Blue Curse (Blue Wolf Book 1)

by Brad Magnarella

  “I didn’t murder anyone,” I said between my teeth.

  “I’ve got four dead soldiers a few blocks away that say otherwise.”

  “So you’re admitting to everything I’ve said just now.”

  “I’ll play no part in your sickness, Captain,” he replied. “But delusional or not, your actions will have consequences—for Team 5 as well as that lovely young lady. The penalties for aiding a deserter are stiff, especially when fratricide follows. And that shadow will follow Daniela.”

  Stanick might have turned out to be a conniving son of a bitch, but he was right. Best case, I would be ending the military careers of ten good men and condemning them to prison sentences, further dimming their prospects. I could hear Segundo saying “We’re still behind you, bro. Do what you’ve gotta do.” But could I, knowing the cost?

  And Daniela. Even someone with her strength had a breaking point—and believing that her fiancé had gone on a murderous rampage might be it. That was to say nothing of the stigma she’d bear. I imagined the saintly light she carried being snuffed out and never coming back.

  “I don’t know that our treatment will help you,” Stanick continued. “But you can help those you care most for.” He smiled tightly. “That’s what the Jason Wolfe I know would do.”

  “Treatment,” I snorted. “Do you mean lethal injection?”

  “Like I said, your radical change in behavior would be explained medically. And no one would ever have to know about the murders.” He paced past me and stopped at the door. “Look, Captain. We lose soldiers to illness every year. Yours would just be another tragic case, and I mean that in the sincerest sense of the word. You are, and will remain, the best captain I’ve ever worked with. No one regrets what happened more than I do.”

  “I bet,” I snarled.

  “And you’re right to worry about her,” he said, his gaze dropping to the pocket where I’d slid Daniela’s photo. “I imagine an emotional blow like that could drive a woman to suicide.”

  I thought back to what Daniela had said about military police watching her house. My lips wrinkled from my teeth. “You lay one finger on her and—

  Stanick turned his head toward the window. The glass shattered, and fire exploded through my right shoulder. I collapsed against the wall, vision blurring, lungs gasping for air. He’d had a sniper set up on an adjacent rooftop, one who had just nailed me with a silver round.

  “Consider that a warning,” Stanick said, opening the door. “Do anything but report to Fort Bell, and the next one will be a head shot. Your friends and fiancé will then be beyond your help.” As blood poured between my fingers clamping the wound, he checked his watch. “You have two hours, Captain.”

  “Too chicken shit to take me with you?” I challenged.

  Colonel Stanick’s thin lips pinched together. “Though you gain nothing by killing me, I’d rather not take the chance. You’re out of options, Jason. The imaginary dragon you’re after has flown, and there’s no way you’re beating him back to Waristan. Fort Bell by midnight.”

  The door closed firmly behind him.

  27

  By the time Croft tapped on my door, I had picked myself up off the floor, leaned the mattress over the window to block the sniper’s view, and stuffed everything I thought I would need into my backpack.

  “Come in,” I grunted.

  “Hey, I just got off the phone with—” Everson stopped in the doorway and stared from the bloody mattress against the window, to the blood trails that went back and forth over the carpet, and at last to my blood-soaked shoulder. “What in the hell happened?” he stammered, rushing up to where I was kneeling.

  Without awaiting an explanation, he dropped the neatly-folded paper bag he was carrying, and tented his fingers over the wound. He spoke a resonant word. The bullet wiggled in the ragged hole, sending sharp spikes of pain through the tissue, before ripping free. The relief was almost immediate—as was the healing. Croft examined the flattened bullet in his palm before tossing it into the trash and cleaning his hands with a kerchief.

  “Who shot you?” he asked.

  I shook my head and tapped an ear to say someone could be listening. Croft nodded and then drove his staff against the floor. With a shouted “Disfare!” an orb of white light flashed from his cane, flattening my hair and burning a bright afterimage into my irises. To my left, the lamp’s bulb exploded, while across the room something crackled. By the time I blinked my sight clear, smoke was drifting from my laptop and the sat phone on the desk.

