Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  The Widow landed on the dais with her legs curled and her back arched. Harry saw the giant stinger protruding from her back end.

  Against his better judgment, Harry walked forward, his hand out in preparation of a greeting. “I don’t know if this is how you do it around here.”

  “You do not touch me,” the Widow boomed.

  “Oh, well, I thought it was polite to offer you a handshake.” Harry put his hand down.

  “Let’s get to business,” the Widow said, ignoring his antics.

  Her eyes were green, and Harry found himself entranced as he looked into them. He shook his head and blinked a couple times, trying to shake free from the hypnotic feeling that had come over him.

  “I-I, uh, appreciate that,” Harry said, his voice distant to his ears. “A businesswoman.”

  Fangs jutted out as the black lips of the Widow’s mouth parted. Harry cringed and then hoped against hope that she hadn’t noticed it.

  Of course she had, but it was such a common reaction from someone who was first seeing her that the Widow didn’t pay it any direct attention.

  “The Jewel of Deception,” the Widow began. “I’m sure my soldiers have filled you in on the mission.”

  “Eh, kind of. The details are bit hazy. No problem. Most of the jobs I do are hazy. But I always come out on top.” Harry brought his nails up to his mouth, breathed on them, and then he wiped them on his chest—a gesture that said, I’m hot stuff, no worries.

  “I understand most of your jobs do not require much violence,” the Widow said. She shifted, and the stone beneath her massive body groaned.

  “Right you are, your gracious Spider Queen,” Harry confirmed, a smile playing on his lips as he said the title. “It’s in and out.” He chuckled. “Sounds like my Saturday nights.”

  The Widow was not amused.

  “Oh, okay, I see you’re not the laughing type. My apologies.”

  There was only silence as the Widow’s bulbous green eyes bored deeper into Harry’s soul.

  She spoke after a long moment. “This will not be an easy task. Not like any you are used to.”

  “All of my missions are easy, no matter the difficulty. I’m that good…Okay, nothing? Not even a smile. Can Arachnids smile, anyway?” Harry asked.

  The Widow ignored him and went right on talking. “The Jewel of Deception is a very powerful tool—one that I am in dire need of, do you understand?”

  Harry nodded. He was beginning to get past the feeling of discomfort; now he just wanted to run. It was not something Harry was fond of doing in the face of fear, but it was sometimes required.

  “There will be quite the payment, if you lead my soldiers to success,” the Widow continued.

  “What type of payment?” Harry asked, perking up.

  He had been under the assumption (by the Arachnids) that he would have no choice but to steal the Jewel of Deception—if he wanted to continue living, that was. Normally, Harry didn’t take a job if there wasn’t payment, or if he couldn’t sell the artifact he was stealing for oodles of coin. He could’ve avoided the Arachnids easily enough, but the mention of the fabled Jewel of Deception had gotten his attention. If he got his hands on it then he could finally get those people of out the world in between. It was a just a matter of deceiving the Arachnids…and the Arachnids weren’t easily deceivable. They killed first and asked questions later, if at all.

  Harry didn’t dare think about any of this while in the presence of the Widow. Fabled as her legend had become, he knew there was definitely something…supernatural about her. It had been said that she could read minds, see into the past as clearly as if she were living in it, and even raise the dead.

  Did Harry believe all of that? No, not exactly.

  “Gold, jewels, treasure,” the Widow answered. “I’ve accumulated quite a fortune over my many years. You name your price upon completion, and when the Jewel of Deception is in my possession, I will let you have your pick.”

  Harry’s eyes lit up at that prospect. Maybe I could just let those dudes and dudettes hang out in the world in between a little longer. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a vacation. Imagine where I could go with a treasure in my possession! Yeah, Harry, you need some down time—No, Harry. Focus. You gotta get those people out. Keep your eye on the prize.

  “If you double-cross me, Harry the scavenger, I will not hesitate to kill you and the ones you love. Do you understand me?”

  Harry bowed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  “Good. There is something you need to know.”

  “What? This mission is risky, death is imminent, all that stuff? Yada-yada-yada.”

