Sorceress Super Hero

by Darius Brasher

  I had saved the world. Now it was time for me to rule it.

  Let it go, Sage. Let it go. This is not your path, came a voice in my head. For an instant, I felt a warm, loving hand caress my cheek.

  The voice in my head was not Puck’s. I knew whose voice it was:

  It was my father’s.

  Though much of me didn’t want to, the rest of me forced my hands to let go. The Spear plopped into the mud at my feet.

  I staggered backward, almost falling. Dazed, I felt like I had just awakened from a dream.

  Though the ground was wet and muddy, the clearing was as bright and sunny as it had been when I had arrived. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  Puck was jabbering in my mind.

  That. Was. Awesome!!! he crowed. Omigod, look!

  Still stunned and bewildered, I blinked, focusing my eyes.

  A breathtaking rainbow curved from the middle of the clearing, up through the sky, into forever.

  CHAPTER 24

  C’mon Sage. We’ve been practicing for hours. You said I could watch South Park. You promised, Puck whined.

  I sat in the middle of my living room floor with my legs crossed. “I said you could watch it after I levitated successfully. I haven’t yet. I’ve almost got it. I can feel it.”

  At this rate, I’ll be ten thousand years-old before I get to binge-watch season two, Puck muttered darkly. I wanna find out if they killed Kenny.

  “Did you say something?”

  I was saying how you’re right on the cusp of flying like a bird, Puck said in a fake, cheerful, saccharine tone. I’ve got all the faith in the world in you.

  I grinned, then got back to business. I closed my eyes and began to cast the levitation spell for the umpteenth time. I could easily float by creating air currents under myself of course, but if I was going to get certified as a Master Sorceress, I needed to be well-versed in all disciplines of magic, not just elemental magic. I was trying to levitate by making my body lighter than air.

  The sooner I could try for my certification, the better. It felt like an invisible clock was ticking. I was surprised I had not been contacted by the Conclave regarding my First Rule violations already. My only chance of saving myself was to get my certification.

  It was over a week since Daniel had died. As crazy as it sounded, even to me, I felt sorry for him. I knew what it was like to be filled with such despair that you wanted to take your own life. I had felt that way for years after I caused Dad’s death.

  That’s probably why I had cried over Daniel while I buried his bones in the clearing in Rock Creek Park. I had buried the five silver shekels with him. If I had known who his descendants were, I would have instead sent his remains to them so he could finally rest in peace, surrounded by family. As it was, I knew I would visit his unmarked grave from time to time. I would be his family.

  With Ghost’s help, I had returned the Spear of Destiny to the chamber deep under the Washington Monument. If I knew how to destroy it, I would have. It was better for everyone if an artifact like that did not exist. I had made Ghost swear he would never tell anyone about the Spear, just like he had made me swear to never tell anyone the Heroes’ Guild had a secret space station. I also made him swear he would never take anyone back into the chamber under the Washington Monument. Even me. Some things were best buried forever.

  As for Millennium, I would follow through on my promise to Ghost to help him locate the Hero turned Rogue. I didn’t know how just yet, but I’d figure something out. I had given Ghost my word.

  Besides, if I had a chance to spend more time with Ghost, I could figure out if I really wanted to kiss him.

  I used the money Daniel had given me to cancel the wererat contract on my life. When I delivered the gold talents, the Rat King told me to contact him personally should I ever decide to put a price on someone’s head. I told him I would keep him and the wererats in mind.

  I would not.

  I had thoroughly cleaned my apartment. It was now as neat as a pin. I had even eaten a healthy breakfast the past five out of seven days. I thought of those two chocolate filled days as cheat days. Though I was trying to turn over a new leaf, I figured I still needed to enjoy myself every now and then. I was a sorceress, not a nun.

  Two things still bothered me about me wielding the Spear in Rock Creek Park. What was the evil force that had tried to stop me from preventing the world from flooding? And, who or what was that voice in my head that had gotten me to drop the Spear?

