The Mage Tales, Books I-III

by Ilana Waters

  “I wonder if my mother doesn’t love you more than she loves me,” I said, frowning at George as he sat in an armchair. Abigail was cleaning the wounds on his face with a combination of wet dishrag and magic.

  “What can I say?” George shrugged. “I was brave in the face of danger, and that is matched by the extent of my injuries.”

  “Which will heal very quickly, despite the fact that you caused the danger,” I pointed out.

  “Joshua, stop haranguing him. Can’t you see he’s hurt?” Abigail dabbed George’s face again and murmured a spell. “Do you need anything else, George? Would you like another cup of tea?”

  “Maybe something just a little stronger, if you would?” George said in his best help-me-I’m-so-weak voice. Abigail immediately got up to procure him a drink, while George gave me a smug smile and I gave him the bird.

  I sank into the couch opposite George. We were both exhausted, although somewhat cheered to see Arthur already here. His books and papers were spread out on one of the tables, where he sat sifting through them and making notes.

  “Any news on the crystal front, Arthur?” I called, my arms sprawled across the back of the couch, my legs splayed out in front.

  “None so far,” he said, pushing his reading glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “Though I’m in the middle of going through that book you got me at the Angelica Library.”

  “I hardly see what difference it makes now,” Titus scoffed. He pushed one of my arms off the couch’s back and shoved my leg aside before sitting down next to me. I sat up and gave him some space. “You two buffoons managed to make even more of a mess out of things than they were before. Oh, Abigail, will you stop coddling him already?”

  Abigail had just put George’s drink within his reach and was patting his face to make sure the magic was working. She gave Titus a dirty look, but sat in a chair across from him. “At least one of us is acting like a parent.”

  Titus threw his arms out, nearly hitting me in the chest. “We’re not his bloody parents!”

  “We still haven’t discussed the issue of adoption,” George said calmly, sipping his drink.

  “Maybe what we ought to be discussing is what to do, now that we know more about Ferox’s machinations,” I said. “From what George and I saw, he really is taking this world domination thing quite seriously.”

  “Perhaps it’s for the best,” Titus muttered, looking away.

  My jaw went slack. “What did you say?”

  “Titus!” Abigail gasped.

  “Signore, you can’t be serious,” said George. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arthur staring at us, his glasses dropping off his nose.

  “I’m just wondering if all this is inevitable,” he said, turning back to us. “I mean, different species have ruled the planet at one time or another. Dinosaurs made way for man, and now perhaps man is making way for vampires. Who are we to stand in the way?”

  “That sounds to me like someone who’s either jealous of Ferox, or who’s given up trying to stop him,” I said.

  Titus looked at me sharply. “I never said anything about giving up.”

  Does that mean you’re jealous, then? I thought to myself. That you want to take his place, now that his plan really does seem possible?

  “Titus, be reasonable,” Abigail said. “What do you think would happen to us if Ferox won? To your son? To me?”

  “And what if Ferox’s plan doesn’t go according to his plan?” George asked. “You assume it will be a smooth transition from mortal rule to vampire, at least for the vampires. But when has the passing of power ever gone smoothly?”

  “Yes, Father,” I said, almost reaching my arm out again before changing my mind. “Do you really want to experience the fall of Rome a second time? I mean, I wasn’t there, but it took over a thousand years to even begin to crawl out of the mire. Do you truly want to relive it? No art. No philosophy. Hell—no indoor plumbing.”

  “And keep that last item in mind, mate. After all, you’re the one with the keen sense of smell,” said George. Titus glowered at him.

  “Just a bunch of dirty, stinking, snarling animals at each other’s throats in a mad battle for power,” I continued. “Face it, Father. As irritating as it may be, we may not always like humanity, but the fact is . . . we need it.”

  There was a pause before Titus closed his eyes and shook his head. “As you wish,” he grumbled. “I was only playing devil’s advocate.”

