Blood Moon (Wildcat Wizard Book 1)

by Al K. Line

  With a practiced sneer, we turned to be on our merry way, and walked straight into two fists. One each.

  It's all well and good being able to wield elemental forces and face down otherworldly creatures, but when I'm unconscious I'm still about as dangerous as a sack of rotten potatoes. I just smell nicer.

  I'm the kind of criminal criminals hate as I have a conscience. As long as it doesn't interfere with me getting paid, of course.

  And then I was being dragged into a car and taken to see Boris, local Boss and not my best friend. Our meetings usually went something like this: "Um, can you stop hitting me now?" I say.

  "No," he says.

  See, less than ideal.

  Didn't See That Coming

  I've been tied up, shot, stabbed, killed a few times, had bits chopped off—luckily nothing important—been flayed a little, spat at a lot, punched more times than I've had hot dinners, and kicked even more.

  I've been called names, too, but sticks and stones and all that.

  So being strung up by my arms and repeatedly hit in various exposed places was nothing new, but it still hurt like a mo-fo, same as always.

  "Hey. Ugh. HEY!"

  Mike the goon paused his pounding and I spiraled in a lazy arc a foot above the ground, going from dark to blinding light as I spun to face the ridiculously powerful light shining in my face. Boris did love the drama, I think he took gangster acting classes or something.

  Same could be said for his goon. He had his gooniness down to an art, proper pro in every regard.

  "What?" he grunted in a suitably deep and menacing way.

  "Can you stop punching me in the kidneys? It really smarts."

  "Shut it, Arthur. I've got me orders, and me orders are to tenderize you good."

  "I'm already tender, honest. Look, feel. As soft as your mummy's titties—Ugh."

  Mike kept on hitting me. I kept on grunting.

  "Why has he got his hat on?" roared Boris as he came down the steps of the cellar, emerging from the dark in an appropriately dramatic and, I guess, intimidating manner—his trademark muscles were very much in evidence.

  He wore a t-shirt of his latest sponsor, some fitness outfit I'd never heard of. Boris was constantly swapping brands, wearing an ever-changing supply of jogging pants, vests, hoodies, trainers, and even sports bracelets. Striking poses and showing them off at every opportunity. It was weird, but apparently was how companies sold their gear. Social media was the new TV advert.

  These companies were smart and getting smarter, sponsoring anyone who had a following, and boy did Boris. He was about as well known as they came in our world, but that was nothing compared to his online presence. Apparently, gangster bodybuilders were cool, and Boris made some serious cash by showing off his muscles and his latest gear to his several-million-strong virtual tribe.

  It wasn't just because of the jacked, steroid-boosted muscles, the implants, or the ridiculous proportions of his body. No, it was because he was a mean bastard and played up to the camera.

  But none of that was his main business, just a sideline so he could get the attention he craved. His real business was drugs, so what he was doing chasing after magical artifacts was anyone's guess.

  Mike, the goon, said, "I couldn't get it off," and at least had the sense to look embarrassed.

  "Arthur, are you messing with Mike again?" scalded Boris, waggling a finger at me. Even his fingers were well-muscled.

  "Sorry, couldn't resist," I wheezed, the slight smile on my lips making my ribs hurt. I was sure something cracked.

  Boris tutted and stepped forward, stopping in just the right spot so his muscles were shown off to best effect. "What you got in the bag, eh?" he asked, licking his lips.

  "No idea."

  "Come on, you're amongst friends here, buddy. Let old Boris in on the gig. I'll make it worth your while."

  "No can do, I'm afraid," I said, knowing things could get a lot worse if my broker didn't get what I'd agreed to deliver.

  "Hmm." Boris thinking was never a good sign. He wasn't big on pontificating, and his pondering usually resulted in him telling Mike to keep on pounding until the meat became fully tenderized.

  "Tell you what," I said, "how about you let me go and I don't break every bone in Mike here's body and maybe rip your freaky arms off while I'm at it?"

  "Are you out of your tiny fucking mind, Arthur?" Boris flexed a bicep as if to prove no way could I remove it.

