Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  He dropped next to a trashcan full of fishbones and soiled aprons.

  “See…” Ignatius said. “You don’t…monologue—”

  He wavered, lightheaded, and plopped down on a nearby box with a muffled thump. His wand retracted up his sleeve on its own, thankfully; otherwise, he was liable to drop it among the garbage.

  “Ignatius?” It was Frieda again, her voice distant.

  “I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

  Sherlock barked, then the bark quickly changed into a growl.

  “We don’t have a minute,” Frieda said. “Come on, up we go.” She seized him under his arms and helped him to his feet.

  Down the way, then between two wooden buildings, Frieda pulled Ignatius onto the road. The dust of the battle near the gate hadn’t settled yet; had it, they wouldn’t have been able to linger. Torches bobbed in the darkness where Maria had been. Though Frieda didn’t know her well, she wished the young witch good fortune, and knew they would meet again before their journey was over.

  They cut across the road into an array of other darkened buildings. The voices passed them as they leaned up against the backside of a butcher’s shop.

  “I think we are okay for now,” Frieda said.

  “We must regroup with Maria,” Ignatius said. “I’m too weak to be of any use to you, Frieda. That last bit of magic took a lot out of me.”

  “Where do you think she went?”

  “The dungeons. I heard the guard talking of the dungeons.” Ignatius looked to Sherlock. He patted his thigh and the Bloodhound obediently came toward him. “Can you guide us to the dungeons, Sherlock?”

  Sherlock nodded.

  “Good boy.”

  His tail beat the ground.

  Ignatius ruffled the fur behind his ears. “Go on, lead us.”

  “Ignatius, let me go. I will find her and bring her back. Just stay here and rest. If they come looking down this way, you can—”

  Ignatius got up. The movement was quicker than Frieda would’ve expected. “No, I will not let you plunge into chaos on your own. We are bonded together by a shared purpose, and together we will go.”

  Frieda knew there was no persuading Ignatius. Men were always so hardheaded, often to their undoing.

  She only hoped she wouldn’t witness his.

  Seeing they were ready to move, Sherlock bounded down the alleyway toward the town square beyond.

  The first thing Maria asked the old man, once they were safely hidden, was if he had seen a Gnome in the dungeons he had come from.

  The man shook his head. “I haven’t seen a Gnome in many a year.”

  Maria asked for his name again, and why he thought it a good idea to take the men five on one.

  “I am Castro,” the old man whispered. “And those bastards murdered my family.”

  Maria had broken into one of the abandoned buildings. She wasn’t exactly sure, but judging by the birdcages and stacks of letters, she thought it was the Oriceran equivalent of a post office. She and Castro sat in the shadows, hunched low so their heads were below the front windows.

  “You should’ve let me die,” the old man said.

  “Quiet,” Maria said. Her sword was sheathed now, and the music box in her satchel seemed to hum.

  “I escaped to defend their honor. My wife. My daughter—she was only a girl of your age. She had so much life ahead of her.” The man put his head in his hands.

  “You do, too. Now be grateful.”

  “How can I live when there’s nothing left to live for?”

  Maria gripped the hilt of her sword and turned toward him. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it to be—”

  The man fell backward, his hands up. Luckily, he didn’t make too much noise.

  “That’s what I thought. For now, our sole focus is survival.” Maria didn’t let go of the hilt. Outside, a group of hooded figures stalked the streets with torches in their fists.

  “Find them,” a deep voice said. “Search every building, every closet, every flour sack, everything! Just find them!”

  “Yes, Hunter,” the others answered in chorus.

  Maria turned back to Castro. “Time is short, buddy. I need to know for sure what I’m dealing with.” She offered him a smile, which she knew probably came off more like a grimace. “Enlighten me.”

  “They call themselves the Dragon Tongue,” Castro answered. “They practice dark magic. That is all I know, besides the fact that they are cold-blooded murderers. They took the town only a fortnight ago.”

