Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  “NO!” Maria shouted, afraid her voice would be lost in the chaos.

  Gramps heard her, however, and squinted up in her direction—but it was too late.

  The Dragon Tongue brandished their dark blades, which reflected the pale flames. And with a jerk, the blades found their way around Gramps’s and Frieda’s necks. Then Frieda’s flames sputtered out. The two uttered a strangled cry. One wrong move and their throats were slit.

  Maria lunged forward, but Castro caught her arm and pulled her back into the post office. None of the Dragon Tongue noticed.

  Gramps did, though, and in his eyes, Maria saw hope. Then she hit the floor hard enough for the breath to be knocked out of her.

  Go ahead and touch me, asshole. Maria could still hear Sherlock, his voice faint in her head. I’ll bite your forked tongue and yank it right out of your mouth, you lizard-faced bastard!

  Then he yelped, and Maria heard his voice no more. She scrambled up, wrestling with Castro.

  “Let go of me!” she whispered loudly. “You idiot!”

  By the time he let her go, the Dragon Tongue were dragging the unconscious bodies of her family toward the dungeons beyond the town square.

  She was so furious she could’ve struck Castro down right then and there—but the old fisherman stood his ground, his back straight and his shoulders squared up to face her. She had taken out the Dragon Tongue near the fence, but she wasn’t a killer. Through the rage, she knew Castro had been protecting her. Had Maria gone into the battle, there was no telling for sure if she would’ve walked out of it victorious…or even alive.

  “The Dragon Tongue won’t kill them,” Castro assured her. “Your family might get hurt or tortured—their time in the dungeons won’t be a vacation—but the Dragon Tongue won’t kill them until they’re done doing whatever it is they’re doing at the lake…or unless they try to escape.”

  Maria gulped. She couldn’t say for sure that Gramps wouldn’t try to escape; he was quite stubborn in his ways. If anybody could escape without harm, though, it was Ignatius Apple. The Ferod.

  “We can’t let them raise the dragon,” Maria said. Her throat felt tight, the size of a needle’s point. “If they do, then not only will all those in captivity die, but the dragon will burn this town to ashes.”

  Castro chuckled soundlessly. “Dragon? That will be the day.”

  “I don’t have time to convince you, but you’re in this with me now, whether you like it or not.”

  Castro’s smile vanished. He nodded solemnly. “I know. I know all too well.” He looked at the sword in Maria’s hand, which glowed in the flames from outside. “I just need one of those. Though I’ve never handled one myself; I can’t imagine it’s much different than a fishing pole and a net.”

  Maria arched an eyebrow. “It’s so much—”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Castro raised a hand and shook his head.

  “Come on, you must show me where the dungeons are, or this whole town is going to be toast.”

  “Toast?”

  “Right, I keep forgetting. Different planets.”

  They went out the front door. The street was deserted again. The unconscious or dead members of the Dragon Tongue had already been carried off. Maria and Castro stuck to the shadows.

  One building away from the post office, Castro stopped and peered at something settled on the ground near a store that had a red roof and letters on the front windows that Maria couldn’t understand. It looked to Maria to be a general goods store; though what would be considered “general goods” in Oriceran was beyond her.

  Maria noticed what Castro was staring at. “Go ahead, take it. You might need it. If not for protection, at least for intimidation.”

  “If only my father could see me now,” Castro wheezed. He swiped a hand through his greasy gray hair, combing the wispy strands over his bald pate. “A generational fisherman picking up a sword—a sword from a Dragon Tongue, at that!”

  “Funny how life works out sometimes, huh? If you knew my story, you wouldn’t think it was too crazy to just pick up a sword.”

  “One day, Maria, I’m sure all the worlds will know your story,” Castro said with a smile.

  She could tell he meant it, and that warmed her heart and terrified her beyond belief.

  Castro took the handle of the sword and inhaled deeply. Maria cringed, expecting the hilt to burn his flesh upon the first touch. That didn’t happen, thankfully, though the blade evoked a certain type of malice.

