Black Ice
Black Records 3
Mark Feenstra
Contents
Books in the Black Records Series
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Afterword
The New Black
About the Author
© 2017 Mark Feenstra
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events,
and incidents are either the products of the
author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead ,
or actual events is purely coincidental.
First Digital Edition, 2017
ISBN 978-0-9948589-3-1
www.MarkFeenstra.com
Books in the Black Records Series
Out Now:
BLACK MAGIC
BLACK MARKET
BLACK ICE
Forthcoming:
BLACK & TAN
BLACK ARTS
Want to shed light on Alex’s dark past?
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For Kris
In anticipation of someday reading of one of your books… even if you only publish because you felt obligated to reciprocate this dedication.
Chapter One
Loath as I was to shed my fuzzy slippers, I kicked them off and quickly tugged on the thickest pair of wool socks I owned. The room was near freezing except for a narrow cone of warmth radiating from the compact space heater next to my bed. The little beast had been working overtime since the temperature had dropped below zero the week before. The city had been blanketed in an abnormally persistent layer of snow that became a slushy wet nightmare for the few hours the sun managed to peer out of the clouds each day. With the coming of night, everything would freeze and become a deadly sheet of ice that made walking anywhere a royal pain in the ass. The weather was so bad, there had even been videos posted of people playing ice hockey in the streets.
Since it was only five o’clock in the morning, a good three hours before the sun was theoretically due to rise, the house was at the apex of its nightly chilliness.
“How are you so awake right now?” I asked Chase.
He looked up from the computer balanced on his lap. He’d been sitting in my bed for the last fifteen minutes to discourage me from climbing right back in rather than packing my things like I was supposed to be doing.
“Easy,” he said, flashing a slightly wild-eyed grin before returning to his typing. “I haven’t been to sleep yet.”
“What the hell have you been doing all night?”
“Working mostly,” he said. “Chatting with Lailani a bit. She gets back from the Philippines in a couple of days.”
“You guys must be getting pretty serious, huh?”
Chase’s expression darkened ever so slightly. “As serious as we can be, considering she thinks I’m a digital security consultant.”
We’d had countless discussions bordering on arguments about how much he could tell his girlfriend about the true nature of his work. He hated lying to her, but there was no way I was going to be responsible for yet another person learning magic was real. Even bringing Chase into the world of the supernatural was enough to get me in hot water with the Conclave of Eleven, but given that it had been a life or death situation, I had no regrets over that little transgression. Still, telling my best friend was one thing. Telling a girl he’d been casually dating for six months was another matter entirely. I still hadn’t even met her. I wasn’t about to blindly hand my trust over to some random girl no matter how much Chase liked her.
“Maybe we can all hang out when I get back?” I ventured.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Ok. Time to change the topic.
“Are you sure this job is a good fit for me?” I asked. “Babysitting some rich guy’s daughter seems kinda below my pay grade. Why doesn’t he hire a nanny or something instead?”
“Like I told you last night, he’s worried about her safety,” Chase said. “And don’t forget that he doesn’t know anything about magic or your ability to use it. As far as he’s concerned, you’re a highly trained former agent. For once, you looking like a teenager was a selling point instead of a concern. I convinced him it was a deliberate choice on the part of your original recruiter so the agency could put you into situations where you’d be overlooked because of your supposed age. It’s one of the reasons you’re now able to work private security gigs without anyone identifying you as a trained agent.”
“Which agency exactly did I supposedly work for?”
Chase shrugged. “I find it’s best not to be specific about these kinds of things.”
“Right,” I said. “That all sounds totally believable.”
“Well, the client bought it, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. At least until he sees me in person.”
I hopped off the bed and went to thumb through tops in my closet. There weren’t exactly a lot of practical options. Most of my sweaters and jackets felt too thin or impractical for the even worse wintery conditions I was heading into. After trying on and rejecting a few options, I settled on pairing my warmest wool sweater with an insulated plaid work shirt. I had no idea what people in ski towns considered fashionable, nor did I have the energy to care so early in the morning. Even thinking about it made me feel a little queazy. All those pompom knit beanies and fur-lined everything. Gross.
Trying to figure out if I was missing anything, I sat on the edge of the bed and began plaiting my hair into two long braids. I considered packing an extra wool sweater, but after socks and underwear, a spare pair of black jeans, a couple of t-shirts, a hoodie, the hard case for my bulky but kick-ass noise canceling headphones, travel snacks — a half pound bag of peanut butter M&Ms, Twizzlers, salt and vinegar Pringles, and a large bar of dark chocolate (for the antioxidants, of course) — e-reader, scarf, and re-purposed pencil case stuffed with toiletries and makeup; I didn’t exactly have any extra room for non-essentials.
