by Ryan Attard
His eyes widened. “How…”
“I’m a hunter, genius,” I replied. “Been one all my life. You really thought I couldn’t smell your pal lurking in the shadows?”
I craned my head, looking at a plain concrete column.
“Come on out.”
I heard scraping behind the column as boots kicked the layer of dirt on the ground and whoever was behind moved into the light.
He wore his hair long and his face in a permanent frown. His eggshell-white medieval tunic was decorated with leathers and belts, and a sword hung from his hip.
I immediately recognized his ugly mug: the Paladin who got in my face the first time I’d visited Sun Tzu’s.
“Well, well, well,” I said. “Come to settle the score?”
The guy displayed none of his previous bravado. “I have come here to arrest you.”
I looked at Greg. “Is he for real?”
Greg nodded. “He’s here to restrain you, Erik. As am I.”
“Oh, yeah?” I grinned at the Paladin. “You and what army?”
The Paladin chuckled. “This one.”
He clicked his fingers, and a million space-distortion spells went off.
All around me, Paladins popped out of nowhere, clad in full medieval armor — white tunics and gunmetal armor plating — wielding lances in one hand and shields in the other.
A seal was stamped on each shield, the exact same sigil Greg and I saw on the crate inside Greede’s warehouse: ten wings surrounding a circle with a Flamel symbol inside of it.
The Paladins took one step in unison, and their lances dropped to point towards me.
Greg stepped in between them.
“I’m sorry it has come to this,” he said. “In reality, I am not an emissary for the Russian Orthodox Church but rather I work for-”
“The Grigori,” I finished for him.
I grinned at his shocked expression.
“Yeah, I already know,” I said, shrugging.
Greg sighed and shook his head. “It seems I have underestimated you,” he said. “So it is a good thing we took extra precautions.”
Another space-distortion spell went off behind the Paladins surrounding me and I heard the familiar scuffle of resistance.
Three figures came into view.
One I immediately recognized as my apprentice. Abi’s hands were locked in wooden shackles in front of her, etched with runes to prevent her from using any magic.
Floating next to her was Arnold the ghost boy, hovering uselessly.
“Sorry, Mister Ashendale,” he said when he saw me. “I couldn’t do anything to stop him.”
The third figure was their captor, a man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses, even in the darkness of the warehouse. His goat horns jutted out from under the shaggy mane of hair.
Goat Boy held one of his silver revolvers at Abi’s side.
I caught her gaze, mentally asking her to trust me. Abi stopped struggling and settled with glaring at Goat Boy, her looks promising him an ass-whooping if she ever got out of those bonds.
I turned back to Greg.
“And the plot thickens,” I said. “Release her.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that.”
“Don’t piss me off, Greg,” I said. “You won’t like me when I’m pissed off.”
The first Paladin — I guessed he was their boss or something — drew his longsword. “You dare threaten one of the Grigori?”
“Back off, Boromir,” I retorted. “And put the sword away before someone really gets hurt.”
“Erik, don’t do anything rash,” Greg said. “Just let us get this over with.”
“Not until she goes free.”
Magic exploded from my body, and I had to physically hold back from reaching for Djinn and start swinging.
The Paladins surrounding me stumbled backwards but held their formation. Boromir fell on his ass.
A gunshot went off and I heard Abi scream. Goat Boy had his gun pointing at the ceiling. He grinned as he press it against Abi’s temple.
I immediately powered down and glared at him. “When this is over, you and I are gonna have a long chat,” I said.
Goat Boy nodded. “Anytime, Wizard.”
I turned to Greg. “You, asshole. What exactly is this charade for?”
Greg cleared his throat.
“Erik Ashendale,” he announced. “You are hereby charged by the Council of the Grigori to answer for your multiple counts of violations. You will stand trial to deem your loyalties and intentions. Failure to comply will result in swift termination of yourself and all who consort with you.”
