Judgement

by Ryan Attard

  I reached behind me for Djinn only to remember that I had left the short sword in the backseat of my car. I mean, who brings a weapon to a date?

  The van’s side door slid open and three thugs emerged, their faces covered with ski masks. I threw my fist at one of them and felt something break. But the drugs in the dart were fogging up my mind, making me slow and sluggish.

  I heard the sharp crackle of a taser and felt a million volts pass through my body. Every muscle seized up and I was left stunned.

  “Mr. Ashendale!” Arnold cried.

  His was the last voice I heard before I felt the thugs seize me and throw me inside the van. I struggled and felt myself being tasered again, before one of them kicked me in the head and I passed out.

  Chapter 9

  I woke up in darkness.

  I wasn’t blind, just blindfolded and bound to a chair with something that bit uncomfortably into my skin: zip locks. I took a deep breath but something obstructed my mouth. My first instinct was to struggle and panic, but by now the idea of keeping calm under pressure had been ingrained in my head.

  Instead, I softened my breathing, inhaling through the fabric, and looked around. I could see splotches of light through the fabric, which meant my kidnappers had put a hood over my head. Without moving too much, I tried shifting my legs, only to find that they had zip-tied my ankles to the legs of the chair.

  I could hear muffled voices over the ringing noise that permeated my ear drums, and closed my eyes, focusing on eavesdropping and trying to find out more about my situation.

  “Yeah, we got him. Right where you said he would be, boss.” A pause. “Ten grand? We agreed on fifteen, each!”

  Whoever was speaking stopped moving and scraped his boots on the ground impatiently.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know that? You said to pick up the guy, so we pick up the guy. Now we gotta play cop with him too?”

  Another pause.

  “Okay, okay, sorry, boss. Twenty grand, it is. If he knows something, we’ll get it outta him.”

  I felt someone seize my shoulders and yank the hood away. Light assaulted my eyes, and I yelped before fluttering my eyelids. When my eyes settled, I saw two guys hovering around me, both looking like they hit the gym pretty hard, and both wore flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up well past their thick arm muscles, which were about as big as my face.

  Ahead was another guy, this one skinnier than the other two, albeit still tough-looking, wearing a tight t-shirt and holding a cellphone to his ear. He glared at me, looked at the phone, and slipped it inside his pocket.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “This ain’t my lucky day.”

  The skinny guy reached towards a workbench and grabbed something long, black and cylindrical. He smiled as he pressed a switch at the handle and the tip buzzed with electricity in between two nodes at the top.

  “No, it ain’t,” he said, waving the cattle prod around.

  I looked around, noticing the garage I was being held in, looking for a potential way out. There wasn’t much I could do, not unless I got out of those zip locks.

  “So what is this exactly?” I mouthed off. “You guys trying to invite me to join your little ‘roided out group?”

  The guy shoved the cattle prod into my chest and I felt as if every muscle in my body was being torn in half. Fire coursed through every molecule of my body.

  When he pulled back, I could breathe again.

  “Ow, man,” I rasped. “Now there’s a guy trying to overcompensate for something.”

  He prodded me again and this time I screamed.

  “Not so funny now, are you?” sneered one of the gorillas by my side.

  “Thanks for the observation,” I replied. “Now be a dear and go play outside. The adults are talking here.”

  I shouldn’t have pissed off the big bad guy — I couldn’t help it, but still, I shouldn’t have.

  The big guy swung his fist and I felt my entire head shake. Something loosened in my mouth. I spat out a molar and felt the familiar tingle of magic as I began healing.

  “I ain’t stupid,” the big man grunted.

  I spat more blood and turned to the other muscled guy. “Can you please control your boyfriend?”

  The third guy just cocked his head, as if he couldn’t quite make out what I had just said. The skinny guy zapped me again with the cattle prod, this time stabbing me in the neck. I felt myself blacking out for a second and my stomach threatened to heave.

