Sorceress Super Hero

by Darius Brasher

  Sure you don’t cupcake. That’s why your hands aren’t balled up in anger right now. I looked down, and realized my fists were clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Feeling foolish, I unclenched them. Then again, what do I know? I’m a cloak, not a counselor. At any rate, you’ve got problems more pressing than the need to get your head shrunk.

  Lemme recap those problems to make sure I’m not missing any: For Daniel to get his angel wings back and for you to not become a wererat entrée, you need to find the Spear of Destiny, one of the most sought-after holy Relics in world history. And despite the fact some people have fruitlessly spent their entire lives searching for it, you—an uncertified, half-trained sorceress—need to find it sometime between yesterday and right this second, before Daniel is compelled to ease on down the road and before the most powerful sorcerer in the world gets his grubby hands on the Spear and goes on a rampage with it. After that, you need to deal with whomever hired the wererats to come after you in the first place. You also need to somehow get your Master Magician certification after years of neglecting your magical studies to try to stave off the Conclave imprisoning you—or worse—for flouting the First Rule of magic. All while looking over your shoulder for this Ghost character so you won’t further expose the magical world to a mundane.

  Whew! What a clusterfu—um, I mean, nightmare. Did I miss anything? Perhaps one of the lesser gods having a vendetta against you?

  Feeling overwhelmed by the odds against me, I sat down heavily on the couch. I was careful to not sit on Puck. He hadn’t said anything sexual in a while, and I wanted to keep the platonic streak alive. “When you put it like that, it sounds impossible.”

  Difficult, yes. Impossible? No. The difficult I can do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers stole that adage from me. First Shakespeare and my name, then those sappers and my awesome expressions. Good engineers copy; great engineers apparently steal.

  Despite everything, I found myself smiling. When he wasn’t being insulting or lecherous, Puck’s irrepressible energy was almost charming. “I don’t think you’re telling the truth about that one.”

  Maybe, he said breezily. Only the unimaginative tell the truth all the time.

  “Does your allegedly stolen can-do saying mean you’re going to help me with the Spear and with the Conclave?”

  Sure. Why not? I haven’t had a challenge worthy of my abilities since I formulated the theory of relativity for Einstein. Besides, you’re not quite as bad as I first thought. You’re growing on me. You’re not as knowledgeable, composed, wise, thoughtful, or as disciplined as a sorceress really ought to be, but you’re plucky.

  “Wow. All this flattery is going right to my head.”

  CHAPTER 17

  My eyes were so bleary and watery that the words of the dense book I read seemed to come alive and dance on the pages.

  I blinked. The words still swam on the pages. Not that I understood half of what they said, anyway. The fact the seer stone Puck had taught me to create days ago translated this book’s ancient Greek to English did not change the fact that the import of the words was still Greek to me. Daniel playing with the coins in his pocket more than usual did not help my concentration.

  Irritated, I slammed the book shut. The Soul: Theory and Practice were the words etched in Greek on the cover of the ancient, thick, leather-bound book. What someone like me needed was The Idiot’s Guide to the Soul.

  What was the point? I would never figure this stuff out. I had hit the wall.

  I hadn’t slept in four days. Red anger and dark frustration cut through my exhaustion. Though Puck had warned me more volatile than normal emotions were a side effect of the no doze spell he had taught me, that did not make the emotions feel less real.

  I flung the fist-sized seer stone. It whistled away from me with such force that it embedded itself into the wall of my apartment. I swept the book I’d been reading off my storage chest that did double duty as a living room table. It thumped onto the floor, knocking over a stack of equally obscure and abstruse books there. Puck had taught me the word abstruse. At least I had learned something these past few days.

  Daniel was reading an epic fantasy novel, sitting with his feet propped up. He played with those infernal coins in his pocket like they were a talisman. He looked up at my outburst. His eyes flicked from the seer stone in the wall, to the scattered books, then to me.

  “Well, that’s certainly productive,” he said.