  "No, I'm not, but I've had it with you guys. This is the final straw. I've let you have your fun over the years, Boris, but when you try to steal my stuff and beat the living crap out of my friends, well, enough's enough. I'm warning you, you too, Mike. Let us go or our truce is well and truly over."

  Boris flexed again, but I saw the doubt, the confusion. I'd never spoken to him like that before, and it was rash and stupid, but he'd crossed a line you didn't cross unless you were willing to see it through to the end, and boy did he have a long way to go if he wanted to deal with me.

  He knew this, was merely pushing his luck because he was neither the boss nor the man he once was. Others were gaining ground, the battles for territory getting increasingly violent, and we'd always spoken to each other with politeness until now—he knew what I was capable of, and me him. Brutal and stupid, a very bad combination.

  "No deal." Boris swallowed as he ambled back into the shadows and said, "Mike, break the runt's legs. Then shatter his kneecaps then cut his fingers off. If Arthur doesn't cooperate after that, then kill Pepper and begin on the wizard." Boris was a believer. He didn't understand how it worked, but he believed. Had seen things that gave him no choice.

  "I warned you," I shouted. "I warned you a long time ago to stay out of my way. You know the deal, Boris, you know I won't stand for..." A door slammed so I stopped talking.

  Mike grinned at me and said, "It's about time the boss decided to deal with you. You're a pain in the ass, Arthur, and so is your little buddy here." Mike wandered over to Pepper, strung up like me, silent and unafraid even faced with the goon and his orders.

  "Pepper, I think now would be a good time to smash this guys face in, waddya think?"

  "I think that's a very good idea, Arthur, very good."

  People like Mike and his boss didn't really understand me, or others in my world, and were too caught up in their own warped version of reality to ever accept it. They were low level, relied on fear and fists, and believed magic was mostly for little tricks and cool stuff, not anything that would threaten their way of life, certainly not their actual lives. I'd never been one to tell them different.

  Mike here was about to find out the truth about what happened when you really pissed off a wizard.

  "Say goodbye to your legs," sneered Mike as he picked up a sledgehammer leaning against the wall.

  "Say goodbye to your face," I whispered.

  Mike tested his grip with the sledgehammer, hefted it over his shoulder, and grunted as he swung it fast and hard at Pepper's kneecap. See, he couldn't even follow orders. It was break legs first, then kneecaps, not the other way round.

  Silence enveloped me for a split second that felt like a lifetime, out of time and place, the nothingness. The elements were there for me to control, within reason, and I focused my thoughts, became at one with the room and the air it contained.

  It was kinda weird not using my wand, almost like a limb was missing, but I did a good enough job.

  As the sledgehammer arced toward Pepper's knee, the wind came from nowhere and I turned my head, directing the air as I willed it to bend to my will. The sledgehammer changed direction under terrible pressures and missed Pepper's leg, kept on moving in an altered arc at a speed impossible to stop. Before Mike was able to let go of the handle it smacked him square in the face, pulverizing his nose, shattering his teeth, caving in the entire front of his head and splitting his skull wide open.

  He was very much dead as he crashed to the floor with a dull thud, the hammer wedged tight into his o
bliterated face.

  Focus still centered on Pepper, ignoring Mike for now, I let the air relax and instead turned the elements into a very different combination. The air danced and sparkled as the rope holding up Pepper smoldered. Then it burned with a fierce flame that died almost immediately. I was already low on power and this was the final act, and hardly sufficient.

  Pepper dangled there for a moment with the rope frayed, then it split with a twang and he dropped, remarkably gracefully, to the floor.

  He scrambled over to the table and found his knife in the pile of our clothes and quickly cut the bonds around his hands.

  "Idiot," he said, as he kicked Mike in the ribs. Pepper had a mean streak, but was a good guy.

  "Guess Boris is no longer our friend, Pepper," I said as he came over to cut me down.

  "Guess not. Shame, I kinda liked him."

  "He goes too far. There are limits."

