Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  The lights snap off and I’m still laughing. Jolts punch through my skin and claw into my muscles. I clench up, and thrash for thirteen more ticks. After that, it’s not funny. The ice-cold bitch goes shock happy and gives me a goddamned heart attack.

  As soon as I come around, more light floods my eyes. White and too bright. My heart beats like a slow crawl, and I’ve lost my ticks. I blink, trying to un-see the light. Trying to un-think the pain. The rumble of footsteps echoes from several floors up. I jerk, meet restraint, and slump back against my torture table.

  I know I lost my ticks because I have no idea how long I was out for. Marking the passage of time was the only thing keeping me sane. It was the only thing that allowed the acceptance that made my coming death feel like an old friend.

  It shouldn’t be this hard. To find the ticks. But that damn light is too bright and hot as hell. The pain in my muscles feels too real, and my throat feels raw and stuffed with crab grass.

  I lick my lips and try to regulate my breath. But the light keeps slicing in. Making me thirsty until my blood starts to feel like it might boil with need. Footsteps echo outside my cell door and I cough up a bitter laugh.

  I grapple for a reason to tell them no again.

  My jaw clenches when I see Pitch. The balding, squat of a man with his Indiana Jones complex. His whip is clenched firmly in his right hand. A serene smile paints his scarred face. He grabs the chains tying me down, then rips me up and down to my knees. He paints the stark cell with my blood.

  I still tell him no and start counting again. Try to get back the time I lost. Pray for the blood curse to hurry and burn me alive.

  Thirty ticks after Pitch leaves, Juliet comes back.

  My back is ripped with welts draped in blood when I tell her no. Each of them get the same answer and the only thing holding my insides together is that I know every no is a fatal blow to their race.

  The only thing that throws me off is the girl. She’s around eight, and she pleads with me silently with strange gray eyes while hugging a nasty ass teddy bear under her chin. Her angelic face almost undoes me. Then I remember these assholes took my parrot, and tell her to go to hell.

  She falls into a puddle of tears, and I refuse to need to save her. I refuse to need food and touch, and refuse to miss the song. The blinding light seems to dim and I relish in stale, dead air and accept the end of everything.

  Hours or days pass. My cursed blood slams into the walls of my veins. I’ve stopped healing. Soon, I’ll lose my power entirely. Shuffled footsteps meet my ears. The white lights they had on turn dull yellow. I blink him into focus.

  It’s Colonel Jax, the top dog of Compound Six. Their fearless leader. I’m surprised to see him, even though I shouldn’t be. His steps are very distinct. Too light. Like a dancer, even though he’s this brick wall of a man. His dancer stride matches his whisper of a voice. It doesn’t make any sense. His voice should thunder. His feet should thud.

  One of his C6 lackeys follow him into my cage.

  “Bag him,” Jax says in that woman’s voice that I fucking hate. The lackey steps around him and closes in on me, then throws a pillow case over my head.

  This should be good. I’m almost dead, which means they’re running out of time. Whatever sadistic bargaining chip they have planned will have to top the beatings, the shock, and the solitary confinement.

  “Observation room three,” Jax whispers again over the sound of my chains being undone.

  I want to laugh about how desperate they must be. But everything is hunger and pain. So, I try to guess what Colonel Jax has left in his book of horrors. More kids maybe, only younger and with big dreams? My mind starts to go over the possibilities when another set of feet shuffle behind me.

  Four hands pull me up and drag me from my cage. I try to count how many ticks they pull me down the hall, but my mind can only stutter unfocused thought. I have no idea how long it is until they throw me into another room. Into another chair.

  Someone strips the stifling fabric away from my face. That same someone chains me back up, puts the muzzle back over my mouth, then backs away. The door slams shut. I blink the room into focus. Not much to look at. A little bigger than my cage. I’m seated at a small, white table.

  Light flickers in front of me, drawing my gaze. A two-way mirror flickers into focus. The other side is a dark mirror of the room I’m in.

  I squint through the darkness and thick glass. There is a blur of movement. I try to clear my throat and swallow more crab grass. In the middle of my hacking, a young girl, probably around twelve years old is led into the room.

