The Pegasus Project: A Musimagium Story (The Pegasus Enchantment Book 1)

by Mary Kit Caelsto

  I cupped my hand over Pito so he wouldn’t fall off my chest as I stood and headed for the covered porch next to my small home. I wasn’t quite ready to go inside yet. Being in the rainforest gave me peace of mind I couldn’t get in the city. I had a gig to play tonight and needed all the quiet I could get. Alamar, the sax player in our little group, and I were joining with some Calypso musicians for some improvisation. It’d be fun, but it’d take a lot out of me.

  The storm broke overhead, sending ran down in a heavy sheet. I watched it drip from large palm fronds into the fire pit where I often sat in the evenings and off the edges of my roof. A few sheets of tin protected my stone patio from the worst of it, so I stayed a few moments longer, until Pito nudged my shirt in his way of telling me he wanted a heat lamp again. I didn’t blame him. The cool wind made me shiver and I went inside.

  I put Pito in his habitat and he immediately crawled onto his rock. Thanks. I was getting chilly.

  “Sorry,” I said. I turned to my radio setup in the corner of what passed for my living room. The storm would interfere with signals even though being closer to the equator than my American friends meant I have a lot better luck than they do on open frequencies. It’s also difficult to reach them sometimes, so for that I rely on good old fashioned email. I needed to talk to Ricky in Rio. He had a better lead on things than I did, and he’d been the one to warn me about the threat to my rain forest haven.

  I sat down at my rig and scanned the common frequencies Radio Arcanum used. These special frequencies had been set aside by the ITU for use by the God Touched and other paranormal creatures—their words, not mine. I hated being called God Touched. It made me sound special or something. I wasn’t. Just an ex-pat living in Costa Rica with her magical bearded dragon and protecting this little haven of rain forest that connected directly to…whatever it was that made us God Touched. Magical. Rumor had it someone else in the Midwest protected one of these glades that had unicorns living in it. I snorted. Unicorns, now that was crazy.

  As far as I knew there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary living in my little piece of paradise. If there were, it hadn’t decided to show itself to me and that was just fine. I liked my privacy and my isolation.

  I sat down and checked my email answering a couple that needed attention. Someone wanted to book our band for a gig, so I forwarded that one to Alamar. You really should get out more. Pito’s voice filled my mind. I laughed. Really, he was one to talk living alone in his habitat. He couldn’t even cohabitate with another beardie in case of aggression. Or that’d be the case if he weren’t as magical as me. A conduit to…whatever…yeah, that again. Seriously. You’re going to need allies. They’re closer than you think. I shook my head at the old argument. I’d tried that before; it never ended well. I’d been with my band for nearly three years—the longest I’d stayed with anyone. Then again, I’d been in Costa Rica for seven, choosing to stay after coming over my sophomore year at college for a session studying abroad in Costa Rica. I canceled my return ticket back and never left, transferring to the university in San Jose and finishing my Bachelor’s Degree here. I probably should have made some friends in college, though five years out, who really stays friends with the people they knew back then. Besides, I’d learned early on people only friended me for my name and what they thought my family associations could do for them, never with the intent of getting to know me. Solitude was easy. People were hard.

  When I glanced at the time, I needed to get ready. A quick shower and a change, more time than I wanted to styling my short spiky hair and doing enough makeup to pass as stage ready, then I dressed in wide leg black and white pinstripe trousers with a matching vest over a white blouse. I added a chunky belt in bold colors to break up the monochrome palette of my outfit and put in the matching earrings, trading out my usual silver studs for bright coral-esque pieces.

  Knock ‘em dead. I’m going to sleep. With that Pito announced his intention not to accompany me tonight. “Sleep tight.” I turned off his lights, grabbed my gig bag and slipped my wallet and cell into a hidden pocket in my vest. I texted Alamar. On my way.

  ~* * *~

  The set lasted nearly until midnight. I squatted and tucked my clarinet away in its case that sat on the floor near a back wall and grabbed a swig of water from my filtered bottle. The music buzzed through my body, making me sense the energy of this place. I liked the club. It sat between two ley lines and they funneled patrons and energy toward us. I tapped into them with a thought, letting off some excess magic. No sense in going home sparking and not being able to sleep until dawn.