In other words, Erik, you better play our game or we’ll kill your family.
I turned to Goat Boy. “Congratulations. You are now the second biggest dick in the room.”
Greg shook his head.
“This is not how I wished for this to play out,” he said.
I spat out a laugh of derision. “Bullshit. You’ve been playing me since day one.” I grinned at him. “What? You think I didn’t see this coming?”
“How could you?” Greg asked.
“Simple,” I replied. “I followed the clues.”
Greg cocked his head, clearly amused. “Go on.”
“Well, there was a number of things that just didn’t add up,” I explained. “Like how the dead animals in the first crime scene were basically ectoplasm. At first I thought it was the Necromancer, but that guy is a dumbass. He can barely tell the difference between his elbow and his asshole — no way he could pull that off. And why? He had no reason to throw shade on himself.
“Secondly, Sun Tzu.”
I turned to Boromir who was throwing me his best glare.
“You remember him, don’t you?” I taunted. “Old Chinese guy? Nearly made you wet yourself? Anyway, that guy ain’t scared of shit. But the damnedest thing happened: you guys showed up and he starts telling me about how things are out of his hands and there are higher powers at play.”
I cocked my head at Greg. “I’m guessing you guys have something on him, to make him dance around like that.”
“Impressive,” Greg said.
“Oh, I ain’t done yet.” I snorted at him. “I’ve been in this business for a very long time, Greg. I know when things feel phony. Like, for example, when I’m being led towards a particular conclusion. In this case, we had the Necromancer, the perfect patsy.”
“The Necromancer was really after the Necronomicon,” Greg said.
“And how would a petty crook even know about the book?” I said. “However, that guy wasn’t your biggest mistake. He was.”
All eyes followed my pointed finger, towards Arnold.
The ghost boy looked around. “What about me?”
“Phony clues led me to the Bentley house,” I said. “I even found him at the crime scene. The perfect plant — a talking clue. But here’s the thing: a ghost who isn’t anchored? Now, that’s mighty suspicious. Hell, he didn’t even bat an eyelid at the demon I keep as a house pet.”
I turned to look at Greg. “So yeah, I knew about this whole thing. From Day-fucking-One.”
A throaty giggle echoed from the shadows, followed by the sound of applause. A singular figure emerged, clapping sardonically.
“Bravo, Master Erik,” Mephisto said. “Bravo indeed.”
Chapter 25
Mephisto snapped his finger and Arnold exploded into a ball of mist. The white ectoplasm swirled, becoming an ethereal canine which trotted towards the demon. Mephisto reached down and the ghost dog was sucked into his hand.
Of course.
Mephisto was an Air Elemental. It would have been child’s play for him to create a phantasm and pass him off as a ghost. I’d never stopped to test the consistency of Arnold’s ectoplasm.
I suspected the kid was a patsy, but this — this was in a league of its own.
Don’t let him get to you, Erik.
I forced a grin.
“Well, you’re here, doggie,” I
said, knowing he hated that name, “which means your master’s here too.”
Gil appeared from behind her familiar, her head hung low, olive-green cloak gently flapping with every step.
“Brother.”
“Gil,” I said. “Should I even be surprised at this point?”
“I had nothing to do with this.”
“Said every guilty person ever.”
“She’s right.”
The new speaker was foreign to me.
He walked with a casual stride that reminded me of a puffin looking for a mate. Everything about him screamed rich and fancy, from the champagne-colored three-piece suit he wore, the rose gold jewelry, the gleaming white dress shoes that matched the gleaming white teeth, and a tan that looked way too perfect to belong anywhere outside an editing studio.
The man ran a manicured hand through his perfect blond hair.
“This was my masterpiece,” he said.
Oh, good. An actual, justifiable reason to punch this prick.
“This isn’t a game show, Jared. This is an important trial ordered by the Council of the Grigori. Please behave yourself.”
