Midwest Magic Chronicles Boxed Set

by Flint Maxwell

  He’s right. I hate heights almost as much as I hate books.

  “Only because you can’t read,” Maria said.

  You know me so well. Sherlock grinned.

  “Don’t they have ladders or something? Surely the Gnomes don’t just scale the shelves. That could be dangerous,” Maria said.

  Gramps chuckled. “Oh, it’s quite an intricate process that involves ropes and harness and ladders and magic.”

  “Where can I get some of that?”

  “Nowhere, I’m afraid,” Gramps said. “Those are almost as secretive as the Gnomes’ vault.”

  “Well, dammit.” Maria stepped forward and pushed the side of her fists into her lower back until her spine crackled. She tilted her head back and forth until her neck popped, too, then, to top it all off, she laced her fingers together and pushed outward to crack her knuckles. “Let’s do this. Centaur Warfare Through the Ages, you say?”

  The Centaur nodded. “Third tallest shelf.”

  Maria stepped toward the shelf. Luckily, the wood was about as thick as the steps they’d used to reach the library. It had to be, to support so many books. If it could support them, it could certainly support her.

  “I wish I could do it myself, but—”

  “Yeah, hooves and all that,” Maria said. Just as she planted her feet on the bottom shelf, knocking over a book on cauldron cooking, Gramps called her name. “Yes?” she answered.

  He dug into his robes much the same way he had done to bring his wand out when facing the Arachnids in Dominion; instead of the wand, however, he pulled out a small, white dagger. “Here, dear, you may need this.”

  The blade was sharp on both sides, but only one side was notched. Maria didn’t think it was designed that way. No; for some reason she thought the dagger was like that because it had been used so much. Oh, Gramps, there is still so much about you that I don’t know, isn’t there? She took the dagger and another question came to mind.

  “Why will I need this? It’s just a library, just books.”

  “Oh, Maria,” Gramps answered. “There’s so much about this world you don’t know.”

  “Like what?”

  The Centaur looked at her with a hint of amusement on his face, as if Maria was the butt of some joke that had completely gone over her head. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

  “The books, my dear, can sometimes be as dangerous as they are useful,” Gramps answered.

  That’s a load of squirrel crap, Sherlock said. Books aren’t useful!

  “Spoken like a true scholar,” Maria said, leaning down to whisper at the dog. The Centaur gave her a crooked look. “Aw, don’t mind me. I’m not crazy.”

  Says the girl who’s talking to a— Sherlock began.

  “Yeah, yeah, a dog. I’ve heard that one before,” Maria said, cutting him off.

  Now the Centaur really was looking at Maria and Sherlock as if they were aliens. Gramps had to cut in and explain the situation.

  “Maria’s a bit telepathic when it comes to Sherlock here. She can hear the thoughts of her dog, but he can’t hear hers, so she has to talk aloud. No big deal. Best do what I do and ignore them.”

  “Hm, that’s quite the talent, young Maria. It’s an honor to be in your presence,” the Centaur said, grinning.

  “Don’t suck up because you want me to scale the shelves. I’m already gonna do that—but you better not go back on that information you’re gonna share with us.”

  The Centaur raised a human hand covered in a thick brown hair. “How do you say on Earth…scout’s honor?”

  “That’s real nice. Did you learn that from—”

  “A book, yes. There are many books on Earth culture here.”

  “I wonder how updated they are,” Maria said. Then she shook her head. “No, doesn’t matter. I’m going to get the book and then you’re going to tell us what we need to know.”

  “I admire your tenacity.”

  “Yeah,” Gramps said, “she’s just like her mother.”

  “I never knew my mother. She was trampled by a pack of drunk Centaurs shortly after my birth.”

  Harsh, but my mother was eaten alive by wolves, Sherlock said.

  Maria snapped in his direction. “No, she wasn’t, you big buffoon. She lived out the rest of her life on that farm in Hartville. Nice dog. I remember her.”

  Gramps nodded, already knowing what the subject was.

  Hey, you don’t talk about my mother!

