Insidious: (The Marked Mage Chronicles, Book 1)

  ***

  I stirred, my eyes burning through the frightening images of my dream state. It took me another second to realize that I was alone. I’d woken up briefly an hour ago to find an arm draped over me, holding me close as I lay nestled on my side. It was the first time I’d seen Reese’s hands without his gloves on. His fingers were long and slender and rather elegant, like that of a pianist.

  I turned over, greeted by nothing now but a cold bed sheet. Soft taps clanked in the distance, which I figured was Mom probably fiddling with the coffeemaker from the kitchen. Grabbing the tops of the covers draped over my torso, I was about to pull them up further when the theme from Dracula suddenly blasted from the nightstand. Receiving texts now had become a new fear of mine, but I breathed a sigh of relief to see Reese’s name on the screen.

  “I’ll be back to pick you up.”

  Remaking the bed wound up taking me longer than going through my morning routine. Mom was rather anal about the order in which her accent pillows had to be arranged for each bedroom, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it. Feng Shui was the least of my problems, so I eventually forfeited and just tossed the pillows at random. I just finished slipping on my shoes when my phone rang.

  “Hey, I’m out front,” announced Reese on the other end of the call.

  “Seriously? Now? It’s not even six thirty.”

  Sure enough, the unmistakable throaty purr of the truck’s engine resonated from the driveway.

  My stomach dropped. “Wait, don’t—”

  Too late. He’d ended the call. I tried redialing, but he didn’t answer.

  Not good.

  I grabbed my jacket and bolted out into the hallway when the doorbell rang. Just as I reached the top of the stairs, Mom’s heels clacked across the foyer.

  “I’ve got it,” I called out. “It’s for me.”

  My stomach lurched as I heard the front door open. I made it to the bottom of the landing just in time to see Mom’s eyes bore down at Reese like she’d just found a flee-infested mutt on her front steps.

  Her smile was devoid of any genuine pleasantry as she asked, “Can I help you?”

  Reese flashed a smile of his own, a very warm, boyish grin. “Hi, I’m here to pick up Kat. You must be her mother.” He extended his hand, awaiting a handshake he quickly realized wouldn’t be returned. “I’m Reese. Reese Blackburn—”

  “I know who you are,” Mom said curtly. Her eyes gave him a second look-over, and any pretense of a smile vanished as they settled on his jacket. He was wearing the one I’d returned to him, the same one I had worn to the country club. “What business do you have with my daughter?”

  “Reese is my new tutor,” I cut in, stepping between the two. “And he was kind enough to give me a lift to school, so we can get in an early morning session before class starts.”

  Mom continued glaring at him. “I thought you said you were all caught up with your schoolwork. Anyways, why can’t Vanessa tutor you? She’s on the honors society.”

  “Well, I’m actually in the top five of our graduating class,” Reese politely replied.

  Even I couldn’t help but look at him doubtfully.

  “And there’s a big exam coming up in Calculus that Kat could really use help on,” he added.

  That part was true, and I had even mentioned—or more moaned about it—the other morning over breakfast. At last, Mom relented and backed away from the door, allowing me to step past her.

  “Don’t forget we’re hosting the social tonight for the Woodstone. Seven o’clock,” she called out as I followed Reese down the driveway. I waved back to signal I understood before climbing into the passenger seat of the pickup as Reese settled behind the wheel.

  “Top five in our class?” I laughed quietly.

  “What’s funny about that?”

  I’d learned his tells pretty well by now, and Reese was showing none. Holy crap! He wasn’t kidding. “But…how? You don’t even go to half your classes!”

  He gave a knowing smile. “The only one I don’t go to is French, and that’s because I’m exempted due to my commitments for the newspaper. I take all the necessary exams during either Lunch or Study Hall. I’ve got a ninety-eight percent.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Reese nodded.

  “Well, well, well. You really are full of surprises.”

  He winked, flooring the truck out of the driveway. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  We drove down the end of the street, but Reese took an unexpected turn once we hit Main.

  “Ah, hate to break it to you, Columbus, but you’re going in the wrong direction,” I said, pointing behind us. “The school’s that way.”

  “Not the one I have in mind.” Reese turned onto another road, and I realized where we were going. The highway.

  “Care to fill me in?”

  “Have you ever heard of Dr. Jonathan Madsen?”

  I shook my head.

  “He’s a theology scholar who just so happens to be holding a lecture at Whitmore University.”

  “So…?”

  “I’ve got a good feeling,” he simply shrugged.

  “A feeling?” I gawped. “You’re gonna drive a two-hour roundtrip for a ‘feeling’?”

  “That...” He reached into the backseat and tossed me a paperback. “And this.”

  “Decoding Demonology & Occultism,” I read across the spine. I turned it over, and sure enough, it was written by the good ole doctor.

  To our surprise, we managed to make the trip there in less than forty-five minutes. Creighton looked like many of the other New England campus towns I’d visited, filled with quaint village shops and grocery markets next to multileveled banks and hotels. Monuments of men dressed in colonial clothing rested on various street corners as several artillery cannons greeted us on the lawn of the local library. And I wasn’t entirely sure which period they were supposedly a part of. Maine seemed to house memorials from many wars spanning over multiple centuries. Most of Mystic Harbor’s monuments were in dedication to the Civil War, but other places also paid tribute to everything from the American Revolution, the French & Indian Wars, and even Aroostook.

