Midwest Magic Chronicles Box Set

by Flint Maxwell

  “Lemonade?” Jinxton asked.

  “Ah, an Earth delicacy. A reward for hard work,” Harry answered.

  “But we aren’t doing any of the hard work.”

  Harry grinned his best grin. It was a smile that had been known to charm the pants off many women in his travels. “Exactly,” Harry said. “It’s not like we have lemonade, either. But I digress.”

  The Arachnids looked back and forth at one another. With a slight smirk, Jinxton taunted, “Can’t you just conjure up some lemonade, you wizard-Elf?”

  Harry sighed. “Oh, how I wish I could do that. Perhaps, maybe I could…if I tried hard enough. But I think I should save my magic for when it counts, like for when Ignatius and his wizard friend try to kill us.”

  Jinxton grunted. “That’ll be the day. I’ll not let a wizard kill me; not even the great wizard Ignatius Mangood. His Arachnid-slaying days are over.”

  Harry rolled his eyes. He was done with the conversation. The more they talked, the more likely they were to be found out by the enemy. Harry brought a finger up to his lips, and the Arachnids squinted their eight red eyes at him, not understanding the gesture. Harry turned his back on them and mumbled, “You freaks should really get out more.”

  “What was that?” Jinxton grumbled.

  “I said, ‘These peaks really look like Blackmore’.” Harry didn’t know the meaning of his statement, but it confused the Arachnids enough to shut them up.

  They sat in silence for some time, while Ignatius nearly broke his back from all the digging. When the time came, they would be ready to pounce. Harry, who wasn’t an advocate of violence, just wanted to move off of the forest floor. The damn twigs and sticks were poking him in places he didn’t particularly want to be poked.

  They watched as the two wizards pulled a sheet out from the ground. Dirt cascaded down it. The sheet fit loosely around whatever was inside. Harry didn’t want to imagine the smell.

  Ignatius knelt with the bundle in his arms. His tears gleamed in the strong moonlight overhead. The other wizard knelt next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. They both bowed their heads for a moment. Harry’s heart broke while he watched this exchange of friendship and love. He was beginning to feel like the lowest form of scum in all of the worlds. Stealing from a corpse. Disrupting a family reunion, even if said reunion involves digging up a dead body…

  It struck him that he could leave right then and there. He could walk away and not have this on his conscience for the rest of his life. He had enough bad stuff on there as it was.

  Just as he was about to back up from the Arachnids and their stench and their low, grumbling breaths, he realized he could save the wizards’ lives if he stayed. He was in charge of this group of Arachnids, wasn’t he? The simple fact of the matter was that the Arachnids were going to move against the wizards no matter what, and the wizards were vulnerable. They were powerful, yes, but they were outnumbered.

  Unless…

  Harry saw the Arachnids looking at him. He nodded and directed them forward. They moved through the forest silently, but Harry did not. He sought out every large branch and twig in his path, and stomped down with more force than was necessary. Still, they were few and far between.

  Through the trees, Ignatius Mangood and his friend never looked up from the bundle lying on the ground in front of them.

  Dammit. What am I going to have to do? Yell?

  No, that would be suicide. The Arachnids would know he was up to no good, and they’d gut him on the spot. All he could do was go with the flow. He needed that ruby, no matter what.

  The Arachnids picked up their speed. Low growls escaped from their throats, and they held their blades high above them. Leaves rustled, and they got within about fifteen feet of the clearing and the wizards.

  Harry decided to hang back, which he would’ve done anyway. He was not much of a warrior; he was more the kind of guy who picked the corpses clean after the war was over. His motto was, ‘Let them do all the hard work, and then prosper off it’. The Arachnids burst into the clearing, and their swords came down in hard slashes.

  Unaware as the wizards had seemed, they moved like men who’d been expecting an attack. Ignatius rolled backward and sprang up with more athleticism than Harry had ever possessed—and he was much younger than the ancient wizard. The other, unknown wizard pulled his wand free. The movement reminded Harry of an Earth cowboy drawing his weapon at the start of a gunfight. A stream of electric green magic shot forward with enough force to shake the birds from the nearby trees; they took wing, squawking. The light was nearly enough to blind Harry. He had to bring his bag up to shield his eyes. When the light subsided, an afterimage of it was tattooed on his vision.