  “I’ll talk about whatever I want!” Maria shouted back.

  “Quiet!” roared a Gnome from somewhere.

  “Sorry,” Gramps whispered.

  Get your ass up those shelves so we can get out of here. I gotta pee, and I can’t make any promises I won’t tinkle on some books or, God forbid, a Gnome!

  “I’m going, I’m going,” Maria said. She handed the dagger back to Gramps. He shook his head.

  “No, you may need it.”

  “He’s right. Nasty little buggers in those books,” the Centaur said.

  Maria tapped the hilt of her sword. “I have this.”

  “That sword requires two hands, and climbing requires at least one,” Gramps continued. “The dagger can be wielded with only one hand. It’s much lighter, and just as deadly at close range.”

  Duh! Sherlock said.

  “Screw you, Bloodhound.” But Gramps was right. She removed her sword and handed it to Gramps, keeping the belt and the sheath. “Time to kick some ass,” she murmured.

  Chapter Six

  Maria got up high enough that, when she looked down, Gramps, Sherlock, and the Centaur looked like dots.

  “Okay, this was probably a bad idea,” she said to herself.

  But not as bad of an idea as looking down, Sherlock said distantly in her head.

  “You can hear me?”

  I’m a Bloodhound, I can hear what’s going on back home. Now move your ass before my bladder bursts.

  “I’m trying, I’m trying.”

  The truth was that Maria’s arms were starting to ache, and some of the wooden shelves had given her splinters. It seemed the Gnomes were not too particular about their upkeep the higher they got.

  “I gotta take a break,” Maria said, her voice only a little higher than before.

  No, dammit, Maria, I can’t hold it! Oh, God, I’m gonna have to go find a Gnome.

  “You better not. Just a few seconds…or would you rather have me fall?”

  Uhh…

  “I’m totally putting you on a vegan diet, Sherlock. You’d rather have me fall. Wow!”

  She could hear him snickering inside of her head. Make that a few minutes’ break instead, she thought bitterly.

  The shelf she was currently standing on was large enough for her to pull herself up and sit with her legs dangling over the faraway floor. Her hands were sweaty and sore from the few splinters she’d gotten, and her breathing was ragged. Yes, a break; that would be nice. She pulled herself up and sat, and total weariness suddenly washed over her. She hadn’t slept voluntarily since she’d woken up from her fight with Malakai. And even when she’d passed out, she was only out for about an hour. That wasn’t much, considering all she’d been through in the last few days. She leaned forward and caught herself before she could lose her balance.

  With a sore hand, she slapped herself in the face. Gotta keep moving. If I stop for too long, I’m gonna pass out and never wake up, because I’ll have fallen. What a way to go out, after coming this far, Maria, she thought.

  She was right, though. Had she rested any longer, she would’ve indeed fallen asleep, and then fallen off the towering bookcase. She turned to lay on her stomach, noticing the books in front of her—Oriceran World Maps, Fairhaven Fairies and Why They’re Not as Cute as They Look, and A Troll’s Night Out—and their odd placement, which was neither alphabetical nor numerical in anyway. She also noticed a large gap between the books, and an odd smell. It smelled like Earth, like the forest and the trees and fallen leaves.

 
She ignored it and started to climb again, but that smell was overbearing. She was almost to the right shelf when she just couldn’t ignore it any longer.

  Maria paused, making sure her feet were firmly planted on the shelf below. Between the books where another large gap was, she thought she saw something move.

  Just avoid it. Be on your way, she thought.

  But then that something tweeted like a baby bird, and all thoughts of why she had to bring a dagger up with her were gone. That tweet was not a happy tweet; it was a tweet of anguish.

  “Hello?” Maria called.

  Two glowing eyes shone in the darkness; they were small and quite close together. The creature that tweeted stepped forward from a nest made out of ripped book pages and strips of leather hardcover.

  “Hi there, pretty,” Maria said, cooing.

