Halfblood's Hex (Urban Arcanology Book 1)

by S. C. Stokes

  “I have often thought as much,” the Bishop replied as his men unloaded a canoe laden with gold. “I won't pretend to understand the heresy of your existence, but what I have seen suggests there may be merit in your words. Unlike some of my more traditional colleagues who might not like to believe it, I have a broader vision. I have made greater plans.”

  “Greater plans?” I asked, picking away at the back of my tactical rigging, peeling it away from my Kevlar vest. “Greater than genocide? Pray tell, what harm can it do? You’re going to kill me anyway.”

  “Oh yes.” Torquemada’s dark irises seemed to glimmer and grow. “Why do you think we came here? There is wealth to be had elsewhere. No, we came to the temple for a purpose. It is a site of power positioned atop one of your sacred ley lines. Magic courses through the very fabric of this place. I can feel it.”

  He stood and sniffed. “I can sense it in the air all about me. I don't pretend to understand it, but I can recognize the power of this place. It was to those witches what our cathedrals are to us, bastions of strength against the world. The Santiago de Compostela, the Seville Cathedral, the streets of Jerusalem, Rome. Yes, places have power. That is why we are here, the vast reservoir of power that has gone unused for centuries.”

  A cold icy grip tightened around my heart. I had been operating on the floored assumption that the worst the Inquisition could do was destroy the temple. Without magical talent, what purpose could they possibly have? Then my gaze met the wizard who was cuffed opposite me, and my palms began to sweat.

  “You mean to use the temple?”

  “Oh, Master Caldwell,” Torquemada gloated, “I have spent most of my life seeking out the knowledge that would make today possible. My brethren would have wiped wizards from the face of the Earth. That was never part of the divine plan. I have read the Bible and I see plainly the truths contained therein.”

  If the deluded priest was willing to talk, I saw no reason to stop him. Clearly, he felt he had the upper hand. As I worked on freeing myself, I saw no point in disabusing him of the notion.

  “And what truth would that be?”

  He clasped a crucifix dangling from a gold chain around his neck. “That great powers wrestle for control of this world, and for two thousand years we have been fighting at a disadvantage.”

  “And what would that be?” I asked, my eyes following Michael as he paced back and forth.

  “We wait for the return of our God, but all the while He waits for us to do our part.”

  “Torquemada,” Michael warned.

  The Bishop raised a hand to silence him. “The Book of Revelations, Chapter 6. Have you read it?”

  “Not lately,” I admitted, still trying to buy time. “Always preferred the Gospels over all the fire and brimstone. You might need to prompt my memory a little.”

  Torquemada’s eyes bored into mine. “And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black, and the moon became as blood; and the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, and the heaven departed as a scroll.

  “And the kings of the earth hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; and said to the mountains and rocks, fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb. For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?”

  My mind started to race at a million miles an hour as I followed his insane logic. The Bible prophesied of a great and future day when God would return to the earth and it would be transformed at his coming. Only a select few would be saved. The remainder would be consigned to endless misery. There was no shortage of descriptions of what would happen to sinners, warlocks, and all who didn't fit the mold, but it was the mention of the seal that stuck in my mind.

  “The sixth seal?” I asked, looking for clarity.

  “Yes, the seal that divides this world from other realms. Our master didn't leave us helpless. Contained in the scriptures were everything we need to bring about his return.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. It seemed I had woefully underestimated the Bishop’s intentions. I’d studied the Bible, as any student of history had. The problem lay in the fact that the Bible had been translated many times, sections had been changed and altered over the years, their meanings twisted to justify the position of those in power and authority.

  If I understood correctly, the mad Bishop was using the book of Revelations as a roadmap to hasten the apocalypse. I felt sick to my core.

  “Yes, my child.” He smiled his grin showing teeth. “We’re going to bring down the Veil.”

  My jaw drooped. It was so much worse than I could have conceived. Wizards knew well how to avoid the Inquisition and their ilk. We'd been doing it for hundreds of years, hiding in plain sight. Even though the World of Magic had been thrust into the spotlight, we still had our tricks. But never in a thousand years would I have thought that the Inquisition had shifted its focus. The Bishop had no desire to kill every wizard. No, he wanted to do an end run around that little obstacle and tear down the veil that divided our world from the realm of spirits--all in the hope of hastening his great day of salvation.

  Of course in my mind salvation had giant air quotes around it, as no one who knew better could possibly think destroying the veil between our world and the next was a good idea.

  Hell no.

  The Veil was what kept a dizzying array of nightmarish creatures from making their way into our world. Beyond the veil lay the world of the Fae, the creatures that served them, and the realms of the Gods themselves. Obviously, the Padre hoped that his maker and legions of angels would applaud him for his intervention.

