Ash Addict

by Al K. Line

  "What's so amusing?" I whispered.

  "They're here."

  "Who? Who's here?"

  "Cerberus, of course."

  I groaned.

  Howling Hounds

  Before I had time to think too much about the fact Cerberus, and their de-facto head, Carmichael, had left me alone since an incident in Faery when he lost the plot entirely, three huge Hounds, the grunts that did all the dirty work for Cerberus, stormed around the corner in full-on battle dress. Kevlar everywhere it could be strapped, helmets, visors, utility belts with enough weaponry to stop a small army, assault rifles apiece, and Gestapo boots.

  They meant business.

  Tasius laughed. He was a vampire and at least in his own mind a powerful one, and I couldn't help but see the funny side of it too. What did they think they were doing? I could wipe the floor with these dudes with one wave of Wand, unless they shot me first of course. This was always the problem with guns. They were way more effective than magic if you were unprepared. A bullet to the head can't be argued with, a gun cannot run out of power, only bullets. Wizards, on the other hand, can run out of magic easily, can make mistakes, be surprised, but none of that would happen, because we were both ready.

  The men, each close to seven foot at least, marched towards us, sure of their marks. Guns were already raised, pointing at us, giving the men an air of invincibility they would soon discover was misplaced.

  "One move and you're both dead," said one, voice confident, like he was used to giving orders and them being obeyed without question.

  "Don't think so, buddy," I said softly as I waved my arm casually as if to raise my hands.

  Wand blossomed into fiery life. Sigils flared as he sliced an arc of silver magic through the ether before anyone could fire. The leader screamed as he doubled over and the others stepped back to take a firing stance.

  This would be easy.

  Then the man stood straight and laughed. "You think a little stick can destroy us? This is ward-protected, mate, you can't touch us."

  "Is that right?" I asked, shocked but trying not to show it.

  "Yeah, it is."

  "How about this then?"

  I ran away.

  Bouncy Barrier

  I took two steps then slammed into something not quite solid, certainly not soft and squishy. I careened backward, arms flailing, only to find my arm yanked violently before I was spun in a circle, smashing into Tasius before either of us knew what was happening. As the wind was knocked out of us both, I cursed my life and the fact I never seemed to get any peace.

  I just wanted to summon dangerous, insane demons, I didn't want any actual bother.

  Ah, who was I kidding? After six weeks without action I was craving excitement, but more than anything I knew I was losing my edge. That's what love does to you, it becomes an obsession and until now I'd had only one obsession in my life. Magic.

  I put out a hand and grabbed hold of Tasius to stop my fall and prepared to blast the hell out of whoever had suddenly appeared. As I clutched expensive linen and Tasius scowled at me for scrunching his shirt, I turned and stared into the eyes of Carmichael.

  He grinned at me a moment before my world turned into one of brief but excruciating pain. I noticed that in the hand not gripping my arm was something familiar.

  "Teleron," I gasped, before we vanished.

  Terrors in the Night

  I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. A big one. Fully loaded. Several times.

  Moving wasn't a consideration, as even thinking about it sent pain shooting through my system as though I was being flattened by a roller. I wasn't sure if I had limbs or not, but for now I'd leave it a mystery. My head was foggy, and a piercing pain in my skull convinced me there were multiple very long, very fat needles jabbing right through my head and into my brain, what remained of it.

  Had I been lobotomized? Was this what it felt like to have your head scooped out with a blunt spoon and maggots poured into the cavity before some hack of a surgeon put the sawed-off piece back on, jagged edges and all, and then sewed it up with fishing line? It certainly felt like it.

  My eyes were suffering similar punishment. Fierce stabbing pains like my eyeballs had turned into pincushions. Opening them seemed like a very bad idea.

  I tried to take stock of my body, but it was hard as I couldn't get my mind to function properly. Thoughts drifted by and I found it impossible to hold on to a single one, let alone focus. Everything was hazy and clouded but the agony came through loud and clear. Had my life always been like this? One of pain and suffering? I thought it probably had.