  Harry was still able to see Ignatius pull out his own wand and shoot blue magic from the end, hitting one of the Arachnids in the middle of their chitinous armor.

  The monster’s face was a mess of pain and anguish as it teetered on the edge of the hole that had been dug into the ground. His arms pinwheeling for balance, the Arachnid fell back and landed with a thump that Harry could hear all the way back in the trees.

  “The wizard has still got it,” Harry whispered to himself. “Good to know. I’ll definitely avoid him at all costs.”

  The other wizard tried a spell in the direction of the remaining Arachnids, but Jinxton caught him in the arm with—thankfully—the broadside of his sword. No limbs were cut off, only smacked harshly. The wand flew out of the wizard’s hand, and he cried out in pain. Harry watched as the wand skittered across the clearing, lost to the overgrown grass.

  Well, that’s not good.

  The killing blow was on its way to the unarmed wizard’s midsection, when he leaned backward, and the blade swiped through, connecting with nothing but thin air. Harry’s jaw dropped as he watched the wizard lunge forward, his arm swinging toward Jinxton with at least as much force as Jinxton had used to swing his sword. The wizard’s fist connected with the soldier’s face. Black blood sprayed into the air, lit by the moonlight. Jinxton swayed and rocked. He looked like a boxer about to be knocked out. Just then, the remaining Arachnid threw his shoulder into the wizard’s side. Harry could hear the cracking of his ribs from all the way over in the forest. It caused him to cringe and grab his own side with a grimace.

  The Arachnid raised his blade and pinned the wizard down with his massive body, but Ignatius shot a bolt of magic at the back of the spider’s head. It connected with a fizzling pop, and the beast’s head was nothing more than a smoking hole above the thing’s neck. The body fell forward, the sword falling closely after it, and landed on the wizard, cutting his cries short.

  “Salem!” Ignatius shouted, but the wizard was seemingly passed out, smothered by the headless Arachnid.

  Ignatius tried to pull his friend’s body free; before he even got two hands on him, Jinxton, with blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth, swung his sword at the struggling wizard. Ignatius must’ve heard the blade whistling through the air, because he spun around fast and rolled free of the hit. The sword wound up in the corpse of the Arachnid, landing with a meaty clunk.

  Harry’s stomach rolled. He thought he was going to be sick when he saw the spray of blackish blood as Jinxton pulled the hooked sword free, but he hadn’t eaten anything in quite awhile, so nothing came up when he dry-heaved. Still, he was sure that image was going to stick with him for a long time.

  Ignatius was up in a battle stance. Harry found himself wondering where the great wizard’s famous sword was—the one that had slain many Arachnids in the Great Spider Wars. Maybe he had forgotten it, or maybe it had been lost to time; Harry didn’t know.

  It turned out that Ignatius didn’t need it. His magic was as strong as ever. He yelled an incantation Harry had never heard before, and a great crack of lightning parted the dark sky above. The bolt struck near Jinxton’s feet. Flames erupted across the wild grass, lighting up the stalks, burning them to crisps.

  Jinxton flew backward about five
feet with small bolts of electricity dancing over his arms and legs. The stubby hairs fizzled with smoke as they were burned away. Harry screamed out loud, but he could hardly hear it over the roar of the Aracnid.

  Just as fast as the small flames had come, however, they were gone, and there stood Ignatius Mangood among the smoke and ruins with his wand held high, ready to go in for the kill.

  Harry was completely entranced by the skill possessed by Ignatius. He had heard the stories—the giants slain, the piles of Arachnids left in his wake, the blood of the Rogue Dragons coursing through him, all of that—but those were just stories.

  Or so Harry had thought.

  Stories were one thing; seeing the wizard in action was entirely different. It was like witnessing a hero, a legend, a god.

  Ignatius’s magic had so entranced Harry that he hadn’t noticed the Arachnid crawling out of the grave just a few feet away. The Arachnid, no longer in possession of a weapon, went for Ignatius with his bare hands—all six. Those hands grappled Ignatius around the neck before the wizard could finish off Jinxton, and the two entangled bodies fell backward, landing hard in the high grass.

