The Painter Mage: Books 1-3

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Not those. It’s only a blank roll of paper.”

  The hope that had started to fill her eyes faded. “It was a thought.” She hesitated. “You said you thought you knew where we could look?”

  “Yeah, well my father apparently was close enough to the shifters to ask them to guard the gateway he buried. He knew they’d be powerful enough and, for some reason I haven’t learned, motivated enough to protect it.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “I haven’t even told you what I’m thinking!”

  “You don’t have to. You wonder if the shifters were protecting anything else for him.”

  “Not the shifters. My father might have asked them to protect the gateway. Jakes sure thinks he’s some kind of magical guardian. But Jakes’s father? He and the Elder were supposedly close. Jakes told me that, and then Tom Brindle mentioned it. Who better to protect something for him than his friend?”

  Taylor glanced toward the stairs. “You want to go see what he might have protected?”

  “That’s the problem. Since he died during the attack, it’s not like we can just go demand the item my father had him store.”

  “His house? You’re thinking you want to break in?”

  I nodded.

  “To the sheriff’s house.”

  I shrugged.

  “The shifter sheriff’s house.”

  “When you say it that way, it sounds a little crazy.”

  “It sounds a lot crazy.” Taylor stretched, and I made a point of looking away as she did. “I’ll help. It’s my fault he’s gone, and if you’re going to do something like that, you’ll need someone to keep an eye out for you.”

  Probably more than that, but I didn’t tell her that part yet.

  “When do you want to go?”

  I smiled sheepishly. “Now?”

  9

  It was late and I was tired. What I needed more than anything was rest. I hadn’t used a lot of power throughout the day, but enough that I could feel the way it drained me. Facing Adazi once had been hard enough. If it came to a second time, I’d need to be at my best in order to survive. Devan’s life might depend on it. That’s why I wanted to find the damn orb as soon as I could. Once I did, then I could take an hour and nap before confronting Adazi and getting her back.

  I wouldn’t let myself consider anything else. I would get her back.

  We drove through Conlin, and for the first time, I wished the truck wasn’t so loud. The damn thing seemed to rumble through the streets like a tank. I kept the lights on but was ready to dim them quickly if needed and kill the ignition. It wouldn’t surprise me to find Jakes following me, especially since he knew what I was after and seemed determined to keep me from it.

  “Are you sure about the address?” I asked Taylor.

  She was a shadow next to me in the truck. “I looked it up. Unless it changed in the time since that phonebook was published, it’s accurate.”

  “That phonebook was over ten years old,” I reminded her.

  Taylor shot me a look I managed to see through the darkness. “And your point?”

  I snorted and shook my head. “No point. This is Conlin. Not too many people move.”

  And old Sheriff Jakes hadn’t really even been a person. How much did shifters move?

  We rolled onto Ridge Street. If the phonebook was right, then we’d find Jakes’s house here. About halfway down the street, I saw the house number. Tall oak trees grew out front. A large weeping willow dipped toward the street, sweeping branches just overhead. A long drive led off the street, set off by a simple fence.

  “Nice place,” Taylor whispered.

  It was nice for Conlin. The kind of place that gave off a sense of home and permanence. It was the kind of house that told me Sheriff Jakes had been in town for a long time. Long enough to set down roots, to establish himself in the community. And then to die protecting Conlin from magical creatures out of a nightmare.

  I sighed, letting the truck move past the house.

  “What are you doing?” Taylor asked.

  “I’m not going to just pull into the driveway. It’s not like this is an inconspicuous truck. If Jakes sees me—”

  “If Jakes sees us, we’ll be ready.”

  I shifted in my seat and turned to her. “No. Not like that, Taylor. We’re here to find out what we can, not attack him again. The last time, you nearly destroyed my house.”

  She lowered her eyes. “We couldn’t really destroy it, could we? The Elder placed protections around it.”

  “With enough energy, I think anything can be destroyed. Even my father’s work.”

  I shifted the truck into park and got out, closing the door as quietly as I could manage. It still groaned slightly as I pressed the door closed. Taylor moved more silently, shutting her side with barely more than a click.

  A pulled my coat around my shoulders and made for the nearest yard. No fence surrounded this yard, and the house was set nearly as far back from the street as Jakes’s house. The air was cool, and my breath plumed in front of me. Loose twigs crunched under my feet, and I longed for Devan’s ability to move silently through the woods. She managed to keep her steps light as she walked, not leaving so much as a footprint. Another gift of the Te’alan.

  Taylor jogged next to me, managing more silence. I glared at her.

  I cupped a charm in each hand. One was the odd-shaped charm that looked something like Agony. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need it, but I wanted to be ready in case something happened. Partly, I didn’t know if Adazi followed me. It was unlikely. Regardless of what Taylor thought, I suspected the patterns on the sign outside of town—and maybe other patterns in town that I’d yet to discover—kept him out. And then there was the issue of shifters. I didn’t want to have to attack any of the shifters. Too much had happened to them lately as it was. But I wanted to be ready to at least slow them down. I would do whatever was needed, even if Jakes wasn’t going to help me reach Devan.