  Was it my imagination? My subconscious? The angels of my better nature? Or, somehow, some way, did Dad still live, perhaps on a different plane of existence?

  That caress on my cheek had not felt like a figment of my imagination.

  I chided myself for my errant thoughts. It was no wonder I couldn’t levitate. I was too busy distracting myself with non-magical thoughts. I tried to refocus. I needed to get ready for the Conclave. Everything else had to take a backseat for now.

  My supposedly locked door exploded open. Startled, I scrambled to my feet.

  Someone stepped through my doorway as if all the protections on my threshold did not exist.

  Run Sage! Puck’s voice was suddenly as serious as a heart attack. I personally designed the wards I had you cast on the door. Few can rip through them like that. My Spidey sense detects some major league bad juju approaching. This is bad news with a capital B. Run!

  Someone stepped into view. It was big trouble. The Conclave was here.

  Is that fire and brimstone I smell? Don’t try to stand your ground. No one’s more impressed with how you handled the Daniel situation than I, but discretion is the better part of valor. Run!

  I stayed right where I was.

  By Thor’s hammer! Have you gone deaf? Run! Get outta here!

  The intruder stood in front of me. She stared down her nose at me. I did not look away. I forced myself to look directly into arctic blue eyes that were mirror images of my own.

  “Hello Mother,” I said.

  Mother! Puck was thunderstruck. Holy shit!

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Thank you so much for reading my book. I hope you have enjoyed reading about Sage as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about her. I lived in the Washington, D.C. area for over a decade, and it was fun exploring my old stomping grounds again.

  When I started writing this book, I only knew the three main characters (Sage, Puck, and Daniel), how I wanted the book to begin, and how I wanted it to end. Everything in between was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you. I started each morning in front of my computer with only a vague idea of what was going to happen next. It’s both an invigorating and terrifying way to write. I wrote a murder mystery novel the same way once. As I told a friend when I was about three-fourths of the way through, the lead detective had no idea who the murderer was. The problem was, I didn’t either.

  As you know if you follow me on social media, I’m a full-time writer. This would be no surprise to my ninth grade English teacher, who told me way back then I should write for a living. She even invited a professional author friend of hers to school to talk to me about being a writer. Thanks Mrs. Driscoll! But, before I followed Mrs. Driscoll’s sage advice, I tried out several other careers first. I’ve been a newspaper reporter, a lawyer, and a small business owner, among other occupations. I even considered running for public office before I came to my senses. If this writing gig doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll take a page out of Sage’s book and try stripping next.

  I mostly write superhero novels. Sorceress Super Hero got its start when I had the itch to write urban fantasy. Since I already have two superhero series set in the same fictional universe, namely the Omega Superhero Series and the Superhero Detective Series (the links for which can be found in the following section), I thought it would be fun to add magic to the mix in that universe. Some of the superhero characters referred to in Sorceress Super Hero make an appearance in those other two series. The superhero Omega, for example, is the mai
n character in the Omega Superhero Series. The Hero Myth who Sage spotted on the space station Ghost took her to is also a featured character in that series. And, Ghost makes an appearance in both series, but especially in the last two books of the Superhero Detective Series.

  I’ve included excerpts from both superhero series after the links to those books. Be sure to check those other books out if you’re jonesing for some superhero action.

  Sorceress Super Hero is, to be frank, an experiment. A testing of the literary waters, if you will. If the book crashes and burns sales-wise, I’ll return to writing about superheroes, especially since fans of the Omega Superhero Series want the upcoming fifth book in the series right away, and preferably yesterday. If Sorceress Super Hero does well, however, I’ll write a sequel. You no doubt noticed how I set up a potential sequel in the last chapter. I also populated this book with characters I intend to explore further in a sequel, if there is one.

  If you enjoyed reading about Sage and want me to continue her story, there are a bunch of ways you can help:

  First, you can tell your friends about my book and urge them to read it. Heck, tell your enemies and strangers on the street too.

