Contents
Title Page
Author's note
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Promo
Copyright
Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic
— Dowser 5 —
Meghan Ciana Doidge
Published by Old Man in the CrossWalk Productions
Salt Spring Island, BC, Canada
www.oldmaninthecrosswalk.com
www.madebymeghan.ca
Author’s Note:
Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic is the fifth book in the Dowser series. The Oracle series is also set in the same universe as the Dowser series.
While it is not necessary to read both series, the ideal reading order is as follows:
Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Dowser 1)
Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser 2)
Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3)
I See Me (Oracle 1)*
Shadows, Maps, and Other Ancient Magic (Dowser 4)
Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic (Dowser 5)
Other books in both the Oracle and Dowser series to follow.
* I See Me (Oracle 1) contains spoilers for Dowser 1, 2, and 3.
One treasure down, two to go …
Three months ago, I nearly lost my best friend while retrieving the first instrument of assassination. I also inadvertently released a rival who was definitely unhinged, way more powerful than me, and obsessed with harnessing the deadly power of the artifacts I’d been tasked by the guardian dragons to collect.
Add a sexy sentinel and a nearly immortal vampire to the mix, and what could possibly go wrong?
Knowing my luck, I was about to find out.
CHAPTER ONE
Something bit me in the ass.
I shrieked like a toddler deprived of her ice cream cone, whirled around with my jade knife poised to gut the offender, and found myself staring at yet another endless wall of musty old books.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been ambushed in the nexus library — the books were damn ornery — but it had been getting worse since I’d admitted to myself that I was lost.
Yes, I — a dowser of some skill — was lost in a library full of magic. I could taste, but not pinpoint, the spiced magic of the dragonskin map that I’d left at the table I was camped out at doing research today. I just couldn’t seem to follow that taste back through the shelves and the random stacks of books.
Tomes, not books. That was the proper word to use when the book was leather-bound and handwritten in foreign, dead, or runed languages.
The problem — according to Branson — was that the librarian hadn’t been seen in a few centuries. So, organization had crumbled into disarray verging on chaos. Though I had an inkling that the sword master was joking or exaggerating, because there weren’t so many dragons in the world that one could go missing for centuries and have no one looking for him.
I sighed and craned my neck in the opposite direction, seeing only an endless row of dusty, haphazardly piled books. I had purposefully made sure I could see the library entrance from my table so that I wouldn’t get lost. Except now I couldn’t find the entrance or the table.
Something shifted in my peripheral vision and I spun to jab my knife at it.
Nothing was there.
“We’ll see who has the last laugh if I get my hands on you,” I said. “I’m an alchemist, you know!”
Right. Now I was declaring my magical prowess to a bookshelf. It was childish, but I had a lingering suspicion that the books were only disrespectful because I wasn’t a full-blooded dragon.
Dragon prejudice permeated the nexus, and I was the only half-witch walking the halls … or, at least, currently trying to walk the aisles of the library.
I felt as if I’d been trapped in this damn room since September. And maybe I had. Time moved oddly in the nexus — sometimes incredibly slowly, and what would feel like hours of training turned out to only be thirty minutes when I returned to the bakery. And sometimes — say, if there were any guardians around — minutes turned into hours when I walked back through a portal. My study sessions in the library were usually pretty bang-on in real-world time, though.
And I remembered Christmas, so I couldn’t have been stuck here since autumn. It only felt like that because I was getting nothing accomplished but moving the dust around and being a plaything for the books.
Actually, I had accomplished one thing. My outfit rocked. I was wearing the black cashmere and silk sweater dress that my mother, Scarlett, had given me for Christmas. Today I’d paired the midthigh-length sweater with thick black tights and my wine-colored Bondgirl Fluevog boots — a gift from Gran. The sturdy but still stylish boots dressed down the outfit, but I wasn’t stupid enough to wear heels anywhere near the nexus anymore, even on my nontraining days.
I’d left my blond curls loose and reapplied my rosy lip gloss frequently to compensate for the lack of heels.
Yeah, I was hoping to run into Warner.
Warner … sigh.
The sentinel was off hell-knows-where with my father Yazi, the warrior of the guardians. Or maybe he was with Pulou the treasure keeper, while I was stuck in this damn musty library researching ancient maps, dragon lineage, and eternal-life sorcerer sects.
There were more of the latter than you’d think.
I hadn’t had any luck figuring out anything about the kid I’d released from the statue in the fortress. The only record I’d managed to dig up from the sixteenth century appeared to have every dragon accounted for — most of them still alive. It wasn’t exactly a long list. Dragons had an exceedingly low birth rate.
Though, I seriously hoped Warner enjoyed ‘training sessions,’ because I was —
“Are you mooning over the sentinel?” a young man asked from above my head.
I looked up.
