Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1)

by Ploof, Michael James

  Across the courtyard gardens, a hooded figure caught my eye. It stood upon the small second floor balcony opposite mine, waiting. Whoever it was seemed too big to be Melody. I watched and waited. A hand rose slightly, beckoning. I stood motionless, weighing my options. Finally, I decided to take my chances and made my way to the other side of the building. No goons flew from the shadows to intercept, and I reached the balcony shortly.

  The hooded figure waited, overlooking the gardens with its back to me. I approached apprehensively, the gun in my hand offering only a slight sense of security. Whoever this was, it sure as hell wasn’t Melody. I jumped as a humming, egg-shaped energy field suddenly encapsulated us. I recognized the spell, one which bent light so as to make whoever was inside the dome virtually invisible to onlookers.

  A wizard.

  “Rezner, you have not come alone,” said a man’s voice, which I faintly recognized.

  “You didn’t ask me to.”

  The hooded figure nodded, still staring out over the courtyard—though I sensed that he saw me somehow.

  “What would you say…if I told you there’s a way you can help the children of the Cain?” he asked.

  “I would say that I don’t like hypothetical questions.”

  A soft chuckle escaped him.

  Where have I heard that voice before?

  He was talking low, nearly whispering, but there was a timbre behind his inflection which resonated in my memory. M. S.—if not Melody Stone, then who?

  “There are those among us who disagree with the laws against the children of the Cain…and we’ve taken action.”

  I didn’t take the bait, but waited.

  “We’ve been watching you for some time, Rezner.”

  “Who’s we?” I asked.

  The hooded figure turned around and my mind screamed recognition—now the voice seemed obvious. Elder Wizard Maximillian Snelbecker regarded me with expressionless eyes.

  “We are a select few,” he said, “those who would break the law in pursuit of justice.” “We, like you, believe the innocent children of the Cain should be protected. We’ve established a safe place for them.”

  “But you spoke out against such action. You suspended me over this very issue!”

  Maximillian nodded. He looked tired. “The council passed judgment, not I. I have ever been the voice for the Cain children. The rest of the council knows where I stand. The vote was nearly unanimous. I agree with them to an extent—the Cain cannot be kept in the city. It would cause an uproar.”

  I studied his eyes, but he gave nothing away. Still, I didn’t trust him. “If your words are true, then you’ve committed treason,” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow, and I sunk under his intensity. “Righteous to the end, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” I told him, “but really, I just don’t see it.”

  He chuckled and the tension inside the hiding spell lessened considerably. I couldn’t begin to imagine Maximillian’s power. He had only been mildly annoyed by my accusations, and the residual energy was suffocating.

  “Has Azazel come to your dreams yet?” His bushy eyebrows made a big V as I failed to hide my shock.

  “How did you know?” was all I could manage to say.

  He looked at me as though I were simple. “It was in your report that he nearly possessed you.”

  I tried to think of a way to avoid the truth, but I found I didn’t want to. I was scared shitless over Azazel, and I was in way over my head. I mean, a demon is bad enough, but this dude sounded worse than the devil himself, and by a few accounts they were one and the same. “He came to me last night,” I said after a moment.

  Maximillian nodded as if he had expected as much. “What does he want from you?”

  I was unable to control myself. “He wants me to lower the Spell Shield in exchange for my sister,” I told him.

  Did he cast a truth spell on me?

  “Of course I cast a truth spell on you. I am under its influence as well.” He indicated the dome humming around us.

  “Wait—so you have to tell the truth in here as well?”

  “Indeed,” he said, “this type of spell is commonplace in dealings among wizards. You have been yet unaware of it because you were an apprentice. Not everyone is privy to such information. Usually each wizard casts half the spell to prove to the other that they are both under the influence of the dome of truth. If the wizards do not cast the same spell, it will not work.”

  Maximillian’s head twitched, as if he’d heard something, and his hazel eyes searched sporadically. I listened as well, but heard nothing beyond the humming of the dome.