  Second, you can leave a review on Amazon. Reviews are huge in helping other readers who share your tastes find books they’ll like.

  Third, you can join my email newsletter HERE. I track where my mailing list signups come from, so if a bunch of new people sign up for my mailing list through this book, I’ll know people like it. By signing up for my mailing list, you’ll get news of my new releases, sales and discounts regarding my existing releases, and the occasional freebie. I usually send out an email to my mailing list once a month.

  Fourth, you can follow me on social media and send me a message. I’m very active on Twitter (http://www.twitter.com/dariusbrasher), and moderately active on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/dariusbrasher).

  Fifth, you can simply email me and let me know you want to see another Sage story. My email address is darius@dbrasher.com. I love hearing from readers. Unless of course you’re a Nigerian prince who only needs $10,000 from me to gain access to a million dollar fortune. In that case, don’t email me to tell me about this opportunity of a lifetime. I’ve already wired tens of thousands to Nigeria, and I expect the investment to pay off any day now. There’s no need for me to be greedy by going to the well again.

  Lastly, you can support me on Patreon in exchange for cool stuff only my patrons have access to for as little as $1 a month: http://www.patreon.com/dariusbrasher.

  Speaking of Patreon, I want to give a special thanks and shout-out to my Patrons who support my work at the $5 level or higher per month: Michael Hofer, Paul Krause, Flint L. Miller, Kathy Mills, Tiffani Panek, and Marion Dillon. Guys and gals, thanks for your support. You rock!

  Thanks again for reading. You could have spent your time in thousands of ways, and I really appreciate you having spent some of it with Sage.

  Please turn the page for links to my other books and for excerpts of a couple of them.

  OTHER BOOKS BY DARIUS BRASHER

  Omega Superhero Series

  Caped

  Trials

  Sentinels

  Rogues

  Superhero Detective Series

  Superhero Detective for Hire

  The Missing Exploding Girl

  Killshot

  Hunted

  EXCERPT FROM CAPED

  I never wanted to be a superhero.

  I admired them, sure. I followed their adventures, absolutely. But be one? No thanks. Superheroes got punched, tortured, shot at, cut up, plotted against, and had buildings and other insanely heavy things dropped on them. And that was if you were lucky. If you were unlucky, you were killed like Avatar was. If it could happen to Avatar, the world’s greatest and most powerful Metahuman and licensed Hero, it could happen to anyone. I had no interest in being one of those anyones. If it was up to me, I would have stayed a nobody and a no one. Being a nobody was no fun and God knew it would not get you laid, but at least it gave you the chance to die at home in bed instead of at the hands of some bloodthirsty supervillain. Being a licensed Hero was super dangerous, not to mention super scary.

  Uh, no pun intended, I guess.

  So no, I never wanted to be a superhero. But, like Dad always said, you had to play the cards you were dealt. I found out what kind of cards fate had in store for me the day I got into a fight in the men’s bathroom at my college.

  If I had known about all the crazy and deadly stuff that encounter would lead to, I never would have gone to the bathroom that day. I would have just held it. Or, peed my pants. Gross and unsanitary, maybe.

  Safer though.

  ***

  I washed my hands after using the urinal. I was in the bathroom of the Student Activities Center at my school, the University of South Carolina at Aiken. My hands still were hot, as if they were being held too close to a fire. I held them under the faucet’s stream of cold water for a while. The water felt great, but did not solve the problem. My hands still felt hot.

  I was starting to get worried. Maybe I needed to go to the doctor, or at least to USCA’s health clinic. Though I had been inside of air-conditioned classrooms most of today, I had spent a lot of time earlier this week working outside on my dad’s farm. Maybe what I was experiencing was heat stroke. It was very hot outside. It was August in South Carolina, after all. It was supposed to be hot out. I had never heard of heat stroke affecting just one part of your body, though. Nor had I ever heard of it setting in long after someone had gotten out of the heat.