“It just seems like I should stay available in case something serious comes up,” I said as I snapped an elastic around the end of the second braid. “Something that actually requires me to use my magic for more than just changing diapers.”
“Like what?” Chase asked. “We haven’t had a paying job in three months. It’s been nearly impossible to find real clients since word got out about you getting between Trang and Montgomery last summer. From what I hear, even the Conclave is starting to take notice.”
That was enough to make me stop fiddling with the strap on my pack to
stare at Chase. The Conclave was the most secret of secret organizations. Other than the vampire Eskola I’d tussled with the year before, I had no idea who any of the core eleven members even were. There were several layers of proxies, agents, and mercenaries who carried out the business of the Conclave; none of which were likely to blab about what their bosses were up to. Suggesting he knew what the Conclave was thinking wasn’t far off from claiming Chase had a direct line to God.
“I have contacts,” he said with a smirk. “While you’ve been going off to parties at mansions for your research, I’ve been doing my own legwork. We can’t operate in the dark anymore, Alex. If we’re going to piss off people like Trang and Eskola, we need to know where we stand with the Conclave.”
“For the last time, that was a demon summoning,” I said with a shake of my head. “I almost lost an arm that night. You saw the claw marks on my back. I wasn’t exactly sipping champagne and munching canapés.”
Chase’s sullen silence told me what he thought of that. He knew full well his lack of magic would keep him locked out of some parts of my life. At the same time, I also knew how hard it was for him to get left behind when I attempted to broaden my own knowledge of the arcane. The fact remained that if I was going to keep running up against the kind of big players the last year had thrown at me, it was time I learned a few new spells. The kinetic blast I defaulted to most times I needed something aggressive had served me well for years, but it hadn’t been cutting it lately. The only other attack spell I had in my arsenal was mage fire, and that had a nasty tendency to burn down entire swaths of the city before another magic user showed up to help the ungifted firefighters put it out.
“Do I have to tell you to be careful?” I asked. “You know what’ll happen if the Conclave finds out you’re digging into their business. I won’t be able to save you from them if it comes down to it.”
At this, Chase finally smiled again.
“I’m always careful,” he said. “Otherwise I’d probably be dead or in prison.”
It was too easy to forget that until I’d met him, Chase had been secretly moonlighting as a thief. Although, for all I knew, he could still be taking jobs on the side. I’d done my best to avoid worrying about that particular thread of thought. After all, I was living in a house Chase paid for, being driven around in the new car Chase had bought after his old one had blown up on the job, and generally eating the food he had delivered each week. It wasn’t like I was hurting for money with what we’d made on our last few gigs, but I wasn’t going to boycott the state of the art 72 inch 4K TV dominating one wall of our living room just because it had most likely been paid for with the profits from breaking into some millionaire’s personal safe.
Bag fully packed, I searched the room for my knit wool hat. I found it sitting atop a dusty pickle jar on my dresser. A tiny hand clawed at the glass when I lifted the hat free. I made a mental note to talk to Chase about setting up that secure storage area in the basement when I got back, then fetched a t-shirt to drape over the jar for the time being.
I tugged the hat down over my head and hoisted my bag onto my shoulders.
“Guess that’s it,” I said, still not moving for the door. “You’re sure this job is worthwhile?”
“For the last time, we’re in no position to turn down paying work,” Chase said. “Think of it as a paid vacation. Do a good job, and maybe we’ll get a referral for local work in the future.”
I guess that gave me an answer on Chase’s freelancing status. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d been concerned about money.
“And no whining when you get up there,” he continued. “Try to act at least a little professional when the client is around, okay? The rest of the time you can drink cocoa and sit by the fire while this kid Snapchats and Instagrams selfies, or whatever it is kids do these days.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled. “I’ll see you in a week, I guess.”
Leaving Chase and the snug warmth of my bed behind, I tromped down the stairs and slipped into my gusseted leather boots. The wind hit me like a slap in the face when I stepped outside, stinging any bit of exposed skin. I blew on my hands to warm them, then shoved them into my pockets and put my head down to navigate the icy sidewalks. Vancouver hardly saw so much as a single snowflake hitting the ground most winters, so the average resident didn’t own a shovel. It should have been less than a ten minute walk to the bus station. Instead, the trip took nearly forty minutes, during which I suffered no fewer than three different wipeouts which blessed me with three new bruises on different parts of my ass.
Once inside the terminal, I sprinted to the departure area and waved my hands in the air to stop the driver who was just about to back out of his berth. He opened the door for me, offering a surprisingly understanding smile as I climbed aboard.
“Supposed to be a beautiful day in Whistler today,” he said, his tone far too chipper for the early hour. “First day of sun in weeks.”
