Sorcerer's Creed Books 1-3

by N. P. Martin

  The owl screeched in a sad sort of way.

  "Missing her, huh?" I nodded as if I understood. "I know the feeling." I shook my head as pangs of guilt twisted my stomach into knots. Blaez padded over and pressed his big head against my leg, and I sighed as I reached my hand down and ruffled his dark fur. "Thanks, buddy."

  For the next while, I found myself pacing frantically around the living room as Blaez and Barney looked on. I was trying to work out what I needed to do next, but it was difficult trying to string thoughts together when all I could see in my mind was Leona's terrified face as she realized what was about to happen to her. And Margot as well, the witch's face pained by knowledge of what she knew she would have to endure. I wasn't sure what would be worse. Knowing or not knowing the kind of pain and unimaginable torture that lay ahead. The only thing I was sure of was that both ways sucked.

  It was also difficult to remain objective about the situation. Every thought I had was born out of extreme emotion, and while I knew the motivational power of emotions, I also knew from experience that thinking emotionally could often land you in trouble.

  Case in point, whatever I ended up doing, I was planning to do it alone. I intended to venture into the dark Underworld (where I had never been before, remember) alone. That was folly in itself, never mind trying to take on Baal in his home domain all by myself. It was dumb of me to think that I could do any of that on my own, but right then, I didn't care. I just knew the situation was on me, and that therefore I had to be the one to do something about it.

  There was also no way I was going to drag Ray or Sanaka into things, putting them at risk as well, however adept they were at handling themselves. Like I said, my guilt dictated that everything was on me and me alone.

  So I might as well get fucking on with it, I thought to myself.

  "What do I need to do?" I asked myself out loud as I continued pacing around the room. "Think, Creed. I need to get into the Underworld first, but how do I that?" I thought for a moment, glancing at Blaez, who was giving me a look he often gave me. A look that said he thought I was mad for thinking of doing what I was about to do. It was also a look I ignored. Madness was what I needed right then (or so I thought). It was the driving force that would make sure I did the ridiculously dangerous things I needed to do to get into the Underworld.

  "I need to make a door," I said. "A portal. Do I even have a damn spell for that? I must have..." I stopped and thought about the time it would take to go down into the Library of Dark Magick and comb through a ton of books to locate the spell I required. Like I said, I never had much need for such a spell in the past. I mean come on, who in their right fucking mind wants to travel willingly to the Underworld? No one.

  But as I was now of unsound mind and didn't have a choice in the matter anyway, I was going to travel willingly into a place that by all accounts (and I had read a fair few, not to mention heard the stories from Sanaka, who resided there for a time) contained every kind of hell imaginable. Including the fire and brimstone land of endless pain and torture that so many Christian Sleepwalker's feared so deeply.

  The thing about this universe of ours is that its inhabitants play an active roll in shaping it. If enough beings (and not just humans) believed fervently in something enough, then it would eventually be brought into existence. Which is why such mythical places as Valhalla, Heaven, Hell all existed somewhere in the universe. Gods like Odin, Mars, Yahweh and Zeus resided in real palaces and great halls, in places filled with the souls of believers and those whose lives (soldiers, for instance) made them destined for a particular kind of afterlife.

  And although my knowledge of the universe extended quite a ways compared to most, I still only knew an infinitesimal fraction of what there was to know. My mind already struggled to contain what it did know. It was a constant battle to keep yourself from being driven mad by having too much knowledge of things that most people didn't even know existed. It often became a heavy burden, but at the same time, it was one I was willing to bear. Such was my unquenchable thirst for knowledge and search for meaning in things.

  Being a Sleepwalker might make for a less complicated life, but it also made for a soulless one. Not in every case. Plenty of Sleepwalkers lived meaningful and fulfilling lives. But at the same time, no Sleepwalker ever got to experience the thrill and sense of terrific revelation when the secrets of the universe revealed themselves after much hard work and persistence. Nor could they ever know the delightful but dangerous touch of magick, to sense the infinite possibilities that magick always brought with it. Those were the kinds of things that kept sorcerer's like myself going. It was about reaching those higher levels of meaning and experiencing the equal parts wonder, joy, and terror at the sheer vastness of the universe itself.

  Out of those three, it was mostly terror I felt at the prospect of going to the Underworld. But I couldn't let that stop me.

  I wouldn't.

  As it would take too long to locate a spell that would open a portal to the Underworld, I came up with another idea instead. Looking over at the barn owl perched half sleeping on the fireplace mantle, I said, "I need to look inside that head of yours. I hope you don't mind."

  Barney opened his eyes wide and stared at me. As far as I could tell (I was no owl whisperer), Margot's familiar was giving me consent to enter into his mind. There was no risk to Barney unless I chose to wreak havoc while I was in there, which I wasn't planning on doing.

  The owl raised himself up as if it was ready to accept my psychic connection. I stepped forward and gently placed my hands on either side of the owl's head, his skull feeling small and fragile under all that plumage.