  “Ah, speaking of devils,” said Arthur, running his finger down the page of a book, “I have good news and bad news.” I might have been mistaken, but I thought I heard a twinge of panic in his voice.

  “What’s the good news?” Abigail asked.

  “Well, I think I found out what the crystal does.”

  “You did?” I jumped up and rushed to the table, looking over Arthur’s shoulder. “Well? Don’t just sit there, tell us!”

  “Yes, Arthur.” Abigail joined me, followed by Titus and George. “What on earth does it do?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the bad news.” Arthur rubbed his throat. “According to this book—the one Joshua retrieved from the Angelica library—the crystal allowed the witches of old to open doors.”

  “We already knew that,” said Titus. “The name Opener of Doors rather gave it away.”

  “Yes,” said Arthur, “but more precisely, they would often use it to open doors to other worlds and call forth energies from those worlds. Demonic energies.” My eyes bulged.

  “Are you sure, Arthur?” Abigail asked. Now she, too, was leaning over Arthur’s book. She ran her eyes over the page, as if looking for some glimmer of hope that he was wrong.

  “The book is pretty clear,” Arthur said grimly. “In fact, sometimes demons that came through wouldn’t make their presence known immediately, so the ancient witches had a spell to detect them. You can see it here.” He pointed to a block of text. Abigail nodded, mouthing the words.

  “Is anyone else rather surprised that demons exist?” asked George, raising his hand.

  “I’m not.” Titus shrugged. “I always vaguely knew there were such things.”

  “And you never thought to mention this to anyone else?” Abigail asked.

  Titus folded his arms across his chest. “It never seemed relevant until now.”

  “Well, the demon Ferox was trying to call up is very specific.” Arthur flipped through the book’s pages. “Yes, here it is. They called him—or it—‘Oblivion.’ ”

  “Oblivion?” I echoed. “Does that mean he lives in oblivion? Or that he causes oblivion?”

  “Look, it’s not a book of baby names,” said Arthur. “I don’t know why they call him that.”

  “But why would Callix Ferox want to call forth a demon in the first place?” asked George.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Titus. “If you’re going to rule the world, it never hurts to have a little otherworldly assistance.”

  “Couldn’t he rule the world without a demon?” asked Abigail. “I mean, he already has a fortified stronghold and the makings of a small vampire army.”

  “He didn’t succeed before with roughly the same assets,” said Titus. “He probably wants to avoid another forced nap by the High Council or similar, and having a demon on one’s side would certainly help with that.”

  “Damn.” I pounded my fist into my palm. “I was sure he’d wait till he found the crystal, but it seems he’s putting his plan into motion whether he has it or not.”

  “Erm, that’s not our only problem,” Arthur said, checking his cell phone.

  “It’s not?” the rest of us said in unison.

  “I just got word from the PIA’s senior members that Philip is close to filing his final report on you, Joshua.” Arthur turned off his phone and put it away. “Something about it being quite big, that you’re involved in something the world has never seen before.”

  “Oh God,” I breathed, my blood running cold. “He knows about Ferox. About our plan. Somehow he fou
nd out.”

  “You should have been more careful!” Titus barked. “How many times do I have to tell you that the fate of a supernatural depends upon secrecy? And now possibly the fate of the world, if he accidentally exposes our scheme and it gets back to Ferox.”

  “I told Philip to back off, Father, and all but threatened his life when I did so.” I put my face close to Titus’s. “How much more careful could I have been?”

  “Boys, stop arguing!” Abigail got between us and held up her hands. “Arthur,” she said, turning to him, “do you think Philip knows you were involved?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” Arthur took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He suddenly looked much older than usual. “He could be waiting until the report is filed to reveal that part, though I don’t know why he would.” I knew I didn’t have to remind him—or you, dear reader—of the consequences for a PIA member caught in league with the supernatural.

  “That settles it.” I moved away from Titus and banged my fist on the table. “We have to move fast, before Philip reveals our plan or Ferox executes his plan.”