  “Shut up,” I snapped irritably. I flung myself back on the sofa and stared at the popcorn ceiling. Though I was weary due to lack of sleep, I was simultaneously wide awake thanks to the no doze spell, like I had mainlined gallons of coffee. “This is stupid. Why do I have to read all this stuff, anyway? While I’m sitting here cramming, Millennium could be putting his hands on the Spear of Destiny.”

  We’ve been over this, Puck said. I had not taken him off in days. Though I did not always like what he had to say, I was getting used to having his voice in my head. I think the best way to find the Spear is to teach you to astrally project so you can search the city for it. Unless you want to just search door-to-door, which was the boneheaded suggestion you had yesterday.

  “I’d rather do that than sit here going blind poring over ancient texts which are as clear as mud. Why can’t you just teach me the blasted astral projection spell without putting me through this idiotic remedial education course?”

  We’ve been over this too. It’s like asking why NASA can’t just teach you which buttons to push in the space shuttle instead of making you go through astronaut training. To be able to astrally project safely, you must understand the theory and the methodology behind it. It’s not as simple as saying a word, waving your hand, and conjuring up a ball of spellfire. It’s really high-level magic. Some of the highest, actually. I only know of one Master Magician who can do it safely, and he’s a soul manipulation specialist. I doubt even Millennium can do it. If you don’t have a solid foundation in the theory, you’re liable to get yourself killed. Or worse yet, me.

  “Well why don’t you give Soul Man a jingle and get him to find the Spear? I’m sick of sitting here, sick of reading stuff I barely understand, and sick of forcing myself to stay awake. Plus, I can’t shake the feeling something terrible is going to happen if I go through with this.”

  The man I’m thinking of is a black guy from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, so I wouldn’t call him Soul Man to his face if I were you. Racist. I get that you’re tired, but you’ve made a lot of progress. We’re compressing years of study into just a few days, after all.

  Feeling stubborn, I said, “I don’t care. I’m through wrestling with high-level magic. I’m no good at it. Quick and dirty stuff is more my speed. The last time I did high-level magic, I got somebody I cared about killed.” I started tearing up at the memory. I blinked hard, embarrassed, hoping neither Puck nor Daniel noticed. My exhaustion had made my emotions volatile and had made me reveal more than I normally did. I willed myself to not start crying. “Never again. We’re going to have to find another way. I’m tapping out.”

  Daniel put his feet down and spun in his chair to face me. “Stop being such a baby.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, startled.

  “You heard me. Stop being such a whiny baby. Ever since I brought you all these books after scrounging for them in obscure occult bookstores armed with the Cloak of Wisdom’s reading list, it’s been one complaint after another.” His voice became high-pitched and mocking. “‘I’m tired.’ ‘This stuff’s too hard.’ ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’ ‘Ooooh, I’m scared of what might happen.’ ‘Me, me, me, me, me.’” Daniel looked at me contemptuously. “I for one am sick of your belly-aching. The world does not revolve around you. Everybody’s got their own problems. I don’t know what happened in your past or who died because of you. And frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is finding the Spear of Destiny before it falls into the wrong
hands. We went to a lot of trouble to acquire the Cloak of Wisdom. If it says you need to hit the books before you attempt astral projection, then that’s what you’re going to do.”

  Hey! Puck said, sounding outraged. I have a name, you know. Tell him to stop calling me an “it.”

  Daniel of course couldn’t hear Puck. Daniel continued, saying, “I’m paying you a lot of money to do a job, and I expect results. So shut up, man up, get your head out of your ass, and put it back in those books.”

  I got off the sofa and stepped over to Daniel. I stood over him. I was so mad, I was shaking.

  I stopped myself with a herculean effort from reaching down and throttling Daniel. “Get out of here right now,” I said, my teeth clenched, “or so help me I’m going to pick you up by the scruff of your neck and kick you back up to Heaven.”

  Daniel stared up at me, holding my gaze in challenge. Finally, he stood.

  “I’ll go,” he said, reaching for the Ark fragment. “But once I’m gone, get back to work. I’m not paying you to whine.”