Drake, my fourteen-year-old training companion, was perched like a watchful gargoyle on the top of the bookshelf to my right. The gold-leaf cathedral ceiling soared dozens of feet above him. If you’d asked me two minutes ago, I would have told you that the bookshelves in this section were a lot taller than the sixteen-or-so feet they currently appeared to be. Also, that they were empty of fledgling guardians whose magic tasted of honey-roasted salted almonds and steamed milk.
“No,” I snapped, though I certainly had been bemoaning the lack of progression in Warner’s wooing of me — the sentinel’s words. We hadn’t made it anywhere nearer to my bed. My father apparently had a plethora of duties that he suddenly needed Warner to assume. Though who had been fulfilling those tasks for the four hundred and fifty years Warner had been in stasis, I didn’t know.
“It’s my birthday in nineteen days,” Drake declared. I could always rely on the fledgling guardian to change the subject.
“I know. You told me yesterday.” I peered at the books directly in front of me, as if I were exactly where I intended to be and not lost at all.
“Nope,” Drake countered as he stepped off the shelf and landed soundlessly beside me. “I told you it was my birthday in twenty days y
esterday.”
I laughed. Drake grinned at me. His dark bangs had fallen across his forehead and almost covered his almond-shaped eyes. I was always surprised how quickly he grew. He was a couple of inches over my five feet nine inches now, and wearing a loose green printed T-shirt over his leather training pants.
I’d never actually laid eyes on this particular T-shirt, with its sketch of what appeared to be a pile of mushed raspberries and a banana. But its design aesthetic was definitely familiar — and not even remotely appropriate for a fourteen-year-old. “Where did you get that shirt?”
“It’s an early birthday gift from Kandy.”
“When did you see Kandy?”
Drake’s grin widened. He had a secret, and he was never, ever going to let it slip. He was utterly loyal — and completely annoying that way.
“The shirt is obscene,” I said with a sniff. “You shouldn’t be wearing it. You’re fourteen, for Christ’s sake.”
“The sentinel likes it. I’m not sure what the son of the Christian god has to do with it. And I’m nineteen days away from being fifteen years old.”
“Warner is not your stylist.”
“Hmmm, what is this stylist?” Drake asked, like a predator who’d just discovered there was bigger game to be hunted. “And where do I find one?”
“You drive me crazy.”
“You love me.” The fledgling guardian’s smile remained, but his tone turned serious. “You’d do anything for me.”
“Yes, I would.”
“As I would for you.”
I nodded, not sure what to say in the wake of the fledgling’s heartfelt declaration.
“Pack is important. Loyalty makes us stronger. We are dragons of the same generation. We must have each other’s backs.”
“Anytime and always,” I said, completely serious now. And completely willing to be deadly serious, if necessary. Though he was only almost fifteen, the fledgling guardian was one of my BFFs. It wasn’t a long list. If I didn’t count family, an inventory would take only three fingers. And I wasn’t putting Warner anywhere near the friend category, not until I knew he was more than that as well.
Drake nodded and his grin returned in fuller force than before.
I didn’t bother pointing out the obvious flaw in his rationale because I was enjoying the warm fuzzy feeling his declaration evoked. The fledgling had obviously been hanging out with Kandy. But I wasn’t a full-blooded dragon. Drake wielded more power at almost fifteen than I would ever wield in my entire life. And I wasn’t bothering to include the massive increase in his magical capacity that would come when he assumed the guardian mantle from his mentor, Chi Wen the far seer.
“I thought you were researching maps?” Drake was peering at the shelves of books behind me.
“Sure.”
“Then you’re in the wrong section, warrior’s daughter.” Drake sounded far too gleeful at this discovery. “Are you lost … again?”
So, yeah. I had a habit of getting lost in the nexus. The magic bombarded me here, melding into similar tastes and dulling my senses.
“I was just stretching my legs.”
Drake chortled at my lie and I couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“You look very feminine.”
“Thank you.”
“But you should belt the knife underneath the dress.” The fledgling guardian was referring to my jade knife, which I wore on my right hip and which was invisible to most gazes, courtesy of a sheath spelled by my Gran. Dragons, however, could see through such magic … or maybe it was more that magic actually attracted their attention.
“The fabric is too thin. It ruins the line of the dress.”
Drake nodded sagely, an affectation he’d picked up from the far seer.
“Shall we discuss the weather now?” I asked with a grin. Drake was practicing his human-world conversation skills in preparation for taking over some of Chi Wen’s territorial duties.
The fledgling frowned. “There is no weather in the nexus,” he said mournfully.
I instantly felt terrible. Drake didn’t have the same freedom of movement I did, though I hadn’t spent much time outside in the last three months either. But then, I was content simply watching the seasonal deluge in Vancouver from the cozy comfort of my bakery.
“Cupcakes?” Drake asked hopefully, as if he could read my mind. He couldn’t, though. Not yet. But I was fairly certain that was one of the gifts he would inherit when he assumed the mantle of the far seer in a hundred years or so.
“At my table,” I answered. “If we’re lucky … they could have been pilfered by now.”