  “That’s my cousin,” the cattle prod guy said. “He’s deaf.”

  I blinked, trying to get the black spots out of my vision. “Huh. Guess even handicapped people can be dicks.”

  Cattle prod guy switched tactics and punched me right in the face, digging a knuckle into my eye. My head snapped back and already I could feel a black eye swelling up.

  “We have some questions.”

  “Oh good, I thought you’d never ask.” I shook my head and grinned. “I know it’s a little early in our relationship but I guess we shouldn’t wait. My answer is yes, dear, a thousand times yes.” I glanced at the other two guys. “And I’ll even let your flying monkeys stay with us.”

  This time both beefed-out guys punched me, one in the back of the head and the deaf guy hit me in the stomach. Meanwhile, cattle prod guy kicked me in the crotch.

  “Ow,” I moaned. “Dick move, man.”

  He grabbed my hair and tilted my head back, while bringing the nodes of the cattle prod close to my right eye.

  “Take this seriously,” he said, over the loud electrical crackling.

  “You have my undivided attention.”

  “The book. Where is it?”

  I grunted. “I think you guys hit me way too hard. I’m pretty sure I heard you say book.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Huh?”

  He jabbed the cattle prod into my shoulder and a million volts went through me.

  “YEOW!” I screamed. “Enough with the damn cattle prod! Seriously!”

  “Then answer me, asshole,” he said. “Where is the book?”

  “What book? The hell are you talking about?”

  “The book our boss wants.”

  “I don’t know who you’re working for.”

  The guy frowned at me and cocked his head.

  I sighed. “Guess you should have planned this out first, huh?”

  The guy backhanded me so hard I felt my jaw unhinge a little, and thrust the cattle prod into my thigh. I really should stop antagonizing these people before they caused too much damage.

  “I don’t know who you’re working for,” I said. “And I don’t know which book you’re talking about. Do you have a title?”

  “No.”

  “Have you checked on Amazon? I hear they’re good.”

  I felt the big, non-deaf guy place his giant hand on my shoulder. His finger dug into my collarbone and pain flared.

  “Don’t be a smart ass,” he said as he squeezed.

  I was bent in his direction and turned my head towards him. “I missed you too, big guy.”

  The deaf guy — cattle-prod guy’s cousin — waved and signaled with his hands before reaching into his pocket and handing something over to his cousin. The cattle prod guy glared at a business card before shoving it in my face.

  “Have you ever heard of them?” he asked.

  It was a neat piece of art: black background with a cool, sleek graphic adorning two words in blazing silver: RYLEH CORP.

  To the casual observer it was just a regular — albeit expensive-looking — business card.

  To me, it brought back memories of Verdant Moon and Leviathan’s island. A few months ago, a group of crazy wizard terrorists created a video game that sucked away magical energy. They also stole a device that tore open a hole to another dimension and nearly caused the end of the freakin’ world.

  A dimension run by the Sin of Envy, Leviathan.

  A dimension I was trapped in for two whole weeks.


  And it turns out that it was all funded by Ryleh Corp, whoever the hell they were. My sister wasn’t able to uncover much about them — only that they were a financial conglomerate with fingers in all pies and completely untouchable.

  Were they behind whatever was going on now as well?

  “I have no idea what that is,” I said. The humor was completely gone from my voice.

  Cattle prod guy must have sensed that because he smirked. “I think you’re lying to me,” he said. Electricity sparked from the cattle prod. “And you know what happens when you lie to me.”

  “Mr. Ashendale!”

  Oh good, Casper was here.

  Arnold the ghost boy appeared at the garage door, somehow out of breath. “I followed you as fast as I could, Mr. Ashendale, but they had a car and it was pretty fast.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Here’s the thing about talking to ghosts: people can only hear your side of the conversation.

  Cattle prod guy paused. “Don’t worry about what?”

  “Mr. Ashendale, what happened to you?” the ghost asked. “How can I help?”

  “It’s okay,” I said, smiling reassuringly at him.

