will.” Somehow. Someday. “Let’s just deal with this for now.”
We found our motorcycles, which were parked in the lot with a dozen other identical ones. They were hulking beasts with massive, all-terrain tires meant for the jungle floor. We’d done a lot of work in Southeast Asia this year, and these were our favored forms of transportation in this part of the world.
Del could transport us, but it was better if she saved her power. It wasn’t infinite, though it did regenerate. But we’d learned a long time ago to save Del’s power for our escape. Nothing worse than being trapped in a temple with pissed off guardians and a few tripped booby traps.
We’d scouted out the location of the temple earlier that day, so we knew where to go.
I swung my leg over Secretariat—I liked to name my vehicles—and kicked the clutch. The engine roared to life. Nix and Del followed, and we peeled out of the lot, leaving the dingy yellow light of the bar behind.
Our headlights illuminated the dirt road as we sped through the night. Huge fig trees dotted the path on either side, their twisted trunks and roots forming an eerie corridor. Elephant-ear sized leaves swayed in the wind, a dark emerald that gleamed in the light.
Jungle animals howled, and enormous lightning bugs flitted along the path. They were too big to be regular bugs, so they were most likely some kind of fairy, but I wasn’t going to stop to investigate. There were dangerous creatures in the jungle at night—one of the reasons we hadn’t wanted to go now—and in our world, fairies could be considered dangerous.
Especially if you called them lightning bugs.
A roar sounded in the distance, echoing through the jungle and making the leaves rustle on either side as small animals scurried for safety.
The roar came again, only closer.
Then another, and another.
“Oh shit,” I muttered. This was bad.
~~~
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Author’s Note
Thank you so much for reading Magic Wild! It was one of my favorite books to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As with all of my books, I included historical and mythological elements. If you’re interested in reading more about that, read on. At the end, I’ll talk a bit about why Del and her deirfiúr are treasure hunters and how I try to make that fit with archaeology’s ethics (which don’t condone treasure hunting, as I’m sure you might have guessed). I spoke about this in the Author’s Notes for the other books in the series, so if you’ve read any of those, then you’ve read this. But it’s important stuff, so I wanted to include it here for anyone who missed it before.
Now, onto the history and mythology in Magic Wild! The first adventure in the book—into the swamps of Florida—was inspired by a recent trip to the Everglades. The river of grass is an amazing place, and home to the mythical Skunk Ape, which is Florida’s version of Bigfoot, though he can also appear in North Carolina and Arkansas. He is so named for the odor he emits—it’s supposed to be a bit like rotting cabbage, though I’ve never had the privilege of sniffing him for myself (thanks fates, since I lack Del’s and Roarke’s ability to get away from him). One of the most fascinating stories about the Skunk Ape is that sightings became so common in the 1970’s that in 1977, Florida State Representative Paul Nuckolls attempted to pass a bill that would make it a misdemeanor to “take, possess, harm or molest anthropoid or humanoid animals.” The bill never passed, but I can’t help but admire the spirit of the attempt—and I think Del would too.
As for the town in the middle of the Everglades—there aren’t any towns on stilts, but there are collections of houses that date back to the early 20th century. They’re used primarily as fishing outposts today, but will soon return to the ownership of the state and a period of Florida’s history will be gone for good. In fairness, the state is attempting to protect the wildlife of the Everglades, so good comes with the bad.
Machu Picchu is one of the places that epitomizes Amazing Archaeological Site, so it was high time I included it in a book. Though I don’t say it directly in the text, the magical Incate settlement is based off of Machu Picchu, which was built by the Inca (see what I did there with the names?). The Inca built Machu Picchu around 1450 and abandoned it about one hundred years later when the Spanish arrived in Peru. Machu Picchu was never found by the Spanish, but it is theorized by some scholars that many of the inhabitants died from smallpox brought by the invaders.
Unfortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity to visit Machu Picchu, but the internet is a great source for descriptions of the site. The current Machu Picchu has been partially restored, but when American Hiram Bingham first visited the site and brought it to the attention of the international community, it was much like how Del first discovered the Incate settlement—covered in vegetation with the buildings severely broken down. One of the most incredible features was the fountain that flowed down the mountainside.
As for the obsidian that the Incate healer coveted, samples were found at Machu Picchu, indicating long distance trade. Obsidian was used for weapons, tools, and ceremonial items by many cultures. When properly processed, obsidian can possess the sharpest edge in the world—sharper than any steel or metal—because the edge can be only three nanometers thick.
Zerzura, the city in the oasis, is based off of a mythical city that is said to be located in the deserts of Egypt or Libya. It appeared in texts as early as the 13th century and the buildings were supposed to be made of white stone. As with many lost cities, it is said to be full of treasure. Nineteenth and twentieth century explorers have searched for the city but never found it.
One last neat fact that I included in this book, and also in one of Cass’s books, is that camels really can hold water bottles in their teeth and drink from them. Google has a lot of photos—check them out, they’re really cool.
That’s it for the historical influences in Magic Wild. However, one of the most important things about this book is how Del and her deirfiúr treat artifacts and their business, Ancient Magic. This is the part of the Author’s Note that is written in the other books, so if you’ve read any of those, this’ll be a repeat. But it’s important enough that I like to include it in all my books. My conscience wouldn’t rest otherwise.
As I’m sure you know, archaeology isn’t quite like Indiana Jones (for which I’m both grateful and bitterly dis
appointed). Sure, it’s exciting and full of travel. However, booby-traps are not as common as I expected. Total number of booby-traps I have encountered in my career: zero. Still hoping, though.
When I chose to write a series about archaeology and treasure hunting, I knew I had a careful line to tread. There is a big difference between these two activities. As much as I value artifacts, they are not treasure. Not even the gold artifacts. They are pieces of our history that contain valuable information, and as such, they belong to all of us. Every artifact that is excavated should be properly conserved and stored in a museum so that everyone can have access to our history. No one single person can own history, and I believe very strongly that individuals should not own artifacts. Treasure hunting is the pursuit of artifacts for personal gain.
So why did I make Del and her deirfiúr treasure hunters? I’d have loved to call them archaeologists, but nothing about Cass’s work is like archaeology. Archaeology is a very laborious, painstaking process—and it certainly doesn’t involve selling artifacts. That wouldn’t work for the fast-paced, adventurous series that I had planned for Dragon’s Gift. Not to mention the fact that dragons are famous for coveting treasure. Considering where the deirfiúr got their skills from, it just made sense to call them treasure hunters.
Even though I write urban fantasy, I strive for accuracy. The deirfiúr don’t engage in archaeological practices—therefore, I cannot call them archaeologists. I also have a duty as an archaeologist to properly represent my field and our goals—namely, to protect and share history. Treasure hunting doesn’t do this. One of the biggest battles that archaeology faces today is protecting cultural heritage from thieves.
I debated long and hard about not only what to call the heroines of this series, but also about how they would do their jobs. I wanted it to involve all the cool things we think about when we think about archaeology—namely, the Indiana Jones stuff, whether it’s real or not. But I didn’t know quite how to do that while still staying within the bounds of my own ethics. I can cut myself and other writers some slack because this is fiction, but I couldn’t go too far into smash and grab treasure hunting.