  Not that this is common knowledge or anything, but owls have photographic memories. It's where they got the reputation for being wise. It's because they remember everything they see in exquisite detail. Of course, you would have had to have walked around inside an owl's head to know this, which most people couldn't do. When I was growing up in Ireland, I used to go out and hunt different animals, all so I could psychically link up with them, often without them even knowing it. Every time, I was left amazed at the rich inner life that all animals seemed to have, from ants right up to rats, foxes, rabbits and deer. Even earthworms had a soul of sorts that was deeply connected to the earth itself, and which guided the worm's every move. It was an amazing experience and one which made the pain of magick practice totally worth it (for a short time at least).

  Barney had been with Margot since she became a witch, and I was certain that Margot had been to the Underworld more than once when she reaped souls for Baal. Both of which meant that somewhere inside the owl's head there was a spell for opening a portal.

  All I had to do was find it.

  22

  Barney's Memories

  Being inside the mind of another being, either human or animal, was a bit like finding yourself in a giant maze that instead of walls, had banks of images--memories--built up everywhere. Knowing how to navigate your way through such a maze took a lot of practice, especially since you had to navigate in a very instinctive manner.

  The images that surrounded me inside the barn owl's mind appeared to be very random in nature. To one side of me, I had images of Margot pottering around in her self-created Garden of Eden with a vaguely sad look on her face. To the other side of me, there were moving pictures of Margot brutally killing people.

  It was hard not to fix my attention on those murder scenes. In one scene, Margot is seen using her magick and two long bladed knives to take out a load of men in dark suits that are attacking her. The way she dispatches each of the men is incredible, her every movement self-assured and deadly, the look on her face one of cold-blooded indifference. I watched as Margot killed the last of the men before making her way down a corridor to where another man in a suit stood terrified inside a massive board room. Words are exchanged that I can't make out before Margot uses her magick to pin the man to the wall. She then throws a knife at him that pierces his heart. Slowly wa
lking up to the dead man still pinned to the wall, she moves her hand in front of his chest and again uses her magick to extract the man's soul into a small wooden box. Then she leaves the whole bloody mess behind her.

  I saw dozens of such scenes inside the mind of Margot's familiar, who appeared to be present throughout every mission of Margot's. The witch's ruthless efficiency in killing and reaping was frankly staggering. I knew she was capable, but I had no idea just how much until I saw for myself. It was hard not to think of her in a different light, given how many people she had killed, and the often brutal manner in which she killed them. It was like she was killing Derek and his friends all over again, such was the ferocity of her attacks and the look of cold retribution in her gray eyes.

  At some point, many of the image banks surrounding me went completely blank, converting to a kind of black static. It was Barney's way of moving me along, and also some attempt to cover up the horrors perpetrated by his mistress. I had seen enough anyway, so I happily moved on, intuiting my way deeper into the passageways of the owl's mind.

  After passing by numerous images of Barney hunting in woods and fields, of small and large animals (plus a few humans, including myself) falling prey to his razor sharp talons, I came across more of the owl's memories of Margot, some of which Baal appeared in. Sometimes the demon was in human form, but most often Baal held his true form as he conversed with Margot. I saw him accept the souls she reaped for him, saw him teach Margot how to wield her magick. I even saw the demon having sex with Margot, which I had to look away from after a moment.

  I moved on until I finally came across some images of Margot reading from spell books, and then of her doing different spells and rituals, but not the one I was looking for. It took another painstaking search of the owl's mind before I finally stumbled across what I was looking for. I stopped and paid close attention to Margot as she went about opening a portal to the Underworld.

  The spell she seemed to be using was nothing too special. A simple Reveal Spell tailored towards finding an Underworld entrance. I paid closer attention to her surroundings, however, because the exact place in which the spell was done was important. Otherwise, the spell would not work. Luckily, Margot's location at the time wasn't too hard to work out. She was in Liberty Hill Cemetery, which was clearly recognizable by the huge Celtic cross that loomed in the background behind her. The cross marked the grave of a well-known Druid that used to reside in Blackham City. The Druid was murdered in mysterious circumstances, his killer yet to be found. I knew the case well because I had been working on it myself for the last decade and a half. It drives me crazy to this day. Some day I would solve it, but only after I got myself out of the mess I was in. If I ever did, that is.

  There was one other important detail about the ritual Margot was using to open the portal. She was using a substance known as Red Mercury. It was a substance found only in the Underworld and it was charged with dark magick, which made it useful for a number of things, including making hugely destructive bombs, poisoning water supplies and enhancing the effectiveness of certain weapons ten fold. Clearly, it was also used to create doors to the Underworld.

  Having seen enough, I severed my psychic link to Barney's mind and opened my eyes again to see the owl staring unblinkingly at me. "Thanks, Barney," I said. "Much appreciated."

  The owl dipped its head slightly and then turned to away to stare out the living room window.

  Barney wasn't much of a talker.

  "Red Mercury." I stood and thought for a minute, wondering who in the city would have such a rare substance. I never had any use for it myself, so there was none in the Sanctum, unfortunately. There were a few individuals in town that would maybe have Red Mercury, but the most likely person to have it was a man called Peter Franklyn. An old friend who as luck would have it owed me a favor I had yet to cash in.

