by Dante King
Idman’s mouth twitched, and he ran his fingers through his severe widow’s peak. I kind of liked the obvious irritation that the man was showing. It meant he was getting back to his old self.
“I am aware of the circumstances, thank you,” he said coldly. “I was just wanting to know—”
Rudely, I cut him off with a gesture.
“Wait,” I said, staring from Idman’s gaunt and humorless face to the prisoners that Barry had lined up by the cells. “I’ve just had a bit of a sensational light bulb go off in my melon, Idman.”
“Would you care to cast a little, ahem, light in my direction?” the former Chief Warden of the Eldritch Prison asked me.
“Shit, that was almost a joke, wasn’t it, Idman?” I said. “Not bad. Well, what I was thinking was, now that we seem to be collecting prisoners and fugitives, maybe you could reprise your old role as head gaoler and be in charge of keeping an eye on things down here?”
Idman blinked at me, but said nothing for a moment.
“What,” he said, after what I imagined was some quick and cunning consideration, “sort of incentive could you possibly offer me that would make me want to do that?”
I already had my counter to that point.
“Well, seeing how Barry can seemingly make the dungeon larger as needed, how about I ask him whether he can extend the place a little further and whip you up a suite with a bedroom, washroom, and study?” I said.
Idman’s eyes gleamed at the very prospect. I knew I had him.
“If you can arrange that,” he said, trying not to betray how much he liked the idea. “Then I can guarantee that the prisoners and fugitives remain where they are intended to be.”
I clapped him on the shoulder and was almost sure that he flashed me a lightning-fast smile.
While his physical junk might have rotted away years ago, it appeared that Barry was still very much susceptible to the charms of a pretty woman. The cell that he had constructed and fabricated for Priestess Entwistle was about as far removed from a conventional jail cell as possible. It was fucking five-star. More like being locked up in a hotel on Cabo San Lucas than San Quentin.
I walked over with Idman to where Barry had the two Blade Sisters lined up by two empty cells. These were bare of anything except a comfortable-looking feather bed, a desk and chair, and a door that led to a small private shower and toilet room.
“Did you run out of time on these or something, Barry?” I asked the poltergeist jokingly.
“Actually I did, sir,” Barry said. “That being said though, sir, I have just been quizzing the young ladies here to see if they would like anything added to their cells. You know how it goes, sir, there’s no reason why shipmates can’t be made comfortable, even if they are locked in the brig.”
“That’s all good with me, Barry,” I said. “These two fought like devils. The least we can do is spruce up the accommodation for them.”
“But that’s just the thing, master!” Barry said. “The silly arses say that they don’t want no special treatment, sir. Nothing!”
I shrugged and looked at Acer and Pravum. The two surviving Blade Sisters were giving nothing away. Not to me. They remained as cold and acidulous as ever. As bitter and dangerous as the blades they used oh so well.
“You’ll stay here for as long as Headmaster Chaosbane deems it necessary,” I said, trying not to sound like too much of a hard-ass. “This here,” and I pointed at Janet’s father, “is Warden Idman Thunderstone, he’ll look after you. Anything you want, just ask him, and he’ll see that you get it. We run a pretty loose ship here, so as soon as your pride allows for some creature comforts, just holler.”
I exchanged one last look with Acer Blade. “I’ll talk to you later on. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about a forge.”
I found Rick upstairs, staring up at the deepening night and counting shooting stars. The big Earth Mage was munching his way through a side of smoked salmon and a loaf of bread cut lengthwise and smeared with about a pound of cream cheese.
“Friend,” Rick said in greeting.
“Hey man,” I said, “I was just wondering, how long will it be until you get that forge of yours up and running again? I”d like to access my mom’s staff in the same way that we did my dad’s.”
Rick chewed thoughtfully. When he was able to, he said, “I think it’ll be at least a week, friend. Setting it up and using it to craft the key for your father’s staff, not to mention the quick work I had to do today to make the soul-storing ring, really took it out of the forge. My father’s forge has finite power; it needs time to recharge and regenerate. It will require some work before it’ll be ready to help you have another conversation with a trapped soul. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, big guy,” I said. “Can’t be helped. I guess we’ll just have to knuckle down and actually concentrate on our school work for once.”
“Gods,” Rick grunted through a mouthful of cream cheese and smoked fish, “has it come to that?”
“Not quite, boys,” Damien said.
Rick and I turned our faces from the heavens and saw Damien, Nigel, Bradley, Mallory, and Leah walking outside. Bradley was carrying a platter of pickles, cheeses, and breads. Nigel had a small barrel over his shoulder. Leah and Mallory were armed with mugs for all.
