Pegasus In Flight: A Musimagium Story (The Pegasus Enchantment Book 2)

by Mary Kit Caelsto

  “Get down on your knees. Hands behind your head,” I ordered. “We both know this is live shot.” I hoped someone had gotten the guy next to the stables some medical attention.

  “We thought we’d bag ourselves a pegasus, then we’d be believed,” the other said. “They were laughing at us. Calling us the unicorn boys.”

  Licentia flapped her wings, churning up dust and wind to blow into the boys’ face. The boys coughed.

  A scuffle sounded behind me. One of the boys started to stand.

  I fired at the ground next to his feet.

  He dropped back to his knees.

  “Geez, don’t shoot us lady.”

  “And why shouldn’t I? You shot at my companion. Obviously you didn’t learn a lesson if you’re out here again with them. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you now.”

  “Because it’s illegal. You’ll go to jail for murder.”

  I arched an eyebrow. He had a point. Then again, where did magical defense end and mundane rules begin? Since they’d fired at my filly before, I would be well within my rights to defend myself, and thinking like this just wasn’t me.

  “We got it.” Paul touched my leg. “Thank you.”

  Two security guards surrounded the boys.

  “Tell me one thing,” I said. “Why are you here?”

  “The men said if I showed them where I’d seen the pegasus and the unicorns, they’d give us money. We’re not going to get paid are we?”

  I shook my head. “No, you’re not.”

  The boys hung their head and let the security guards take them away.

  “Can someone take this from me?” I asked, holding out the shotgun with the barrel pointed up.

  Jenny reached for it, quickly removed the shell from the chamber and flipped the safety on.

  “So we got them?” I struggled not to lean against the filly’s neck.

  Paul nodded. “We got them. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll explain everything in the morning. Oh, and you’ve made your case for why mages should learn about non-magical weapons. I’ll make sure you get that instructor.”

  “Thanks. Take me home, sweetheart,” I told the filly.

  A few minutes later, we were rising into the air for the short flight home.

  ~* * *~

  When I stumbled out of the bedroom late the next morning, Rose had coffee made and Kodi had oatmeal warm in a pot. I helped myself to a bowl, then sat down.

  “Sounds like you had quite the night,” Rose said. “I can’t believe I slept through it.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted and sipped the coffee, sighing as the bitter drink rolled over my tongue. I’d wake up, I hoped.

  “You don’t have to fill me in. I already heard all the details. I don’t know how you did it, but no one knew the boys were there or the people in the stables until you arrived. Some kind of cloaking spell, I guess, and I know everyone’s dying to find out what it is.”

  “Youthful stupidity,” I said right before scooping up some oatmeal. “Which is probably why we need the academy more than ever. The more people who know about the equines, the less they’re going to be a novelty. I suppose eventually even the non-magical population will have to know about them.” I shook my head. “Just too bad the boys had to bring a shotgun instead of a camera.”

  “Pictures can be altered,” she said. “Looks like someone is there to see you.” She pointed to the glass doors.

  I smiled as Ginger stood there, Licentia right behind her. “Excuse me,” I said as I stood and grabbed a few treats from the canister. I opened the door and stepped out.

  “Hello, little one.” I held out a treat. “Would you like this?”

  As before, she sniffed it and then lipped it from my hand. You protected us. The mental words held great weight. You are good.

  “I’d like to think so.” The memory of shooting the man remained too fresh in my mind. “I do my best.”

  We chose well. She touched her nose to my chest, the image of a high-walled compound filled with pegasus and unicorns of various ages, from suckling foals to older animals, all trapped in too small pens made me stagger. I grabbed my chair and sat. The image changed, a large black pegasus rearing back to pound on one fence with his hooves. Others joined in, until the entire group reared and kicked, sending boards flying. We are coming home. And with her words, the entire group took off running or in flight as they could. Something told me they were all headed here.

  She's going to have to learn to stay and fight if she wants to protect what she believes in.