  A huge weight was sitting on my chest, pushing on my abdomen, making it hard to breathe, as though my ribs were slowly being crushed. It was impossible to inflate my lungs and get enough air to stop me suffocating. Each shallow breath sent me into a spasm, bones creaking, bending beyond their ability, beginning to crack.

  My legs were definitely pulverized. It felt like my shins were nothing but splintered shards of once hairy, skinny appendages I'd actually used to walk, and run.

  Run! That was it. I'd turned and run away, always sensible when the Hounds appeared.

  What then?

  Carmichael, the bastard. He'd used a Teleron, and jumped right next to me. So close. A few more inches and we'd have been melded. Or maybe we had. Maybe that was what had happened. In the confusion, maybe he'd jumped and landed partly inside me and we were conjoined. I'd grabbed Tasius, then Carmichael had jumped us away. To a medical facility maybe? No, that was silly. I was confused. I'd run into him after he materialized, he'd grabbed me and when I made contact with Tasius we'd all jumped away.

  That wasn't how Telerons worked, was it? Wasn't it a solo operation? I couldn't remember. And how did Carmichael jump to right where I was? I thought I was the only one who could focus on someone and appear at their location. I'd assumed Carmichael had to use it as intended. Picture a place and jump to it. Maybe he'd scouted out my home? Cerberus certainly knew where I lived if the Hounds were there.

  More thought was impossible, and it was all conjecture anyway. I hurt too much to keep thinking along any one line.

  I succumbed to the agony, let it consume me until I became pain itself. Somehow, some time, oblivion came for me, and I lost consciousness. I had the feeling this wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last.

  Getting What I Wanted

  I returned to semi-alert status with the certain knowledge this wasn't the first time. I was definitely drugged, under the influence of something nasty. Wizards can do many things, but when said wizards haven't got all their faculties, or as many as they had before being slipped a mickey, then there isn't much they can do regarding magic.

  I couldn't eradicate the poison running through my system, my body didn't work like that. It might seem odd that I could harness such wondrous powers and send magic slicing through the ether, summon demons, okay, teeny-weeny ones, and do other untold cool, awe-inspiring things, but I couldn't change my body chemistry. If I could, I wouldn't be so bloody fed up and grumpy so often, and I'd never suffer a sleepless night again. I'd be constantly flooding my system with endorphins and float on a permanent high. Maybe it was built in to the wizard psyche. As you grew better at controlling magic you got grumpier, the pressure and need for release building inside, only truly alive when in the throes of one wildcat adventure or another.

  It makes sense if you think about it. If you're too happy then why would you seek out magic? No, wizards, and now I think about it this encompassed all of them, most other magic users too, are a grumpy, morose lot more often than not. Certainly for the first century or so, until you fully understand the cosmic joke that is life. It's the price you pay, I guess, for understanding how mundane and limited existence on a normal level truly is.

  So, I was stuck with this poison in my veins and I couldn't get my head to clear. The pain had hardly subsided, and my guess was this was tied in with the drugs. I was dosed up to the eyeballs with somet
hing to confound and befuddle me and distract me from attempting to escape.

  Did I need to escape? I forgot, then suddenly remembered that yes, I did, because I'd been captured by Cerberus and was being held against my will.

  I chuckled, and it hurt so much as my chest moved and the tears fell that it made it all seem funnier, so I laughed harder and the pain became unbearable. But I had no choice, and this excruciating hurt ravaged my body, tore at my insides, and scoured my mind until I was a husk, a housing for one thing. Agony.

  "Why is he laughing?" asked a woman.

  "Because he's a fool," came a familiar voice, upper class and clipped tones, definitely somebody I would dislike on principal. I couldn't place it, and decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Why would it?

  The air stirred, somebody by my side, but I wasn't interested. A flood of warmth crept through my veins before turning icy. I convulsed then sank into a dreamless sleep, thankful to escape, just for a while.

  Back From the Depths

  Something was whispering. I didn't like it.