I mumbled something vaguely polite, then shuffled down the aisle. The bus was surprisingly full, but I managed to snag a seat to myself near the back. As we rolled out of the terminal and made our way through the city, I unpacked my headphones and flipped on the noise cancelation. The dull hum of the bus engine and the idle chatter of my fellow passengers disappeared as though silenced with a spell. I leaned my head against the window, each exhalation fogging the window slightly, blurring my view of the buildings and mostly empty sidewalks that scrolled past outside. It took a half hour for us to clear the city limits, but we were soon rolling along the long winding highway that was the only way to get to the ski resort town of Whistler seventy-five miles north of the city. The sun took some time to crest the mountains in the east. When it eventually did rise, it lit up the even taller mountains looming over the other side of the valley. Brilliant white peaks stood watch over the highway from across the river, breathtaking in their severity.
The imposing figures served as a stern reminder of how out of my depth I was. I hated the snow and everything people did in it. Why get wet and cold when I could be warm and dry inside? And don’t get me started on skiing. Anyone who thought putting two slippery sticks on the bottom of their feet so they could whip downhill at breakneck speeds was a lunatic in my books. The only good thing about snow was watching it fall through a window from beneath a warm blanket. Even then, only if the snow melted the second it touched the ground. You can have your winter wonderland; I’d take a trip south to bask in the sun any day.
But there I was, shuffling off the bus with a dozen radical dudes and dudettes dressed in baggy jackets and even baggier snow pants. They all filed off to the side of the bus to collect their skis and snowboards. I made a beeline past them, digging out my phone to look up directions to the client’s house. I grimaced at the sight of one measly little reception bar. No matter how I held the phone, the signal didn’t improve. Trying to do something as basic as fetching new email resulted in nothing more than an endlessly spinning loading icon.
If there was anything worse than lack of service, it was the false hope of maybe being able to connect if I could just find the right angle.
“Need help?” asked a chipper Australian guy strolling past with coffee in hand.
I’d soon learn that Australian was the official second language of Whistler. Already, I heard the lilting accent drifting towards me from a nearby cluster of snowboarders on their way to the lifts.
“Yeah, maybe you can help.” I pulled the address up from a stored email. “Can you tell me where this is?”
The Australian’s eyes narrowed a little when he saw the address.
“Why d’you wanna go there?” he asked.
“I’m supposed to meet a client there.”
He eyed me with obvious skepticism. “Winston Bloedermeyer is your client? What you could you possibly be doing for a sleaze bag like that?”
“I’m a private consultant,” I told him. “Do you know where this guy lives or not?”
“Yeah
, I know where he lives. Everyone in town knows where Bloedermeyer lives,” he said. The Australian’s demeanor had become cold. A second ago he looked like he’d been on the verge of hitting on me; now he seemed eager to be rid of me. “Follow that road to the end, then keep taking lefts until you can’t go any further up the hill. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled as he turned and walked away.
I set off down the road he’d indicated, searching for the sidewalks until I realized they’d been covered under several feet of snow. A lycra clad cross-country skier zipped down the side of the road, leaving thin, parallel grooves in her wake. That seemed like the only smart way to traverse the glistening white surface, so I stayed on what I guessed was the road itself. A few dirty tire tracks marked up a stretch of heavily packed snow that was easier to walk on than the thigh deep stuff on either side of it. Small embankments lined either side of the road, but the snow was so dense it didn’t seem like the plow could even get down to the pavement hiding somewhere below. It was so deep they hadn’t even bothered trying to salt it.
Several times on my trek, I had to stand aside as a truck or SUV with burly winter tires wrapped in chains sped past. Each time, I had to scamper up onto the embankment and hold on for dear life until the vehicle had passed by. The farther up the hill I went, the larger the houses became. What had begun as tightly packed row homes with no vehicles out front were now individual chalets with luxury SUVs parked in every driveway. By the time I’d made the last turn, I understood what the guy back in the village had meant about knowing the house when I saw it.
The chalet was twice the size of anything else I’d yet seen. It wasn’t huge by city standards, but in the exorbitantly high priced resort town, it was a veritable mansion. Looking like someone had done a ground-up remodel of a house lifted straight from a Swiss fairytale, its three stories were built into the hillside which sloped up steeply behind it. Traditional wooden peaked roofs jutted out over floor-to-ceiling glass walls. That much glass would have been a voyeur’s dream had the sloping angle of the street not made it impossible to see anything other than high vaulted ceilings and dangling modern light fixtures. Wide balconies jutted out from the first two floors. The curved driveway was the only bit of pavement in the neighborhood to have been fully plowed. A stately black SUV sat in the middle of the drive, a formally dressed professional driver reading a newspaper in the front seat.
Black Ice (Black Records Book 3) Page 1