  “The God Touched usually don’t show themselves so boldly. You must be very gifted if you feel safe doing so,” a dark, male voice said above me.

  I stood, not recognizing the man. I didn’t need to wonder how he recognized me. Power rolled from him in waves; no doubt he’d sensed my quick grounding even though I’d been discreet. My first instinct would be to deny the name, dismiss his claims. One look in his eyes told me he wouldn’t take kindly to such foolery. “I don’t believe I’ve met your acquaintance.” I held out my hand. “Tory McRains and if you call me Antonia I’ll punch you. And you are?” I kept my voice sweet, almost saccharine.

  “Dewain Barras, and I know who you are, Charlie Romeo Charlie One Five Zulu.”

  I glanced around, hoping no one else had heard my call sign. “And you are?”

  “Bravo Romeo Echo Five Nine Alpha.” He shook my hand. “Nice to finally meet you face to face.”

  “You’ve come a long way if you wanted to see a show. You could have caught one of my shows on YouTube.” I grinned.

  “I needed to meet you in person. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  My stomach sank. I knew this was going to be a conversation I didn’t want to have. Pito’s words haunted me. I need allies. I guess that meant Dewain was probably going to be one of them. “Yeah, let me finish here and tell my band mates I’m leaving.” A woman like me probably should have had second thoughts at leaving with a relative stranger from another country. Not everyone was a woman like me. Besides, the call sign he gave was part of Radio Arcanum and that meant something. I sometimes rag-chewed with non-magical people on the regular ham radio bands if I got bored or felt the need for human companionship. Those who liked to make distant contacts always were happy to talk to an English speaker from Costa Rica. It meant they could mark a country off their list and if they wanted, even get a postcard with my call sign on it as proof. I had a clearinghouse handle all of that for me and I had a traditional call sign for when I wasn’t on Radio Arcanum, so no one could tie the two together unless they recognized the voice.

  I told Alamar I was going, then bundled my clarinet case back into my gig bag and slung it over my shoulder. Dewain still stood where I’d left him, looking far too put together with polished shoes, dark wash jeans, and a turquoise striped button down short sleeve shirt over a yellow t-shirt announcing a surf shop. I hadn’t heard of it, not that I was much of a surfer, so guessed it was in Brazil.

  I stopped next to him. “The bar usually clears out after the band stops, or we could go somewhere else.”

  “How late is this place open?”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “How late are you planning on talking?” I sketched a wave to Alamar as he walked by, his saxophone case already strapped to his back. He drove a scooter and didn’t live far.

  “This might take a while. If you don’t mind, I know a place.”

  At the first sign of things turning funky I planned to leave. I nodded. “Can we walk or do we need to drive?”

  “It’s just a few doors down if you don’t mind.”

  I thought about putting my gig bag in the car, then decided against it. Sure, nothing had happened in this neighborhood for a while, but I’d be leaving my car here and I wasn’t taking any chances. My clarinet was my baby. I’d had it since I’d started college, a real professional model, and I didn’t want to lose it. I followed him out the side door
and onto the street where young couples were going to and from various restaurants or bars. Dance music pumped from a nearby building with brightly lit neon signs and swirling lights. I let the music put a sway in my step.

  A few buildings down, he nodded to the doorman in front of Rojo Bruha, who let us pass without a second look. There wasn’t a line, but I bet there had been earlier in the evening. We no sooner had stepped into a multi-tiered venue where I suspected a mixture of musical styles were played, the band currently playing reggae, when a tall woman with long red hair wrapped up with a scarf came over and clasped Dewain on the shoulders.

  “What have you brought me?” She asked in a bright Scottish accent, then looked me over. “Is this the one you were telling me about?”

  “Tory this is Sorcha Maclughlin. She owns this venue.”

