Faerie Mage: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Vampire's Bane Book 1)

by Marian Maxwell

“More than decent, from what I hear,” Logan added.

  “It’s not enough to put me on the case.”

  “Right.”

  “And you…”

  “What about me?” Logan stopped. The hallway split in two directions. His face was calm, but his eyes glimmered.

  “The chief doesn’t like you,” Suri blurted. “Neither do the other enforcers.”

  “Something like that.”

  “It doesn’t makes sense.”

  “Sure it does.” Logan started walking again, flipping on light switches as he passed them. More blood on the floor. A trail, leading under a closed door.

  Logan put a hand on the doorknob.

  Locked.

  “Wouldn’t he be giving you bum assignments? Patrolling the harbour, stuff like that?”

  “Yeah, usually does.”

  Suri was becoming frustrated. Logan pulled out a lock picking kit from inside his jacket. Before he could get to work, she casted a spell.

  A thin, red line extended from the tip of her index finger. She aimed it in the crack between the door and door frame. Felt it connect with the lock and slice through.

  Logan put away his kit. Quirked an eyebrow. “Nice.”

  “You’ve got a hunch. Tell me.”

  “More than a hunch. What if I told you McNaulty doesn’t want this case solved?”

  “I’d say you’ve got a screw loose.”

  “Could be,” said Logan. He reached inside the room, flipped on the light. His feet stayed out in the hall. “Five bucks says the room is trapped.”

  Amber had taught Suri a bit about wards at the Academy. She was good at making and breaking them. Suri? Not so much. It was delicate, time-consuming work. Not at all in her area of expertise.

  Suri opened her third eye.

  Sure enough, a ward had been placed a foot inside the door. Elemental magic, and crudely made. The pentagram, made of motes of light, had been hastily created. Some of the lines were jagged. Others were too thick, or too thin. And it wasn’t hidden. Plain as the third eye could see. Far from what was expected of a councillor. “Stand back,” Suri said.

  Logan moved four strides down the hall. Suri reached out with raw magic. Poked one of the lines of the pentagram. The motes quivered like a spider’s web. The spell would be unleashed if they broke.

  She nudged the motes at different places, searching for the weak spot. Like a Jenga puzzle, she had to remove a section of motes without destroying the structure.

  “Screw it,” Suri muttered. She wasn’t in the mood to spend an hour on it. Instead, she summoned a miniature cloud above her hand. Infused it with water, set the temperature, and made it rain. Then sent it hovering into the room.

  Tiny raindrops smacked the ward. It triggered, shooting shards of ice in a spiral. Suri swore and dove to the side, one of the icicles whizzing over her head.

  In two seconds, it was over. No one worse for wear.

  “Nice one,” said Logan. He stopped leaning against the wall and came over. “Is it safe?”

  Suri’s third eye showed the pentagram was gone. She crossed into the room, scanning for other wards. When none appeared, she called out to Logan. “Clear,” she said.

  Mr. Weathers had no issues with mixing business and pleasure. A huge, erotic painting hung on the wall opposite his desk. More drugs right on top of his desk. Red panties hanging out from an open drawer.

  “Think it was planted?” Suri asked, gesturing at the drugs.

  “Hah! I wish.” Logan didn’t bat an eye at the councillor’s taste in decor. He opened the drawers one by one, looking all the way inside and putting the contents on the desk. “I take it you don’t know much about the magi council.”

  It was true. But wasn’t that the same with everyone?

  They were the most powerful mages in the world. One hundred in number, and hundreds of years old. Kept alive longer than natural by magical means. Other than that…Nothing. Their orders went directly to the enforcers, and to the Masters, who ran the Academy.

  They were busy people. Battling demons and supernatural creatures. Working day and night to keep the world safe. Or so I had thought. The “office” of Boyde Weathers was giving Suri doubts.

  “What, are you saying they're all like this?” Suri said it as a joke.

  Logan nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much.” He set a quarter-full bottle of Jack on the desk and reach his hand back in the mahogany drawer. “Think about it. You’re one of the most powerful people on Earth. You can’t become God Emperor of magi. You can’t reveal yourself to ungifted. After kicking ass all day, what do you do?”