  Now Castro examined the sword with a furrowed brow. He looked as if he was staring evil directly in the face. In some way, he was. It was just a normal sword without the dark magic behind it, but Castro no doubt felt something.

  “I hope I won’t have to use this,” he said.

  “You probably won’t,” Maria lied. “It’s just for intimidation.” She gave the old man a wink.

  “That wasn’t all of them!” a voice said, freezing them to the spot. “There was a witch with a sword, and another old man.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The voices grew closer. Maria gripped Castro and pulled him roughly into an alleyway; this one was paved. As they grew closer to the center of the town, so were the streets.

  “Don’t question me,” the Dragon Tongue bellowed. “Or I’ll rip your forked tongue straight from your mouth, Hex.”

  The one named Hex replied, “I’m sorry, Hunter.”

  Hunter continued, “I want the gates guarded around the clock. If four of them found their way in, then there will be more—perhaps a whole army of those damn so-called good witches and wizards. I will not have anything stand in the way of raising our master. Do you understand me, Hex?”

  “Y-Yes, sir,” Hex answered. He sounded beyond frightened.

  “If there is another slip-up, I will have not only your tongue, but also your eyes. The last thing you’ll ever see is my blade, just before I pry them from your empty head!”

  The voices grew ever closer. We have to get out of here before our cover is blown. Maria took a shuffling step back, and her ankle suddenly twisted as she landed on Castro’s deerskin moccasin.

  “Ow,” he said much too loudly.

  The steps coming up the paved road stopped. Maria’s blood stilled in her veins, and her hand found the hilt of her sword. She swung her messenger bag out of the way, noting the music box’s hefty weight. Part of her mind told her she didn’t hear their footfalls anymore because they’d crossed from the paved part of the road onto the dirt, but that, she knew, was wishful thinking.

  To further solidify that point, Hunter said, “Did you hear that?”

  “From there,” Hex said.

  Maria could picture the cloaked men pointing at the alley.

  Castro tugged on Maria’s sleeve. She whipped her head around and saw him pointing at something in the middle of the pavement. It was a rectangular metal slab.

  “The sewer?” she asked.

  He looked at her, confused. Right, different worlds. Instead, he waved her forward as he walked the few steps toward it, and pried the slab of metal up and out of the pavement.

  “I’ll check it out,” Hex said, his voice nasally. Then Maria heard the sound of a sword unsheathing, of metal scraping.

  “Let’s go,” Castro said, so quiet his voice was barely a whisper.

  Maria’s sword was halfway out of its own sheath, but she let it fall back in, preparing to move.

  As she turned toward the sewer, the smell engulfed her.

  Guess sewers smell bad no matter what world I’m on; another universal truth to add to the travelogue.

  Unlike the post office bin they’d been trying to hide out in, the sewer offered enough room for both of them to fit, even if they went side by side. She shook her head and plugged her nose, then went first down the ladder rungs that were built directly into the dug out wall. Castro went next.

  Maria landed in the muck with a splash. Thank God I decided to put on boots before we came through the portal
. Above, the sewer cover scraped the pavement quietly, covering their tracks. Maria was reminded of the scraping sound that a crypt makes when sliding open. The thought was enough to give her chills.

  Once the cover closed completely, they were engulfed in utter blackness. It was almost as bad as the Cave of Delusion.

  “Wish I had a match,” Castro said. “Though I’m not completely sure I want to see what’s down here.”

  Muffled voices sounded above. “I’ll check behind, boss.”

  It was Hex. He sounded quite relieved that there was no one to fight.

  Yeah, you lucky bastard. I would’ve made you pay for taking my family from me. I will still make you pay. Just you wait.

  Footsteps thundered on the pavement over their heads, then faded.

  They were currently in the clear.

  “Can we get to the dungeons from here?” Maria whispered. The smell touched her tongue, and she had to stifle a gag.

  Castro didn’t answer.

  “Castro?”

  “I shrugged,” he said defensively.

  “I’m not a cat, I can’t see in the dark. So you don’t know if we can get to the dungeons through here?”