  We at last rolled up to a set of opened filigree gates with the word Cumberland inscribed into the rote iron workings. Taking the long, winding road north, the front of the magnificent building eventually came into view. The place looked more like a freaking castle than a college. Just like Belleview High, Whitmore was an old school, only much bigger. A stone façade and gigantic columns loomed overhead as we parked the car. Reese reached over me to open his glove box, fetching out what looked like an ankle brace of some sort.

  “I want you to carry this,” he confirmed, plucking out a dagger from inside his jacket.

  “Seriously?” I wasn’t the biggest fan of knives to begin with, and after what I’d done to Brittany, it was the last thing I wanted to ever have to use.

  “It’s better to have what you don’t need.” He slid the knife into what I now realized was a holster. Relenting, I rolled up the end of my pant leg, letting him strap it around my ankle before we headed into the building.

  Inside past the massive oak main doors sat gleaming marble floors, a rich crimson area rug, and soaring ceilings fit for a Renaissance cathedral. A bulletin board hung nestled in the corner, and a map of the school was printed on the right side. I headed over to it, but just as I approached, a flash of imagery swept into my vision.

  “What is it?” asked Reese.

  “I’m not sure…” I turned around and froze at the advertisement board in front of me.

  “Folklore & Anthropology Seminar, Speaker Dr. Jonathan Madsen,” read big, bold letters.

  For the first time in a long while, I actually felt like I was on the right track. We asked one of the students if they knew where Dr. Madsen was teaching, and he directed us to the east wing. Sculpted vaulted ceilings and warm wall sconces made up every hallway inside with carved stone and woodwork only emphasizing th
e school’s regality. Finding the lecture hall in question, I slowly pulled open the back door upon hearing the commanding voice talking on the other side.

  “The Book of Enoch referenced demons as the evil spirits of the Nephilim. These were the half-breed offspring of human women and the male angels that fell from Lucifer’s rebellion. Christian theology suggests that demons are the spirits of evil angels. Others will say that they’re malevolent specters that were once human. And some even suggest that demons were created by the hands of Satan himself.”

  Reese and I quietly crept into the back row of the stadium raised seats, taking focus to the man standing center at the pitched floor below by the projector. Dr. Madsen looked exactly like his photo on the placard with the exception that his hair was now a little longer, still neatly slicked back. He put up a number of slides on the overhead, asking the class if they could identify each of the depictions shown above. Students chimed in, listing off a number of demons from Caim, Balam, Paimon, Azazel, and so on. All of which I knew nothing about.

  “Does anyone know what this represents?” Madsen asked next as he put up a drawing of a pentagram with a star and goat head placed in the middle. He had an accent I couldn’t quite ascertain. Perhaps Dutch or Danish.

  A girl raised her hand, and he called on her. “It’s considered a diabolical symbol.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Yes, it is. Do you know why?”

  “When inverted, the pentagram mocks the five holy wounds of Christ,” she replied. “Same as an upside-down cross.”

  “Correct. But the inverted cross simply signifies one’s denial of Christ. This pentagram has a particular function, one that’s been used since the Middle Ages,” said Dr. Madsen. “Does anyone know its purpose?”

  Everybody quietly exchanged glances, but no one raised their hand.

  “Nobody?”

  I hesitantly lifted my hand.

  “Yes, the girl in the back.”

  “Circle of Containment?” I suggested, seeing the blatant similarities to the one I’d seen while Reese had been flipping through one of his dad’s journals.

  His eyebrows piqued. “No, but that’s a very good guess. It’s actually a Conjuration Sigil. There’s a reason why knowing a demon’s name is so important. Containment Sigils are used to permanently exorcise a demon from a person by calling out the spirit’s true name. With a Conjuration Sigil, it has the opposite effect. When a conjuror draws this symbol and calls upon the demon by name, it summons that particular demon to that very spot, meaning you now have control over it.”

  Madsen flipped the lights back, making us all wince at the sudden brightness. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. My door’s always open.”

  Here was our chance.

  “Excuse me, Doctor Madsen,” I said, as sweetly as I could. It was important we didn’t draw any extra attention. “Do you have a moment?”

  He looked up from the materials he was gathering up and smiled back. “I think I could spare one. What’s on your mind?”

  I looked over at Reese, suddenly unsure as to how I should word this. “This might sound odd, but…”

  “We were wondering if you could tell us what this might be,” Reese stepped in, placing a sketch out on the desk.

  My eyes shot back up at Reese. He mentioned how he liked to draw, but I had no idea he was that good. He’d rendered an exact illustration of the creature from the boiler room.

  Madsen paused for a second before reaching out for the drawing.

  “It’s for a graphic novel we’re working on,” added Reese as casually as he could. “We just want to be thorough, so I guess we were just curious if you’d ever come across anything in your research that might look like this.”

  The doctor studied the image. “You know, I just might have.”

  Reese and I both shared an excited glance, trying to repress from outwardly sighing.