  The other charm had a simpler purpose. It would create a wide circle, and I could seal a protection quickly if needed. It would give me one shot, but that should be all that I needed if it came down to it.

  Taylor held a bottle of ink. I’d offered her one of the charms, but she preferred not to use them. She thought she would be fast enough without the charms. She was probably right.

  We reached the fence around Sheriff Jakes’s yard. I grabbed the top of it and threw myself over. As I did, I felt power wash over me.

  “Taylor!” I hissed.

  It was too late. She’d flung herself over, as well.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you feel it?”

  She tilted her chin forward and brushed her hair back from her face. Then she shook her head. “I don’t feel anything. What is it?”

  “My father,” I said. “The fence had protections within it.” I’d have to return in the daylight to see exactly what he’d placed around the yard, but with power strong enough for me to sense, I imagined it was something like what was on the railing leading to the basement.

  “What’s the issue? If it was your father, at least we know it’s not something dangerous.”

  I sniffed. “It’s my father. It’s always something dangerous. Besides, can’t you feel what it’s done?”

  She shook her head.

  How could she miss it? “Try a pattern. Something small.”

  Taylor eyed me strangely but shrugged and made a simple slashing mark across the ground with a splash of ink. It would do little more than create a blink of light. I waited as she infused it with power.

  Nothing happened. I hadn’t really expected anything to happen. The protections on the fences washed out a painter’s power. It was similar to what I experienced when crossing the Threshold. Not quite the same, but enough that I recognized the sensation. Maybe that was why Taylor didn’t realize what had happened.

  In time, the protections could be overwhelmed, but that would take enormous power, mor
e than I was willing to use tonight. More than I was willing to have Taylor attempt. It left us weakened. Not defenseless, not entirely, but enough that I hoped we didn’t run into anything with heavy magical abilities. Like shifters.

  Could I use it to help us? If I could draw Adazi here, use the patterns my father had already placed, and disarm him enough that I could…what? Torture him into giving up Devan? There was no way he would bring her into the city. Not without assurances that I had what he wanted. And would I really risk not being able to get her back based on my hopeful presumption that my father’s protections around the sheriff’s house might work to contain him?

  “What are you going to do?” Taylor asked.

  “What we came to do. This doesn’t really change anything other than the fact that we have to be more careful. Hopefully, it won’t even matter.”

  I started forward, and Taylor walked next to me. “Why do you sound like you don’t believe that?”

  “Because if my father put that protection around the yard, then it stands to reason he placed additional protections around the house, as well.”

  “You’re not worried about shifters?”

  “Yeah, I’m worried about shifters, but they would have to be here, wouldn’t they?” I asked it rather than stating it. Regardless of what Kacey claimed, I remained unconvinced that shifters couldn’t learn to use painter magic. Why couldn’t they create patterns and infuse them with their power, unless there was something about painters that made us different. I knew my magic was different from Devan’s, but that was mostly because she had no interest in attempting to use my type of power. With her skill at creating sculptures and charms, I’d always suspected that Devan would have made a skilled painter.

  “I suppose,” she agreed.

  We neared the house. It was a low, ranch-style house that looked brown or green or some dark color. A simple sidewalk led up to it with a dimly glowing lantern along the walk. The house was dark, and I paused, waiting for some sign of movement, but there was nothing. I didn’t let myself relax.

  “Come on,” I said.

  We circled around the back of the house. A large deck stuck off the back, angling toward a wooded back yard much like my own, though no park abutted the sheriff’s yard. There was a tidy shed in the corner of the lot, covered in shadows. The house looked dark from this side, as well.

  “Are you going to break a window to get in?” Taylor asked. She stared up at the house, eyeing the windows there. The hesitation in her voice told me what she thought of attempting that method of entry.

  “You were willing to break into my house and steal my father’s book, going so far as to fight off a shifter, and you’re afraid of breaking a window to get inside the house?”

  “That was different.”

  “Really? You were looking for your father. I’m trying to reach Devan. How is it all that different?”

  She coughed softly. “When you put it that way, I guess it’s not.”

  “Besides, I don’t intend to break one of the windows and slink inside.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope. I’m going through the door.”

  I made my way up onto the deck. Standing there, I felt exposed, as if anyone in the woods around the house could simply see me. For all I knew, the shifters prowled through those woods and already knew we were here. The sliding door opening into the house had a long handle. I tried it, not really expecting anything, but it slid easily.

  I glanced back at Taylor and shrugged.

  Without waiting for her, I stepped into the house. The air inside felt warm and stale. Only gone a week and already the house seemed like it hadn’t been lived in for months. I debated flipping on the lights, but that would risk drawing attention.

  Taylor held out her hand. A ring on her finger glowed softly. “Thought it might be helpful.”

  “That was Devan’s.”

  “It was in her shop,” Taylor agreed. “Doesn’t mean it’s hers. Besides, would she care if I borrowed it?”

  And here I’d thought Taylor hadn’t wanted any of the charms. It fit her finger snuggly, as if made for her. Maybe that was part of the magic Devan had imbued into it. Devan’s charms worked funny like that. The one on my belt had sort of woven itself into place. I’d barely had to do anything more than place it there. Like the charms I carried, it would give me one shot, but the power worked into the charm should make it plenty potent. As long as I’d worn it, I had never had the need to use it. Hopefully, I wouldn’t ever have to; it would probably blast my pants off.