  My dying heart stalls. Then picks up speed, painfully pumping searing blood through my body until I sit twitching from the pain.

  The girl. She’s actually exactly twelve years old. Since I lost my ticks, I don’t know exactly how twelve she is. Maybe she’s been twelve for a week. Maybe she’s almost thirteen.

  Her polished green eyes are wide, eyebrows twisted in fear. Her head darts around the room as she struggles with the group of Enforcers that chain her to the chair.

  It’s Sadie.

  “No,” I say, trying to lean forward. I blink and shake my head. How?

  My eyes burn. I twist my arms into painful knots. Jerk against my restraints.

  On the other side of the glass, a small door I can’t see squeals open. The clink-clang of iron chains pounds in the speakers of observation room three.

  Sadie’s mouth gapes, a mangled scream rips from her throat.

  The scream turns my fatigue into violent desperation.

  A huge, grey-bodied blur flies at her, teeth snapping.

  It’s a berserker. One of their monsters.

  The thing stops just inches away from her. Growling and chomping on its own arms to free itself. To get to her.

  I spit curses at the bastards.

  They found Sadie.

  They found my fucking voice.

  For the first time in however many ticks, I tell Compound Six yes.

  I wake up feeling like crap. My blood swims with something that makes me hazy. I feel weighed down. Like the six Enforcers it took to put me down are laying on top of me. I blink to get the darkness out of my eyes. Then, I try to shake of the lingering nightmare of Sadie eating her way through whatever is left of the world.

  How the hell did they find her?

  I pull myself forward and meet resistance. Of course. When I jerk my arms, metal cuffs bite into my wrists. With a grunt, I jerk them up and down, bouncing chain metal off the walls, trying to free myself. I try shouting her name. My tongue feels buried under a pile of rock salt. A parched shout that sounds like gibberish when it hits my ears is all that comes out.

  By the time the door squeals open, I’ve tired myself out trying to get to her. My eyes narrow as the bald and towering Colonel glides toward me.

  “I want to see her.” The words burn up my vocal chords. I hack like a veteran smoker. “Now.”

  “First thing’s first, Mr. Richards.” Jax pulls a key from the pocket of his flowering trench coat. I glare at him as he unlocks my cuffs. As soon as I’m free, I ball my hands into fists and shove them behind my back.

  It would be bad to pound his meaty head in. Not before I know that Sadie is safe.

  “You agreed to help us under duress. You understand that we need to make it official?”

  My teeth grind. “I’m not agreeing to shit until I see her.”

  Jax pouts and lowers his gaze like a woman. It makes me want to pry his lips off his face. During my fantasy, footsteps echo off the walls from further down the hallway.

  “Mr. Richards,” Jax whispers again. “Are you going to be difficult?”

  A huge dude enters the room and freezes behind Jax. He’s stuffed to the ears with sci-fi looking weapons. Scars are etched into his face. Like from fingernails.

  He’s a C6 Wrangler. A monster cowboy. He’s probably the same fuckstick that brought the berserker to threaten Sadie with. The two assholes just
stand there like we’re waiting for a hot bitch to pour us tea. Like this another Sunday afternoon.

  My tongue hardens in my mouth. I hope nothing emotional is on my face. I don’t want them to have anything else. They already have enough.

  “Fine.” I push the word out. “I’ll get your damn cure. Just, let me see her.”

  Jax claps, and then waves the Wrangler off. “Very good.”

  He leans over to help me up. I throw him off, but he just wraps his arm around me and guides me to the door.

  Nothing homo. He’s just letting me know he owns my ass. That he owns all of us. Then I realize I don’t know how many of us are left.

  I trudge beside him through the stink of unwashed flesh and decay. I try to keep my eyes forward and hum music in my head to shut out sound. But it’s hard to black out wails like this. High pitched. Desperate. A symphony for all things inhuman. I swallow down what feels like gravel in my throat.

