The Mage Tales, Books I-III

by Ilana Waters

  “Titus!” She slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Father!” I exclaimed. “How can you ask me such a thing?”

  “Why not?” said Titus. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility. He could have threatened you, or tortured you. He could also have offered you something.”

  “Like a replacement for my conscience?” I said. “How can you believe I would do that?”

  “It was just a question, Joshua.” Titus sat back, with Abigail frowning at him. “Ferox is a persistent man. It’s one of the things I find so disagreeable about him.”

  “Oh, come now, Father,” I scoffed. “We all know the root of the animosity between you and Ferox. Both of you wanted to gain ultimate power for yourselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if each of you had always held visions of being emperor.”

  “He already looks like he’s declared himself emperor, sitting as he does on that bloody throne,” Titus grumbled. “But I have no desire to join him, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  Maybe not, I thought to myself. Maybe you just want to rule all alone.

  “All I’m saying is have a care, my son,” Titus said. “Ferox is known for getting what he wants.”

  “Well, he didn’t get it the last time,” I said, jutting my chin at Abigail. “Besides, it’s not likely I’ll see him again anytime soon. And even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t give him information on the crystal.”

  “From what I understand of Ferox,” said Abigail, removing several rings and bracelets, “he seems hell-bent on finding it no matter what.” The jewelry made a clinking sound as she placed it on the end table. “In fact, he seems willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his aims. And am I the only one worried about his threat to take over the world?”

  “Maybe we should talk to Arthur about this.” I retrieved my cell phone from the breast pocket of my jacket. Titus groaned, and Abigail promptly shushed him.

  “He’s right, Titus,” she said. “Maybe Arthur knows something that can help us. It’s possible others have tried to do the same thing as Ferox.”

  “And failed,” Titus said.

  “Maybe the PIA can tell us why,” she insisted.

  And so I called up Arthur, fully expecting to leave him a message. After all, it was the middle of the night. I was surprised to find him awake, and more than willing to rush over to the Hassler to hear about our evening. He arrived at our door, bleary-eyed and breathless, his satchel slung over one shoulder.

  “Well, what happened?” he asked. I ushered him inside before answering. Of course, in a private suite whose only access was a direct elevator, it wasn’t likely anyone was listening. Or that they’d believe what they heard if they were. Still, when one is a supernatural, being overcautious becomes a habit.

  Arthur slapped me on the shoulder, and smiled when he saw Titus and Abigail. “I’m so glad you’re all still alive. Though I must say,” he squinted at our faces, “you look bloody awful.”

  “Thank you, dear,” said Abigail, rubbing her forehead.

  “What I meant was, you really seem like something got taken out of you.” He looked around my collar, near the jugular. “It didn’t, did it?”

  “What? No, no.” I shook my head rapidly. “We’re fine—in that way, at least. Here, have a seat.” I pulled out a chair from the dining area and placed it next to mine opposite the couch. We both sat down, Arthur by turning the seat backwards and leaning his arms over it.

  “Are you sure we didn’t wake you?” I asked.

  “Oh, no,” Arthur said. “When you told me you were going to see Ferox, I couldn’t sleep for all the excitement, so I was up working at the PIA.”

  “Anything interesting?” Abigail asked, leaning her head on my father’s shoulder.

  “A bit. I’m researching another fire witch, like Titus. They say he’s from an old and powerful family. He’s English, too, but staying here in Rome at the moment. I have most of the information in here somewhere.” Arthur indicated his satchel, which he’d put down next to the chair. “But enough about me. Your encounter with Ferox—tell me everything!”

  And so we did. From first to last, we recounted all that happened earlier that night. When we finished, Arthur leaned back, holding onto the chair frame.

  “I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “That is incredible. But then, what’s the real reason Ferox wanted to meet with you, Aurelius? To see if you knew anything about the crystal?”

  “Probably,” Titus remarked. “Likely it’s also the reason he let us go. He obviously suspects we know something—”

  “Which we do,” Abigail said.