  “We were supposed to bring down one last batch of C4,” said George, “but given the circumstances, I don’t think there’s time.” He got a faraway look in his eyes, as if his mind were somewhere else. Then he abruptly spoke again. “Joshua, do you remember how to set the bombs off the way I showed you?”

  “Yes, of course.” When we were putting the C4 in body bags, George showed me the device he kept in the truck that would activate the bombs. With the photographic memory of a witch, I could easily recall which buttons to press in which order. “Pity we have to be standing next to the C4 to activate it. Couldn’t you have given it a wider range?”

  “Oy, you’re the ones who wanted a combination of magic and machinery in record time.” George held up his hands. “This was the best I could do on such short notice.”

  “But who cares if I know how to set off the bombs? I thought you wanted to do it.”

  “Oh, I do. I was just checking. It, ah . . . always helps to have a backup.”

  “And don’t forget,” Titus said, “we must ensure that Ferox and his vampires are all in the right place at the right time. Probably just before they’re preparing for sleep is best, as Joshua mentioned when we first started. But we have no idea of their true numbers.”

  I rubbed my chin with one hand. “I wager there are about twenty or so vampires down there, including Ferox. He seems to have made a few to replace Merula and the others killed in the distillery, but no more.”

  “And we need to get them as close to the bombs as possible,” George said.

  I nodded. “I think I have an idea.”

  “Please don’t tell me this one involves more explosives,” said Titus.

  “No, but what’s the one thing that would make Ferox sit up and take notice? The thing he’s been asking us about for weeks?” I looked at George.

  “The out-of-control vampire,” George realized. “He’s been needling Joshua for ages about when we’re going to catch him.”

  “Exactly. So I’ll tell him we’ve managed to trick the vampire into coming down and meeting Ferox. We’ll hint that Titus’s wild child was delighted to do it once he learned of Ferox’s plans for a vampire-run world. That ought to stroke Ferox’s ego a bit.”

  “Not a bad idea for throwing an enemy off balance, I suppose,” said Titus.

  “But we’ll tell Ferox that what we really plan to do is finish the reckless vampire off, once and for all,” I continued. “That we’ll do it right in the body room, so he can see why we’re destroying him. Poetic justice and all that. And Ferox will be there along with his morbid merry men to watch.”

  “Not to mention that if the mega-killer vampire tries to fight back, or escape, he’ll be easier to kill or contain the deeper underground they are,” Abigail said. “That might appeal to Ferox’s logical side as well.”

  “But what do you plan to do when you get down there and Ferox realizes there is no mega vampire?” asked Titus.

  “We can say he decided not to show,” said Abigail. “Then we’ll act concerned. Like we think he went on another killing spree—one we have to race back to the surface to prevent or cover up. But not before discreetly setting off the bombs, naturally.”

  “Great idea,” I said. “Can we trust you to place another obscure Latin ad detailing this invitation?” I pointed at Titus, who sighed and nodded. “Good. Then George and I will go down—”

  “What do you mean, George and you?” Abigail demanded. “I’m coming in case something goes wrong and you need my help.”

  “We’ll all go,” said Titus firmly. “As a precaution. Except for you, Hartwood. You will remain here.”

  Arthur shrugged. “Fine by me. Who needs an elderly gent with a crossbow when you’ve got a small mountain of C4 to work with?”

  “But do stay close by, Arthur,” Abigail said. “And keep your phone on.”

  “Will do.”

  “Just as long as we’re back before the sunrise burns me to a crisp, if you please,” Titus said, giving me a pointed look.

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “Stop being melodramatic. You’re completely healed from that kidnapping debacle. You can stand a few moments in the sun.”

  “Speaking of which, it’s nearly dawn now,” George said, “and Titus has an ad to place before they put the paper to bed. So tomorrow, do you think? Say, a few hours before sunrise?”