  “Excellent,” he said with a smile.

  I glanced around. “What?”

  “I’ve suspected for some time that Azazel has set a contract on my head. It seems you were followed. There are…” he sniffed the air subtly, “seven assassins.”

  “Assassins?”

  “Yes. Azazel and I have…history.” He perked up once again. “They have not noticed Wizard Mushiro yet.”

  A shadow passed over the garden skylight, and another moved in the corner of my eye. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

  “We have been trying to flush out this crew for a long time. Thank you.” He smiled, and from under his robes, took out a wand and handed it to me.

  “Orion Rezner, you are hereby granted full title and magic privileges of a wizard.”

  Just then, shadows began to dance upon the walls and skylight, and I cast a spell to enhance my senses. The darkness fled, and moonlight illuminated every corner of the passage, but the fleeting shadows remained as such. “What the hell are they?” I asked.

  “Others like you. But unlike you, they have given in to Azazel.” He glanced at my gun as I withdrew it. “Aim for the legs if you can.”

  I turned back to him. “Is there a chance they can be saved?”

  Maximillian nodded. “There’s a chance. However, it is slim. Those who come under the influence of one as powerful as Azazel are rarely recovered.”

  I recited a fire spell as he spoke. The shadows were now whipping around the courtyard, and a low, guttural growl began to echo throughout. I took strength in Elder Wizard Maxmillian’s stoic demeanor—he didn’t seem rattled in the least.

  He told me to take a few deep breaths and then snatched a spell book out of thin air with his left hand. I gawked at him, amazed. Wizards can’t…But then I noticed the spell book was attached to a contraption up his sleeve, something like an assassin’s retractable dagger.

  “Trust me,” he said. “Hold your breath…now.”

  I did as I was told, and Maximillian began chanting a spell quietly. The dome of truth dissipated, and fleeting shadows solidified. Seven witches and wizards stood on the opposite balcony and haunted the curved windows along the side corridors. The eldermaster finished his spell, and the robed spell casters jumped back.

  Nothing happened.

  Gun in right hand, wand in left, I focused on the figures lurking close to my side of the building. Even from this distance, I could see them suddenly clasp their throats.

  He’s taken all the air out of the room.

  In their panic, all seven attacked. I ducked low and shot as a wizard flew across the courtyard at me, hitting him in the thigh. He went down with a soundless howl. A witch leapt over the balcony and disappeared below. Beside me, Maximillian thrust his hands toward his opponents, blasting them with energy that sent them flying. The next wizard I faced raised his wand, but I was faster on the draw.

  Unfortunately, though, the end of the wand just flashed and fizzled.

  Shit! No air, no fire.

  The wizard smiled, despite his reddening face, and hit me with a levitation spell that sent me flying toward the skylight.

  In my surprise I let out all my air. I tried to breathe and started to panic, preparing for my back to smash through the skylight. Suddenly a force gripped me and held me still. I floated like a spacema
n as Maximillian, with the agility of a twenty-year-old, used his staff to pole-vault over the balcony. He flew twenty feet to land on the stone floor at the center of the gardens. In a flash, he disarmed and put to sleep one of the witches.

  Another of the wizards blasted a wind spell that filled the room with air once again. Invigorated, he lifted his spell book and began casting on the elder wizard.

  Maximillian leapt and spun, ducked and dodged the barrage. He came up under the wizard’s slashing wand and laid him out with his staff.

  One of the witches, a woman in her twenties whom I recognized, ran straight at the old wizard and leapt over him. He swiped at her with his staff, but she was too high. As she rotated over him in a flip, she blew down sparkling dust at him. Another wizard cast a whirlwind on the multicolored dust as it glittered down, and Maximillian dove to the side as it began to chase him.

  I had to do something but was still stuck floating over the gardens, unseen by all but the wizard I’d shot in the leg. He’d finally caught his breath and was beginning to chant a spell.