  Titus grunted. “Suspects we know something, but won’t tell him. He can’t risk killing us before he finds out the truth.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t have his minions torture it out of you,” Arthur said, rubbing his lower back with his hands.

  “Knowing me as he does,” Titus remarked, “Ferox probably realized any attempt to do so would result in a brawl. He can’t be at his full strength after two thousand years asleep. Not yet, anyway. I just know I could have picked off a few of those brats of his before they—”

  “Before they what?” asked Abigail. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she frowned at my father again, but harder this time. “Bound you and did unspeakable things to you? Titus, please don’t be ridiculous. You know I hate it when you talk like that.”

  “We got a few of them, in a way,” I said. “We did just kill a whole gaggle of his followers by making a magical hole in the earth.”

  “You mean you did, Joshua,” Arthur said.

  I sighed and scratched the back of my neck. “Yes, and I’m fairly certain that somehow Ferox knows it. But that also means he isn’t sure what we’re capable of, magically, at this point. Perhaps it factored into his wait-and-see approach.”

  “Do you really believe what he said, though?” Arthur asked. “About agreeing not to kidnap any of you again?”

  “He didn’t exactly agree to that,” said Titus. “All he said was we could depart amicably for the night. And he won’t admit responsibility for having his lackeys kidnap anyone in the first place.” Titus glanced at the clock. I imagine that’s one of the downsides of being a vampire: you always need to know how long you have until dawn.

  “Either way,” he continued, “it hardly matters. We have no way of confirming his kidnapping intentions one way or the other. Besides, he’s unlikely to try the same trick twice—not when it didn’t work the first time. And if he does,” Titus stared out the window into the distance, “I’ll tear him into pieces so tiny they won’t make a meal for mice.”

  “Thank you, love,” said Abigail, momentarily closing her eyes. “We’re all very touched.”

  Arthur drummed his fingertips on the top of his chair. “Something occurred to me while I was listening to your story. Do you think Ferox knows what the crystal does?”

  My parents and I looked at one another with questioning eyes. “He must,” I finally said. “Otherwise, why would he think it would let him take over?”

  “But how can he know what it does if you don’t?” asked Arthur.

  “Yes, Joshua,” said Abigail. “And how would the crystal help him? Its name, Opener of Doors, is rather vague. What door is Ferox trying to open? Everything he needs is already here, or should be.”

  “Mr. Hartwood,” Titus said, “perhaps this is a time when we can call upon your valuable skills as a researcher. As you summarily fired my son from his position in your organization—”

  “Which I had to, because the very fact that he was hired breaks several dozen rules,” Arthur said.

  “Then perhaps you can enlighten us as to the mysterious powers of this crystal,” Titus said. “It may be the key to preventing Ferox from this world domination he has his heart set on.”

  So you can do it yourself? I thought, not sharing the sentiment with anyone. When it came to Titus, one could never be sure of anything.

  “I don’t know if that’s possibl
e, Father,” I said aloud, rubbing my eyes. Now I was beyond exhausted. “Remember, I tried learning more about the crystal before, and all I found was a single passage in a book whose pages were torn out.”

  “There might be something I can do,” said Arthur. He took a pen and notepad out of his satchel, along with his reading glasses. He jotted a few things down, then put the pad, pen, and glasses back. “Some calls I could make, restricted files I might access. Give me some time, and I’ll work on it.”

  “We appreciate that, Arthur,” Abigail said, smiling for the first time in several hours.

  Titus yawned and stretched his arms out. “It’s nearly dawn. Less than an hour now. We should all get some sleep. I know I need to, anyway.”

  Titus’s yawns were joined by several more, as well as words of assent. Then we heard the intercom buzz.

  “Oh, hell,” Titus said, rising from the couch. “Who could that be now?” When he got to the camera above the elevator, he squinted at it, then looked down and shook his head.

  “Mi scusi, mi scusi!” We heard the same bellboy as before, his voice in a higher pitch now.

  “For Fate’s sake,” Titus said, hitting the elevator button hard several times. “What does that little idiot want?” He began fishing through his pocket, presumably for more euros to give the bellboy.