That voice, I knew that voice. I’d only heard it a handful of times but I remembered it. A sexy voice, one that brought up good memories — and bad ones. A voice my mind immediately associated with group therapy and cookies and flirting and dating.
Sarah, the girl I was out on a date with less than three days ago, emerged next to the rich prick.
No way.
No fucking way.
She looked at me with those same eyes she used to flirt with me, eyes full of humor, strength and rebellion.
“Hello, Erik.”
Fuck.
“Hey, Sarah.”
She grinned. “It’s Akasha actually.”
“Huh?”
“My name,” she said. “It’s Akasha, not Sarah.”
“You used a fake name,” I said. My brain felt like soup. “You were never a part of that support group. Just as you were never really interested in me.”
She shook her head. “Well, I believe everyone can benefit from a bit of therapy,” she said, giving the rich prick next to her a sideways glance.
He ignored her.
“And I did have fun on our date,” she went on. “It gave me a chance to get to know the real you. Before… well, you know…”
“Before you put me on trial and possibly cut off my head along with that of everyone who ever loved me?”
She shrugged.
I was left speechless and the only sound in the warehouse was Abi, who muffled something that sounded a lot like “bitch”.
I couldn’t agree more.
“So what exactly am I being accused of here?” I looked directly at my sister, the only person I could get a read on. “You did mention trials, right? What’s my so-called crime?”
Gil opened her mouth but Jared loudly cleared his throat, silencing her.
“Your crimes will be revealed once the trial begins,” he said. “For now, you will need to surrender yourself. Mustafa.”
Another man appeared, wearing an elaborate red tunic and a turban on his head. His mustache looked almost cartoon-like, twisted at the ends and going beyond the man’s lips. His skin, naturally dark, looked ashy with a grayish pallor to it.
The man approached and raised his hands. I saw intricate tattoos on each palm and when the man activated his magic, the tattoos glowed.
“Mustafa will remove your weapons,” Jared said.
“Will he now?” I pulled back my coat, revealing Djinn’s handle sticking out. “Go ahead, Mustafa. See what happens.”
“Erik, please,” Sarah — I mean, Akasha — said. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
I pursed my lips at her. “Man, you’re good. They should have given the Oscar to you instead of Leo.”
I raised my hands and allowed Mustafa to unhook Djinn’s sheath from my belt. At his touch I felt powerless, almost as if he was sucking the magic out from me.
Mustafa worked quickly, taking my gun from my thigh and stripping me of my coat. When he was done, he gave the stuff to a pretty Arab girl who stood behind him this entire time, not making a single sound.
Mustafa nodded at Jared.
He pressed his hands together and magic exploded from his tattooed hands. Sigils appeared all over the warehouse and the land shifted. Light blinded me and when I regained my vision we were no longer in the dinky warehouse.
Everywhere I looked was crystallized: the walls, the floor — they were all made out of a polished crystal-like substance. Inside the crystal I could see the faint outline of sigils at work, which told me that this was an artificial zone.
Like, for example, a pocket universe.
In front of me, sitting behind a judge’s bench of gold, chrome and crystal, were Akasha, Jared, Greg and Mustafa. Gil sat on the far left of the bench. Mustafa’s pretty assistant was docked to one side, a stack of paper on her desk.
“You weren’t kidding when you said trial,” I remarked.
I tried moving but my feet were locked in place. Something bound my hands to the raised pedestal just in front of me.
Beneath my feet I saw possibly the most complex magical formula I’d ever seen: I was standing in the middle of an Abjuration circle, a Disruption formula, a Kinetic seal and a Spatial Lock seal, all woven into each other.
“Nice,” I remarked.
“The work of Mustafa, our unrivaled sigil master and Abjuration expert,” Jared said, beaming proudly as if he was talking about his own achievements.
“Abjuration?”
So that was why that feeling was so familiar, feeling as if my magic was behind washed away, leaving me helpless. Thanks to my previous dealings with an Abjurer when I was a kid, I harbored a particular hatred for the magic.