  Studying for a semester in Costa Rica led clarinetist Tory McRains to stay in the country and make her life there. Things were simpler on her little piece of lowland rain forest with her cabin and playing gigs with her band. Then the Great Dividing occurred and magic was unleashed on the world. Secluded in the rain forest, Tory ended up with enhanced musicianship, a sometimes-sarcastic talking bearded dragon, and membership in a secret amateur radio society designed specifically for supernaturals.

  When a stranger approaches her one night after her gig, she learns she's not alone and someone is after her. She'll have to learn to use all the tools at her disposal if she wants to save her rain forest home, because this is one battle where she's not allowed to run.

  Learn more at http://marykitcaelsto.com/go/hidden

  The lizard was always right. Even now, laying on my chest, his eyes closed in bearded dragon bliss, whatever Pito was thinking, it was right. As for me, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the dappled rays of sunlight through the forest canopy. My skin hummed with the magic of this place. My magic. Pito’s magic. It soothed me and created the little whistle in my mind that gave my lizard his name.

  They’re coming, you know. You can’t escape it. Bask in the sun while you can. For soon we will chase. Pito’s sleepy words filled my mind, quite astute for such a little lizard. His mental smirk came through loud and clear.

  I knew the truth in his words, had sensed it while I’d been playing the clarinet. When I didn’t lay around in a hammock and talk to my bearded dragon, I played jazz in a local club. Pito often came with me, wrapping himself around my neck and shoulder, loving the hot lights of the stage. I hummed a few bars under my breath and he bobbed his head.

  The wind increased, cool outflow from a nearby thunderstorm. I turned my face into the breeze, feeling it whisk away the sweat beading on my forehead. Birds hurried into branches, anticipating the storm. This one came from Mother Nature and I knew it would leave us unharmed. It did mean, however, our time on the hammock had come to an end.

  I cupped my hand over Pito so he wouldn’t fall off my chest as I stood and headed for the covered porch next to my small home. I wasn’t quite ready to go inside yet. Being in the rainforest gave me peace of mind I couldn’t get in the city. I had a gig to play tonight and needed all the quiet I could get. Alamar, the sax player in our little group, and I were joining with some Calypso musicians for some improvisation. It’d be fun, but it’d take a lot out of me.

  The storm broke overhead, sending ran down in a heavy sheet. I watched it drip from large palm fronds into the fire pit where I often sat in the evenings and off the edges of my roof. A few sheets of tin protected my stone patio from the worst of it, so I stayed a few moments longer, until Pito nudged my shirt in his way of telling me he wanted a heat lamp again. I didn’t blame him. The cool wind made me shiver and I went inside.

  I put Pito in his habitat and he immediately crawled onto his rock. Thanks. I was getting chilly.

  “Sorry,” I said. I turned to my radio setup in the corner of what passed for my living room. The storm would interfere with signals even though being closer to the equator than my American friends meant I have a lot better luck than they do on open frequencies. It’s also difficult to reach them sometimes, so for that I rely on good old fashioned email. I needed to talk to Ricky in Rio. He had a better lead on things than I did, and he’d been the one to warn me about the threat to my rain forest haven.

&nb
sp; I sat down at my rig and scanned the common frequencies Radio Arcanum used. These special frequencies had been set aside by the ITU for use by the God Touched and other paranormal creatures—their words, not mine. I hated being called God Touched. It made me sound special or something. I wasn’t. Just an ex-pat living in Costa Rica with her magical bearded dragon and protecting this little haven of rain forest that connected directly to…whatever it was that made us God Touched. Magical. Rumor had it someone else in the Midwest protected one of these glades that had unicorns living in it. I snorted. Unicorns, now that was crazy.

  As far as I knew there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary living in my little piece of paradise. If there were, it hadn’t decided to show itself to me and that was just fine. I liked my privacy and my isolation.