  But when the elevator doors opened, they didn’t just reveal the bellboy. Three of the vampires from earlier that evening were behind him; I recognized them by their clothing. The one in the tight dress, Merula, was holding the bellboy by the back of the neck. She pushed him into the suite, breaking his neck in the process and throwing his body to one side. I couldn’t see her face, or those of the other two, because they were all wearing gas masks.

  It didn’t take long to find out why. Quick as only a vampire can be, the one I knew to be Rattler pulled a pin on what looked like a grenade. He threw it into the center of the room. There was a fierce hissing noise, and the space began filling with a thick, white smoke. Abigail was screaming. Arthur was shouting. The last thing I remember before passing out is Titus grabbing a tall vampire by the throat and lifting him off the floor.

  When the rest of us woke up, Titus and the other vampires were gone.

  Chapter 8

  According to the clock on the television, we couldn’t have been knocked out for more than twenty minutes. Still, it seemed like hours. Looking out one wall of windows, the sky was just beginning to grow light, the sunrise a thin, yellow line on the horizon.

  I groaned and put my hand to my head. There was a horrid pounding, the kind you get after the worst possible hangover. My eyes stung, the inside of my nose felt singed, and there was a noxious taste in my mouth. My stomach, however, outdid them all by threatening a mutiny at any moment. I heard similar moans of protest around the room.

  “Mom! Father! Arthur! Where are you?” I called frantically.

  “Over here!” Abigail called weakly. “Wherever ‘here’ is.”

  “What in hell . . .?” Arthur’s scratchy voice was even more gruff than usual. I saw him sit up from the floor where he lay on top of his satchel. He groped at the chair he’d been sitting on, and grabbed it for balance as he got to his feet. “Abigail, you are all right?”

  Abigail was on the floor next to the couch. Arthur and I stumbled to her side; I was grabbing my stomach with one hand. Don’t you dare betray me now! I threatened it. Blessedly, my stomach seemed to listen.

  We helped Abigail to her feet and sat her back down on the couch. We all had cuts and bruises from where we’d stumbled and fallen, crashing into various things in the suite. I dashed to the elevator, but of course, it was empty.

  “Father? Father!” I yelled and yelled, flinging open every door of the suite, only to return empty-handed.

  “Aurelius!” Arthur cried. “Say something. Answer us!”

  Arthur and I searched the terraces, and I looked down over the city in the vain hope I’d see Ferox’s vampires or my father. But they were all long gone.

  “Dammit!” I shouted, slamming my palm on top of a table as I came back inside. “They must have taken him. But where? Why?”

  “Joshua, please. My head.” Abigail pressed her hand to her curls and closed her eyes.

  “I know, I know.” I squeezed my own eyes shut. “Mine, too.”

  “And mine,” said Arthur. He retrieved a bowl of water and a towel from the kitchen and put them next to my mother. Then he dabbed the towel in the water and pressed it to the cut on her head.

  “Thanks, Arthur,” Abigail said with a gentle smile, taking the towel from him. “I’ve got it now.” Indeed, being a witch, she had already begun to heal.

  Arthur knelt down and picked something up off the floor.

  “Gas,” he remarked, turning the empty canister over in his hand. “Nasty stuff, too. Strong enough to knock out a witch and a mage, at least. I’ll bet it was a high enough concentration to knock Aurelius out, too.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, pacing back and forth. “Why did they gas us? Why not just kill us? Why were they here at all?”

  “Joshua, you said Ferox mentioned you ‘might be useful,’ ” said Abigail, looking up at me. “Perhaps he needs you alive for something. Perhaps this is his way of trying to draw you out.” I had a nagging suspicion she spoke the truth.

  “But why take Father?” I pressed, still pacing. “What could they want with him? Do you think they brought him back to Ferox?”

  “Possibly,” said Arthur, “but I’m guessing that following them there right now would be unwise. Also, we have no way to confirm his whereabou—”

  Abigail cut him off with a wave of her hand and went to the mirror in the foyer. “Please. I’ve had a locator spell on that man practically since we met. Come here, you two. And you might want your glasses, Arthur.”

