Sorcerer's Creed Books 1-3

by N. P. Martin

  "Yeah, I know." I went silent as I thought about what Forsyth was asking of me. He was expecting to walk into a club full of werewolves, demand to see the leader and then tell the leader that the vampire Adrian Forsyth wants his property back. Something told me things wouldn't go without a hitch. A violent one perhaps.

  But hey, fuck it. I needed something to do to take my mind off things, to distract me from the image of my father's face as he screamed for mercy just before I destroyed his soul. "Alright, Forsyth," I said. "I'll get your flash drive back for you."

  Forsyth smiled, more genuine than his usual insouciant grins. "Creed, my friend, I won't forget it."

  I focused my gaze on him. "I know you won't."

  4

  The Red Hill Gang

  Over the years, I'd had dealings with a few different werewolf gangs in the city. I found most of them to be quite brutish in their ways, intensely loyal to their pack and prone to frequent outbursts of violence. Individuals within the packs varied of course, but in the main, werewolf gangs behaved as most other supernaturals expected them to behave. They liked to party, which is why all of the gangs had their own bar or club to hang out in while they drank until it was time to fight someone. Vampires did the same thing, but more quietly, and they liked to bite instead of fight.

  The Red Hill Gang as they were known resided in, well, Red Hill. The place itself was a mix of apartments and old brownstones, interspersed with small business and numerous bars. These gave way to crumbling warehouses and a small industrial estate the closer you got to the docks. The people there were an insular sort of folk, most of them having been born and bred in the area, rarely leaving it unless they really had to. There was a backwoods feel to the place, despite the urban setting, which was strengthened by the overabundance of gun shops and army surplus stores.

  It was mid-morning by the time I drove to Red Hill in my black 1967 Cadillac Eldorado, which I think I already told you is a temperamental bitch at the best of times. That morning, though, despite the freezing temperatures overnight, the old beast seemed to run fine for a change. I wasn't overly familiar with the Red Hill area, so I had to drive around for a bit until I found the place I was looking for, which was Big Joe's Custom Bike Shop. Despite never having any dealings with the Red Hill werewolf gang, I still knew them by reputation and where they liked to hang out. The gang's reputation preceded them, and they were known throughout the city as a vicious bunch of mostly petty criminals, specializing in grand theft auto and the occasional armed robbery. Aside from their criminal activities, the gang mostly kept to themselves.

  That's why I was surprised to hear that the pack (or members of it) had kidnapped and killed a top-ranking vampire in the city. Did they really think they would get away with it? It was tantamount to an act of war. A war the Red Hill Gang would never survive, despite their fearsome reputation for violence. There may have been fewer vampires than werewolves in the city, but the vampires were better organized, were much cleverer, and had nearly infinite resources at their disposal which they could use to level any foe without much trouble. That was also why vampires ruled the roost in Blackham City, as they did in most other cities around the world.

  When I finally located Big Joe's garage, I parked the Lincoln across the street and sat there for a moment as I stared through the window at the muddy-blue colored building across the way. It looked like an old apartment building that had been gutted to create space. In the front of the building was a large rectangular opening with a steel shudder hanging part way down it. On the shutter, I could just make out a faded image of a spark plug, underneath which were the words, BLOOD SWEAT GEARS. A battered looking jeep was parked on the sidewalk in front of the garage, as were two motorcycles.

  There didn't seem to be much activity around the garage, which I guessed was a good thing. The less angry werewolves I had to deal with the better, although I was prepared with a spell in case things went pear-shaped.

  I got out into the cold morning air, the stiff breeze making me pull my trench coat tighter around myself. As I crossed the road, I heard rock music coming from inside the garage, and the clanging of metal as tools and parts were dropped to the floor. The smell of grease and motor oil hit me as I paused at the garage entrance to have a look a round. Needless to say, the place was filled with motorcycles, mostly of the chopper variety. I noticed a couple of guys working away on their respective bikes. At the back of the garage was a small office with a dirty window, through which I could see someone else seated at a desk. Big Joe, I was guessing.