  "Sorry about this," said Pepper, standing in front of me and staring at the knife like it was something he'd never seen before.

  "Hey, buddy, it's not your fault."

  "No, I mean about this." And with that Pepper stabbed me in the heart.

  Dying sucks, especially when it's a friend that kills you.

  Why Wasn't I Scared?

  Almost every day I died a mini-death. I welcomed it with open arms. It was my release, my chance to unwind. To forget my troubles, relax and let the cares of the world pass me by, no concern of mine.

  I embraced the oblivion, the freedom from myself, and if I never woke up in the morning I wouldn't mind. How could I?

  Sleep is such a beautiful thing, yet also a poignant reminder of the transient nature of a personal existence everyone seems to feel will continue forever. As if they can somehow avoid the inevitable and be the first person to live until the end of all things.

  Not me, I knew what sleep really was. Practice for the real thing. Every single night of your life you are no longer you. You switch off, all conscious thought gone, and you die only to be reborn the very next morning. Waking full of worry and woe, stressing about this or that before you're even out of bed. Fretting over if you let the cat out or if there's milk or if maybe today is the day you finally fall sleep and never wake up.

  I told myself all of this every night when I put Grace on my bedside table and wound my watch. I reminded myself that death was nothing to fear, merely a long sleep, and who's afraid of sleeping? That's all death is, just a big old vacation from the trials and tribulations of the woken mind.

  Quiet.

  Oh, how blissful to have stillness of the mind. To sleep and be empty of hurt and pain. I craved it, needed it. But it seldom came. I could not sleep, I could not rest, I could not always die the mini-death when I needed it the most. Arthur the insomniac. The blissful release eluded me so often, leaving me to live my life in a waking dream not of my own design. Boundaries became blurred if it got too bad, and I was prone to falling asleep at the most inopportune moments when the weariness overwhelmed me.

  Oh, for the death of a full night's sleep. Such a wondrous gift so many take for granted.

  Being killed, like made properly dead, is different, though. Much more final. No waking to thoughts of toast and marmalade, a cup of tea and then out to start your day.

  As Pepper slid the knife into my heart, the blade wasn't what hurt, it was the betrayal.

  Death's one thing, death by sidekick quite another.

  Know what my last thought was?

  I wondered what the hell was in the bag.

  Yeah, sucky, right? A wild life full of magic and intrigue and no end of gangster stuff and my last thought was about a damn bag. It must have been something amazing and incredibly valuable to warrant Pepper's betrayal.

  At this point I'd died five times in my life, and every time I did it came as a real surprise, proper shocker. I was prepared mentally, accepted that it could be my last moment on earth for real, no coming back this time, but it never ceased to be a real downer. It does something to your head, something peculiar and inexplicable.

  You see things.

  Strange things.

  The other side.

  And the other side was not a place I wanted to be right now.

  "Again? This is getting old, Arthur," chastised Death.

  "Tell me about it," I said with a sigh, knowing none of it was real, that it was just my dying mind playing tricks before it shut down because my heart was punctured and I was basically dead.

  "Okay, what was it this time? Another wizard? An accident? I told you to be more careful around cars, they're dangerous."

  "No, Imaginary Figure of Death, none of those. I got well and truly murdered by a buddy. Nasty stuff, and a bit of a blow, haha, if I'm honest."

  "Oh, that old chestnut. It's more common than you think. Did you know that most murders are committed by acquaintances?" Death smiled at me, nodding his head as if I was well keen to hear all his facts and figures.

  "Um, can we talk about this another time? I'm, er, dead, bleeding out while I hang from a hook in a suitably atmospheric cellar. It's got water on the floor, deep shadows, bright spotlight, dead goon, the works. All that good stuff. I'd rather not die there and stay dead."

  "Fine," said Death with a sigh, "but this is the last time."

  "Haha, you always say that," I said with a smile that turned into one hell of a grimace as I jerked wildly, the magic inside my body rushing to rebuild punctured muscle even as the blade slipped back out of my some would say gristly flesh.

