Blood Moon (Wildcat Wizard Book 1)

by Al K. Line

  Contents

  Title Page

  Bit of a Bind

  Why Gangsters Hate Wizards

  Didn't See That Coming

  Why Wasn't I Scared?

  Faery Godmother

  Death, A Real Inconvenience

  Heading Home

  Home

  The Call

  The Quiet Place

  Back at It

  An Interruption

  Action Stations

  A Tall, Dark Stranger

  An Appointment

  Underground, Overground

  Shredded Abs

  A Really Wild One

  Chased

  New Friends

  Home for Dinner

  A Jog

  A Visitor

  Revelations

  Decisions

  A Welcome Appearance

  Um, Oops!

  A Ride

  The Handover

  Another Job Done

  Stinky Wizards

  The Gossip

  Where's the Water?

  A Little Help

  Night Sweats

  Geeky Gibberish

  A Temporary Arrangement

  To Work

  A Plan (Kinda)

  Bit Obvious

  A Close Shave

  An Interruption

  A Request

  Straight to It

  A Few Concerns

  Blood Moon

  Drafted

  Any Objections

  Keepers

  A Violation

  A Homecoming

  No Car

  A Hold-Up

  A Rare Insight

  Mousehole

  A Drive Home

  Intruder Alert

  No Compromise

  Stained Cobbles

  Reluctant Death

  It's Magic, Baby

  Running on Empty

  It Comes to This

  A Sacrifice

  It Begins

  A Gentleness

  Goodbye to New Friends

  A Gift

  Blood Moon

  Wildcat Wizard Book 1

  Al K. Line

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  Copyright © 2016, Al K. Line. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Bit of a Bind

  My stomach fluttered with a thousand butterflies as the rope that bound my feet slipped over the accelerator pedal and the car sped up. I struggled but it just made things worse.

  "Pepper," I said calmly to my companion, "would you mind yanking very hard on the handbrake before we crash into the wall in front of us?"

  "Use the brake," he squealed, eyes wide, arms braced on the dashboard.

  "My feet are caught."

  "Can't you get them free?" I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, just thought I'd ask."

  "Just pull the bloody handbrake," I screamed, the side wall of a block of garages getting perilously close.

  "You do it," said Pepper. "You'll only moan if I do it wrong."

  "Wrong? It's a wall, and we'll hit it. How wrong can you do it?"

  "You sure?"

  Sometimes, just now and then, Pepper really got on my chakras. "Yes!" I nudged my head, indicating my hands that were rather annoyingly tied to the steering wheel.

  "Ah, yeah. Sorry, forgot," said Pepper with a sheepish grin.

  "DO IT!"

  "Just don't get mad. You know what you're like when you get angry. You go all blasty with your wand."

  "I'll blast you if you don't fu—"

  He did it.

  I tried to keep control, but the whole hands being tied thing was an issue. And, to be honest, I hadn't thought things through properly.

  "Oops," I said. What can I say? I'm a master of understatement.

  Tires screeched then we bucked sideways. The car jumped in the air like a frog shot out of a miniature cannon, and we somersaulted what felt like fifty times but was probably once before landing. "Argle," I said, before we rolled down the road for a hundred yards, hitting the wall anyway. It's things like this that give me a headache, especially after the morning I'd already had.

  You'd think having the local goons tie you to the steering wheel while they ransack your vehicle for a certain item you may have accidentally borrowed without asking would be enough for a morning, but it was just the start.

  When Pepper snuck into the car while they were otherwise occupied and pressed the starter, I drove away very fast as it seemed like the smart move to make. But no, turns out it was the opposite of smart.

  Dumb. That's the word. Very, very dumb.

  Being upside down in a car after hitting a wall gives you a whole new perspective on not just the street but life in general.

  I was considering maybe my best course of action for the future was not to get caught again. That's the one drawback to being a criminal even in a world of criminals—sometimes the bad guys are after you more than the cops. At least in prison you get fed and given a nice cozy room to call your own. In my world all you get is hit repeatedly about the head with heavy objects, then dumped in the nearest canal, usually with your hands tied to yet another heavy object.

  Blood poured into eyes, meaning either my head was bleeding or I was still upside down and it was my nose dripping copious amounts of tangy life ketchup. Yup, my nose. What a downer. It had been fixed less than a year ago, now it would be all wonky again. It's an issue for us large-nosed guys, but it makes me distinguished, I guess, so what you gonna do?

  Pepper moaned and groaned and generally overreacted beside me, then pulled out his little knife and cut the cords that bound me.

  "Why the hell didn't you do that earlier? You utter pleb," I said.

  "Sorry, didn't think."

  "Quiet, it was rhetorical. Er, actually, no, it wasn't. Damn, let's get out of here."

  We clambered out the car, thankfully not mine, another "borrow," and I found there was an upside to crashing into a wall. The goons were gone, scared off by the bit of bother, so that was nice.

  "Grab the duffel," I told Pepper, who scowled then hobbled to the back of the car.

  "Did you disable the wards?" he asked with a squeal.