  "Can I help you, friend?" One of the mechanics addressed me as he stood up and started wiping his hands on an oily rag. The guy was short and stocky, in his fifties, powerfully built, wearing a grubby white T-shirt and even grubbier blue jeans. His bare forearms were covered in tattoos, and his hair was tied back in a ponytail. He and the other guy (who had stood up as well now) were looking at me with a mixture of bemusement and suspicion as if I was some city dweller who'd just wandered into their backwoods garage.

  "Yeah," I said, stepping inside the garage. "I'm looking for Big Joe. He here?"

  The older mechanic with the ponytail narrowed his eyes at me as he stuffed his oily rag into the back pocket of his dirty jeans. "Who's asking?"

  "Name's Creed. I'm here on behalf of Adrian Forsyth. You know, the vampire you guys robbed a while ago?"

  The ponytailed mechanic exchanged glances with his younger co-worker, who nodded and headed to the back of the garage, then disappeared through a doorway.

  Of to get reinforcements, no doubt. Shit. Maybe that opening introduction wasn't the best idea. Now they think I'm here to cause trouble.

  Which I wasn't, not really. If trouble started (and it was looking likely at that point), it would be on them. I was hoping for a peaceful settlement, but then again, I was dealing with werewolves, so who was I kidding?

  "I tell you what, friend," Ponytail said. "Why don't you just walk on out of here, get back in your car and go back to wherever you came from."

  "East Oakdale. It's not that far away out there in the big bad world."

  Ponytail's eyes smoldered as he made a small growling noise at me. Werewolves. No sense of humor. "I warned you, smart mouth."

  From behind me, I heard footsteps and looked around to see three big guys come walking into the garage. Then the other mechanic who had left came back in with two more of his buddies. Every one of them were typical biker types with leather cut-offs, except one who wore a sleeveless T-shirt.

  Where the hell where all these guys hiding? Christ, were they waiting on me or something?

  Either that or the clubhouse wasn't too far away.

  I was now surrounded by seven large men who looked like they wanted nothing better than to shift into their wolf form so they could tear me apart. "Listen, guys," I said, holding my hands out. "I'm just here to talk, that's all. I don't want no trouble."

  "Oh yeah," one of the biggest guys said. "Well, you got it now, motherfucker."

  Ponytail stepped forward from the rest. "You think you can come in here and threaten us? You're no vampire. Who are you?"

  I didn't answer the guy, but stood there with my gaze slightly down, avoiding direct eye contact as I quickly fired up the spell I knew I would need before I went there. Ponytail's questions were just a formality, a prelude to the blood feast they were all about to have. I felt like a stuffed pig with an apple in its mouth being eyed up by hungry diners.

  But as I was about to cast my battle magick, another voice made itself heard. This voice was deeper than the others, and it seemed to command fear and authority from the rest of the pack. "His name is August Creed."

  I looked past the men surrounding me towards the office to see that the man inside--who I was now certain was the pack leader, Big Joe--had stepped out and was now walking towards me and the rest of his gang. The man was massive, easily six and a half feet tall, which put him five inches over me. He was also hugely built, slabs of muscle barely containe
d within his tight black T-shirt and leather cut-off. His eyes were as dark as his thick mane of hair and shadow on his face, and if I had to guess, I would have put the guy in his late thirties.

  "You must be Big Joe," I said, not bothering to seem surprised that he knew my name. Blackham may have been a big city, but in many respects, it was still a small town, especially when it came to the supernatural community and the occult underground. Everybody knew everybody else. "I can see why they call you that." I gave a small laugh, sounding more nervous than I felt. The truth was, I wasn't nervous at all, partly because I was still raw and emotional inside (and therefore didn't care much for anything at the time, including my own well-being), and partly because I had the situation in hand. Or at least I would when I used my magick.