  “No. Do you think I spend most of my time down in this cesspool? Only the rats and Raffins do that.”

  Maria groaned, her posture sagging. “Raffins? You gotta be kidding me.”

  She patted her pockets for any sign of Milkbones; they were empty except for her cell phone—which was all but useless on Oriceran…she couldn’t even check the time—and a few loose items. Good. No Milkbones means I won’t have to worry about one of those things gnawing my face off.

  Now that they were in the clear, Maria closed her eyes—or she thought she did. It made no difference, because all she saw was blackness. She focused her senses, much like Sherlock had done when he found Maria in the post office, and drew upon the magic at the planet’s core, feeling it ripple through her arms and legs, letting it blaze in her chest. When she opened her eyes, the blackness was gone, and a low blue glow lit up the sewer. Tunnels stretched in every direction. The walls were made of multicolored brick, sweaty with condensation and muck. On each side of the running, grayish water, were ledges to stand on; once the two realized this, they hopped up onto them.

  Maria looked down at Castro’s moccasins. They were soaked through, almost to the point that she could see the outlines of his toes. Poor fellow, she thought sadly.

  He noticed her looking at them and shrugged, a twisted grimace on his face. “I am quite unprepared, for it’s not every day one thinks they’ll be wading through the town’s muck.”

  “Better than being murdered by those freaks up there,” she pointed to the underside of the rectangular sewer cap.

  “Very true. You Earthlings are wise.”

  “Thanks.” Maria looked down the tunnel, swiveling her head left and right. Ever since they’d come down the ladder into the darkness, her orientation had been off. She wasn’t sure which way they should be heading, so she asked, “Which direction to the dungeons?”

  Castro weighed the question for a moment, chewing on his chapped bottom lip. His teeth were jagged and discolored, but Maria had noticed on more than one occasion that the old man had a gentle smile, despite the worn look about his face.

  Must be all that time spent fishing on Lake Fever. All that time spent in the sun wears on one's face.

  He pointed to their left. “If I had to guess…that way.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty.”

  “Aw, thank you.” Maria said, giving him a fake curtsy. Castro just scowled.

  Whoosh; that’s the sound of the joke going right over his bald head. That’s okay, Maria, you’ve dealt with tough crowds before. Even though this really isn’t a time for jokes. I guess that’s just how I’m coping with my grandpa, dog, and newfound witchy friend being abducted by a bunch of freaks with forked tongues, dragon marks tattooed on their faces, and filed teeth. Man, it never stops getting weird.

  She put on a serious face. “All right, let’s go kick their dragon asses…or should I say, tails?”

  “Not funny,” Castro said.

  Maria threw her arms up, casting blue light on the dripping ceiling. “That’s it, I give up! You just have no sense of humor.”

  Chapter Three

  They traveled through the sewers for what seemed like hours, but in reality, was probably only fifteen minutes. Rats squeaked and scurried out of their way, some carrying old and rotten pieces of fruit, others with fishbones in their mouths, like small, creepy-looking dogs. Maria didn’t particularly like rats, especially when she was technically in their territory, and especially when the never-ending tunnel was mostly dark. She was, however, not surprised to see that they looked different than the rats of Earth. Their tails were mostly covered in fur, instead of the long, pink worm-looking ones that Earth rats possessed—but their eyes were red and glowing. That was bad enough.

  Voices caused the travelers to stop. That meant an exit was nearby; so far, they hadn’t seen one. Claustrophobia had begun to settle in on them both, but now there was a slight relief.

  Until the voices registered in her head—then that relief quickly deflated. They were not friendly, and one voice boomed loud above the others.

  “Tonight, the intruders will be sacrificed to the Dragon-God in the hope that more blood spilt in her honor will raise her stronger!”

  Cheers rose in response.

  “The old man, the old woman, and the dog. What a tragedy,” another voice said, this one closer, their tone mocking.

  The crowd laughed in response.

  Maria felt her face drain of all color. Her stomach clenched with queasiness. Sacrificed? Am I going to be too late to save them because I’m stuck underground, swimming in alien shit? No; no, I’m not, dammit! I’m gonna save them!