  Sorcha didn’t reach out her hand and I didn’t offer one. Most of us in the magical community knew better than to go around shaking hands with strangers. I’d just been being a bit of a bitch when I’d offered mine to Dewain. Refusal wasn’t taken well. “I’m sure we’ll be getting to know each other.”

  I sensed…I didn’t quite know what I’d sensed, but it was as if someone were testing my abilities. My shields usually kept people at bay. Perhaps the name of this place had some meaning behind it. I hadn’t dealt with witches before, but from what I’d heard, I didn’t want to.

  “Mind if we use the naranja room?”

  “It’s empty. I’ll put the word out that it’s in use. If you need anything, you know how to call me. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go mingle with the party that just came in.” She smiled, inclined her head in my direction, then hurried upstairs to the balcony that ran the circumference of the room.

  “This way. It’ll be quieter,” he said, cupping my elbow and guiding me around the edge of the main level until we reached an orange door. He opened it and led me inside.

  The room had to be soundproofed because none of the music from the floor filtered in, though I saw speakers set up in the corners and a small control panel so we could tune into the musicians if we wanted. I sat on one of the black chairs. The tile on the floor was orange and black flecked stone or marble, most likely artificial, and with the orange walls and black table and chairs, and black leather coverings on the bench which ran along three walls, it was like being in some strange Halloween-land. “So what’d you want to talk to me about? And why here?”

  Want even more writing and clarinet goodness? Check out my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/marykitcaelsto

  Tory McRains thinks learning how to be a good Musimagia and following their rules would keep her out of trouble. She agrees to teach Alamar how to play the saxophone as a way to atone for her sin of accidentally wiping his mind, and his ability to play music. A local homeless man, Diego, reveals that he's a Mad Bard, which leaves Tory wondering if she has yet one more group of musical magic wielders to worry about, and when the giant anaconda guardian of her rainforest, whom local folklore calls Mother, reveals herself, well Tory realizes she's in deeper than she ever imagined.

  Add in increasing magical attacks, the fact that Alamar isn't living in a hostel like she thought, and the fact that the danger stalking the rain forest is now coming from within the Musimagia organization.

  Tory knows one thing. She's sick and tired of getting cryptic messages from those who wish to use her power as her own. It's time for her to take a stand, not just for her own life also but for the future of her rainforest home and those closest to her.

  http://marykitcaelsto.com/go/tonicchords/

  Chapter One

  If I’d wanted to go back to school, well, I would have gone. I wasn’t a stranger to learning. I loved school. What I didn’t love was this feeling of propaganda being shoved down my throat. My gigs had become pretty much nonexistent since Alamar had been well, wiped. Whoops. I hadn’t meant to destroy his memories, all of them including the ability to play the saxophone. I stared at the instrument, purchased off of some kind of Radio Arcanum eBay-lite program, in my lap. The clarinet I knew. Remembered fingers, tips, tricks, embouchure, even the way it felt to work my way from beginner to intermediate books. If I were to teach Alamar how to play again, I had to figure this thing out myself.

  You’re not going to honk again are you? You’re not a bird. Pito poked his head from the sling I wore across my front to hold him against me. With the stranger in the house, never mind that Hazel had been here for four weeks and I still considered her the interloper, Pito preferred to hang out with me whenever possible. I didn’t blame him. We had to band together. Especially since one wrong move on my part could have my music and magic ability stripped from me.

  I tried not to laugh. Since Hazel had arrived, laughter seemed like I was having too much fun, not taking this seriously. We sat down for two hours every afternoon to go over the books, starting with The History of the Musimagia, as if I were some kind of elementary student. Not even my college instructors had talked down as much to me. I suspect she wanted me to learn just how serious this was, how close I’d come to having everything taken away. I knew it. I also knew that I’d had to do whatever it took to protect my haven, my node as I was learning to call it. And honestly, if I had it to do all over again, I would. No questions asked. Not even the part about wiping Alamar’s mind.