  “Sex and drugs?”

  Logan winked. “And rock and roll.”

  The bottle of Jack almost made Suri gag.

  Hard alcohol. Never again.

  “You said McNaulty doesn’t want us solving the case. Explain.”

  “Who would you hire to kidnap a councillor?”

  Suri had to think about that for a minute.

  “If I absolutely had to?”

  “Yes. Life or death.”

  “Maybe an arch demon,” she said. She tapped her chin, wishing she had a beard like Logan’s to stroke whilst pondering things. “A grand dragon would do it,” she continued. “Or a fae lord. Oh. I think I get it.”

  “Someone extremely powerful, right?” Logan shut the last drawer. An impressive pile of items lay on the desk. Logan began writing them down in his Moleskine notebook:

  Large black claws, a dinosaur fossil, a cigar box, ink bottles, liquor bottles, a globe, bunsen burner, letter knife, screw driver, scrolls of papyri, a book, and a prism. Suri spun around, seeing what she thought was someone’s reflection in the prism. A full suit of armor stood guard with a halberd next to the closed door. Closer inspection revealed the halberd’s blade razor-sharp, and looking awful loose in its owner’s gauntlets.

  Suri turned back. Logan was taking a picture of the desk, and all its contents. “And rich,” she said, following up on his earlier comment. “Whoever it was could have bribed the chief enforcer.”

  “Bingo. Did you see his watch?”

  “Yeah. Rolex.”

  “He didn’t have that last week.”

  “So he takes the money, assigns you to the case.”

  “A badger shifter. Bad at tracking.”

  “But why me? Why get me involved at all?”

  For the moment, Logan ignored her question. He quirked his head, staring at the drips of blood that were all over the office. It was like someone had got a paper cut and wandered around, without knowing they were bleeding.

  The bookshelf, against the back wall, was smeared red a couple of places. The seat of the chair was the same, as was the handle of the large window. The rain hadn’t let up. It smacked into the glass with vigor.

  “The blood trail ends here,” Suri noted.

  “Mhm,” said Logan, distractedly.

  “Whoever it was noticed the bleeding. Wrapped the cut.”

  Logan went to the window and looked out over the yard. “Possibly.”

  A creak, out in the hallway.

  Suri froze, waiting to hear more.

  Logan rushed by her, gun already in hand as he kicked open the office door.

  “Stop!” He shouted. The sound of running feet continued, briefly muffled by a boom of thunder.

  21

  Suri joined Logan in the hallway in time to see him fire a warning shot in the air. The figure, just a black shape, continued to sprint away. Logan took aim at one of the legs, shot, and missed. “Shit,” he cursed. He holstered his gun and started sprinting. But he was outmatched.

  Logan’s a big guy. Heavy-set. Thick-boned. Not made for moving quickly over the ground. He stomped down the hallway as fast as he could. The figure rounded a corner, going out of sight.

  Suri was already past Logan, strong legs and tight core taking her in quick pursuit.

  She rounded the same corner, and the person was gone. A window was wide open, curtains flapping like crazy
in the wind, rain streaming inside and soaking the floor and wall.

  She put her hands on the windowsill and stuck her head out. A flash of lightning showed the black shape, of what was probably a man, moving across the yard. He was headed for the fence on the far side.

  Anger burned in her chest. If this person was involved with the missing councillor, he might also know about the fire in Lodum. Capturing him was their best shot at actually finding out what was going on. And he was getting away.

  Logan flew out the window, black and white fur flashing past Suri’s face.

  “Woah!” she leaned back, almost stumbling.

  Her partner had fully shifted. A two-hundred-pound honey badger leapt from the third story window, landed on the wet grass, and took off on all fours. In two heartbeats, he closed the distance to the fugitive. Tackled him from behind.

  Gunfire echoed through the air. Loud, even in the middle of the storm.

  Suri zipped up her jacket and vaulted out the window. The rain and wind knocked her off balance. She fell hard on her side, but the yard was soft and wet. She wheezed, picked herself back up no worse for wear. Sprinted after Logan.