  "Shut up," I thought, knowing speaking was out of the question because somebody had injected several pints of filler into my lips until I resembled a monk fish. My tongue hadn't escaped the beauty treatment either, and was fat like a toad but much bumpier, although a toad would have tasted nicer. Yes, I have licked several toads in my time, all part of the wizard training. That, or I wanted to get off my tits.

  "You shut up," came a distant, sluggish voice, the words slurred, but an anger underneath, a sense of emotion akin to mine, as though we were connected.

  I shook it off, or tried to, but found I was unable to move. My wrists were being seared through with white-hot pokers, my legs the same. My forehead twitched and spasmed as daggers were thrust repeatedly through the bone. Blunt daggers. Rusty, jagged, nasty daggers, not the nice kind that make a clean cut and put you out of your misery quickly.

  "I must be imagining this," I told myself, or maybe I told the disembodied voice.

  "Maybe I am too," it said, as though pondering the mysteries of the universe and existence itself.

  Then I had an epiphany. "Wand, is that you?" I thought or said, or however this was working. Certainly no words were spoken as I found it hard enough to swallow. Like razor blades were mixed with a tiny drop of saliva that left me parched and wishing I could scream just to relieve the pressure.

  "Um, not sure. Is it?"

  "I think so. I'm Arthur, your owner. I think." I was, wasn't I?

  "Nobody owns me. I'm my own sentient stick. I have rights."

  "Yup," I said with a wry sigh and a smile, "It's you all right. Are you okay?"

  "If by okay you mean feeling like I've been prodded into a fire repeatedly, I've had half my sigils abraded by rough sandpaper, and snapped into a thousand pieces and somebody is right this minute whacking me against a drum to make a very, and I mean very, loud noise, then yeah, I'm peachy."

  "Good. If it makes you feel any better, I'm in the same state."

  "Actually, that does. Nothing like sharing the pain."

  "Can you get us out of here? Can you do something?"

  "Like what? I'm just a... What was I again? Damn, my head hurts. And... Oh my God, I can't feel my legs. Someone's chopped my legs off! And my arms. I can't move my arms. I can't move my fingers. I'm blind. HELP! Help me. Somebody help me!"

  Wand's screams tore at my mind like a rip saw, bringing on a headache to beat all headaches. I'd thought it was bad before, but I was wrong. It pulsed and throbbed as though my brain was about to explode through my nostrils, force its way out of my ears, and make my eyeballs pop.

  "Calm down, calm down," I said, trying to soothe his anguish. "You're Wand, remember?"

  "No. Can you be a little more specific?" he asked, panic rising again. "Oh my God, I'm blind and I'm trapped. I think I'm in a coffin. I can't move, I can't see, I can't do anything. What's happening? Hello, is anyone there? Ah, guess I'm dead and this is what hell is like. Kinda boring. Wonder if they have TV?"

  As Wand babbled on, I became muddled up again and panic rose as I wondered if I was a man at all. Wand was a stick, right? But he'd forgotten. Was I a stick too? Was I a magical wand trapped inside something and just dreamed I was a man for a short while? It would explain the pain, the lack of movement, the lack of being able to see. I cackled, laughed as my body shook and I realized that yes, it must be. I wasn't a man, I was a sentient stick. We both were. Nothing but wood and magic, ready to be thrown on the fire and burned for our sins, of which there were countless.

  Such revelations brought peace, acceptance. Nothing to worry about, Arthur, it was all a dream. Just a bad dream about being a man and struggling through the mire of existence. It would all be over soon. I'd be incinerated and then it would all end.

  Peace. Rest. No more pain.

  I slept.

  I Am a Man

  "Wand? Wand, can you hear me?"

  After what felt like hours, something stirred. The beginnings of words in my mind. "Hello?"

  "It's me. Arthur. Are you okay? You had a slight meltdown, I think I did too. Look, I'm a man, you're a wand. No, you're Wand, a magical stick carved by my hand. We're alive, and being held against our will. Got it?"

  I felt a symbolic nod. "Got it. Um, sorry about that. I lost the plot a bit."