  I hate how my blood rushes in response to it—the need to call out to them—to give them what they need. Doing nothing about the misery makes me weaker, forcing me to lean into a motherfucker I hate just to stay on my feet. At the end of the hall, I breathe relief, and topple into an elevator. I pay no attention to the buttons or lights, or to how many seconds it takes before the ding sounds out, signaling we’ve reached whatever floor.

  I just let Jax pull me along. Stumbling behind, I snap myself back awake. My gaze waves in and out of focus. We’re in a room lined with small, silver boxes on either side. They look like high tech phone booths. Bodies enter and exit, crossing one another all busy and blank faced. At the far end of the hall, I spot two cream colored double doors. My eyes are locked on a petite woman rushing beyond those doors when Jax shoves me into one of the booths.

  With a gasp, I crash onto a hard, cool bench.

  “What the…” I scrunch up in the small space, and Jax slides the door shut. I glare out at him through the smoky glass. He’s poking at something I can’t see. I only hear the beeps. Like he’s dialing a telephone.

  A low hiss fills my ears. Then, a small drawer shoots open in front of me. A gleaming, red hand imprint blinks off and on. My head tilts onto my shoulder as I study the rest of the booth. There is a small screen embedded in the wall before me with a keypad at the left side.

  Another drawer shoots open, this one with metallic headphones. I jerk my head back to glare at Jax and mouth, “What the fuck?” He mimes for me, covering his hands with his ears, and pointing at the headset.

  I’d laugh at the bastard if my blood weren’t ripping at my insides. But it is, so I roll my eyes and turn around to put on the headset.

  A robotic, feminine voice drones in my ears. I only catch every fourth word or so. Something about a contract I’m entering and something about a team and a mission.

  My eyes start to droop. The words run together in my skull until they don’t make sense. Then, something searing clamps around my wrists. It jerks me awake in time for she-bot to ask for my handprint.

  I blink at the silver cuff as it forces my hand to the blinking surface. It heats under my fingers, then a gust of air shoots into the booth, blowing out my dreadlocks and making my ears pop.

  I scream, ripping off the headset. I start to turn to glare at Jax again, when more machine parts clamp on my neck. The headphones are forced back on my ears. Another metal restraint secures itself around my waist.

  “What the…”

  “C6 Soldier Pike. Scan incomplete. Please resume,” she bot says, then my hand is forced back into the mold.

  “Pike Richards identified. Tagging.”

  I let out a stupid, jock-like grunt. “Say what?” Another low hiss fills the cramped area. Then, something sharp and white-hot stabs into the back of my neck.

  “Ah! Fuck me!” I pull away from the pain, but whatever the hell is slicing into me doesn’t want to let go. It actually wants to see how deep it can go. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I slam my free hand into the sides of the booth. The bitch whirls and vibrates. There is a low pop. Then, whatever is in my neck retreats.

  As soon as I’m free, the metal restraints let me go and I collapse to the floor. My face smashes into the side of the glass before the doors slide open, and I topple out. Jax reaches down, grasps me by the shirt collar, and helps me up. I lean against the rape booth for support.

  “Very good!” Jax whispers. “The mainframe is just printing your mission objectives. Then, I will take you to Miss Evans.”

  I pant and shudder, listening to the sound of an ink jet printer, and glare at the Colonel. “Fuck was that?” I almost snarl.

  After months of torture, letting my cursed blood slowly off me, and getting my ass handed to me by a phone booth, the snarl isn’t very impressive. But right now, it still makes me feel better.

  “Oh, these are the Compound Six manuals. Our workers receive orders and, often, training in them. They are each programmed to specific skill sets. Then these beauties feed into our mainframe.”

  I wipe my mouth with my hand, wondering why he didn’t just say a bunch of fucking computers, and then my eyes rest on his eye patch and move on.

  I’m still breathing hard when he hands me a dark blue folder. “No... Colonel. What did it do to my frickin' neck?”

  Jax half smiles. “That’s just a little insurance. You will, after all, be leaving the Compound. I have to be able to keep eyes on you.”

  I match his smile. Tagged like a fucking blue whale. I rub the tender skin at the back of my neck. Then, I sway on my feet and grip the booth tighter to stay upright. Jax extends his arms so that they hover over me without touching, just in case he needs to catch me.