  “A powerful wizard seeks the Jewel as well.”

  “Who? Rhazdon?” Harry chuckled. “Gandalf? No, wait—that’s not an Oriceran wizard. That’s Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. You ever seen those movies? Big hits on Earth. Wait a second, was Rhazdon even technically a wizard?”

  “None of those,” the Widow responded. “His name is Ignatius Mangood.”

  The color drained from Harry’s face. “Ignatius Mangood.”

  “Yes, do you know of him?”

  “Do I?” Harry brought a shaky hand up to swipe fresh droplets of sweat from his forehead. He knew the legend of Ignatius Mangood all too well. That was one wizard whose bad side he didn’t want to be on.

  That changed things.

  Harry never thought of himself as either good or bad; more like he was in the middle, amidst a grayer area. He did what he had to do to survive and, on more than one occasion, thrive. A wizard like Ignatius Mangood wouldn’t understand that—he would see Harry as a villain. Legend stated that Ignatius wasn’t too fond of villains. Not to mention that Harry was technically working for Ignatius’s biggest villain—the Widow.

  “He will stop at nothing to retrieve the Jewel,” the Widow said. “The chances of death are high.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” Harry said, offering a fake smile. “But I work better when the chances of death are high.”

  “That’s why I sought you out,” the Widow said. Her voice was steady. It was the closest thing she could give to a compliment.

  Harry thanked her, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

  “Do you accept the mission? Will you lead my soldiers and bring back the Jewel of Deception?” she asked.

  Harry cocked his head. “Do I really have much of a choice?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer; he already knew it. He was in the Widow’s domain. If she wished to rip his head off and drink his blood like one of those Kool-Aid Jammers Harry was so fond of back on Earth, there was nothing stopping her.

  “I accept. When do we start?”

  The fangs revealed themselves again. This time, Harry caught a stench drifting from the Widow’s mouth. He shuddered at both the image and the scent. Quickly, he realized this was the Widow’s way of smiling—just as quickly, he realized he liked her much better when she didn’t try to smile.

  “Immediately,” she answered.

  “Immediately? I think we need to plan it out a little first—”

  “No time,” the Widow interrupted. “I fear Ignatius is making his way to the burial site of the Jewel of Deception as we speak.”

  “Well, when you put it that way…”

  Images of the great wizard flashed inside of Harry’s head. The bluish magic that Ignatius Mangood could conjure like lightning, roasting Harry alive.

  “Immediately,” the Widow repeated, her voice stern, unflinching.

  “Okay, I understand. I work better under pressure, like I said, but I want to see this treasure before I set out. I think you owe me that much.”

  The fangs came out again, and her great pincers clacked together, this time in a snarl.

  “You will go right now,” the Widow roared. Her voice shook the great chamber. Hot breath blew noxiously toward Harry, and he nearly passed out.

  “All right, I guess we’ll go now.” Harry started to back out of the cham
ber. He sensed a crazy rage about to burst forth from the giant spider, and he would rather deal with Ignatius Mangood’s magic than whatever the Widow was gonna do.

  Once Harry backed out of the cavern and made it into the shadows, he did what many others who had survived a meeting with the Widow did: he ran for his life. When he came out in the Dark Forest, he stumbled and nearly fell over. He caught himself at the last moment, making it seem like he had done it on purpose.

  The Arachnid guards who had stayed by the tangled entrance laughed, throwing their heads back.

  “Scared ya, did she?” one said.

  “Not even the slightest,” Harry answered. Dusting himself off, he stood up straighter. “Get ready, boys. I’m leading you to the promised land.”

  “We’ll see who leads,” one of the guards said with a snarl on his face.

  Harry walked closer to the Arachnid, trying not to let the fear show—and boy, was he scared. He stared into the eight red eyes and said, “Yeah, buddy, that’ll be me. Now round up your troops; we have a jewel to steal.”

  They stared blankly back at Harry.

  “Now!” Harry shouted.