  "Don't worry about it. If you can't have an existential crisis when you've been captured and drugged by super-secret organizations then when can you?"

  "Um, maybe if a load of witches tied you down and started scraping at you with really sharp, badly painted nails. You know, when half of the varnish has worn off and it looks all manky?"

  "What are you talking about?" I snapped, suddenly furious.

  "Chill out, dude. I'm back. I know who I am. I know who you are. Let's get out of here."

  "Right, good idea. Um, how?"

  My head felt clear. The pain was still there, my body was unbelievably sensitive, and my temples throbbed something rotten, but I'd had worse. At least I could think, form a coherent sentence now.

  "Not sure."

  "How long have we been here? Can you tell? It feels like hours, maybe days."

  "It's been thirty-six hours, twelve minutes, and nine seconds. Make that eleven."

  "Bloody hell, that's precise."

  "What can I tell you? I'm ace."

  "Me too then."

  "If you say so."

  "So, about our escape?"

  "I don't think that'll be straightforward." Wand sounded uneasy, which made me feel uneasy.

  "Why not?"

  "Can't you feel it? We're being watched," he whispered, which was odd as I was sure we weren't talking out loud.

  "Oh. Hang on." I let my body relax as best I could, which was an exercise in futility as although still partially drugged, every muscle, tendon, and ligament was straining like I was made of fraying steel wire. But I nonetheless sent out feelers, trying to get a sense of what else was in the room with us.

  My spatial awareness is exemplary, and I have a highly tuned sense of other people's presence. If you still your mind, step away from yourself, move outside your own thoughts, beyond the noise of your system working, then you can sense things better than you'd expect. I let my energy wander, pick up on the slightest sound or change in air currents. There was something solid beside me, slim and gurgling slightly. An IV drip I supposed.

  The space was mostly bare, no furnishings, no rugs, carpets, or even nice pictures on the walls. But there was a man, and somebody else. A woman. They were keeping quiet on purpose. Breathing slowly, watching, not moving.

  Observing.

  "Yep, there's two of them," I confirmed.

  "Should I try to blast them?"

  "No, that would be pointless. I'm guessing you're still in my pocket, and I'm also guessing you're as weak as me. If I'm drugged then so are you. How do you feel?"

  "Like if I try anything I'll splutter and die, or just break in half."

  "Me
too. Guess we'll have to play along and when the time's right we'll blast the bastards."

  "Sounds good to me."

  "Later, dude."

  "Later." Wand receded from my thoughts. He was more exhausted than me. Understandable, as he was tiny, and a stick.

  Knowing there was no other choice, I braced myself, and peeled open my eyelids. Nothing happened. They were stuck fast, sticky and itchy, but I gritted my teeth and tried harder. With an awful tearing sound, the lids ripped apart and blinding white light attacked my retinas, sending terrible, shearing pain lancing into my head.

  "The wizard awakens," came an all-too-familiar voice.

  "Carmichael," I whispered, before I screamed.

  Annoying

  "Turn the scrubbers on," ordered Carmichael.

  "Yes, Sir," the woman replied.

  Soft footsteps of a slight woman could be heard padding across the floor, then the sound of her at work at what I assumed was a computer terminal. A few taps of a keyboard, then a humming began as she returned to her seat.

  I felt the vibrations instantly, the change to the air as molecules danced with anti-magic energy. They were taking no chances, it seemed. The only good thing about it was at least Carmichael couldn't jump away using the Teleron when I started ripping his fucking throat out.

  Bad side, Wand was useless, now an inert stick in my pocket, and I was about as wizardly as that bloody child impostor they made all those movies about. Amateurs.

  I risked opening my eyes again, wincing with the stickiness although it wasn't as bad as before. Clinical light once again pierced my retinas, forcing me to blink repeatedly, but at least it brought some moisture to my dry, itchy eyes. I let Carmichael and his evil assistant wait it out as I repeated the same thing over and over again. Open, close, blink, pain. On and on, the rest of my woes forgotten while I focused on being able to see.