  "Damn, no, sorry. Give me a mo." I let my mind clear and reality dissolved as my focus crept to the magic wards I'd placed around the bag to stop anyone else taking it. In my mind's eye, they floated away from where they were stuck to the soft leather handle and winked out of existence. I left the rest in place, just freeing up enough for Pepper to carry it. It helped to picture them like that, although it's just a way to maintain focus. "Okay," I said, "we're good to go. Just hold the handle carefully and don't touch the rest of the bag."

  After a little more grumbling about not signing up to get dissolved by magic because I was forgetful, and that I should trust him, Pepper managed to get the goods and held the large, tan leather duffel carefully in his hand. It was a nice bag, but its contents were what interested me. It had been one hell of a job to get it and I was kinda wishing I hadn't bothered. All it had caused me was trouble. It seemed every gangster in the country wanted what was inside, whatever that may have been.

  Time to go.

  I scratched at my head, surprised it was still there, then I went cold, true dre
ad tickling my spine like the time I met this woman with six... Never mind. "My hat! Damn. Wait here." I rushed back to the car, scrambled inside, and found the pork pie hat. It had been through as much as me, was my oldest and dearest friend, and there it was. A perfectly brushed tan hat, dark brown band with a single feather on the left poking above the ribbon, a small silver trinket pinned there the day I got it.

  Back out the car, I put Grace—all hats should have a name, it's respectful—where she belonged and ran back to Pepper, only now feeling whole again.

  "What now?" he asked.

  I studied my skinny friend for a moment, wondering how a criminal mastermind such as myself, a man who'd made it his duty for many years to steal other people's stuff that they didn't deserve to have, had been lumbered with a sidekick so peculiar as he. I shuddered at the thought, but knew it was because I genuinely liked the guy. Even if he had the morals of a fish and stank worse.

  "Now? Now, we run. Can you smell that?"

  Pepper sniffed, blunt nose twitching, then shook his head. "Just the stink of the garbage."

  "No, the duffel. Did you do something? Why's it glowing?" I stared at the bag, a fierce spectral light emanating from inside.

  Pepper freaked. Some would say overreacted.

  "No!" I shouted, but it was too late.

  He flung the bag as hard as possible and I watched in dismay, already pining over the sure-to-be-forfeit bounty, as it sailed through the air and landed on the car's fuel tank.

  "Um, I done bad, right?" said Pepper.

  "Yes, Pepper," I sighed, "you done very bad."

  The bag shone brighter, clearly unamused by being manhandled, and sparkled and crackled wildly as the intense light from within became almost blinding.

  "How're your legs?" I asked. Pepper stared down at the scrawny appendages. I just sighed and ran away.

  "Hey, wait!" He ran after me, and then our world was consumed with noise and heat as we were thrown fifty yards down the potholed street.

  "Glad I got my hat," I said before I lost consciousness for the second time that day.

  It was only nine AM; the day was not off to a good start.

  Hi, I'm Arthur "The Hat" Salzman, but you can call me Arthur. Unless, of course, you have a job for me. Then just don't call at all, okay?

  I'm kinda busy.

  Why Gangsters Hate Wizards

  You know when you graze your hands and they get all gritty under the skin and for a moment you stare at them as if they aren't your own? They're numb and you think, "Ah, cool, bits to tease out later, and it doesn't even sting?" This wasn't one of those times. My hands hurt like I had half a road under the heels and my face hadn't fared much better, although at least I couldn't see it. Bonus.

  The shockwave was bad, but we were alive, and that was always a good sign. It meant I could keep on running. We got to our feet and I checked Pepper and he me—there were no smoldering clothes, so at least we weren't about to combust. Another bonus.

  What wasn't a bonus was the fact Pepper had thrown my prize away and it had caused a fireball. I had a good mind to slap him but my palm hurt too much.

  First things first, so I called on the strength within and watched with satisfaction as the gravel and dirt popped out my hands and tinkled to the rain-soaked road. A moment later, the skin sealed over and the pain receded. Focusing on my face, I winced as more lumps of jagged asphalt dropped back where they belonged.

  Then I slapped Pepper across the back of the head.

  "Ow!" Pepper rubbed at his lumpy bonce but had the presence of mind to look abashed, and well he might.

  "Do you know what I was gonna get for that?"

  "No. What?"

  "Shut up, it was rhetorical."

  "Are you sure?" he asked, eyes scrunched up, studying me like I was about to grow another head.

  "Yes." I wasn't, but I didn't tell him that.

  The car was burning fiercely, but when I sent out feelers for the wards around the bag my spirits soared as they answered loud and clear.

  Yes! My protection had stopped the flames from devouring the leather and, more importantly, the contents.

  Nigel was adamant he had to have this, and no way was I one to disappoint him, especially when it came to promises of rich rewards and maybe even a bonus.

  We approached the car with caution, then waited with mounting impatience and a good deal of nervousness—as the goons would be sure to return—for the fire to die down.