  The Arachnids jumped at the sound of Harry’s voice and gave way. Soon, Harry was the only one left in the small clearing in front of the opening to the Widow’s lair.

  He had a smile on his face and big ambitions on his mind. Finding treasure. Getting those lost in the world in between out. Being a hero. And most of all: surviving.

  Chapter Six

  The clearing where Ignatius had buried his daughter all those years ago was almost exactly the same. Trees towered above him, and the sun was shining through their leaves. The only difference between then and now was that tall grass now covered Zimmy Ba’s final resting spot.

  Ignatius found that he couldn’t move. Behind him, Salem put a stern hand on his shoulder.

  “You okay, old friend?” he asked.

  Ignatius didn’t answer immediately. The truth was that he was not okay. In his head, the images of the past played out in grisly, technicolor detail. He remembered how hot the sun had been as he dug the hole, his only daughter lying dead next to him, wrapped up in a sheet. He remembered the sweat stinging his eyes, the handle of the shovel ripping open fresh blisters. He remembered crying silently for his lost daughter, cursing the Arachnids for their stupid war. He remembered it all.

  The old wound on his heart had scabbed over with time, but it tore open at the sight of the smooth land in front of him. Ignatius didn’t notice as he began walking forward again. The marker he had left above Zimmy’s grave—three sticks tied together, one bent to look like a half-moon—had blown over in time and was covered with long grass and lichen. The wood, which had been rich and brown on that terrible day, was now the pale color of a Blood Tree.

  Tears coursed down Ignatius’s cheeks, getting trapped and absorbed by his beard. Salem still kept a hand on his oldest friend’s shoulder. It had been quite awhile since he’d asked Ignatius if he was all right.

  “I’m all right,” the old wizard finally answered. “I suppose we’d best get to work.”

  “If you need to take a little more time—” Salem began.

  Bringing a hand up to silence the wizard, Ignatius said, “No. There’s a village of people counting on my granddaughter, and I have to help get them out. If you’d had the night terrors I had, you would know we do not have much time. The darkness will not wait much longer before it begins to devour my old friends.”

  In his mind he thought of those he saw in the dream—those that were left. Kira, Michein, Parmella, Sage, Franklin. The ghostly faces of those that had already gone to someplace else. Matimus, Magi, Lola, and others he did not want to think of.

  Salem nodded solemnly. He put on his best smile—which wasn’t much good at all, for this was not a situation that called for smiling—and pulled out his wand. “Let’s get to work then.”

  “Put that away,” Ignatius snapped.

  Shocked, Salem lowered the arm that held the wand.

  “Why, Ig, if we don’t—”

  He saw the stony expression on the old wizard’s face and knew there was not much of a choice. When Ignatius got like this, you listened.

  Just as Salem was about to point out that they didn’t have any shovels, Ignatius turned his back on him and walked into the nearby tree line. The shadows of the forest swallowed his robes up, removing him from Salem’s sight.

  A few minutes passed without word from the wizard. Salem was starting to get worried. They may have only been on the outskirts, but this was the Dark Forest. Though most of the dangers kept to the heart of the forest, Salem believed they were too close for comfort. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted for Ignatius. Even he noticed how his voice cracked with fear. He would’ve given anything for Agnes to be there with him right at that moment; she would know what to do.

  He started to call out again, and the leaves in the trees rustled as something moved. Salem brought his wand out for the second time, resolving to keep it out. He sensed danger in the air; Arachnids, dark witches, mutant Raffins, you name it.

  The spell of protection was on the tip of his tongue. He would have to fight, then—it was that simple. Fight his way through the Dark Forest to get his best friend back, and that was—

  A creature burst through the trees.

  Salem’s heart froze in his chest. He stood there with his wand held out and his face a mask of anguish.

  “Are you all right, old friend?” Ignatius asked.

  It took a moment for Salem to regain his composure, but when he did, he laughed. “I’m just an old fool who’s spooked by shadows. That’s all.”

  He lowered his wand and put it back in the inside pocket of his robes. The sun was already starting to go down. High in the sky, faded but present, were Oriceran’s two moons.