  “Dragon Tongue. So it’s really happening,” Maria said, mostly to herself.

  “What is?” Castro’s face screwed up in confusion, like he’d just stuck his tongue on a lemon. “You can’t actually believe in the Rogue Dragons, young lady. Such winged-beasts could never exist."

  “Oh, there’s a lot I never thought I could believe in.” She shook her head. “So nothing has happened with the lake?”

  “Fever?”

  “ ‘Lake Fever’? That’s the name you all gave it? That’s not really inviting.”

  “Nor is it supposed to be. The fish, you see, are our main export. The founder's of this wonderful place gave the lake its name to scare away foreigners who were trying to stake their claim.”

  “Makes sense,” Maria admitted. “But, no offense, I don’t think I’d want fish that came out of Lake Fever.”

  Castro nodded. “Neither do the customers. That’s why we tell them we get the fish from upriver, near the Light Elves’ Kingdom. Amazing what people will pay for fresh fish these days.”

  “Now, when you say fish, do you mean little floppy things with eyes on each side of their bodies, and fins, and gills?”

  Castro cocked an eyebrow at Maria. “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m not from here…hello?”

  “Yes! That’s what I mean. The lake has the best fish I’ve ever had the honor of tasting.”

  “Still…’Lake Fever’? Bleh. I don’t even know if my Bloodhound would eat fish from a place with that name. No, never mind. If he can eat dead squirrel and gush over it like it’s some fancy, five-star dining experience, then he can eat Lake Fever fish.”

  “Bloodhound?”

  “Right, the other worlds thing; I’ll explain in due time. You’ll probably have the chance to meet him. Just don’t say anything about Gnomes.”

  “Wretched creatures,” Castro said.

  “Have you ever met a Raffin? Never mind. Speaking of Gnomes, I have to find Gelbus. I know he’s here.”

  “Trust me,” Castro whispered, “I’ve seen no Gnomes in town, and I have lived here all my life.”

  “No offense, Castro, but I’d like to see for myself. You said there was more than one dungeon, right?”

  Castro nodded. “They separated my family from me, and the one called Hunter killed them when I tried to break out the first time. He smiled the whole time he watched them bleed— Oh, no, I think I’m going to be sick.” Castro leaned away behind the front counter and retched as quietly as he could. Though it didn’t sound like anything came up.

  Poor guy. Don’t worry, you’ll get your revenge…or I will get it for you.

  Once Castro was done, Maria got up into a crouch and looked out the front window. The streets were bare for the moment. She saw no torches, but, most importantly, she saw no sign of Ignatius, Sherlock, or Frieda. She hoped they were safe, hiding somewhere the dragon freaks couldn’t get to them.

  Suddenly, the door in the building across the street opened. It looked like a bank. Out came three hooded Dragon Tongue with their torches held low. They conversed quietly with one another, their words only muffled syllables coming through the wall. One of them nodded and pointed to the post office.

  “Shit,” Maria said under her breath, and turned to Castro. “Looks like rest time is over. C’mon, let’s find a way out.”

  Castro nodded, but there was fear and apprehension in his eyes.

  Maria led the way through the back room, maneuverin
g through barrels filled to the brim with white envelopes and rolled parchment. It smelled of dust so strongly, she had to pinch her nose on more than one occasion to stop from sneezing.

  They reached the back door where they had entered. Maria opened it a crack and looked down the alleyway. If it weren’t for the footsteps she heard, she would’ve swung it open all the way. Luckily she didn’t. Three more guards were near the back door, talking in low murmurs. One sniffed the air deeply.

  Maria eased the door closed and turned back to Castro’s horrified face.

  “Looks like that path is out of the equation. Any other exits?”

  Castro’s mouth turned to a grim line, and he looked to the ceiling.