  “I’m sorry, Maria,” Castro whispered, though Maria barely heard it; she was focused on the voices coming from ahead. “I didn’t think they’d kill them. I swear—”

  Maria raised a hand to still his chatter.

  In the distant dark, she saw with her squinted eyes a grid of light—their way out. She pointed and jumped off the ledge, splashing in the gray water.

  “There!” she said in a raised whisper. “That’s where we need to go.”

  “All right,” Castro said. He didn’t instill much confidence with his tone. “But I’m staying on the ledge. My stockings are soaked enough as it is.”

  Maria didn’t hang around to make a joke about his ‘stockings,’ which she knew was just another term for socks. Castro wouldn’t get the joke, anyway. Sherlock would’ve had a ball with it, though. This thought made her run faster. She couldn’t live without her family, and she’d die trying to save them if that’s what it called for. She knew that with one hundred percent certainty.

  She reached the sewer grate in record time. It was a ways up on the wall, but Maria didn’t hesitate, jumping up to it and gripping the edge to pull herself high enough to see. Nor did she notice the amount of pain currently stabbing through her fingers. The grate’s metal was rusty and bit into her flesh with fangs sharper than the rats’, scurrying below.

  She saw a large, looming fountain made of carved stone. It was weathered now, but Maria could make out the faint shape of a flopping fish. Water wasn’t flowing; she had no clue if it worked anymore. Beyond that and past a few buildings, was the shimmering black lake—Lake Fever, the potential resurrection spot of a Rogue Dragon. Her eyes scanned the area until they settled on a platform a bit to the right of the fountain. Crowded in front of the raised platform were the Dragon Tongue, shifting from foot to foot in their black cloaks. Some held torches, others held their swords; but what really drew Maria’s eye, and almost caused her to drop into the gray water below, were the people currently kneeling on the platform with their heads in stockades.

  Her family, and they were about to be executed.

  Not if I can help it.

  Ang
er flowed through her. So did the hate. Maybe not the best emotions to have when conjuring magic, but they were damn effective. Maria had begun to gain control of her abilities, too, and she planned on using that newfound control to kill all of these freaks…or die trying.

  Her hands heated up, flaring with the blue magic. Sparks rose from the metal soundlessly as she melted the sides of the sewer grate. It was enough to make the grate waver. Maria threw her weight backward and pulled it free. Her motion was not loud enough to be heard over the rising babble of voices; rising, because someone dressed in a different cloak than the rest walked across the platform.

  “Hear me! Hear me, I beg!” this Dragon Tongue shouted. He talked with a slithery voice in a tone Maria thought would suit a snake. “Brethren, lock arms and send your thoughts to the black lake. Bring blood to your mind—the blood of those who oppose us. Let the wave of destruction pass over you, through your mind, your body, and your soul. For now we spill the blood of the witch, the wizard, and the dog.”

  Come near me with that fucking blade, and I’ll give you a homemade neutering, buddy! Sherlock threatened, his voice filling Maria’s mind.

  She discarded the grate and bent her knees, preparing to launch forward and crawl out into the main square. The crowd shifted, and from her place she could see how beaten Ignatius and Frieda looked; their hair hanging over their faces, their wrists raw and red from the rope wrapped tightly around them. Even Sherlock was in a stockade, except instead of his head, half of his body was pushed through so he couldn’t wiggle free. They tied a rope through his collar and around the stockade’s leg for good measure.

  Maria growled. The anger was damn near consuming her. She was going to make them pay.

  I mean it, motherfucker! I’ll use one of your nuts as a chew toy, and the other as a tennis ball! Sherlock said. There was no fear in his mental voice. Maria was proud of that.

  “Careful, Maria!” Castro said from behind her. “I’ll be right behind you.” He brandished his sword clumsily, but Maria knew he meant business.

  She nodded at him, glad she had saved his life. With the number of Dragon Tongue in the crowd, she knew getting out of this alive would be a joint effort.