  The man kicked Logan off him, rolled back, and jumped to his feet. He pointed his pistol at Suri. If he hadn’t hesitated, Suri would have been dead.

  She raised her hand and froze the pouring rain in front of her. It was sloppy work. Instead of making a full-body wall as she’d planned, the rain froze into a small shield stuck to her chest. Then the bullet struck.

  Suri lost her footing and toppled backwards. The ice-armor cracked, fell off and onto the ground in pieces. Suri didn’t check if she’d been shot. She used the same spell from where she lay on the ground and froze the rain around the barrel of the gun.

  The ice absorbed the next bullet. The impact jolted the gun from the man’s hand. Then Logan was on him. Clawing and biting, pinning him with his massive strength and bulk. He took the collar of the man’s shirt in his jaws and dragged him across the wet grass, back to the mansion. The man was so beat up that he didn’t bother trying to resist.

  Inside, Suri got a pair of towels and joined Logan in the living room. He was back in human form, and looking mighty furious. The perp sat on the floor, handcuffed to a table. Long, black hair hung all the way to his waist. Same as the assassins who had shot up Magic Dragon Noodle.

  “You’re going to talk,” said Logan. His voice sounded like it came from a different person. It was sharp, full of menace.

  “Filth,” said the man, his head still lowered. “My Master will take care of you.”

  “Yeah? Where is he?”

  A crooked smile played on the man’s lips. “Time is up for your kind,” he said. He had the feverish eyes of a religious fanatic. A true-believer. “We know where you live, Logan Drexler.”

  Logan wasn’t impressed. “Sure. You, and everyone on Google,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  Logan took off his jacket. Calmly folded it, and set it on the back of the torn up couch.

  “Rookie, go get that book from the office.”

  Suri was still thinking about what the man had said. “What did you mean, ‘time is up?’” she asked.

  “My master grows in power. More tributes are given to him every day.” The man’s voice increased in pitch and volume. He jumped to his feet. The table he was handcuffed to crashed as it turned over and hit the floor. “Earth and Faerie will be united! One realm! One god!” he cried.

  “Enough of this,” Logan growled.

  “Wait!” Suri said. “Listen.”

  The man went on, caught in rapture. “The blood! It will be ours! Master will make us immortal. Chosen! Nine pale kings for nine pale thrones…” His eyes became clouded. He dropped his arms, and slumped to the ground. Muttering gibberish. Nothing Suri or Logan could understand.

  “You still want that book?” Suri asked coyly.

  Logan shot her a glare. “Damn right, rookie,” he said.

  Trying hard not to roll her eyes, Suri left him and the strange man alone in the living room.

  Upstairs. Weathers’ office. She activated her third eye.

  The same pattern that was on the dead bodies at Magic Dragon Noodle. Clear as day. Not the scrambled one. The necromancer’s aura. Powerful death magic.

  It was all over Weathers’ desk. Actually, a couple steps out the door showed her the magic residue was tied to the drips of blood. The more blood, the more powerful the residue.

  As it turned out, the book Logan asked Suri to get was the prime source.

  She had thought it was an old tome. It was dark brown, in poor condition. In fact, it was covered in dried blood.

  Tread carefully, Suri thought. Logan had picked up the book and set it on the desk without problem. It didn’t seem like he had been cursed. But mage’s tomes are tricky. Enchanted in all sorts of ways. Some defensive spells only trigger when they detect magic.

  Besides, Logan was a tank. Maybe he had been cursed, and shrugged it off like bad chill.

  Suri snorted at the idea. Rubbed tired eyes.

  I really want to be Faerie right now.

  Problem was, she couldn’t get there until another rift opened. No one knew when or where that would happen. Except Vestrix, who could summon small ones from Faerie.

  Lady of Arrows. Suri reminded herself to look into that nickname.

  She clenched her jaw. Did it about five times as she recalled the haunted look on the faces of Lodum’s refugees as they fled underground.