  Big Joe remained unamused at my little quip as he stood next to Ponytail in the rough circle of men surrounding me. It was disconcerting to see that most of them had by now half shifted into their werewolf forms. Not fully of course. They could only do that on full moons. But the rest of the time, they could still summon their brute strength, heightened speed and senses, as well as the fangs that were bared at me. "What are you doing here, Sorcerer?" Big Joe asked.

  Ponytail answered for me. "He says he's here on behalf of Forsyth."

  Big Joe's face darkened. Clearly, he must have thought he had gotten away with his little indiscretion. His jaw muscles bulged as he clamped his teeth together and stared hard at me, which was just a front, I knew. Underneath the mask was the real face of someone who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I could practically see him debating with himself over whether he should have his pack tear me apart right then and there, every one of whom seeming to be only too pleased to do so.

  Then one of the pack edged forward a couple of feet, a massive barrel-chested guy who looked barely out of his teens, his eyes now glowing yellow, his jaw hanging open to reveal his fangs. That was close enough for me. It was time to activate my defenses. With a sharp movement, I pushed both my hands out either side of me and inwardly said a few select words. A second later and I was surrounded by long, pointed shards of pure silver that hung in the air, quivering slightly as the sharp ends pointed towards the men surrounding me.

  The young werewolf who had started towards me now stopped and looked confused. "What the fuck?"

  "Those are shards of pure silver," I said, looking around at the pack members. "You try to touch me, and I'll pierce you with silver."

  The pack seemed to growl in unison, and then one of them shot forward in an attacking motion, trying to be the hero in front of his pack members. Immediately, I used my mind to project one of the floating shards of silver at the attacking werewolf. The shard embedded itself into the werewolf's thigh, causing him to scream and fall to the ground. Then I sensed movement behind me, and I sent another shard in that direction without looking. Another loud cry of pain sounded out.

  I should probably explain that werewolves don't like silver, but then you probably knew that already. If silver pierces the head or heart of a werewolf, it will kill them. Everywhere else it just causes them a huge amount of pain. The wound left behind would also take several days to heal, as opposed to most other wounds that would heal almost straight away on a werewolf.

  "Anyone else?" I said, figuring it was time I showed a bit of authority.

  When no one else came forward, I looked at Big Joe. "Look, I can riddle your pack with these silver shards, even kill you all with them if I wanted to. Or, you and I can go into your office and have ourselves a chat. I'd much prefer the latter option. How about you?"

  Big Joe growled at me before shaking his head. "Stand down," he commanded the pack.

  The werewolves surrounding me growled in unison as they snapped their jaws at me, but none moved.

  "Tell them all to leave," I said to Big Joe, who clearly didn't like being told what to do, but he nonetheless told his men to clear out. Ponytail protested, demanding to stay, but Big Joe gave him a withering look and Ponytail soon left with the rest of the pack, out the front door. As soon as they were gone, I made all the silver shards disappear. All except one, which I kept trained on Big Joe.

  "Really?" he said. "You're going to keep a gun to my head?"

  "That depends on you."

  "You're safe, Sorcerer. Don't worry."

  After a moment, I made the shard disappear from the air. "As long as you know I can summon that back up in an instant. You try to make a move on me it will end up in your skull before you can even say, Teen Wolf."

  Big Joe looked disgusted by the reference. "Teen Wolf? Really?"

  I shrugged. "The Michael J. Fox movie of course."

  "Oh, well that's alright then. For a minute there, I thought you were talking about the TV show. Silly me." The big man shook his head and turned to walk off into his office. Smiling to myself, I followed him in.

  The small office consisted of a desk and two chairs at either side. Big Joe sat behind the desk, and after looking through the window to make sure his pack hadn't snuck back into the garage again, I took the seat opposite him. The office smelled vaguely of musk or sex, and I wondered if Big Joe had his way with some wolf chick recently. Or wolf man maybe. "You can't be too surprised to see me," I said. "You didn't think you would get away with ripping off a vampire like Forsyth, did you?"

  "Hey," Big Joe snarled, seeming even huger as he sat behind the tiny desk. "I didn't rip off anybody. That's not what happened."