  Dewain had gone back to Brazil. Armis business he’d said. I didn’t like it, not when Hazel and I had fended off two minor attacks while Dewain spoke about a group, Aquari Testimoni, who may or may not be a branch of Noctis. Apparently no one in the Musimagia hierarchy knew either. Only that they’d infiltrated some of the Auxiliaries and Musimagia operations in the US and had started overseas. Nothing here in Central or South America, but then again, one thing I’d learned about being an ex-pat was that mostly the big players ignored us unless we could prove to be useful. Still, Dewain kept his ear to the ground and I was allowed on Radio Arcanum to get information. Sometimes.

  Hazel was moving around in the living room. Not her daily tai chi practice; she did that outside on the back patio. No, this was most likely setting up another exercise for me. Yay, me.

  She is helping you hone your skills. You should be more appreciative.

  I frowned at the lizard cuddling against me. If he weren’t so cute, I might—

  No you wouldn’t. You need me.

  I did. I admit it. A discordant note of magic drew my attention, nothing from inside the house. I set the saxophone on my bed. I’d figure it out later, and ignored the laugh that Pito gave in my mind. Hey, I’d pretty much self-taught myself a lot of the clarinet. The YouTube videos I’d watched made saxophone seem not that much harder. At the moment it didn’t matter. Not when something wasn’t right. Out of reflex, I held my hand over Pito as I stood and went to my bedroom door.

  I opened it to find Hazel sitting down on the floor, feet pressed together, bent forward as if she were in child’s pose. Except, I didn’t think so, and when I glanced outside the sun shone, so it wasn’t like she couldn’t do yoga outdoors, her usual location. I opened my mouth to speak. She held up her hand in the universal gesture for quiet. I knew then, she sensed it too.

  I stood for a long moment staring at her, then decided this might require my going outside, so I took Pito back to his habitat. He scurried up to his log with a mental thanks and began to bask. By the time I closed the glass door and turned, Hazel had stood.

  “Check the defenses,” she said, and I knew this wasn’t a training exercise, though we’d started many with those words.

  I closed my eyes and sensed along the barriers I’d placed along the perimeter of my cottage and the yard, then reached into the rain forest to follow trails and check various points that Dewain had helped me place for a secure perimeter. There, not next to the node, but rather close to the road, something lingered. I wouldn’t have called it malevolent or even dangerous. Certainly it wasn’t right. I turned to Hazel and her gaze met mine.

  “Should we—”

  Sh
e held up her hand, stopping me from asking my question. For a moment I stood there confused. Maybe I wasn’t meant to ask, that knowing was part of my training and I ought to have known what we should do by now. So I closed my eyes and followed the source of the oddness until I realized it was a person, someone I didn’t know—I’d gotten better at remote sensing individual people—and it seemed as if their thoughts were jumbled. A homeless person. I knew now, because I remembered seeing him. I actually thought he might live closer to the main road in the lean-to I’d seen there. He’d never come this far before, though I’d often seen him scavenging along the road, perhaps even hunting. A moment later I realized he was coming here.

  My eyelids flew open and I stared at Hazel. Had she done something to call him? She knew how much I valued my privacy.

  “This isn’t my doing,” she said. “I know of him because I’ve made it a point to make contacts as I’ve gone into town. It’s vital after what happened that we know who everyone is.”

  And what side they’re on. The unspoken words, especially with the arrival of the Aquari Testimoni, hung between us. It wouldn’t do me any good to ask why he was here and what he wanted because we didn’t know. I wasn’t that good of a reader, not yet. Deciding it was better to face the danger head on, I opened the door and stepped outside. I paused, expecting Hazel to follow me, she didn’t, and that made me wonder if this were some kind of a test.

  I stopped about ten feet in front of my house and waited. When I focused on him, I sensed him growing closer, his agitation growing. I heard him, before I saw him, his muttered words under his breath as if he were having an argument with someone. “Mad bard. Mad bard.” He kept repeating the phrase over and over again. I’d heard about the Mad Bards in my history book. They were a splintered group of the Musimagia who thought that the magic should be much more tied to the natural world rather than run by councils and hierarchies. They hated the pomp and circumstance of the Musimagia and frankly, I didn’t blame them.