  Arthur found his glasses, but one of the lenses was cracked from when he landed on his satchel. “Damn,” he sighed, but put them on anyway. Abigail rubbed a stone on one of the rings she’d left on, murmured a few words, and the mirror went foggy. Arthur’s eyes widened.

  Abigail gave a wry smile. “And you thought all that jewelry was to enhance my beauty. Honey, what I’ve got is a Wiccan tool kit I wear on my person.” Arthur might have been surprised, but I wasn’t. I’d seen Abigail do this dozens of times, just never for Titus. She began the spell while we all tried not to look at the body of the bellboy in the corner.

  The fog in the mirror grew wavy, and the waves widened into bands of color. Slowly, an image formed: a gray, abandoned building surrounded by grass and weeds. The spell seemed to rush into the building, deeper, deeper, until it focused on another image.

  It was Titus. He was chained to a chair on a concrete floor in a small room, with a single, bare lightbulb overhead. He looked even more washed-out than before, his cheekbones and eye sockets sunken. As he leaned his head back and moaned, the reason for his appearance became clear: several pairs of fang marks and gashes on his throat. We could see burns and cuts along his torso where his shirt was torn open, dark red blood staining the fabric. Suddenly, his entire body convulsed, and he let out a shattering scream.

  The sound of vampires laughing filled the dark room. Again, Titus’s body spasmed and he screamed. I finally saw why. One of the three vampiric kidnappers was poking him with a cattle prod. No doubt they drained his blood to make him weak—or just because they enjoyed it. It was also why he couldn’t break free of his bonds; a blood-let vampire is closer to a mortal’s strength than his own.

  “Jesus,” Arthur whispered, peering through his broken glasses. He stared at the mirror, shaking his head. Abigail’s eyes were wide with terror; I put my arm around her as she trembled.

  “I won’t ask again, Ti-tus,” Merula said. She was the one holding the cattle prod. She grabbed Titus’s hair and yanked his head back. I heard him gasp, his mouth hanging open, eyes dulled. She held the prod dangerously close to his throat. “Where. Is. The. Crys-tal?”

  Tit
us took a few deep, slow breaths before speaking. “Rot in hell, bitch,” he wheezed. Abigail buried her face in my shoulder as Merula jabbed Titus in the throat with the cattle prod. His scream shattered the lightbulb hanging overhead, raining sparks and broken glass down on him.

  “Oh God . . . is he . . . is he . . .” Abigail choked out.

  “No,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “He’s too strong for that.”

  There was a metallic snap, and Rattler’s face was illuminated by the lighter he held. We could also make out Merula, the third, taller vampire, and my father. His head had lolled over to one side, and a new scorch mark now graced his throat. But his eyes were still open, and he was breathing.

  “Eh, this is a fool’s errand,” Rattler complained. “He won’t talk.”

  “Well, Master figured it was worth a shot,” the third vampire said, examining his nails.

  “And it was amusing.” Merula tossed the cattle prod to the floor, where it echoed with a clank. “For a time. But it’s dawn now, and too late to head back home.” She let out a loud yawn. “We can sleep here and go back tomorrow. After we finish playing some more.” Her eyes gleamed as she looked at Titus.

  “Master won’t be happy we failed.” The third vampire looked up from his nails. “Not happy at all.”

  “Hey, he knew the odds of Aurelius talking were slim.” Rattler took off his cap and smacked the dust out of it. “And who says we failed? As Merula pointed out, there’s always tomorrow night. Come, all.” He and the taller vampire began walking out the door, and Merula followed them. “Time to let Mr. Aurelius get some shut eye.” They laughed again, and I heard the heavy clang of a large metal door shutting. Then the mirror went dark.

  No one spoke for several moments. Arthur took off his broken glasses and put them on a side table. Abigail looked even paler than Titus had been. I pounded my fist into my hand.

  “We have to do something!” I said. “If only we knew where those bastards took him.”