  The creature reminded Maria of Tweety Bird from The Looney Tunes shows that she used to watch when she was younger—ah, who was she kidding? The Looney Tunes shows that she sometimes still watched. Except where Tweety Bird was yellow, this creature was multicolored—red, orange, green, soft blue—and its feathers were all ruffled.

  There were tears in its big glowing eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Maria asked, aware of how crazy she must’ve seemed talking to a bird. Eh, I talk to a Bloodhound all the time, what’s the big deal?

  Surprisingly—or not really, the more she thought about it—the creature shook its head ‘no’.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hungry? Where’s your momma?”

  The creature cried again.

  Maria reached into her pocket, hoping she had some kind of snack to give it—maybe leftover candy or some popcorn had found its way into her pockets. Nope. But she did close her fingers around something shaped like a bone. It was a treat she’d put in there to give Sherlock, but had totally forgotten about.

  Better than nothing.

  She pulled it out and set it in front of the creature. Its eyes were cautious.

  “It’s okay. It’s food. Good food. My friend Sherlock loves them…well, he loves everything, so that’s not really saying much. I guess if you can understand me, it’s better than nothing. And you, my friend, look really hungry.”

  The bird-creature took a few hesitant steps and thrust its little beak out, sniffing at the dog biscuit.

  “Yeah, go on, buddy,” Maria said and motioned to it with her free hand.

  Hesitantly, the creature opened its beak and started to nibble the treat, breaking away small chunks and leaving a pile of crumbs.

  “Should’ve thought to break it up for you before I gave it to you. My bad. Here, let me—” She reached out to grab the treat again in order to make it easier for the creature to eat, but the creature wasn’t having that. Its beak suddenly unhinged with a click, and its cute face turned into the horrid face of a monster. Rows and rows of sharp teeth jutted from the creature’s gums.

  Maria let out a scream and found herself losing her balance.

  The dagger! Pull it free, she thought.

  That meant risking a fall.

  Better than having some weird creature bite your nose off, Maria. Should’ve never offered it a dog treat. It’s not even a dog.

  Now the creature was coming for her, its rotten-pink tongue lolling from between those jagged teeth.

  Maria wasted no more time. She reached for the dagger on her belt, knowing there was no way in hell that she could actually stab the creature if it came down to it.

  The creature flew through the air, covering the rest of the distance between its nest and Maria, but as soon as she brandished the dagger—its whiteness shining in the dark shadows of the towering books—the creature stopped dead and fell to the shelf, writhing.

  “Whoa,” Maria wheezed.

  The look of hatred in the bird-creature’s eyes was alarming. It did more than hate the blade…it utterly despised it.

  The creature slinked back to the shadows with a low growl. Once all Maria could see of it was its glowing, hateful eyes, she tilted a few books to block the creature from her view. The growling grew louder.

  “Fuck this,” Maria said. She wasn’t tired anymore; adrenaline coursed through her. She climbed up and over the shelf, hoping the little beast wouldn’t latch onto her ankle. That would be the worst.

  It didn’t happen.

  She reached the top shelf, quickly scanning the books. It took her about twenty seconds to find the Centaur’s book. Amazing what a little fear can do to you, she thought. She tucked the book into her belt, causing it to protrude very far out.

  “Okay, I’m coming down!” she shouted toward the floor at the top of her lungs. It hadn’t really occurred to her that the Gnomes might hear, but none did; she was much too high up in the air.

  Instead of going down the same way she had come, she shimmied to the left, hoping to avoid the creature she’d hidden with the books. She also hoped that there were no others—but she knew that was a long shot.

  When she was about three-quarters of the way down, she lost her balance.

  “NO!” she screamed.

  But it was too late.

  She fell, feeling weightless. The floor and the wide eyes of Gramps and Sherlock rushed up to meet her—

  A neigh sliced through the air, and she didn’t hit the floor at all. Instead, she hit the back of the Centaur, landing the wrong way, so her face was near his tail.

  WHOA! Sherlock sounded. She sticks the landing! I give it nine out of ten. Now back to you, Mark!