  We all looked at each other and nodded. “It’s agreed, then,” Titus said.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Chapter 22

  The next evening—or should I say, morning—a few hours before dawn, I was tapping my foot impatiently on the floor of the hotel lobby. George was supposed to meet me here so we could walk to the garage where we kept the truck. After that, we’d make our final delivery to Ferox—only this time it would be a detonating device.

  Abigail had already gone down to the truck. Titus, who was finishing up some things in the suite, said he’d meet us in the garage. Only Arthur remained in the penthouse, which I suppose had become our unofficial save-the-world headquarters. I removed my cell phone from the inner breast pocket of my jacket and looked at the time.

  Where the devil is George? I thought, and waited a few more minutes.

  “To hell with it,” I finally said, and starting walking out of the lobby. Maybe George was already at the garage and had just neglected to tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something like that.

  As I went past the front desk, out of the corner of my eye, I could’ve sworn I saw a woman who looked like Perdita talking to the hotel manager. But when I turned my head, they were both gone.

  It’s probably just a coincidence, I thought. Surely there’s more than one blonde in a short skirt and leather jacket in Rome. Besides, it didn’t matter, because soon she and all the others would be safely blown into tiny pieces.

  I began walking south, unable to believe that in a few short hours, this whole thing might be over. And yet, it was still odd that George hadn’t shown. He knew how important it was. Sure, he’d flaked out on a few occasions, but not on anything like this. Not when his friends’ lives were at stake, not to mention the fate of the world.

  What if something happened to George? I thought. What if he never made it to the garage? I broke into a light run. I was so lost in my own troubled thoughts, I plowed into the back of a light-haired man in a suit carrying a briefcase. I bounced off him into the brick wall of the building on my right, while he fell to the sidewalk.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he said as he got up and retrieved his briefcase, the leather now scuffed. “Bloody Italians. Can’t you even watch where you’re go—”

  We stopped and stared at each other. It was Philip Grant.

  I saw his chest expand as he took a slow, angry breath. “You!” he said, narrowing his eyes.

  I gave him a withering look in return. “Obviously. I thought I told you to stop fo
llowing me.”

  “You’re the one who bumped into me,” Philip countered. “From behind. Wouldn’t it stand to reason that you’re the one doing the following?”

  “The very idea is absurd. I was just on my way to pick up . . . my car. Not that it’s any of your business, like the rest of my life.”

  “Well, you needn’t be concerned with that now, at least for the moment.” Philip put down the briefcase to straighten his tie. “I’m on my way out of the country, as a matter of fact.”

  Good riddance and thank God. “Oh?” I said nonchalantly.

  “Just have to find my way out of this interminable maze they call a city to the train station. What the hell’s it called? The Roma Termini? Anyway, from there it’s on to the airport. The PIA wants me to go investigate the mysterious explosion in Stockholm.”

  “Explosion in Stockholm?” I echoed. I hadn’t had time to turn on the news in the past few hours. Like Titus, Abigail, and the rest, I’d started preparing for tonight as soon as I’d gotten up.

  Philip looked disgusted. “You know, you really must stop this innocent act. You’re not fooling anyone. The senior members think it’s related to the fire witch Arthur was investigating. You know, the one he lost track of when you addled his brain?” This time I didn’t even try to correct Philip. Let him believe whatever lie he wished.

  “They don’t trust the old man to follow up himself,” continued Philip. “Not when he misplaced the original file entirely. I told them my report on you was more pressing, but they said it could wait. This explosion has that fire witch written all over it. Fortunately, no one was hurt, not that you’d care. However, it’s as if whoever did it didn’t even try to hide his magic at all.” As soon as Philip finished speaking, it began to dawn on me exactly what had happened.

  George, you son of a bitch. That was why he wanted to know if I remembered how to activate the bombs: he’d already decided he wouldn’t be there to do it.

  But does Philip know about our plan to destroy Ferox? Does he know about Ferox at all? He seemed more interested in radiating hostility . . . not exactly the attitude of someone concerned with the fate of the world. Unless that someone was very self-centered, so I supposed Philip might qualify.