  It took every ounce of will to not fling one of the heavy books I had been studying and cave the back of Daniel’s skull in as he walked out the door.

  Once the door was closed, I punched the wall as hard as I could. My fist punctured the drywall. My arm sank into the wall up to my elbow. In my anger, I barely felt the impact.

  Wow, Puck said. It’s not often that I’m the level-headed one in the room. What did that poor wall ever do to you?

  “You looking to get thrown out too?” I snarled.

  Nope. Just making conversation.

  “Well don’t.”

  I yanked my arm out of the wall, raking my skin on the jagged hole’s edges. My arm bled, and my fist throbbed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now I’d have to pay to get the hole patched. And what if I had broken my hand, hindering my ability to cast spells? I gingerly clenched and unclenched my aching hand. Fortunately, it didn’t feel like I had broken anything.

  Though you’re hardly Miss Calm, Cool and Collected yourself, Daniel’s gotten increasingly antsy the past few days, Puck said thoughtfully as I went to the kitchen sink and washed the blood and drywall dust off my arm.

  “He has to move on from D.C. soon. He says it’s his divine compulsion.”

  Don't you think that's a little weird?

  I laughed bitterly. “There's nothing about this whole situation that's not weird.”

  After gingerly patting my bleeding arm dry with paper towels, I pulled the last of the Elven wine I had left out of the cabinet. I uncorked the flask and took a long swallow. Almost immediately I felt the drink’s effects. It washed away the pain of my arm and most of my anger, leaving only numb sorrow.

  Hey, go easy on that stuff, Puck said. The no sleep spell you’re under has already weakened your ability to control your emotions. Mixing Elven wine with it will just make it worse. No one enjoys being alone with a pie-eyed girl who’s liable to make bad decisions more than I do, but now’s not the best time to get a snootful. We’ve got too much work to do.

  “I don’t care.” It was a lie. I did care. Despite how much of a jerk Daniel sometimes was, he had paid me to do a job. When you were paid to do something, you should do it to the best of your ability. Dad had taught me that. I didn’t have much—no family, few friends, and the kind of personality which made it likely that would not change—but I did have the pride I took in doing what I said I was going to do. And I said I would try to find the Spear of Destiny. But, what Puck was trying to teach me to do was hard. Beyond my capacity to learn, maybe. I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to pull it off.

  And, I was equally afraid I was going to pull it off. The last time I had fooled around with high-level magic, it had ended disastrously.

  Miserable, I drank more wine. The wine’s warm glow spread from the pit of my stomach all throughout my body. Elven wine wasn’t the solution to my problems, but it did an awesome job of masking them.

  Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you, or am I gonna have to guess? Puck asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. Besides, what could be wrong when you’ve got a bellyful of Elven wine?” I hiccupped, burped, then giggled. Nobody ever complained about Elven wine not being fast-acting.

  Oh sure, everything’s clearly just dandy, Puck said sarcastically. We’re racing to see who can find the Spear of Destiny the fastest, yet you’re flying off the handle, punching walls, and getting drunk off your ass in the middle of the day when you ought to be studying.

  “No cursing,” I said automatically.

  Oops. Force of habit. Ichiro used to curse like a whore stuck at a celibacy convention. I’ve been meaning to ask, what’ve you got against cursing, anyway? I thought cursing and badass chicks went together like peanut butter and jelly. Thunder and lightning. Sturm and drang. Strippers and daddy issues. Black guys and—

  “My father,” I quickly interjected, afraid of what was coming next. “I don’t curse in honor of my father.” I had never told anyone that before. The lack of sleep, the no doze spell, and the wine must have conspired to loosen my lips.

  Does he live around here?

  “No. He’s dead.” Hot tears formed and started dripping down my cheeks. “I killed him.”

  There was stunned silence in my head for a moment. Then Puck said, I haven’t known you very long, but I find that hard to believe.