  Noticing that Ignatius carried something in his arms, cradled like a man might cradle firewood, Salem squinted his eyes. His friend was holding shovels.

  Their spades were caked with mud, and their handles were as worn as the old wizard’s face, but there was not a spot of rust on them. Wherever they had been in that dark place, they were protected from the elements—probably by some form of magic. It was as if Ignatius knew he’d one day have to come back and dig up his deceased daughter. How he had known that, Salem had not the slightest inclination.

  Ignatius handed a shovel to Salem. “We dig,” he said. “It’ll go quicker with the two of us. I did not bury her very deep.”

  It would go quicker if we could just use a spell to do the hard work for us, Salem didn’t let this thought show on his face; he just smiled and nodded because deep down, he understood.

  Zimmy was Ignatius's only daughter. He needed this moment to honor her, to pay his respects.

  Ignatius was the first to break ground. Though the old wizards were strong and their magic hadn’t been more powerful in all of their long lives, their physical prowess had waned with age. Each time they stabbed into the hard ground, their muscles and joints ached like the old men they were. Sweat dappled their brows. Salem had even taken his robe off. The work was much easier to do in the T-shirt he wore beneath. They did not talk during the digging. They did not laugh. In silence they worked, their eyes and minds concentrating on the task at hand. It seemed like hours before they even got a few feet deep. Slowly but surely.

  The whole time the two wizards were digging, Harry and three Arachnid soldiers watched from a distance. One of the soldiers was the Widow’s right-hand man, Jinxton, and he kept touching his pack as if he possessed something of great power inside of it. Harry would’ve asked what it was, but frankly didn’t care that much. Arachnids were weird.

  Jinxton lifted his head up to the air and sniffed. The smell was of sweat and fear and sadness. Lovely smells.

  Jinxton lunged forward, and the two other Arachnids followed. Quickly, Harry stuck out his hand and grabbed the lead Arachnid by one of the arms. His exoskeleton was as hard as a rock
; so hard that it hurt Harry’s fingers. Jinxton whirled around, his sword out and ready. He snarled.

  “Unhand me, wizard-Elf,” Jinxton growled.

  The other Arachnids had drawn their swords as well. Harry didn’t let go. Now was not the time to let these creatures dominate him; it was he who was leading this mission, and he alone.

  “Cool it, Spider-Man. Do you know Spider-Man? Big-time comic book hero on Earth. Ah, I can tell by the crossing of your eight eyes that you don’t know Spider-Man. Well, you should,” Harry whispered harshly. “Anyway, we don’t move on them yet.”

  “But they’re vulnerable,” Jinxton said.

  “Yes, sitting ducks,” another Arachnid said.

  Harry cocked his head. “ ‘Sitting ducks’? Where’d you hear that one? That’s an Earth phrase. You been sneaking off to the other world, my friend?”

  The Arachnid averted his gaze, obviously uncomfortable.

  Harry looked back to Jinxton. “We move out once they finish digging. Unless you idiots wanna have to do the digging instead? No? Okay, didn’t think so. Once they’re done, they’ll be so wiped out they won’t even be able to cast a simple water spell. And you guys aren’t too magical, right? You can’t dig without physical labor, and I don’t trust my own magic enough to do it.”

  “So we let them do the hard work for us?” Jinxton said, confused.

  “Duh,” Harry said. “That’s a little trick I’ve picked up in my travels. Besides, the easier the fight, the more pleased your giant spider queen will be.”

  The Arachnids nodded at that.

  “Don’t want to disappoint her now, do ya?” Harry said, smiling. He could see that he had won the argument , and that was all that mattered. Winning.

  “No, we don’t dare disappoint our Queen,” Jinxton said. “Or she will rip out our innards with her giant fangs.”

  “Yeah, I saw those fangs. They definitely look like they could do some innard ripping.” Harry looked through the trees at Ignatius Mangood and the other wizard whose name he did not know. “So we wait. Sit back and relax, my eight-legged friends. Pull up a chair, and maybe bring the lemonade.”