  The big guy pressing on my shoulder immediately released his grip.

  “I think he snapped,” he told cattle prod guy. “I heard about this. It’s called Stocking Syndrome or something. Makes prisoners go crazy.”

  “That’s Stockholm Syndrome, dumbass,” I corrected. “And that is so not what’s happening here. That’s not even what Stockholm Syndrome is.”

  “Mr. Ashendale, I really think you should get out of there if you can,” Arnold said in his whiny voice — which I really did not need at the moment, given my situation.

  “Hey, Arnold!” I snapped, causing my captors to stare at me as if I had really lost my marbles.

  I looked directly at the ghost. “Will you shut up for just a second? These dickheads were just about to tell me everything they know, and I really don’t need you telling me how dire my situation is.”

  “Dude,” said the buff guy. “He’s really lost it.”

  Cattle prod guy waved his weapon close to me. “Maybe he needs another zap to snap him out of it.”

  I glared at him. “Listen up, Dicknuts,” I said. “You got exactly two seconds to get that shit out of my face and cut me loose. That way, we can still depart as friends.”

  Predictably, he sneered at me. “And what if I don’t?”

  “Then, in exactly five seconds, I’ll get out of this chair and shove that prod so far up your ass, your eyes will light up like a Terminator’s.”

  “Yeah, like hell you will.” He laughed. “Okay then, asshole. How exactly are you gonna get out?”

  I cocked my head. “You made a mistake,” I said. “Next time you tie someone’s legs to a chair, make sure one of them doesn’t have more slack than the other.”

  “What-”

  I planted my right foot on the ground — which I had shimmied out of the bonds just a fraction of an inch — and leaned forwards, spinning on it. The chair whipped around, catching cattle prod guy’s arm and swinging his weapon towards the beefy guy. The gorilla spasmed and fell on the ground writhing.

  Meanwhile, I snapped my wrists apart, and the sudden jerk broke the tense plastic of the zip lock binding my arms behind my back. As I fell forwards, I turned so that I faced the deaf beefy guy. I thrust my arms forwards but instead of pushing towards him, I planted them on the ground and allowed gravity to do its job. I vaulted over in a handstand and the chair came crashing down on the deaf guy’s head.

  I heard wood snap and break, and found myself able to move again. Tied to my legs were the chair’s legs, and I pulled them free, using them as makeshift batons. The deaf guy groggily climbed to his knees. I swung towards his knee with one stick and cracked him over the head with the other.

  I heard the crackle of electricity and turned to face the cattle prod guy. His eyes were wide open in surprise and he thrust his weapon forwards. I swung my dual weapons, striking his weapon, wrist and side of the face in a quick flurry of blows. He staggered backwards. I moved in, feigning a high attack, and kicked him in the nuts.

  “Now we’re even,” I growled as he bent forwards. I hit him over the head for good measure and watched him crumple to the ground.

  I discarded the two sticks and reached downwards, picking the guy’s pockets for his cellphone and the Ryleh business card.

  “Mr. Ashendale!” Arnold called out in panic.

  “I see him,” I said, scooping up the cattle prod and zapping the first beefy guy for a second time. “Night, night, gorilla.”

  He fell unconscious again and I dropped the cattle prod.

  “Now then,” I said, pocketing the business card and turning on the smartphone. “Let’s see who your boss is.”

  I pressed redial and waited.

  “What now?” came a gritty voice from the other end. “Did he talk?”

  “Damn straight he talked,” I replied.

  The voice on the other end changed tones immediately. “Who is this?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” I said. “Who the hell are you? What the hell do you want?”

  “Shit,” the voice swore on the other end.

  “You bet your ass you’re in shit, pal,” I replied. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m gonna find out. And then I’m gonna come for you.”

  “Shit,” the voice said again before the line went dead and all I heard was the tone dial.

  I looked at the ghost. “You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, do you?”

  He nodded. “We are one hour’s travel away from the restaurant,” he replied.