  There was a struggle, and then a big blast of magic, and a spider head with dimming red eyes rolled across the clearing toward Harry’s location. Harry could hardly breathe as he watched what was left of the Arachnid fall over.

  His eyes shifted to Ignatius. The old wizard was finally beginning to look his age. He was slumped over and scorch marks raked across his face, as if the fire he had conjured possessed claws. Half of his beard was drenched in a mixture of red and black blood, and he struggled to get up.

  Laughter filled the air, so cold and sinister that Harry was reminded of the Widow. It was not coming from Ignatius; he didn’t think the old wizard could breathe, let alone laugh.

  The sound came from Jinxton. He was up now, his own face beaten and his body slumped. He held his sword. In his eyes—all eight of them—a fire raged. It was one that screamed for death, the death of Ignatius Mangood.

  “You had a good run—” Jinxton began to say, but Harry couldn’t wait around any more.

  He didn’t trust his magic as much as he trusted his wits, but now was the time to use it. He sent a simple bolt in Jinxton’s direction, and it was all he needed to knock the poor Arachnid bastard out. Jinxton didn’t even know what hit him. The magic blasted him in the side of the skull with as much force as a sledgehammer.

  Lucky the Arachnids had such hard heads; anything else would’ve been dead. Harry was not a killer. He lied, cheated, and stole, but never killed.

  Jinxton toppled over, his sword skittering across the grass the same way the other wizard’s wand had done. Ignatius snapped his head toward the direction of the trees as Harry stepped out. Hesitantly, Harry raised a hand.

  “Hi there!” he said, trying not to notice how his voice squeaked as if he were going through puberty again. The truth was simple: Harry was nervous. It wasn’t every day he got to meet a legend. It certainly wasn’t every day that he got to steal from a legend.

  “Thank you, friend,” Ignatius called back weakly. He tried to stand up, but did so woozily, like he was a few glasses of Firejuice in. That was another legend—that Ignatius Mangood could stomach Firejuice, as if the blood of Anwyn coursed through his veins.

  Harry shook his head. He didn’t particularly like himself for this, but he had people to save. Maybe I can redeem myself for this. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

  He raised his hand again. “I’m a huge fan, Ig—can I call you Ig? Ah, never mind, I’m gonna call you Ig. Anyway, you’re very welcome. It was actually quite an honor to help you out; it’s not every day I get to help out one of my heroes.” Then Harry turned his head and whispered to himself, “It’s also not every day I get to knock out one of my heroes.”

  “What was that?” Ignatius asked. “You’ll have to excuse me. This battle has thrown me for quite a loop. Moons! The last week has thrown me for quite a loop.”

  The wizard spoke as if the corpse of his daughter wasn’t a few feet away from him. He stood straighter, looking like the force he was said to be. He turned his back on Harry and shook his head at the headless Arachnid currently settled on top of his companion, Salem.

  “Friend, do you think you could help me with one last thing?”

  Harry had crept over to the wrapped bundle that was Ignatius’s daughter. He pulled a knife out and cut through two of the ropes tied around the sheet. The smell of decay hit him full-force. He brought up his other hand to cover his nose, but it didn’t do much good.

  “What are you doing?” Ignatius’s voice boomed.

  Harry stood up straight. “To answer your question, I’m just doing my job. It’s nothing personal.”

  With that, he conjured up the same spell he had used on the Arachnid, and the magic pummeled Ignatius’s stomach. It was the magical equivalent to a sucker punch and no, Harry didn’t feel good about it.

  The old wizard doubled over and gasped for breath, falling to his knees. To be thorough, Harry sent another bolt of magic, to the top of Ignatius’s head. As soon as it connected, Ignatius collapsed.

  Harry had knocked out one of the world’s most powerful wizards.

  If only my mother were still alive. She’d be so proud—well, maybe a bit disappointed, but mostly proud. She’d never hung his macaroni pictures up on the refrigerator, but she might, after he proved his worth by knocking Ignatius Mangood unconscious. Or…probably not. It wasn’t like he still made macaroni pictures. At least, not often.

  Back to business.