  "That's not nice, Pepper," I said.

  Pepper's eyes widened as he jumped back, a vein pumping erratically right in the middle of his forehead. "But... but, I just—"

  "Yeah, yeah, killed me and thought you'd get away with the booty, I know. Damn traitor."

  "Sorry, Arthur, but someone made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

  "What, threatened your family or your friends did they?" I knew damn well he had no family and I was his only friend. Make that ex-friend.

  "Um, no, mate. Offered me a shit load of cash. I'd be set for life."

  "So, what, you were gonna steal the bag and whatever's inside and do a runner?"

  "Summit like that, yeah," said Pepper, scratching his head, disturbing his stupid haircut, and still undecided about how to proceed. Bless him, if he wasn't so dense he could have got away with it, but he was forgetting one thing.

  I was a bloody wizard!

  Faery Godmother

  Knowing I was in a less than ideal position to discuss the matter further, I did the sensible thing and kicked out hard. I hit him straight in the knackers. Goal! He moaned loudly and slumped to the floor like the toad he was, splashing into a puddle on the dirty, beer-stained concrete.

  Pepper gasped and moaned but was already scrambling for his dropped knife.

  Stilling my whirling mind, I focused the last of my magic on the knife and it sprang into the air moments before Pepper could reach it. As his head lifted in shock, my boot connected with his jaw. But it sent me spinning in a circle, getting a glimpse of Pepper out cold before I spun dizzily like a cannibal's lunch.

  Fighting to control the knife, the elements loathe to cooperate with my waning strength, I carefully rested the blade against the unseen rope above me and felt rather than saw the edges fray.

  With a twang I dropped the short distance to the floor.

  The knife clattered and I reached for it. Time to release my hands and scarper before anything else went wrong. I was seriously regretting taking the job, and now it looked like I was down one sidekick and up one ruined body.

  My ears rang as gunfire echoed around the cellar. I slammed flat to the wet floor as the wall behind me sprayed chips of concrete in all directions.

  Again, a shot rang out, and Pepper's body juddered as a bullet smacked into the side of his head. Blood oozed out of a large exit wound, revealing his brain. Cold, gray, now empty of all he ever was and all he ever could have been. Guess it was the end of what had been some
interesting times.

  "You idiot," I whispered to Pepper. "We could have had a long career together."

  Another shot almost blinded me as the floor right in front of me erupted with water and fractured concrete. I snatched the knife up with both hands and clutched it tight.

  It's difficult to manhandle a knife when your hands are tied and you're feeling slightly panicked, but I got the blade facing the ropes and tried to saw my way to freedom. No easy task, but as soon as a few threads were severed the rest unraveled with ease, the blade cutting through as smoothly as it had my flesh.

  Pepper's dead eyes stared at me as if in accusation, but what my crime was I had no idea. I certainly hadn't been the one to shoot him dead.

  Hands free, but my body pinned down, I shouted, "Boris, can't we come to some kind of arrangement?"

  "You killed Mike. He was my best goon and you killed him. Do you know how hard it is to get good goons?"

  "Um, very?" I ventured. "And anyway, he was viciously beating on me, and you did tell him to kneecap Pepper."

  "Details, details. Sorry, Arthur, you gotta die for this." Boris shot again so I shimmied close to Pepper to use him as a screen.

  "No can do. I have an item to deliver and payment to collect."

  "What is it?" he asked, unable to control his curiosity even now.

  "No idea. All I know is that you aren't the only one after it and it sure as hell has everyone freaking. You mean to tell me after all this and you honestly have no idea what it is? Why did you want it, then?"

  "Because someone gave me a load of cash and promised a lot more if I handed it over. Without looking."

  "Oh, right. Fancy changing your mind?"

  Boris fired again and this time it almost got me.

  "Guess that's a no?" I shouted. Risking it, I rocked back onto my knees and threw the knife at the glaring spotlight.

  The big guy may have been safe in the shadows, but as the bulb exploded the playing field was leveled. He fired wildly but now I could see where he was as the gun flashed.