“What do you mean not quite?” I asked Damien, accepting a mug from Mallory and holding it out so that Nigel could fill it for me.
“What d-d-do you mean, what does he mean?” the halfling said. “We have a week off. It’s Yuletide, man!”
“Yuletide?” I asked.
“Avalonia’s version of Christmas,” Damien explained.
This revelation took me completely by surprise. Suddenly, I wondered what the hell I was going to do with myself for Christmas. There were only, really, two options: stay here and party it up, or head back to Earth and pay good old Uncle Mickey a visit.
The thought of seeing my super chilled out uncle held a lot of appeal. I didn’t only want to spend some time with the man who practically raised me, but there were also a lot of questions I wanted to fire his way. The one at the top of the list was, obviously, had he known? Had he known about all of this? About magic? About the world of Avalonia? About my mom and my dad? About the Mazirian Academy? About the whole goddamn pony show?
The realization that the festive season was almost upon us had completely slipped my mind, but it had not, evidently, slipped Leah Chaosbane’s.
As everyone dived in to help themselves to the treats on the platter, the pink-haired, long-legged Chaosbane took my arm and guided me over to the pool.
“What are your plans for a jolly Christmas, my little candy cane?” she asked, sucking out the center of an olive in an entirely too promiscuous a manner.
“Honestly,” I said, “I have no real clue.”
Leah materialized one of her clove-scented cigarettes from midair and lit by blowing on it softly. She took a deep pull and patted my cheek.
“Normally, I would applaud the wing-it approach,” she said, exhaling smoke. “However, when it comes to Yuletide, the Great Hunt, or Christmas—whatever you wish to call it—I feel that one should have some semblance of a plan.”
“Really?” I asked. That didn’t seem like her style at all.
“No, not really,” Leah said dreamily, “plans are deadly dull things, aren’t they? However, I think it could be a rather lovely idea if you came to our house these holidays? Come to celebrate the flaws in all of the gods’ creations. Come and pass around the cup of regret and mourn how none of us seem able to spend less time sweating the petty things and more time petting the sweaty things. Come and take part in a Chaosbane Family Christmas; where the only thing that anyone agrees on is that the liver is evil and must be punished.”
I couldn’t really think of what to say to this sudden invitation. I wondered if it was all good with Reginald, Igor, and Mort, or whether Leah was acting on a whim.
“Why?” I asked.
Leah drained her mug and wiped the back of her hand across her face. Somehow she made this masculine affectation supremely sexy.
“Oh, my gorgeous gingerbread man,” she said, her dark eyes twinkling, “why the fuck not?”
She had a point there, I supposed.
As I watched the beautiful woman strut away, I snorted to myself and looked up at the stars blossoming ever more thickly in the night sky. As I watched, a comet sped overhead, fizzled out, and passed.
“A Chaosbane Family Christmas... ” I muttered, wondering if that shooting star had been an omen for good or evil. “This could be my most dangerous adventure yet.”
End of Book 5
Want more Creation Mage? Please leave a review here and let me know you want more! Legend has it that triple digit reviews gets the muse talking.
You can also join my Facebook Reader Group and follow my Facebook Page.
Support Dante on Patreon!
Read books before they’re on Amazon, see exclusive NSFW artwork, and check out sneak peeks into my writing process on Dante King’s Patreon.
Become a Patron today at: https://geni.us/DanteKingPatreon
Want More Stories?
Join my email newsletter to receive free ebooks of the epic fantasy novels, Dragon Atlas and Rune Mage.
Like audiobooks? Sign up to my newsletter for a free audiobook of Immortal Swordslinger #1.
Facebook Fan Group
You can also join my Facebook Reader Group and follow my Facebook Page.
Follow me on Amazon
Amazon is often slow to update readers on new releases, so the best way to get notified is by clicking this link and then clicking the Follow button.
Immortal Swordslinger
Have you read my martial arts fantasy story, Immortal Swordslinger? Check it out on Amazon.
Bone Lord
Do you like characters with a darker shade of magic? Bone Lord is my necromancer adult fantasy. Check it out on Amazon.
I look forward to sharing more stories with you!
Do you like Gamelit & LitRPG stories? Check out the Gamelit Society Facebook Group for recommendations and fun!
Do you like stories where the main character has more than one love interest? Check out the Harem Lit Facebook group.
About the Author
Dante King is an author of Men’s Adventure fiction in various flavors. His books involve strong male protagonists who know what they want and do what’s required to get it.
You can connect with him at DanteKingAuthor.com