  I lifted my wand once again. I didn’t have time to recite something from my spell book, but I formulated a simple push spell, shot a couple rounds to disrupt his casting, and then cast the spell to pin his wand to the floor. Apparently I pushed too hard because I went flying up and slammed into the ceiling.

  Just then, the spell which held me aloft died out and I dropped like a rock. I quickly improvised a wind spell to slow my descent—but once again my control was lacking. The spell shot out of my wand and sent me spinning through the air like a deflating balloon. I landed on top of one of the wizards and we crashed to the ground, rolling around, grappling over our wands and trying to point them at each other’s head. I knew this wizard—Thomas Merlot. He was in my graduating class at Harvard Wizardry.

  “Thomas, it’s me, Orion Rezner. Snap out of it!”

  His only response was to growl and twist my own wand around at me. He rolled on top and uttered the first word of a spell, but dropped as Maximillian’s staff took him upside the head.

  The elder master ran past me and shot a spell at the dust trailing him. The whirlwind stopped dead, and the twinkling dust fell down upon the gardens lazily, wilting and killing the plants it came in contact with.

  Maximillian and I held our ground as the remaining witch and two wizards circled us. All three of them shot spells at us simultaneously. Maximillian raised a stopping hand and the spells exploded against an invisible barrier. The eldermaster wasted no time and unleashed a blast of lightning which illuminated the gardens and almost blinded me. I braced myself and shot a wind spell toward the closest wizard, but he leapt out of the way and my little whirlwind only tore up vegetation. He dove and came up fast, hitting me with a shockwave that sent me flying through the air.

  “Do not injure the host!” the witch yelled.

  Spells zipped across the gardens as I lay stunned. Maximillian gave out a sharp cry of pain as a witch’s cackle echoed all around. One of the wizards came to stand over me. He stared down with a satisfied smile and reached a red, glowing hand toward my forehead. I was helpless to defend myself. I couldn’t talk, let alone cast a spell, but the wizard suddenly flew forward—to the tell-tale sound of an exaggerated Bruce Lee battle cry.

  Johnny Mushiro smiled down on me.

  “Mushi, watch out!” I yelled.

  A spell hurtled down on him from one of the balconies. As he leapt out of the way, I rolled to the side. The plants I had been lying on erupted in a spray of dirt that rose high enough to hit the skylight. As I came out of the roll I fired three rounds at the wizard on the balcony. He doubled over and fell into the foliage below.

  I jumped up and whirled around.

  All had become silent.

  Maximillian stood at the center of the garden, a witch and wizard unconscious at his feet. He raised his wand and sent a spell, out through the frosted glass. It erupted in the sky above—a call to the Boston Militia.

  Chapter 16

  The Coven

  Mushi and I collected the wizards and witches and brought them to Maximillian to detain. He cast a binding spell as we positioned them in the center of the gardens.

  In the distance, the Boston Militia sirens screamed.

  I went and found the wizard I’d shot off the balcony lying awkwardly upon a bed of trampled orchids. There was no need to check for a pulse—one of my three shots had taken him in the forehead.

  “Marshal Kingston,” said Mushi, from behind me.

  I was in shock. “I killed him…I didn’t mean to.”

  “He was dead the moment he made a deal with Azazel,” said Maximillian. He came to stand beside me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “This is a much kinder fate than what awaited him under the demon.”

  He and Mushiro went about collecting the remaining traitors, leaving me to stare into the eyes of the dead man. When I joined the Order of Franklin, I was told that my duties as a wizard would entail killing, but I had always assumed that meant killing monsters. I took no joy in killing the Cain during the flight from Crystal Lake, but at least they had been evil men. Marshal Kingston was a good guy, from what I knew of him. He didn’t deserve this. I imagined all the days of his life leading up to this event…years full of laughter and tears, sorrow and joy—a life which ended at my hand. Knowing that I acted in self-defense and had likely saved Mushiro’s life gave me little solace. I bent down and closed Marshal’s eyes forever.

  The Boston Militia arrived in droves. Apparently the call to arms of an elder wizard is taken seriously. Within minutes, dozens of men and women were securing the building. Among them were regular soldiers, but also wizards and witches who went about muttering incantations or casting other spells.