  I sat down and checked my email answering a couple that needed attention. Someone wanted to book our band for a gig, so I forwarded that one to Alamar. You really should get out more. Pito’s voice filled my mind. I laughed. Really, he was one to talk living alone in his habitat. He couldn’t even cohabitate with another beardie in case of aggression. Or that’d be the case if he weren’t as magical as me. A conduit to…whatever…yeah, that again. Seriously. You’re going to need allies. They’re closer than you think. I shook my head at the old argument. I’d tried that before; it never ended well. I’d been with my band for nearly three years—the longest I’d stayed with anyone. Then again, I’d been in Costa Rica for seven, choosing to stay after coming over my sophomore year at college for a session studying abroad in Costa Rica. I canceled my return ticket back and never left, transferring to the university in San Jose and finishing my Bachelor’s Degree here. I probably should have made some friends in college, though five years out, who really stays friends with the people they knew back then. Besides, I’d learned early on people only friended me for my name and what they thought my family associations could do for them, never with the intent of getting to know me. Solitude was easy. People were hard.

  When I glanced at the time, I needed to get ready. A quick shower and a change, more time than I wanted to styling my short spiky hair and doing enough makeup to pass as stage ready, then I dressed in wide leg black and white pinstripe trousers with a matching vest over a white blouse. I added a chunky belt in bold colors to break up the monochrome palette of my outfit and put in the matching earrings, trading out my usual silver studs for bright coral-esque pieces.

  Knock ‘em dead. I’m going to sleep. With that Pito announced his intention not to accompany me tonight. “Sleep tight.” I turned off his lights, grabbed my gig bag and slipped my wallet and cell into a hidden pocket in my vest. I texted Alamar. On my way.

  ~* * *~

  The set lasted nearly until midnight. I squatted and tucked my clarinet away in its case that sat on the floor near a back wall and grabbed a swig of water from my filtered bottle. The music buzzed through my body, making me sense the energy of this place. I liked the club. It sat between two ley lines and they funneled patrons and energy toward us. I tapped into them with a thought, letting off some excess magic. No sense in going home sparking and not being able to sleep until dawn.

  “The God Touched usually don’t show themselves so boldly. You must be very gifted if you feel safe doing so,” a dark, male voice said above me.

  I stood, not recognizing the man. I didn’t need to wonder how he recognized me. Power rolled from him in waves; no doubt he’d sensed my quick grounding even though I’d been discreet. My first instinct would be to deny the name, dismiss his claims. One look in his eyes told me he wouldn’t take kindly to such foolery. “I don’t believe I’ve met your acquaintance.” I held out my hand. “Tory McRains and if you call me Antonia I’ll punch you. And you are?” I kept my voice sweet, almost saccharine.

  “Dewain Barras, and I know who you are, Charlie Romeo Charlie One Five Zulu.”

  I glanced around, hoping no one else had heard my call sign. “And you are?”

  “Bravo Romeo Echo Five Nine Alpha.” He shook my hand. “Nice to finally meet you face to face.”

  “You’ve come a long way if you wanted to see a show. You could have caught one of my shows on YouTube.” I grinned.

  “I needed to meet you in person. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  My stomach sank. I knew this was going to be a conversation I didn’t want to have. Pito’s words haunted me. I need allies. I guess that meant Dewain was probably going to be one of them. “Yeah, let me finish here and tell my band mates I’m leaving.” A woman like me probably should have had second thoughts at leaving with a relative stranger from another country. Not everyone was a woman like me. Besides, the call sign he gave was part of Radio Arcanum and that meant something. I sometimes rag-chewed with non-magical people on the regular ham radio bands if I got bored or felt the need for human companionship. Those who liked to make distant contacts always were happy to talk to an English speaker from Costa Rica. It meant they could mark a country off their list and if they wanted, even get a postcard with my call sign on it as proof. I had a clearinghouse handle all of that for me and I had a traditional call sign for when I wasn’t on Radio Arcanum, so no one could tie the two together unless they recognized the voice.

  I told Alamar I was going, then bundled my clarinet case back into my gig bag and slung it over my shoulder. Dewain still stood where I’d left him, looking far too put together with polished shoes, dark wash jeans, and a turquoise striped button down short sleeve shirt over a yellow t-shirt announcing a surf shop. I hadn’t heard of it, not that I was much of a surfer, so guessed it was in Brazil.