  My hands had felt weird the past several days. The feeling had started as a tingle, as if my hands had fallen asleep and circulation was being restored to them. A couple of days later the tingling had become pins and needles. The pins and needles had then transformed into a dull ache, like the ache of underused muscles that had been worked out hard at the gym. Now my hands were hot, like they were in an oven set on low. They were not in pain, but if whatever was going on with them got worse, I could see them getting painful. They had been distracting me in class all day, like an annoying itch you could not quite reach to scratch.

  I pulled my hands from under the stream of cold water. I examined them carefully. Other than them being wet, they looked perfectly normal, like they always did. I held them up to my cheeks, like I was checking for a fever. They did not feel hot against my cheeks. Maybe the heat was entirely in my head. Maybe what I needed was a shrink, not a doctor.

  I grimaced in distaste at the idea of going to a shrink again. I had been to one when my mother had died from brain cancer five years ago. My school counselor had recommended to Dad that I go, so go I did despite the fact I didn’t want to. Even at the age of twelve, going to that shrink to talk about my feelings had seemed like a huge waste of time. My mother was dead, and no amount of talking was going to change that fact. When that knuckleheaded shrink had suggested I was secretly glad Mom was dead because I was tired of dealing with her lingering illness, I had gotten up and taken a swing at that know-nothing dummy. Dad had been mad at me until I had told him what the shrink had suggested. Dad never made me go back. I had thought at the time he kind of wanted to take a swing at the shrink too.

  I grimaced yet again when I looked up to see myself in the mirror. I did not think I was ugly, so that was not the reason for the grimace. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average-looking face. If you did a Google search for “average white guy,” I would not be the top result—I was too much of a nobody to turn up in an Internet search—but I felt like the poster boy for “nothing special.” I had grimaced at myself because I was struck again by how skinny I was. Though it seemed like my stomach was a bottomless pit, I never could gain weight.

  Whenever I said that to a girl, she always said she wished she was like me. Not being able to put on weight might be awesome if you were a girl, but it sucked when you were a seventeen-year-old college freshman who was trying to attract girls. Girls went fo
r big dudes who were athletic, dressed well, drove nice cars, and were into sports, not a skinny farmer’s son who read all the time, wore clothes from Walmart, drove a hand-me-down powder blue Chevy Cavalier the inside of which leaked like a colander when it rained hard, and who knew more about actual falcons than he did about the Atlanta Falcons. It was probably why I was a virgin. I desperately did not want to be. I had never heard of someone dying from lack of sex, but it often felt like I would be the first to pull it off. What a way to make it into the history books. If my name were Mary instead of Theodore Conley, at least then I could put “The Virgin Mary” on my tombstone. On second thought, I would be a boy named Mary. I doubted that would help my virginity problem.

  My hot hands forgotten for the moment, I rolled up the right sleeve of my Avatar tee shirt a bit and flexed. My bicep barely moved. Ugh. I really needed to go to the gym more. The problem was, every time I went, I felt like a weak baby in comparison to the meatheads who seemed to live there. It was demoralizing. I was only seventeen, though. I prayed I was not finished growing yet. Thanks to my bookworm tendencies, I had graduated high school early and was a year or two younger than most of my classmates here at USCA. I had always been scrawny compared to other guys my age, and being around older guys here at college made the size difference worse. Maybe I would have another growth spurt and catch up to my larger classmates. And, maybe pigs would sprout wings and start calling themselves pigeons. I was not optimistic about either prospect occurring.

  The bathroom door swung open. Startled, I jumped a little. I pretended like I was scratching my arm instead of feeling myself up. Too many of my fellow students thought I was a weirdo as it was.

  John Shockey slowly entered. His left foot dragged a little on the floor as he came in. He was blonde, and shorter than I with a slightly hunched back and severely bowed legs. His right hand was twisted around at a weird angle, and the fingers on that hand pointed out in several different directions. He had a big overbite, so much so his mouth was never completely closed. His upper front teeth, yellow and angled like collapsing tombstones, were exposed a little. He always looked like he was grimacing, even when he was not.