Drake set off down the aisle and I followed, rather pleased that I hadn’t needed to admit I was lost.
We turned the corner of the bookshelf just as a book made an attempt for my head. I ducked. Drake — reacting to my movement — spun and snatched the offending tome out of the air.
I tamped down on the string of blistering swear words poised on my tongue. Drake had already picked up too many bad habits from me. His guardian, Suanmi the fire breather, had only allowed him to start training with me again last month.
Drake frowned at the brown leather-bound book, then flipped through its handwritten, deckle-edged thick pages. Satisfied, he tossed the book to me.
I grabbed it, even as it attempted to make an escape.
“The treasure keeper’s journal?” Drake asked as he zigzagged through the next few stacks of books.
I flipped open the book as I followed the fledgling back to my research prison — err … table. The smooth leather of the lower back cover and spine were blackened, as were the last dozen or so pages. As Drake had worked out in seconds based on the span of the dated entries, the journal had been kept by the former treasure keeper. The English was old-fashioned, stilted, and written by a cramped hand, but still readable. Pulou had said that his mentor’s journals had all been destroyed in a fire — hence the singed back cover — but this one was obviously an exception. Not surprising, given the way it seemed capable of flight — or a directed and malicious launching capacity at least.
“Could this book have been following me?”
Drake shrugged and then picked up his pace. I was fairly certain he’d spied the box of cupcakes on the table I’d claimed for my piles of fruitless research.
The random pieces of furniture strewn about the nexus library had obviously been gathered from different eras. I’d unearthed the utilitarian vintage wooden table exactly where it still stood swathed in parchment, and surrounded by the stacks of books I’d gathered over the last three months. The curve-footed table could have been a Restoration Hardware reproduction, but I was pretty sure it was actually a rectangular dining table from the Ming dynasty. I’d found a black-leather-quilted, dark-wood-framed chair that I was pretty sure was Victorian in an aisle between the nearby bookshelves. It had carved tassels coming out of the mouths of fish on either side of the back frame, and the arm supports were carvings of a woman’s face and chest. Though it was the carved Vs on the front corners of the seat that were the dead giveaway.
Yep, I was so bored I was studying the furniture.
I could clearly taste the magic of the tattooed map that I’d spread out in the center of the table. A tattoo that had once resided on the back of the former treasure keeper, who had also apparently written the feisty journal I was barely managing to keep a hold on.
Drake reverently lifted the lid of the bakery box I’d propped up on three hand-drawn atlases. He gazed inside it as if he were uncovering an ancient relic.
“Do all guardians write journals?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” Drake answered. “I don’t think Suanmi or Chi Wen do.” Then, his eyes full of epic sadness, he whispered, “Only three cupcakes remain.”
“Eat slowly.”
“Yes!” he declared, his mood instantly shifting. “I will savor as you’ve been teaching me.”
The final seventy-five or so pages of the journal were blank, includ
ing the ones with the singed edges. I’d have to double-check the dates, but I was fairly certain the entries stopped at least fifty years before the Pulou I knew had ascended in the late sixteenth century. Though the spine and back cover of the journal were burned, the leather wasn’t flaking off. The page groups — signatures, I think I was supposed to call them — were hand sewn.
“Tell me the tale of this cupcake,” Drake demanded as he dramatically held a newer creation of mine aloft.
I glanced up from the last handwritten page of the journal. “That’s a Vixen in a Cup. Chocolate gingerbread cake with a salted caramel icing.”
“Vixen in a Cup,” Drake whispered as he carefully peeled the paper off the cupcake. Earlier this year, I’d tried to do away with cupcake holders by using silicone cups to bake. But they were fiddly — the moist, delicate cake broke more often than not — and my customers had rebelled at the breaking of tradition. At least the paper cups I used were compostable.
The final line of the journal read: Shailaja has broken with the guardians. She has broken with me.
“Who is Shay-la-ja?” I asked Drake, attempting to sound out the foreign name.
The fledgling, who’d stuffed the entire cupcake in his mouth, could only shrug in response.
“Way to savor.” I shook my head and returned my attention to the journal. A rune was drawn in the bottom corner of this half-empty page. A rune that looked like a decapitated, legless stick-person. I set the journal down on the stack of books to the right of the map and anchored it there with a tiny pulse of my alchemist magic. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a journal written by the treasure keeper — who could create magical portals at will — liked to wander.
Or hide. That was an odd thought. Why would a book be hiding? And in a library? That was a little obvious, though I guess there was that hiding-in-plain-sight thing …
The journal rustled its pages as I withdrew my hand, but it stayed put. I didn’t want to alter its magic. I just wanted to be able to read it later. The rune looked seriously familiar — as in, I’d watched Warner collect silver pendants decorated with that same rune from the bodies of sacrificed sorcerers three months before. It was in the fortress that had hidden the first instrument of assassination — aka colorful braids that could kill a guardian.
Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic (Dowser Series Book 5) Page 1