  It's surprising how quickly a car can burn out, which was good as we weren't still inside and I wasn't known for my patience. Unable to wait any longer, I took a chance and jumped up on the scalding chassis, grabbed the bag, and hopped back down.

  "Come on. Let's get out of here before the goons come back."

  "Can't believe you let them catch you like that. Pretty amateurish, Arthur."

  "I was waiting for you, you cheeky git. And you were late, as usual."

  "Sorry, I was doing my hair."

  I inspected the study in chaos on top of his head and wondered exactly what he'd done to it, then dismissed it as one of those unsolvable cases. I had other things to worry about besides my buddy's fashion sense, or lack of.

  "So, how did they get you and tie you up? You're a wizard, why didn't you blast their asses?"

  "I fell asleep. Didn't get more than an hour last night what with all the getting of the item. And, er, well, they drugged me. Must have used the new stuff I've been hearing about. I can't very well blast 'em if I'm unconscious."

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to be an honest criminal. Other like-minded, enterprising souls, those with half a brain, were getting inventive. Rather than punch you unconscious—which is fine for those without magic but very risky to try on those like me—they were getting smart and just injecting their victims before doing what they wished. In my case, that was tying me up while they searched for the item. Then I had no doubt they would have done something much more lethal once they knew they had what they wanted and had then worked out how to deal with it.

  "Could've stayed awake," said Pepper, then sauntered off. Sauntering was a good idea, so I jogged to catch up. Time to finish this business and get paid.

  We wandered down the center of the road, unconcerned about police as we weren't in the most enviable of areas. Same for any regular folks. They'd keep quiet unless expressly invited to talk by one of the many gangsters soon to arrive.

  Those watching would have seen a sight many had seen before. Namely, Pepper and I.

  Pepper was a scrawny dude with dirty blond hair always thick with one new product or other, eyes rather pink-rimmed and pale blue like faded denim that was, possibly, cool in the eighties, his skin color as stonewashed as his eyes. He had a strange, springy gait, like everything he walked on was bouncy.

  Me, I usually sported three-day stubble and had pale blue eyes with a dark ring around the iris that made people double-take as it looked odd. The ring of magic all adepts have, grows thicker and darker the longer you practice and the more magic you can control. I favored lightweight linen shirts, as this business often got sweaty, usually tucked into a brown leather belt with an expensive, yet unpretentious buckle.

  I wore cargo pants almost exclusively as they're not only comfortable and look good but you can never have too many pockets, and I'd worn the same soft leather boots for almost as long as my hat.

  A few bracelets and dark brown, shoulder length hair with a slight curl completed what I liked to think of as an understated but still stylish look.

  Not forgetting my hat. I love my hat.

  My musings concerning the figures we cut to those watching from behind twitching curtains were cut short.

  "Wonder what it is?" whispered Pepper, glancing at the bag as if it might be eavesdropping. Hell, for all I knew it was.

  "Don't peek, you'll regret it. Remember that time with the imp and you just had to open the lid, didn't you? Took months for me to get my hearing back. I couldn't use the telephone for
ages. Do you know how hard it is to order pizza when you can't hear? I kept getting bloody pineapple on them. Pineapple!"

  "I said I was sorry."

  "You, my little friend, are too nosy by half."

  "Can't help it. It's what I do, I'm known for it. It's my thing."

  "My thing is staying alive, so don't peek. Come on, let's get outta here."

  It was right around this time that the goons returned. One minute no goons, next minute goonageddon. Story of my life.

  A slender length of polished wood was in my hands as if by magic—haha—when in reality I just slid it from the specially made deep pocket on the right thigh of my cargo pants. As the power it helped focus welled up inside of me, I saw the truth behind all things. Saw the thoughts, few as they were, swirling in the air above the heads of the goons like wibbly-wobbly signposts, saying, "Let's break lots of Arthur's bits off and stomp on them. Let's stomp on them good."

  So I killed them.

  Don't think bad of me. They were nasty goons, not nice goons, and besides, nobody got to stomp on me, not unless I paid for it, and I gave that up years ago when people began to talk.

  We ran away then, as that's what you do when gangsters have found you and want what you have. Especially when those gangsters happen to be big and work for someone even bigger.

  Halfway down the street there was an almighty kerfuffle from behind and we turned to see more large men in ill-fitting clothes get out of a car and head our way.

  "Guess everyone's up early," I muttered.

  "Maybe you should be more discreet," said Pepper.

  "Shut up," I said. "You're the one who blew up the car."

  I waved what really was just a nice stick, but helped me to focus power and to be honest just made me feel more wizardly, and made suitably threatening noises. Pepper insulted them in his mother tongue, and they did the sensible thing. Stayed put.

  The sigils on the waxy wood glowed with a pale light. Sigils I'd designed myself, personal to me and a shortcut to summoning spells that had got me out of more sticky situations than I cared to remember. The air crackled and with a final flourish as the magic retreated I slid my wand back into its narrow pocket, adjusted my hat, and gave the goons one last hard stare. They may have got the better of me earlier, but they knew better than to mess with me when awake, unless I was drained of magic.