  “I’ll have to take a look through my studies, of course. And I have another lecture starting shortly, but if you have time later…”

  “Yeah, that’d be great.”

  Reese and I spent the next hour or so roaming campus before heading to the library as we were instructed. Whitmore’s library proved to be just as magnificent as the rest of the school, if not more. Cathedral vaulted ceilings rested overhead, intricate stone and oak paneling filled the walls with detailed carvings of angels, numerous candelabra wall sconces lit the outside aisles of the bookshelves, and the floor was brightly polished marble.

  A librarian directed us to a small oak furnished room at the back of the library behind a section of studying tables where Madsen was already waiting. We headed inside, and the doctor closed the door behind us.

  He’d taken the chair beside the entrance, so Reese and I took our places on the other side of the research table. Madsen suddenly lobbed a coin at the both of us. We each caught them, seeing intricate patterns embossed on the surfaces.

  “Well, you’re not Hellhounds, so that’s at least an upside.”

  The coin. It was made of silver. “How did you-”

  An unmistakable click registered in front of us, and we both paled as we raised our heads to the good ole doctor…and the barrel of the gun now aimed between us.

  So much for a good ‘feeling.’

  Chapter 24

  Fallen

  Reese and I slowly drew up our hands.

  “I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” my companion said. “Everyone saw us walk in here. The moment you shoot, they’ll sound the alarm. They’ll know it was you.”

  “That’s where you’re mistaken. They won’t, because they won’t hear any of it,” remarked the doctor, nodding overhead. We angled our heads to see the gigantic face of a clock. The second hand moved, but no typical ticking was being produced.

  “You put a ward over the room,” Reese gritted.

  “A what?” I murmured.

  “Magic. It prevents anyone from eavesdropping so long as they’re outside the projected range,” he clarified. Like what Reese had used in our own school’s library.

  “Magic?” My eyes traveled to the doctor’s left arm, and the man immediately withdrew it from the table surface. “You’re a…a Mage.”

  “And this is loaded with bullets made from Angelorum steel,” growled Madsen, repositioning the gun on me. “Doesn’t matter what you are. I pull the trigger; you die.”

  “It seems we got off on the wrong foot here,” I said shakily. “All we wanted was a few answers.”

  He smirked, but there was no amusement behind his eyes. “This isn’t my first rodeo, girl.” The doctor cocked his head, looking to Reese. “Interesting accessory you’re sporting there.”

  Reese looked down bemusedly at the vintage pocket watch hanging from his vest.

  “I meant the inside.” Madsen gestured to his jacket. “You should do a better job concealing your hardware if you really wish to play junior assassin.”

  I gave a sideways glance, and sure enough, I could see the outline of one of Reese’s blades resting against his torso through the fabric.

  Crap.

  “Let me take a wild guess; your Regent sent you two to knock me off. Is that it?”

  “Our…Regent?” I looked to Reese again for clarification.

  “Sir, we’re not Reapers. We don’t have an affiliation.” The doctor sneered, but Reese slowly raised his left hand higher until the fabric of his sleeve fell down his forearm, revealing the metallic ink.

  “By the Angel…” The doctor heaved a relieved sigh. That is, until he turned his attention to me. “What about you?”

  “Same,” confirmed Reese.

  “I’d show you, but I’m kind of afraid to move,” I said weakly, still seeing the gun aimed at me.

  Madsen finally had the decency to lower it, allowing us to drop our hands as well. Reese removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, showing the doctor his runes. Madsen returned the gesture, and I could make out several matching symbols on each of their arms. None
of which I had.

  “How did you find me?” asked Madsen.

  “We weren’t looking for you, per se. We just wanted to know if anybody could tell us what that thing is,” said Reese, nodding to his sketch on top of the table.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because it attacked us.”

  Any relief the doctor had vanished. “How did you fend it off?”

  We shared another puzzled side-glance. “We don’t really know what happened. It just kind of…vanished.”

  Madsen settled back in his seat, his skin going gray. “It’s a spectral warrior called the Moraine, recognized as a chief assassin and henchman of the Underworld. The Moraine is known for maiming and paralyzing its victims before devouring their livers, and it can only be summoned or recalled by its master. The high prince of Hell, Sitri.”

  “A demon?”

  “Dark Mage.”

  My blood ran cold. “And he’s the only one who could get the Moraine to leave?”

  Madsen nodded, but with hesitation. “Sitri, and whoever may bear his mark.”

  “His mark?”

  “It’s said to be something of tradition. The emblem is used to herald someone as his mate.”

  You’re marked. That’s what Brittany had said.

  The hooded stranger in the parking lot.

  He had runes. Runes that my own had responded to.

  I could feel Reese’s eyes burning a hole through my profile.

  “Have you ever seen this before?” asked Reese, his voice crackling over the words. He handed over his phone with the image of the scorched symbol burned into the boiler room wall.

  Madsen swallowed hard. “That’s it. That’s the mark.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Has anything else happened? Anything out of the ordinary? Increased demonic activity? Any other spectral figures?”

  My chest tightened the moment Reese opened his mouth. Would he tell him? Could we really trust Madsen?