Jared picked up a judge’s gavel and slammed it on a plinth.
“Let us begin,” he said. “Present at this trial are five of the ten members of the Order of the Grigori. Akasha, ranked at number two; myself, ranked third; Greg, ranked fourth; and Mustafa, ranked seventh. The tenth seat, usually reserved of probatory members and honorary guests, is occupied by Gil Ashendale.”
Jared shot her a disgusted look.
“Let the record show that Miss Ashendale also happens to be the defendant’s sister,” he spat venomously.
Gil’s expression looked like she was actively restraining herself from setting Jared on fire.
“The Captain of the Knights of the Order of the Grigori, together with the twelfth regiment, have also been allowed to reside in the courtroom given the defendant’s level of danger and notorious penchant for violence.”
I glanced behind me.
Boromir and his crew stood in rows ten feet away, motionless. Except for Boromir himself, whose fingers drummed on the hilt of his sword, almost daring me to try something.
“Let us move on,” Jared said.
“Hold on,” I interrupted.
Jared looked at me like I was a roach he found in his salad.
“You, Mustafa,” I said, before Jared could stop me. “I got a question for you.”
Mustafa cocked his head and looked at Jared.
“Mr. Ashendale, I am-” the latter began.
“An asshole, I know,” I shot back.
Gil pursed her lips, trying not to smile. Akasha actually giggled. Jared looked at them and rolled his eyes.
“Ask away,” Mustafa said in a soft voice.
“You’re an Abjurer, right? Heck, Fancy Pants over there just said you did all this, so you must be pretty good.”
“I am the highest authority in my branch of magic,” Mustafa replied.
“Hurry this along,” Jared said.
I looked Mustafa dead in the eyes. “When I was a kid I was hunted down by an Abjurer. The guy killed my mentor right in front of my eyes. His name was Alastair Crowley.”
I saw Gil’s expression darken from the corner of my eyes.
“
I killed him decades ago,” I said. “But I also swore to myself that I’d find out who he was allied with and stop them too.”
Mustafa nodded.
“Yes, I know the man whom you speak of,” he said. “I’ve had many apprentices during my lifetime, not all good men. One such man fell to the dark allure of magic, and taught this Crowley. My student was killed by his apprentice and the rest of those who misused my tutelage met a similar fate, by my hand.” His expression remains unchanged. “Is that all you wanted to know?”
“Yes,” I replied. I looked at Gil. “I had to ask.”
She nodded, understanding.
“If the interruptions are over,” Jared announced, “may we please proceed?”
“Whatever, asshole.”
“Captain,” Jared said, looking at Boromir. “If the defendant speaks out of turn again, you may deter him using force.”
I looked back at Boromir who raised a billy club and grinned.
“Erik Ashendale,” Jared said. “You stand before this Council today, accused of multiple heinous crimes.”
He picked up a sheet of paper from in front of him.
“In the past three years you have consorted with non-human creatures, including but not limited to, succubii and demons — I understand you keep one as a house pet. How quaint.
“You have negotiated with angels and other celestial beings about the fate of this plane of existence. You have crossed the planar threshold and travelled to alternate dimensions. You have then brought back several natives of that alternate dimension to Earth, where they are now hiding… somewhere.”
Jared made a show of looking at Gil and rolling his eyes at her.
“You have also exposed magic to the public on multiple occasions, have allowed yourself to be captured on film, consorted with the police, and performed multiple spells in their presence as a consultant.”
He switched papers and paused for a breath.
“You are also in possession of lost magic — Life magic — which, if left unchecked, has the potential to destroy life as we know it. I understand this last part was also witnessed by a member of our Council,” he said, looking at Greg.
The Kresnik shot me an apologetic look.
“Eat shit,” I said.
A sharp blow smacked against my shoulder and I doubled over the podium. Boromir smiled and smacked me again, before retreating.