  “She probably wanted you to have it,” I decided. “But be careful. The damn thing might explode if you push too much energy into it.”

  We made our way into the house. The room leading in off the deck was a living room. Outdated furniture angled toward an old tube TV sitting atop a solid oak stand. Magazines stacked on top of a sturdy coffee table. I was somewhat surprised to see the TV. Did shifters even have shows they watched?

  “Did he have a wife?” Taylor asked.

  She stood near one wall looking at pictures. They made Sheriff Jakes seem like any other family man, with pictures of kids splashing in a pool. There was baby Jakes, half naked and already more muscled than I would ever become. Another boy, slightly older and with the same build, appeared in many of the pictures. In another picture that looked older than the rest, there was a young girl with blonde hair. She had a soft face and a playful smile and carried a striped kitten. A woman behind her had the same blonde hair, though curled and with eyes of a steely gray. Other pictures were like those.

  “Never knew if he had a wife,” I said. “But I never really knew much about him when I was in Conlin.”

  “I thought you were nearly fifteen when you left for Arcanus?”

  “More or less. But I was a normal kid. Played with the neighbors, went to school and came home. I think I played baseball for about two years before my parents realized I didn’t have the coordination needed to be any good. But I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t really have any reason to know Sheriff Jakes.”

  “I thought he and your father were friends?”

  I shrugged. “My father kept to himself. He’d work with me a little on painting, but never too much. He made certain I knew specific patterns, and what they meant. He even worked with me on mixing inks, but the kind of training you got with the masters I never got from him.”

  “That’s not really how the masters teach in Arcanus, either,” Taylor said. “You have to prove a certain level of competence, and then you’re able to study with the masters. For some, it takes a year or two. For others?” She shrugged. “There are some in Arcanus who’ve been there twenty years and still haven’t studied with the masters.”

  “And you think that’s a good system?” I asked. “When I crossed the Threshold, I learned more in the first week I was there than I ever did during my year in Arcanus. Mostly because I had to. I’d be dead if I hadn’t.”

  “You really think all painters need that kind of motivation?”

  “Not that kind. But something. And teachers motivated to teach.”

  “They are motivated to teach,” Taylor said. “You have to be ready for their lessons.”

  I turned away, unwilling to argue with her about it any longer. That she might be right didn’t matter. Would I have been ready to learn the same lessons had I not spent the year in Arcanus studying, searching through the library for the next text that might help me better understand the patterns I knew to be important? Would I have been prepared for my father’s passing had I not discovered the book on arcane patterns and devoted time to it? I might have remained in Arcanus longer, but I doubted I would have managed to cross the Threshold. I doubted I would have been able to learn the lessons the Te’alan offered to teach. And I would never have met Devan. Had that not happened, she would have been married off to the Druist Mage, lost to whatever darkness he had in mind for her.

  Instead, I had taken the time to learn those lessons. I’d studied
, focused on the patterns the masters were unwilling to teach. In time, I became proficient at the arcane patterns, those the masters thought to protect me from. Had I not, much would have been different for me.

  I made my way into the kitchen. Simple dark cabinets hung on the walls. A gas stove pressed against one wall. Counters were Formica and stylish, clearly recently replaced. It was the only allowance to modern style I’d seen in the house.

  A long oak table filled the dining room. Slatted wooden chairs surrounded the table. Across from the dining room, I found a library. Books covered shelves built into the walls. A plush, orange chair was facing a fireplace. The smell of old logs still lingered in the room.

  “Find anything?” Taylor asked.

  “Nothing that would make me think Jakes protected anything for my father. You?”

  “Just two bedrooms. This isn’t a big house. One’s a guest room. The other must have been his, but there’s nothing too exciting about either.” She joined me back in the kitchen where I leaned on the counter, trying to think if there might be something I missed. “Maybe there’s a basement. Like at your house.”

  I took a pinch of ink and made a quick triangle on the tile of the kitchen. Nothing permanent. I wouldn’t defile Sheriff Jakes’s home by using an ink that would leave permanent marks, but I needed to see if I could come up with another reason my father placed protections on the fence around the home. It couldn’t only be because of Jakes. There must be something here.

  Pushing an effort of will through the pattern, I used it to sense for any other magical items. Nothing resonated to me. I wondered how much of that was the barriers placed around the yard. My father’s pattern might prevent mine from working, but I felt a surge of power as I tried to power it. That told me something should work.

  “Can you try?” I asked Taylor.

  “Oliver,” she glanced at the pattern and shook her head, “you seem to have it in your head that I’m better equipped to do things you can’t.”

  “You’re the artist.”

  She looked at me with an amused expression. “And I’ve seen you do things I couldn’t imagine attempting. I mean, you split your focus when facing Adazi. I’ve never seen a painter do that. And some of the patterns you use so easily…” She shook her head. “You might not be what we consider an artist in Arcanus, but you have more talent than any tagger.”