  A paramedic ushered Mushi and I outside, to the back of one of the few ambulances in use by the BM. I assured him that I was all right, but he insisted on giving me a look-over.

  A woman wearing the robes of an elder witch approached Mushi and I. She had dark skin and dreadlocks that flared out from her head like the snakes of Medusa. Raising a crystal before us, she mumbled in a language I didn’t recognize. After making a quick pass over Mushiro, she stopped and lingered on me.

  “You’ve a curse on you. Hold still now,” she said.

  A tingling sensation washed over me as she lifted the curse.

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “Strange…you were cursed with a hex to make you susceptible to persuasion.”

  “Persuasion…did you lift it?”

  “Yes.” She moved the crystal over me once again and finally pocketed it.

  I thanked her and she moved to inspect Maximillian. When she was through with him, he came over to me, eyeing the two bodies being loaded into a van. He must have inadvertently killed the other one. The rest of them were being taken away in an armored truck.

  “What will happen to them?” I asked.

  He leaned in quietly. “They will be exorcised, if possible. For now you must focus on your report. You came here at my request. Unbeknownst to you, I was using you as bait to flush out this group. Say nothing of the children of the Cain…I’ll be in touch.”

  “Yes, Elder Wizard.”

  “And Rezner…” he said, turning back to me, “your suspension is hereby reinstated.”

  After an hour of making our reports and talking with the fine ladies and gentlemen of the Boston Militia, Mushi and I drove back to my apartment. I filled him in on what had happened, and checked my pocket watch when we arrived—1:30 a.m. I hadn’t slept for more than twenty-four hours, and the fight at the museum had drained me pretty bad. I was tired, but I dared not sleep. Azazel would be waiting.

  “What’s on your mind, Rez?”

  I remained on my scooter, considering my stoop. I had to find a way not to sleep.

  “You know where I might find Melody?”

  Mushi made a how the hell should I know face. “Beats me, man. Try Fracco’s.”

  It was a start. “C’mo
n. You up for a beer?” I asked him.

  He laughed. “Always ready for beer, Roundeye.”

  We cruised over to Fracco’s and parked. I scanned the bar quickly as we walked in but didn’t see Melody.

  Fracco nodded to us. “Wizards, what’ll it be tonight?”

  I glanced at Mushi and his shrug told me it was my call.

  “Double shots of whiskey,” I said, “and an IPA to wash ’em down.”

  Fracco leaned in. “I seen women drive plenty of men to drink—what’s her name?”

  “Death,” I told him.

  Fracco gauged my sincerity and looked to my friend.

  Mushi raised a serious eyebrow.

  “Sounds like a real bitch,” said Fracco. “Beer’s on the house.”

  He turned to get our drinks.

  I nudged Mushi. “No Melody.”

  “We can ask ’round. There are other witches here, you know. We can ask one of them to give you no-sleep curse.”

  “No...” I shook my head as I eyed the witches he spoke of. They were playing a game of pool with a few BM thugs, and had either laid an enchantment on them or the guys hadn’t been laid in months. The way they so obviously drooled over the ladies made my eyes roll. I’ve never understood why men so quickly toss dignity aside in the pursuit of ass. I mean, don’t get me wrong, ass is great and all, but this was like a scene from Animal Planet.

  “No,” I said again, “I don’t know any of them.”

  “You don’t know Melody either.”

  “I know she stayed behind with us at Crystal Lake—that’s enough for me.”

  Fracco placed the drinks on the bar. “Here we are, boys.”

  I told him to put it on my tab, and he nodded and scribbled in a ledger from his back pocket. When he finished he leaned in a little close and said, “I wasn’t eavesdropping but…sound carries to this side of the bar for some reason. Anyway, Melody was here an hour ago. Had a beer, looked bored. Said she was going to do some research.”

  “She say where?” I asked.

  He shrugged and began wiping down the bar.