  Suri had a hunch that the missing councillor was connected to the attack in Lodum. Something was going on behind the curtains. The peace between Earth and Faerie was falling apart. No one was talking about it, which made her certain that the magical elite were engaged in a shadow war.

  She just wanted to save her friends in Lodum. But, for the time being, the best thing she could do was find the link between the councillor and the attacks.

  The book looked harmless. Suri circled it, focusing intently with her third eye. Searching the magical patterns for any kind of trap.

  When nothing appeared, she snatched up the book and let it fall open to a page at random. Tight, cursive writing filled the soft paper. The ink was normal: black, without a trace of magic. All the magical residue was on the outside. Plastered, along with the blood, to the leather cover and spine.

  The necromancer’s magic gave off a foul stench of brimstone. Purple and black motes of light shimmered over the book like a second layer of binding. Again, the residue tugged at the strings of memory. It was familiar, and not only because of its dark nature. Suri had, unfortunately, dealt with necromancer two times whilst at the Academy. Once in fighting a renegade student who was conducting experiments in the alchemy basement. The other time, the odorous residue was of her own doing. And it was, she had to admit, not accidental.

  Every magic user emits a unique residue. The motes of light, and the smell, are like a signature gifted leave behind. To be sure, the differences can be so small that, nine times out of ten, it is impossible to get a positive ID. It’s usually the work of seers to suss out the fine details. Gifted like Amber, who are quite sensitive to the flow of magic, are best at dealing with delicate residues. Tracking people, discovering which spells were used nearby. That kind of stuff.

  Suri was the big dummy who swings a sword and throws fireballs. McNaulty had said she was one of the best third-eyes in the city. Utter nonsense when taking into account seers. Among battle mages, she wasn’t half bad. Pretty decent, actually, thanks to Amber’s tutoring. But overall there were about a hundred better people to call and put on the case.

  Suri was beginning to believe Logan’s crazy theory that McNaulty was in the pocket of whoever, or whatever, was behind the councillor’s disappearance.

  Have I run into this necromancer before?

  It seemed unlikely. And yet, the familiarity was unmistakable. Déjà vu of the strongest order. And there was a trace of…som
ething else. Suri kept open her third eye. Keeping it open for too long begins to drain magic reserves.

  Only a bit longer.

  Suri adopted a thousand-yard stare. Looking beyond the motes of light, letting the black magic scent wash over her. Not focusing on anything in particular. What she wanted was…There!

  Suri gave a toothy, self-satisfied grin. There was something odd about this particular necromancer residue. Knowing exactly what it was would be like trying to guess one small ingredient in a birthday cake. It takes practice, and a fine sense of taste. All she could tell was that it wasn’t the work of an ordinary, human necromancer. An otherworldly mark was upon it. The meddling of an inhuman necromancer. Meaning someone from Faerie, where all the creatures other than humans come from (although, as Amber reminds her, legends tell that humans, too, once came from Faerie).

  It wasn’t a fae. Of that, Suri was certain. She had dealt with those devils too many times to mistake their mark for another. What she lacked was experience with the other creatures of Faerie. Trolls, ogres, vampires, werewolves, liches, were outside her realm of expertise. But it was one of them. Definitely.

  Yes, thought Suri, as she shut her third eye. It was the work of a Faerie creature most foul.

  The goblin leader’s snarling face flashed in her mind. She shook her head. It wouldn’t be a brute like him. As Logan pointed out, the necromancer must have been mighty powerful to capture, or even kill, a magi councillor. That narrowed the list of suspects considerably.

  Suri pondered the possibilities. Lightning flashed on the other side of the large, arched window in Weathers’ office.

  A shadow goblin, however, wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. To the best of Suri’s knowledge, they hadn’t been seen in two hundred years. Stuck to their mountain caves and cult sacrifices. Stayed away from fae cities like Lodum. It was too civilized for their sort. Yet they were, without a doubt, the Faerie creatures most likely to dabble in the black arts of necromancy. After that, it was about equal chances between vamps and wolken. Not including, of course, Faerie’s elite magic users of whom she had not the slightest inkling. Arch demons, dragons, and titled magi like Vestrix.