  “Swell. Where’s my jacket?”

  I found it strewn over an oily workbench and inwardly cursed these idiots. I fished my cellphone from the jacket pocket and dialed Abi.

  “Erik?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “What’s up? You sound out of breath.”

  “Listen,” I said. “Where are we with the tracking spell? Did you get it done?”

  “No,” she replied. “The damn thing just fizzled out when it ran out of juice. Sorry. Wait, aren’t you supposed to be out on a date? What happened?”

  “Oh, you know, just the usual,” I replied. “Ate dinner, got kidnapped and tortured, and now I’m trying to find the bag of dicks that started this.”

  “Oh my god, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, they were idiots,” I replied. “Good thing I have a thing about not using magic against vanilla humans. They actually gave me some good intel.”

  “Do you need back-up?” she asked.

  “No time,” I said. “But contact Gil and see if she found anything on Ryleh Corp. Their name came up again and I don’t like this. Also, ask her about a book.”

  “What book?”

  “Good question. Just do it, okay.”

  “Sure thing. Hey, Erik — be careful out there.”

  “Always am.”

  I hung up on her and pulled out cattle prod guy’s phone again, dialing a number. “Roland, it’s me.”

  Detective Roland March grunted in assent. “What is it, Erik?”

  “Listen, I’m in a hurry, so I need a quick favor. Can you trace the last call this phone made?”

  “Which phone?”

  “This one I’m calling you on.”

  “Erik, we’re not the damn CIA,” he replied. “And besides, I’m pretty sure what you’re asking is illegal.”

  “Okay, what if I text you a number?” I said. “Can you tell me the last known location?”

  “What’s this about, Erik?”

  I put on my jacket and swiped the keys to the van the goons had brought me in.

  “I think I got a lead on the guy who attacked the station,” I lied.

  I could practically feel his rage through the phone. “Send me that number,” he said.

  I hung up and texted him the number of whoever hired
the goons to kidnap me. Seconds later, Arnold and I were inside the van, driving towards my car. I found it right where I left it and popped open the trunk. Luckily, I always keep a change of clothes inside.

  I pulled on my coat, which I had rolled in the trunk. Djinn was resting on the back seat. I wasn’t the type to bring a weapon on a date, but after tonight, I might have to reconsider that rule. Strapping on the short sword, I climbed into the driver’s seat with Arnold floating on the passenger seat beside me, and heard my phone go off.

  It was Roland, texting me the location.

  “Here I come, you son of a bitch.”

  Chapter 10

  Hollywood teaches us that a cemetery is the last place you’d want to be in the middle of the night — but that’s a completely different story if you happen to be a wizard.

  For one thing, all the magic was there. I don’t mean that zombies rise out of their graves or anything like that. The last thing dead people want is to come back here.

  But magic does go through cycles, just like everything else in the world. At night, magic is strongest in places regular people tend to stay away from, and cemeteries are at the top of that list.

  I parked just outside and killed the engine. Arnold the ghost boy was already phasing through the car, when I stopped him.

  “Wait,” I said, waving my hand through his opalescent body. “Listen.”

  One lesson you learned early on when your childhood consisted of running away from monsters, was to listen before jumping out into the unknown. You listened for the snapping of branches, the heaviness of footsteps, the cracking of bones and sinew, as whatever was lying in wait for you tensed up and prepared to pounce.

  Voices reached my ear: a single person speaking. Usually, people kept their voices low in these places, but this guy was speaking casually as if he was in a park.

  I had parked downwind — another trick one learned from a terrible monster-filled childhood — but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. If I wanted to eavesdrop I had no choice but to get closer.

  Silently, I motioned for Arnold to keep quiet, pressing a finger to my lips, and crouched down. He mirrored my movements, and we both stealthily made our way inside the cemetery, going from one tombstone to the next. Up ahead, like a lighthouse in a dark ocean, light emitted from a mausoleum, illuminating our path.