  Maria looked up, her breath knocked out of her and her heart beating off of the charts. “You’re not funny, Sherlock.”

  I think I am, that’s all that matters.

  “Maria, are you all right?” Gramps asked, rushing over to the Centaur’s side.

  She sat up. “It could’ve been much worse,” she said. “What, with the little creature trying to bite my face off, and falling, I guess I’m pretty good, all things considered.”

  Gramps grimaced. “Ah, you met the Raffins, eh?”

  “That was a Raffin!? Geez, Sherlock, I’m sorry for patronizing you about pestering the Raffin back near the forest. That was not a pleasant creature.”

  See? I know what I’m doing!

  She patted the Centaur’s horseback. “Thanks for breaking my fall, pal.”

  “Anytime. Did you get the book?”

  Maria hopped down and pulled the book free from her belt, just now realizing the corner had dug pretty deep into her lower abdomen. It would definitely leave a mark; better than Humpty Dumpty-ing all over the Light Elves’ library floor.

  “Yep,” Maria said. “Got it right here.” She handed it to the Centaur, whose face lit up in pure enjoyment. She’d never seen such a happy Centaur before in her life…of course, she’d actually never seen a Centaur in the flesh up to that point, either

  “Oh, thank you, Maria! You have made my day! I’m glad to have met you kind people.” He was smiling wide, showcasing his human-like teeth.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. I live to serve. Yada-yada, all that stuff, now give us the information we need.”

  The smile disappeared.

  Gramps and Sherlock had crowded closer around Maria and the Centaur.

  “What’s wrong?” Gramps asked.

  He lied, that’s what’s wrong. Never trust a talking half-man, half-horse. Only trust dogs…Bloodhounds in particular.

  “Shush,” Maria said.

  What? I’m not wrong. Watch!

  The Centaur scratched the back of his head with the book, which showed a particularly angry Centaur on the front, holding a sword. “I fear the information I have is not the best information, but it is information nonetheless. It is more than the Gnomes are willing to give you.”

  “Then spill it, friend,” Gramps said.

  “And I fear it may not be worth Maria risking her life,” the Centaur continued.

  “Now you say it,” Maria said.

  “No matter. What’s done is done, friend. Now hold up y
our end of the bargain.” Gramps was looking impatient.

  “Fine,” the Centaur said. “As you know, I’ve spent many moons here. This place has become a second home to me of sorts—especially since my own people look at me differently now that I’ve educated myself.”

  Get on with it, Sherlock said.

  And, as if the Centaur heard Sherlock, he did get on with it. “Not long ago, a Gnome was fired from the library for his drinking problem. When he would get drunk off that fine Elvish stuff, his tongue would loosen, and he would spill all kinds of secrets. His name is Gelbus.”

  “So we find this Gnome?” Maria asked her grandfather.

  He held up a hand as if to say, Let the Centaur finish.

  “You probably won’t even have to get him drunk, for he is most always deep in his cups these days. Not to mention the animosity he feels for the Gnome order. It was a nasty dispute; they had to call an escort for him. He went kicking and screaming, swearing he’d get his revenge. That was just the alcohol talking, we all knew. Gelbus was a gentle Gnome—one of my favorites, in fact. He often looked the other way when he caught me reading deep in the stacks, where a Centaur shouldn’t have been. I do miss him.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Maria said. “We find the Gnome, hope he’s drunk, and if he’s not, we just buy him a few rounds of—wait, what the hell do the people of Oriceran drink? Beer, vodka?”

  “Ale and wine is Gelbus’s drink of choice,” the Centaur answered. “Get the little Gnome a pint, and he’ll be off his rocker for the better part of the night.”

  Maria raised a hand toward the Centaur.

  He only stared at it.

  “What, they don’t high five here on Oriceran?” Maria said.

  What kind of place is this? Sherlock added, padding over to Maria, sitting like a good dog and putting his paw out to showcase the classic Shake trick. Maria smiled at him and slapped his paw.

  Yeah, that’s how it’s done, horse-freak!

  “Why are you always so bitter?”