  “No, I killed him all right. Just as sure as if I had pulled the trigger myself.” I was bawling now. I felt my face contort as I wept. Mortified about being so vulnerable in front of Puck, I tried to stop, but couldn’t. Exhaustion, frustration, anger, and Elven wine obviously were not a good mix.

  I flung the wine flask away before I drank more and further embarrassed myself. The open flask bounced off the wall and landed on the floor. Its contents gurgled out, forming a pool of red on the linoleum. It reminded me of the pool of blood I sat in ten years ago as I held Dad’s lifeless body after he shot himself.

  The remembrance made me cry even harder, long racking sobs that made it hard to breathe. I sank down onto the floor.

  Puck was uncharacteristically quiet as I cried. My back was against the wall, and my legs were sprawled out in front of me. My sobbing rebounded off the walls of my tiny kitchen.

  After a long while, when I finally quieted down some, Puck spoke gently, so much so that I thought at first his words were my imagination. Tell me what happened to your father, he said.

  I blew my nose on a paper towel. It was rough against my nose. I angrily wiped my cheeks dry with the back of my hand. Daniel had been right—I was a baby. The world’s oldest. If the world needed someone like me to protect it by locating the Spear of Destiny, the world was in serious trouble.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  You may not want to talk about it, but it seems to me that you need to.

  I opened my mouth, about to tell Puck no again. Salty snot dribbled onto my tongue. I spat it out, disgusted. While Millennium was honing in on the Spear, I was eating my own mucus. I was a mess.

  Maybe Puck was right. Maybe I did need to talk about it. How was I going to continue the search for the Spear like this?

  “As is often the case with Gifted people, being Gifted runs in my family,” I began after blowing my nose again. It was a good thing Puck was a cloak; most guys would run away screaming in terror when a woman cried the way I had. “My parents were both Master Sorcerers. My mother abandoned me and my Dad when I was a baby. Dad’s name was Anwell. He raised me by himself. He was a good man. The best I’ve ever known. He never had an unkind word to say about anybody, always helped people when he could, and lived a good life. He was one of those guys you think is too good to be true when you meet them, that there’s got to be something dark and disturbing under all that surface virtue. That wasn’t the case with Dad. With him, what you saw was what you got. Everyone who knew him adored him. But nobody adored him more than I did. How he ever got hooked up with someone like my mother i
s to this day a mystery to me.

  “In addition to taking care of me, Dad also trained me in the use of my magic when my abilities manifested. I absorbed his lessons like a sponge. Both because I loved magic, and because I loved pleasing him. When I was little, he had to make me go outside and play instead of me spending every second poring over books, studying magical theory, and learning new spells. Soon, I was casting spells magicians years older than me couldn’t tackle. Dad often said I had the most magical potential of anyone he had ever known. And that was saying something because Dad knew some of the leading magicians of his time.

  “Though Dad permitted me a lot of freedom in my magical studies, there was one area he declared off-limits: black magic. ‘Black magic perverts its practitioner, often without her ever even realizing it,’ he said. He made me promise I would stay away from it. Being a dutiful daughter, I promised. But, like telling a Catholic girl to stay away from sex until marriage, Dad telling me to stay away from black magic made it even more alluring.

  “I managed to get my hands on some books on the subject. In the circle of young Gifteds I ran in, books on black magic were passed around the way mundane boys used to pass around copies of Playboy.

  “After secretly devouring those books, I was convinced I could perform the feats of black magic they described. After all, as Dad had told me, I had the most magical potential of anyone he had ever known. I knew there was nothing I couldn’t do.

  “When I was sixteen I got everything ready one evening when Dad was supposed to be gone most of the night. First, I moved the furniture in the living room out of the way. I scrubbed down a part of the wood floor with the unholy water I’d bartered with a warlock for. Then I sprinkled holy water in a circle around that. The holy water smoked where it came into contact with the unholy water, searing a dark circle into the wood. I drew a large pentagram in fresh animal’s blood on the part of the floor I had rendered profane with the unholy water. Then I positioned black tallow candles on each point of the pentagram and lit them with matches fashioned from a rotting oak tree.