  After a moment, he said, “There is one other way. We may not both fit.” He patted his gut. “The fisherman’s life has been too kind to me, but you will fit without a problem. Though, you are quite tall…”

  “Yeah, I am, thanks for noticing."

  “Sorry,” Castro said, giving an apologetic shrug.

  Through the window, Maria didn’t see any torches. Maybe they went around the back and those guys were the same ones I’d seen. Maybe we can walk right out the front door without them noticing.

  Castro gripped the handle of a large drawer built right into the wall. It was a tight squeeze, but Maria thought both of them could fit.

  The old man opened it slowly, and it made a slight creak that hung in the silent air for much too long. Maria’s heart thundered in her chest, her blood raced in her ears.

  “In you go,” Castro urged.

  Maria peered into the slot and saw a small pile of parchment, scrolls, and boxes wrapped in brown paper and tied with white string. It was a mail slot—the place where the citizens of Ashbourne went to drop off what they wanted the Oriceran Postal Service to deliver all over the world. Maria was sure there was some kind of magic involved in the process, too; heck, there was probably magic involved with the United States Postal Service.

  As she stuck one foot into the opening and began easing the other one in, Castro hissed between his teeth for her to hurry up. She caught the glow of a torch coming across the street, right up to the door. The Dragon Tongue hadn’t disappeared.

  Shit, not good.

  Castro took to helping her get her other foot in, but realized quickly that it was too late. The Dragon Tongue’s torches were closer.

  Meanwhile, not far from the post office, Ignatius, Frieda, and Sherlock made their way to the town square; the dungeons were located just beyond.

  Sherlock led the way, searching out with his mind, calling for Maria.

  Maria! Maria!

  So far he was getting no response.

  This is not good. Sadness started to overtake him, and every step forward was numbing. What if she’s hurt…or worse, what if she’s dead?

  Maria! Please answer me!

  “This way,” Frieda whispered.

  Ignatius caught Sherlock’s collar, causing the dog to pull up short. Had he taken just one more absentminded step, he would’ve gone right out into the road, where a gang of Dragon Tongue, carrying torches, huddled in front of a building.

  Oh, Maria, please be okay—

  A smell invaded his nostrils. It was sweet and…familiar.

  Maria!

  She couldn’t respond telepathically, but he knew she was close.

  “Sherlock, c’mon!” Ignatius hissed. “We are losing our chance.”

  But Sherlock held his ground; his muscles going rigid, his tail pointing upward, and his nose pointed toward the building diagonal to the alleyway they were currently in. He focused his nose and honed in on the building. He smelled the bitter sweat and smoldering fire of the enemy, but beyond that, he smelled Maria and— fish guts! The fisherman! The old guy she tried to save. Mmm. Fish guts. No, no time to think about food. Gotta save Maria. Gotta get Ignatius and Frieda to help me. Gotta—

  Suddenly, he smelled something else—a scent all too familiar to him, no matter what world he was on. It was the smell of mailmen, and letters, and packages. For all he knew, they were part of a secret society that was out to get all dogs, but especially him. Not to mention they’d sent him that Cat Magazine when he didn’t want it…at least not really.

  A low, rumbling growl revved in Sherlock’s chest.

  “Sherlock, we must keep moving,” Ignatius pressed, but Sherlock barely heard him.

  He only heard the footsteps of the mailman coming up the walkway, and the letters and coupon books shuffling around in his big, blue messenger bag.

  He growled louder now.

  “What is it?” Frieda asked, her voice alarmed.

  She and Ignatius walked up to Sherlock and saw that he was growling at the post office—a place that was, as far as Ignatius was concerned, all but defunct and useless, with magic so prominent on Oriceran.

  Sherlock watched as one of the Dragon Tongue broke away from the group, and went straight for the post office door.

  He’s going to open it, and Maria will be exposed, and our mission will be ruined. I’ll never get to meet that Gnome named Gelbus, never get to pee on the bastard. Worst of all, Maria will be gone. I have to do something, and fast!