  “Perhaps you should rest up first. Eat maybe. Then, I can arrange for Sadie to…”

  “No.” I cough, then shake my head to push back the dizziness. “No, I see her now. That was the deal.”

  Jax stares me down with his good eye, then nods his head over my shoulder. A woman appears at my left side. She tucks her shoulder under my armpit and pulls me away from the booth I’m clinging to for life.

  I glance down at her in surprise. She’s stronger than she looks.

  I let her lead me all the way down the hall and through the double white doors at the end. There, the only pair of eyes worth living for, hell worth dying for, study me in disgust.

  2

  Strong girl leads me into a room with a big, round conference table. All the other structures float to the periphery. The only thing I can really see is the table and Sadie. She turns from where she’s seated and jumps up.

  I breathe a little easier. She’s still human and she’s running toward me. I hold out my arms, and she skids to a halt. I shift my weight between both legs and open my arms wider.

  “Shorty?”

  As she backs away she pinches her nose and her face screws up like she smells shit. I sniff the air and almost wretch.

  She does smell shit. My cheeks puff out because now that she smells me, I smell me too. And, real talk, I smell worse than a pile of troll vomit.

  “Um, you can stay over there.” She returns to the chair she was just seated in. “You smell like ass.”

  “Watch your mouth,” I say, walking over to sit a considerate three chairs away from her. This bitch is comfortable. They still have leather at the end of the world.

  “So,” I say, leaning across the table to get a better look at her. “You okay? Hurt? Hungry?”

  Her chin juts out. “I’m fine. They wouldn’t have caught me if I didn’t go back for…” She shakes her head, fanning out the massive pile of dark curls on top of her head. “Anyway. I’m doing better than you.” She leans over the table and mirrors me. Her lips press into a thin line. “I can’t believe you let them catch you.”

  “I missed you too, kid.”

  “Or that you agreed to help these asshats.” She leans farther across the table and pinches my arm.

  “Ow!” I rub the spot as she jerks back out of my reach with a smug grin. “I said watch your
mouth. You sound like a dirty douche. And try some manners on, jackass.”

  She shoves out her lower lip, and her face wrinkles until her eyes disappear in a mess of creases.

  “What have I told you about making this face?” I trace a circle in the air in front of her. “Shit ain’t cute.”

  She swats at my hand, and I jerk away with a grin. All I get for my charm is another glare.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re doing this for me.” She glares at me with double-dare-you eyes.

  I square my shoulders and hit her with my stern face. Eyes narrowed with quiet warning. “Don’t worry about all that. How are they treating you?”

  She shakes her head. “You’re an idiot.”

  Her mother was better with stern face. I sigh. “You used to be so adorable.”

  She slaps her hand down on the table and sits up straight. “Are you helping them because of that stupid promise you made to my mom?” She raises her eyebrow, giving me her full on know-it-all pose.

  My stomach knots like one of those big ass pretzels we used to eat from the mall. I sit up straighter, gulp down my remorse. By the time I have a speech ready, she’s running at the mouth again.

  “God, Pike! Get over it! You can’t help them get this cure! They did this shit! And you haven’t been out there. It’s crap. Floods, darkness, women eating their own fucking babies!” Fear shrink-wraps her eyes. “And you’re helping the people responsible.”

  My throat tightens. Something that tastes like bile tickles the back of my throat. I let her get away with using the f word. Once kids see women eating babies, the innocence is gone.

  “They were going to turn you into a monster. And... I promised your mom I’d…” I try straightening up. “And I’m not just helping them. I’m helping you. I’m only helping you.”

  “My mom won’t care. She’s dead remember? You killed her.”

  Ouch.

  I miss Sadie being eight. Good year. They don’t have any claws at that age. Puberty hits and they can’t get over anything. Like, people killing their mothers. In my defense, the woman, Hope, was going to kill herself anyway. I tried to keep her alive as long as I could, for Sadie. Not that it helps the guilt. Or Sadie’s anger.