  “Heh, sorry about that,” Croft said. “But it should be safe to talk now.”

  “I had a visitor,” I said thinly, then proceeded to describe the encounter.

  Croft listened, a fist propping his chin, brow furrowed. By the time I’d finished, he had stepped to one side of the window, out of the firing lane, but his expression hadn’t changed.

  “The dragon has flown,” he repeated to himself before seeming to return to the room. “If true, that could be really bad. I just got off the phone with one of the higher ups from my Order. Turns out that what you were told about the end of the Wolf clan affecting creation has some merit.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, under normal circumstances the effect would have been very local, as I’d suggested. Limited to the plane the Guardians inhabit. But there was a huge disruption through a multitude of planes recently. Chaos itself tried to burrow its way into our world, and—”

  I circled a hand for him to get to the point.

  “Well, without going into too much detail, there are still a lot of tears in and around our world. Members of my Order are repairing them as we speak, but we’re still exposed to planes we wouldn’t otherwise be exposed to. The Guardians’ realm is positioned such that should their particular system of polarity collapse, it would have a seismic effect on our world. Massive floods, earthquakes, rivers of molten lava. We’re talking End Times-type stuff.”

  “So the White Dragon has to be stopped,” I said numbly, thinking about Daniela and Team 5. “No matter what.”

  “Yes, which also means I’m no longer on the sidelines,” Croft said.

  “Is there someone from your Order in that area who could head him off?”

  “Unfortunately, our most powerful are pretty far flung at the moment—some in other dimensions—trying to stitch the fabric back together. It’s a coordinated effort. Super delicate. Diverting their power elsewhere could have the same effect as the collapse of the Guardians’ realm. Or worse. The magic-user I’m in contact with is working to pinpoint the White Dragon’s location.”

  “Is that something you can attempt?”

  “Not without some material off him. Something cellular would be the most potent—hair, blood, a scale—but anything that his essence might have rubbed off on could also work.”

  I thought for a moment before shaking my head. I didn’t have anything like that. My one encounter with him had been almost three days ago, and I hadn’t taken anything during the raid on his fortress. “But if Stanick is telling the truth, I guess we already know where he is,” I said darkly. “Or at least where he’s headed.”

  Meaning I was staring at mission failure.

  “Why didn’t Stanick have you killed tonight?” Croft asked.

  The question was so pointed that I turned to face him. The light from his staff cast long shadows down his face and gleamed from his intelligent eyes. In the aftermath of my encounter with Stanick, and with silver poisoning my system, I had been thinking only of how to spare Daniela and Team 5. But that was a good question. Why hadn’t Stanick killed me tonight?

  I thought back to our mission the week before. My orders had been to kill General Zarbat and capture Elam, the Mujahideen leader with whom he was colluding. That was usually the way our missions went. Shoot to kill unless the enemy possessed something useful.

  But what did I have that was useful to Stanick?

  “I think the answer goes back to the Kabadi belief sys
tem,” Croft said. “The blood and vital organs of those descended from a Guardian are potent—especially to someone from the line of an opponent Guardian. The fresher the blood and organs, the more potent the effect.”

  “Nafid mentioned the long line of warriors the White Dragon had consumed in battle. She also explained that the Kabadi buried their dead in a deep crypt to prevent dragon shifters from stealing them, presumably for the White Dragon.”

  “Which was probably how he grew so powerful,” Croft said. “Now imagine how much more powerful he’d become if he could consume the one who embodied the qualities of the Great Wolf.”

  “The Blue Wolf,” I said in understanding. Which may have explained why the White Dragon kidnapped and tortured Nafid’s great-grandmother all those years ago. He’d wanted her to bring the Great Wolf into the world. She refused and escaped. “So you think the White Dragon is still in the city?”

  “If there’s one thing a dragon values over wealth, it’s power. The thought of being able to consume you, to increase his power two or threefold, would pound like an incessant drum in his head. The urge would be overwhelming. Knowing you’re here—and vulnerable? Yeah, he hasn’t gone anywhere.”