  He cut the last rope and almost instantly regretted it. The corpse beneath the canvas sheet was long rotted away. It wore a silken dress of a deep red that reminded Harry of blood. The corpse also wore many jewels: rings with diamonds as big as Harry’s eyes, gold bracelets that were welded into the bone, earrings that lay next to the skull and brittle hair, where the ears would’ve been before they rotted away. He thought of taking these, too; they’d be worth a good amount of coin.

  No, you’re better than that, Harry.

  Am I?

  And then there was the necklace.

  Yes, the necklace. It sat in the hollow of her dress, sunken in toward her spine. He reached out for it and paused, his fingers inches away from the ruby. Images of zombies from Earth stories flashed in his mind—people who died but came back because of some crazy virus, or a meteor that crash-landed in some abandoned Ohio cornfield that contained alien parasites and turned people into shambling, decomposing nightmares.

  In his mind, he envisioned Ignatius’s daughter doing the same. He pictured her jaw clicking open and her bones creaking as she sat up and wrapped her talon-like fingers around Harry’s neck.

  He swallowed, the dryness of his throat making a clicking sound.

  “No, that’s crazy. That can’t happen,” he told himself.

  Suddenly, the corpse’s mouth began to move—back and forth, back and forth, grinding its back teeth. Sharpening them so it can bite into me, he thought, and snapped his hand away. There were no eyes in the sockets of the corpse that had once been Zimmy Ba; no magic could’ve preserved them. Time wins all battles in the end. But Harry looked into those black holes where the eyes should’ve been, and he felt their emptiness staring into him. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and he could hardly breathe.

  The jaw kept moving, wiggling, grinding.

  Just as Harry was about to get up and get the hell out of there, Zimmy Ba’s jaw opened with a sound like rusty gate hinges creaking in the dead of night. Packed dirt, so old it was like dust, fell out of her mouth, along with a few squirming worms. These worms were fatter than any worms Harry had ever seen—if he didn’t count his ex-girlfriend who’d cheated on him with an Orc. He wondered if the worms had gotten that fat and plump from snacking on Ignatius Mangood’s daughter for so many years. He wondered if the witch’s eyes were currently sitting in the rounded stomachs of those worms, waiting to be digested.

&nb
sp; He brought a fist up to his mouth and shook his head. “Quit being scared. Fortify!” he told himself. “Letting Earth fables scare you. You need to quit reading those Jack Zombie stories. First you have a nightmare, and now it’s bleeding into real life? Harry, Harry, Harry.”

  He couldn’t help himself, though. Those damn zombie and horror books were as addicting as Coca-Cola—another habit he needed to kick before he got what the people of Earth called ‘diabetes’.

  His heart rate came down a bit as he watched the worms squirm away and get lost in the dirt and the high grass.

  He bent low and grabbed the necklace, unclasping it off of the corpse’s neck. The chain was a fine gold, thin and sleek. He looked at the pendant containing the Jewel of Deception. The jewel itself was three carats; what that meant, well, Harry had not the slightest clue. All he knew for sure was that it was big as hell, and could probably catch a pretty hefty price in one of America’s pawn shops. Really, though, no amount of money could buy this jewel. It was priceless.

  Taking his dagger from his belt, he squatted and lay the necklace across his knee. The ruby-red blazed bright as the moonlight broke through the clouds. Even in the dark, Harry thought, shaking his head. He put the sharp point into the necklace, between the stone and the bezel. Straining until his face turned red and his skin grew slick with sweat, he persisted until the jewel came free with a clink. It launched into the air, twinkling like a shooting star in the night.

  Harry’s heart plummeted as he watched the jewel float and then drop. It made a noise when it hit the grass, louder than the nearby sounds of the Dark Forest: the chirruping of animals, the screeching of bats, the low rumbles of magical creatures Harry couldn’t place but didn’t want to come face-to-face with.

  His world came crashing down when he thought he had lost the jewel. How bad that would have been. Not only would he not get those people out of the world in between, but the Arachnids would hunt him down for his failure for the rest of his life. Luckily, the three carats and the fact that the jewel shone like a bloody sun allowed Harry to locate the ruby in the tall grass. Hell, it had taken out a chunk of the ground when it landed.