  "Well, Forsyth thinks you did. You killed one of his own. Conveniently the one who handled all his accounts."

  Big Joe took a breath as if to calm himself. Why did all these guys seem so full of rage all the time? Maybe it was the wolf hormones driving them all crazy, I thought. "Look, some of my guys got into a fight with Marcus one night at a club in the city. I don't know what it was over exactly. Marcus was off his head on coke, my guys were all drunk. One thing led to another and the next thing a fight broke out in the club. Everyone was thrown outside, but the fight continued. Marcus was outnumbered, and he got himself killed. Nothing was planned. It just happened."

  "Okay. So how did you know about the flash drive?" I asked him.

  "I didn't. I wasn't even there that night. One of my guys searched Marcus's pockets after they tore his heart out. They found the flash drive and a load of cash. They gave the drive to me. I still don't know what's on it because of the encryption."

  "Count yourself lucky you don't know what's on it. Forsyth wants me to send a message, a bloody one, but I'm not going to because it's not my style. Just give me the drive, and we'll call it quits. I'll explain to Forsyth what happened."

  Big Joe reached into the breast pocket of his cut-off and took out the small flash drive, holding it between his thick fingers as he seemed to consider it for a moment. "So all Forsyth's accounts are on this, huh?"

  "Don't be stupid. Even if you managed to find someone who could break the encryption, you would never get away with it."

  "But I'd have access to all his money." His dark eyes lit up at the thought.

  "Yes, you would. Then you'd be dead."

  Big Joe's massive chest expanded as he inhaled deeply and then slowly let out a long breath. "This is too valuable just to hand over," he said eventually. "What do I get in return?"

  "You get to live," I told him, wondering how he could be so stupid as to think he could go up against Forsyth and win. His own greed and constant need for a score were getting the better of him. "Be smart. There's no way you'd win a war against the vampires. The only reason you and all of your pack aren't dead already is because the Crimson Crow is moving into politics and she doesn't want anything to distract from that."

  Big Joe snorted. "The Crow is going into politics? She already runs most of the city."

  "Maybe she wants to run the rest from City Hall. I wouldn't pretend to know the Crow's motivations. So are you going to hand that drive over or what?"

  Pursing his lips, Big Joe nodded. "I'll give you the
drive if you do something for me."

  Jesus, this guy. Always hustling.

  "I don't owe you anything. I'm just the mediator here."

  "So your buddy Forsyth won't be pissed off if you return empty handed and he has to come here himself? Whatever you're getting for doing this, I doubt you would get it then."

  He was right, in a way. Depending on how things panned out with Baal, there was a chance I might need Forsyth's help. If I didn't bring him the flash drive, that help wouldn't be too forthcoming. Sighing, I said, "Fine. What is it you want?"

  Big Joe smiled. "I have a cousin who thinks he was hexed by a witch."

  "Thinks?"

  "He's been having a lot of bad luck lately."

  I couldn't help but snort at that. "Story of my life. Shit happens."

  "Not exactly. The other day he was working on his bike when the engine blew up in his face. The engine wasn't even on. Lucky he's a wolf, or he would have no face left."

  "Like I said, shit happens. Just give me the drive."

  Big Joe pressed his lips together and shook his head. "The day before his bike blew up, my cousin got run over by a car going the wrong way down the street. Day before that, a manhole cover gave way when he was walking down the street, and he fell into the sewers, breaking a leg. And just this morning, a tree fell on top of his house. A tree that had stood for years, withstanding every storm that passed by. There was no wind this morning. At least none strong enough to blow a tree into a house."

  "Alright," I said nodding. "There's a possibility your cousin could be hexed. Did he piss off any witches lately."

  "My cousin likes his women. Women of all kinds, including witches. Unfortunately, most of them don't like it when he gets a little rough with them from time to time."

  I rolled my eyes as I shook my head. "I wonder why that is."

  Big Joe ignored my sarcasm. "My guess, some witch chick he banged is getting a little payback."