  So with no time to waste, I teleported immediately to Amsterdam Street.

  23

  A Dapper Little Man

  Amsterdam Street was in Astoria, which was in the western part of Freetown. The street was once a haven for young artists and bohemian types, as well as those who liked to spend their days doing drugs. It was also the place the Crimson Crow's daughter Jennifer used to hang out in before I helped her escape her mother's clutches by arranging her travel to Babylon (Jennifer still resided there, as far as I knew). Since then, Amsterdam Street and the surrounding area had become completely gentrified. The old pre-war houses had been demolished, and brand new apartment buildings and storefronts had been erected in their place. Whereas once you would have seen a street full of scruffy outcasts, now you were more likely to see a street full of suits and upper middle-class housewives out shopping in the many designer stores that existed there now.

  One store that hadn't been closed or demolished in the name of progress was Peter Franklyn's little occult shop. Those behind the refurbishment of the street had, of course, tried to get Peter to shut up shop and move along, but Peter--obstinate little man that he was--refused to go anywhere, and the builders ended up building around him. Now Peter's dark little store was sandwiched between a designer dress shop and a high-end jewelry store. They would never squeeze Peter out as long as he lived.

  I teleported straight from the Sanctum and into Peter Franklyn's shop, appearing right in front of the counter where Peter sat in his usual spot, atop a stool with a cup and saucer in his hand. The dapper little gray-haired man cried out when I appeared in front of him, jumping in fright so much he dropped his tea cup, which smashed on the floor. "Dear Lord!" he exclaimed when he realized it was me standing in front of him. "Creed! Damn you!"

  I couldn't help my smile of amusement. "Did I scare you, Peter? I'm sorry."

  Peter shook his head at me after looking down at his broken tea cup like he had just lost a priceless heirloom. "How many times must you do that, Creed?"

  "As long as I keep finding it funny. Which will be forever."

  "I'm not speaking to you until you fix my cup. I've had the same one for years. Tea doesn't taste right in anything else."

  Pointing the palm of my hand at the pieces of broken china on the red carpeted floor, I did a quick spell and then watched as the broken pieces of china all came together and mended themselves. "There," I said as I picked up the cup and placed it on the wood counter. "Good as new."

  Peter lifted the cup and examined it, finally nodding as he seemed satisfied. "Seriously Creed, you are going to give this old man a heart attack one of these days."

  "Sorry. I just don't have much time to waste."

  "Is something wrong? Are you in trouble?"

  I snorted. "When am I ever not in trouble?"

  "Good point. How serious is it?"

  "Very fucking serious, excuse my language."

  Peter didn't like people cursing around him. He considered it uncouth. In fact, Peter Franklyn's whole attitude and appearance seemed to be straight out of a different time like the late nineteenth century or thereabouts. Not that he was that old (he was in his late seventies), but he was somewhat old fashioned, and I always liked that about him. "Well, it must be if you are using that vulgar word around me. I take it you need my help?"

  I nodded. "Red Mercury."

  Peter seemed surprised for a second. "Why would you need that?"

  "To open a portal to the Underworld. As you do."

  "Surely you are not thinking of going there?"

  "I don't have a choice. Leona is in there. I have to get her back."

  His surprise turned to shock, and he slipped off his stool and stood to stare at me in his dark three-piece suit complete with pocket watch. "What is she doing there?"

  "Well she didn't go for a fucking vacation, I can tell you that much." My temper took me by surprise. "Apologies. I'm a little tense, as you can probably tell."

  "Let me close the shop." Peter walked to the front door, switched the sign and turned the lock. When he had finished, he ushered me past the counter and into a room at the back.
The room was large, and every wall had shelves on it filled with stuff that made the place feel closed in.

  "No clients today?" I asked him as I browsed the many items on the shelves.

  "I have a few readings later," Peter said. "Maybe you want me to read you?"

  I shook my head. "I'd rather not know what's in my future, thanks."

  The psychic's eyes were on me as I walked around the room. "What happened to Leona, Creed?"

  I stopped browsing and sighed as I looked at him. "I did."

  Peter said nothing for a moment as he stared at me like a concerned teacher staring at a student he didn't know what to do with. "Will you able to get her back?"

  I didn't answer straight away. "Maybe. I hope so. And it's not just her. There's someone else as well. I have to get them both back."

  "Who?"

  "No one you would know."

  "Are going to that place alone?"

  "Yes."

  Peter shook his head. "You couldn't possibly, Creed. You'll never make it back."

  He had a point of course, but I wasn't about to listen to it. "Let me worry about that. Just get me the Red Mercury."

  Peter hesitated, but then went to one of the shelves and selected a small glass bottle filled with a luminous red liquid. He didn't hand it to me straight away. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

  "We'll soon see," I said, holding out my hand.

  He passed the bottle to me after a further moment of hesitation. "Why do I feel like I'm facilitating your demise?"

  I said nothing as I took the bottle from him. The liquid inside made the glass feel warm to the touch. I slipped it into the pocket of my trench coat.