  I nodded, remembering the way the White Dragon had stared down at me in the village when he realized what I was. The hunger and fascination that had filled his moonlit eyes.

  “I surprised him at Bashi’s tonight,” I said, integrating Croft’s information with the sequence of events. “After his escape, he and Stanick had time to plan. Stanick knows my committment to Daniela and my team, so he uses it to force my surrender. Not to euthanize me, but to incapacitate me and turn me over to Orzu. Back in Waristan Orzu consumes me as the White Dragon and finishes off the rest of the Kabadi at his leisure. He would no longer even need an army.”

  “I think you’re on point with all of that,” Croft said. “Where did Stanick tell you to turn yourself in again?”

  “Fort Bell,” I said. “Stanick said it had been partially decommissioned, but I’m pretty sure it’s out of service.” Which made sense. Stanick wanted to keep his fingerprint as small as possible. He had already taken a risk by getting his security detail involved. Of course there was enough strange shit in New York that they probably weren’t asking too many questions.

  “Is Fort Bell a big place?” Croft asked.

  “Huge,” I answered. “It’s also secure. A good place to keep Orzu safe.”

  “We can go back to my place to see if my hologram is picking anything up over there. Might be able to hone in on an exact location.”

  As I pulled on my trench coat, I was already doing the initial mission planning in my mind. We would have a little over an hour to set something up. “I’m going to need to know every magical feat you can pull,” I said. “Especially those that involve accessing a military base.”

  “I can run through them on the way.”

  “You can begin by getting us out of here unseen.”

  An impish grin spread over Croft’s face as he lifted the paper bag he’d dropped and gave it a little shake. “Good thing I just went shopping.” He peered into the bag, looking like a kid about to show off his Halloween haul. “Oh, Mr. Han wanted me to give you this.”

  He pulled out a plastic bottle, a swampy green liquid fizzing inside, and handed it to me. Recognizing it as the “energy juice” that came with the rent, I started to pitch it into the trash can before Croft stopped me.

  “Wait, wait, Mr. Han’s a master at that particular brew. Potent stuff. It taste’s nastier than stale piss, but it will restore your strength like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I’d hold onto it.”

  I grunted and slipped it into my trench coat.

  “First up,” Croft said, digging back into the bag, “a projection spell.”

  The spell involved me standing in a circle of copper filings while Croft chanted and strange currents moved throughout the room. He finished with a shouted word, and I found myself staring at an exact likeness of myself. I snarled on reflex, but my likeness showed no reaction to my presence. Instead, he began walking aimlessly around the room.

  “He’s not material, just a temporary reflection of you,” Croft explained. I passed a taloned hand through him as he walked past us. “The projection will hold up for about thirty minutes, which will convince anyone watching that you’re still in here. As for us…”

  He signaled me to stand beside him and raised his cane in front of him. “Oscurare,” he uttered. The stone in the staff went dark, but it didn’t stop there. The stone drew in the ambient light around Croft until he was hard to see, even with my wolf vision. I noticed the same darkness concealing me as well.

  “Works on infrared and night vision too,” Croft said.

  He opened the door behind him and signaled for me to go first. I passed through the doorway, my pack and M4 slung over the same shoulder. He followed. Aiming his cane back through the cracked-open door, he spoke another word. Inside, I heard the mattress flop to the floor.

  “The illusion is complete,” he whispered, closing the door.

  We descended the steps quietly and slipped out the front door. I kept waiting for the suppressed cough of a sniper’s shot, but the darkness concealed us like a glove. We made it to the taxi and climbed into the backseat. Croft restored the engine and instructed Kumar to drive us back to his apartment. The cabbie, who appeared resigned to his fate, drove in silence.

  I peered around to make sure we weren’t being followed, then nodded at Croft.

  “Right, the magical things I can do…” the wizard said, and began going down the list.