  Since Ignatius and Frieda wouldn’t listen to him, he decided to take matters into his own paws.

  His low growling changed to deep barks. Had you never known Sherlock and heard that bark, you would’ve thought it had come from a stone-cold killer—not a dog who spent most of his time curled up with half-eaten garbage and dead squirrels, while he watched the same silly soap operas his master did…and quite enjoyed them.

  Luckily, the Dragon Tongue knew none of this. When they heard his barks rip through the air, they snapped their heads in the sound’s direction, and the one whose burning hand—via some dark magic—was on the doorknob, dropped his hand.

  Maria, this is for you! Sherlock bellowed at the top of his mental lungs. Then he tore off barking and snarling, spit flying in all directions, toward the group of Dragon Tongue.

  Behind him, he faintly heard Ignatius curse under his breath; then he heard their footsteps following.

  Barking erupted from across the street, shattering the mostly-deserted town’s quiet. It was so vicious it never even crossed her mind that it could be Sherlock’s. She thought it had come from some great beast.

  A dragon? No, dragons roar; at least, in the movies they do.

  It was only when she peeked over the window ledge that she realized it was her Bloodhound. He was ripping through the street at a million miles an hour toward the frozen Dragon Tongue.

  “Sherlock,” she breathed. Then she pulled her foot out of the mail drawer, bringing out a few letters that were stuck to her sole, and went for the door. Through its window, she saw Gramps and Frieda appear on the street shortly after Sherlock.

  Gramps’s wand was out and aimed at the lead Dragon Tongue. His lips moved soundlessly, pronouncing words and incantations that Maria hadn’t the slightest clue about, and the tip of his wand glowed with ferocious, electric fire. A burst of energy zapped through the night air and took the lead Dragon Tongue in the shoulder with all the force of a gunshot. The man flew five feet across the road until he landed on his ass with a smack against the post office’s facade, rattling the glass windows in their frames.

  Maria’s hand found the hilt of her sword. She was ready to throw the door open, when a rough hand grabbed her from behind, startling her out of her focus.

  It was Castro. How could I have forgotten about him when he was right there?

  “What are you doing?” he whispered furiously.

  “That’s my family. I have to help them.”

  “It’s suicide. There’s nearly a dozen Dragon Tongue out there, and more on the way.”

  Maria shed his grip and reached for the doorknob again. “That’s exactly why I have to go out there and help them. I took out five by myself. I think the odds are in our favor—”

  Just as she was about to plunge into the chaos, a great burs
t of fire erupted in the street. The explosion was like that of a grenade, shattering the sound barrier, the heat baking her through the cracks in the building. She had to shield her eyes from the brightness and drop down to her knees to avoid the glass that burst from the front door.

  Bodies thudded against the porch and the building. Some of the Dragon Tongue screamed out in pain and anguish. Maria raised herself up, crunching shards of glass beneath her knees and barely noticing the pain as the pieces jabbed into her flesh, drawing blood.

  She expected the flames to have come from the Dragon Tongue, so much so that she was afraid to breathe. She was already mentally preparing herself to see Ignatius, Sherlock, and Frieda dead in the road.

  Instead, elation found her as she saw Frieda crouched low in front of Ignatius, both alive, and Sherlock snarling a little to her left. In Frieda’s palms, a pale flame, the color of lightning, burned bright.

  It was her! So she can do more than light up dark tunnels.

  She was also surprised to see the dark witch’s eyes turning cloudy.

  Only two more Dragon Tongue stood. The rest had been blasted down the road or into the surrounding buildings.

  But Castro was right…more were coming.

  Frieda saw them, and more flames burst from her palms. The robes of the leading three caught fire, but they kept coming.

  I have to go. I have to go now.

  Maria opened the door. As she started to slip into the open, the overhang the only thing concealing her from either friend or foe, her eyes went wide.

  Dragon Tongue had flanked Ignatius and Frieda.