  I stopped next to him. “The bar usually clears out after the band stops, or we could go somewhere else.”

  “How late is this place open?”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “How late are you planning on talking?” I sketched a wave to Alamar as he walked by, his saxophone case already strapped to his back. He drove a scooter and didn’t live far.

  “This might take a while. If you don’t mind, I know a place.”

  At the first sign of things turning funky I planned to leave. I nodded. “Can we walk or do we need to drive?”

  “It’s just a few doors down if you don’t mind.”

  I thought about putting my gig bag in the car, then decided against it. Sure, nothing had happened in this neighborhood for a while, but I’d be leaving my car here and I wasn’t taking any chances. My clarinet was my baby. I’d had it since I’d started college, a real professional model, and I didn’t want to lose it. I followed him out the side door and onto the street where young couples were going to and from various restaurants or bars. Dance music pumped from a nearby building with brightly lit neon signs and swirling lights. I let the music put a sway in my step.

  A few buildings down, he nodded to the doorman in front of Rojo Bruha, who let us pass without a second look. There wasn’t a line, but I bet there had been earlier in the evening. We no sooner had stepped into a multi-tiered venue where I suspected a mixture of musical styles were played, the band currently playing reggae, when a tall woman with long red hair wrapped up with a scarf came over and clasped Dewain on the shoulders.

  “What have you brought me?” She asked in a bright Scottish accent, then looked me over. “Is this the one you were telling me about?”

  “Tory this is Sorcha Maclughlin. She owns this venue.”

  Sorcha didn’t reach out her hand and I didn’t offer one. Most of us in the magical community knew better than to go around shaking hands with strangers. I’d just been being a bit of a bitch when I’d offered mine to Dewain. Refusal wasn’t taken well. “I’m sure we’ll be getting to know each other.”

  I sensed…I didn’t quite know what I’d sensed, but it was as if someone were testing my abilities. My shields usually kept people at bay. Perhaps the name of this place had some meaning behind it. I hadn’t dealt with witches before, but from what I’d heard, I didn’t want to.

  “Mind if we use the naranja room?”r />
  “It’s empty. I’ll put the word out that it’s in use. If you need anything, you know how to call me. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go mingle with the party that just came in.” She smiled, inclined her head in my direction, then hurried upstairs to the balcony that ran the circumference of the room.

  “This way. It’ll be quieter,” he said, cupping my elbow and guiding me around the edge of the main level until we reached an orange door. He opened it and led me inside.

  The room had to be soundproofed because none of the music from the floor filtered in, though I saw speakers set up in the corners and a small control panel so we could tune into the musicians if we wanted. I sat on one of the black chairs. The tile on the floor was orange and black flecked stone or marble, most likely artificial, and with the orange walls and black table and chairs, and black leather coverings on the bench which ran along three walls, it was like being in some strange Halloween-land. “So what’d you want to talk to me about? And why here?”

  Want even more writing and clarinet goodness? Check out my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/marykitcaelsto

  Tory McRains thinks learning how to be a good Musimagia and following their rules would keep her out of trouble. She agrees to teach Alamar how to play the saxophone as a way to atone for her sin of accidentally wiping his mind, and his ability to play music. A local homeless man, Diego, reveals that he's a Mad Bard, which leaves Tory wondering if she has yet one more group of musical magic wielders to worry about, and when the giant anaconda guardian of her rainforest, whom local folklore calls Mother, reveals herself, well Tory realizes she's in deeper than she ever imagined.

  Add in increasing magical attacks, the fact that Alamar isn't living in a hostel like she thought, and the fact that the danger stalking the rain forest is now coming from within the Musimagia organization.

  Tory knows one thing. She's sick and tired of getting cryptic messages from those who wish to use her power as her own. It's time for her to take a stand, not just for her own life also but for the future of her rainforest home and those closest to her.