  We pulled in front of his apartment twenty minutes later and hurried up the three flights to his unit. As Croft triple-bolted the door behind us, Tabitha yawned and shifted her giant bulk on a divan.

  “Still knocking around with the wolfman, I see,” she muttered.

  I ignored the remark and turned to Croft. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Stanick’s threat against Daniela, and now I knew what I had to do. The decision made, the final piece of the mission plan clicked home.

  “While you check the hologram, I need to make a call,” I said. “Then I’ll lay out the plan. If the White Dragon is where we think he is, I know how this is going to go.”

  28

  My body jostled heavily in the backseat as the cab slowed, then came to a stop. A powerful light glared against my closed eyelids—the spotlight at the gate. I listened as the driver side window powered down.

  “Oh, yes, hello?” came the cabbie’s distressed voice.

  “Who are you?” a soldier’s voice barked. “This is a restricted area.”

  “Oh my God. It horrible.”

  “What’s horrible?” the soldier demanded.

  “This man ask me drive him here, then he, I don’t know, he stop talking, stop breathing, I think.”

  A scuff of soles, and another light glared over my closed eyes.

  “I need you to step out of the vehicle with your ID.”

  “Yes, yes,” the cabbie said quickly.

  The door opened and the cabbie stumbled out. Following the soldier’s inspection of his ID, I heard the telltale signs of a pat down.

  “Sit right there, and don’t move,” the soldier said.

  “Yes, I sit.”

  I heard the breathing of two soldiers, one on each side of the vehicle. I had to imagine their faces and pointed weapons—probably M4s or SCARS. The chambered rounds of silver I could smell.

  While one of the soldiers covered me, the other opened the trunk, rifled through it, and slammed it closed. Footsteps rounded the cab, then stopped as the soldier knelt to inspect the underside of the vehicle. The hood went up next before dropping again with a bang that shook the cab.

  Now the backseat door opened. A glare hit my face, then fell away. I could almost feel the subtle heat of the flashlight playing around my feet, shining into my open coat, and then lingering on my bloody shoulder before returning to my head. A ha
nd unwound my scarf, removed my hat, then seized the top of the bandage mask and pulled it away. Following a muttered curse of revulsion, the soldier shone his flashlight over my slack-jawed face, searching for the least flicker of life.

  At last a dry swallow sounded. The soldier came nearer, and two fingers dug through the hair on the side of my throat in search of my jugular. A sour fear radiated from the pores of his hand. After several seconds, the soldier withdrew quickly and slammed the door.

  “Your man just arrived in a taxi,” he radioed, “but he’s cold and got no pulse.”

  “What do you mean ‘no pulse’?” Colonel Stanick’s militant voice answered.

  “He’s slumped out in the back of the taxi, blood all over his coat, and he’s not breathing or beating. He’s DOA, sir.”

  Stanick swore. “How long has he been like that?”

  The soldier posed the question to the cabbie.

  “I not know … ten minute?” the cabbie answered.

  “The driver says ten minutes,” the soldier reported.

  I picked up bits of broken dialogue from Stanick’s end before he said, “Bring him in here right away.”

  “What about the cab driver, sir?”

  I felt my ears try to cock toward the radio, but under Croft’s cataleptic spell, I couldn’t move. How easy or difficult our mission would become hinged on Stanick’s response.

  “Just hold him there until we’re done.”

  Something inside me unclenched. Right answer.

  “Yes, sir.” The soldier then addressed his partner. “I’ll take him through if you want to babysit Apu over there.” I heard a clunk of metal and pictured the security gate sliding open.

  “You a hundred percent sure he’s a stiff?”

  “Look at him. He’s not breathing. He’s got no pulse.”

  “Yeah, but a bullet through the head would remove all doubt.”

  “Hey, hey!” the cabbie called. “I drive twenty mile. Who going to pay me?”

  “Sit your ass back down!” the soldier who’d proposed shooting me shouted.

  “He’s all yours,” his partner snorted. The cab rocked as he landed in the driver seat and slammed the door behind him. The cab started forward, gaining speed down the main drive of the decommissioned base.