  More likely his insanity, if successful, would bring about the destruction of every living thing on the earth as ravaging spirits consumed a population not equipped to deal with their presence.

  I groaned in pain. I felt it in my soul. I had come to the temple to cure my own curse, but I now had far more important work to do. If I couldn't stop Torquemada, my curse hardly mattered. I wouldn't live long enough for it to kill me. No one would. Not my father, not my mother, and certainly not Lara.

  I wanted to leave this place and run for my life, but the thought of Lara changed that. She had spent her life studying humanity and yet she always managed to see the best in people. She’d certainly seen the best in me, things I didn’t see in myself. I thought of her and wanted to be more. Not the thief she’d met in Manhattan, but the man she had wanted to marry. I knew that I couldn't allow this insanity to unfurl.

  Part of me wanted to believe that Torquemada couldn't possibly have the knowledge and wherewithal to make good on his delusions. But his calm, patient demeanor and the manic pride in his eyes spoke of someone close to fulfilling their ambition. He was a dangerous foe, but not because of any physical prowess. It was the cold, calculating mind behind it that gave me pause. The fact that I was still alive and not already dead was evidence of a greater plan at play.

  “What did you mean you are glad that I came along?” I asked.

  The bishop lorded over me. “The ritual requires sacrifice. And as you and I both know, magic is in the blood, my boy.”

  He pointed at the second captive. “We had intended to use him. He was the best we could lay our hands on. But then you, like a spider to the fly, wandered into the temple. You have a prodigious talent and will make a far more viable offering for the ritual.”

  These lunatics meant to sacrifice me. Somehow they thought the power of the temple and my life force would be enough to destroy the Veil.

  I had absolutely no concept of how such a thing was even possible, and I was a student of arcane lore. Ancient knowledge was my stomping ground. Torquemada was half-right. I had some arcane talent, but I was young, still learning to harness my power. My real strength lay in the knowledge I had acquired during my life. I had read the secret works of some of history's greatest practitioners. I'd looted tomes of forbidden knowledge that would have given the
Arcane Parliament cause to toss me in a deep hole. All of which begged the question, if I had no idea how such a ritual would function, how the hell did the Bishop?

  I licked my parched lips. “A discerning mind might wonder where you learned how to accomplish such a feat?”

  His eyes darted left, back toward the entrance hall. “Perhaps I obtained it from the Inquisition's archives, like I did the location of this temple.”

  I shook my head as I reached for the pouch that was sandwiched neatly between my vest and my back. A pouch I had stolen from the catacombs in Rome.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” I countered. “If the Inquisition had that kind of knowledge, they would have tried this centuries ago. You can't be the first member of your order insane enough to want to accelerate Armageddon.”

  The Bishop’s smile widened just a little. It wasn’t at all comforting. “You're right. Others might share my ambition, but I am singularly committed. That's why the Messenger sought me out.”

  Messenger? Spiritual beings bearing knowledge from beyond the Veil were dangerous creatures. Seldom were they operating in the best interest of mortal kind. No, they usually dabbled and interfered in order to bolster their own position.

  “What messenger?” I asked.

  Torquemada folded his arms over his chest. “The Archangel Gabriel appeared to me in a vision and taught me what I must do.”

  The wizard sitting across from me snickered, and I had to admit I shared his skepticism. Angels, like most supernatural beings, were only too real. They dwelt in the realm beyond and acted as messengers between deities and their faithful followers, but accommodating Armageddon hardly seemed to follow God's usual modus operandi. In fact, after the great flood, I seemed to recall a distinct change in the overall level of smitey-ness exhibited by the Maker of Mankind.

  It was far more likely that some other creature was impersonating the Archangel and had appeared to the deluded disciple to beguile him into carrying out its own agenda.

  It also meant I had no idea whose knowledge was being acted upon and how viable or insane the Bishop's actual plan was.

  There are powerful creatures in the world of spirits, most of whom longed for the opportunity to roam wild through the world. It was an all-you-can eat buffet. Most creatures there would see us as little more than livestock to be devoured. I was certain such a being was manipulating the Inquisition and the Bishop to their own ends.

  Unfortunately, the day the Bishop discovered he had been deceived, we were all going to die. It would be an Armageddon of sorts, but it was not going to be filled with the angelic fanfare he was looking for.

  “He gave us the means to perform the ritual and guided us here so that we might carry it out.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” I said. “You’re going to kill us all.”

  Torquemada made a shooing motion. “Lies. And poor ones at that. Michael, secure the temple. The time is here.”

  Michael barked orders at his men who took up positions around the island. He grabbed the captive wizard and dragged him toward the stone bridge leading toward the inner sanctum.

  The man fought back but to no avail.

  “Michael, don't,” I shouted. “There’s no need.”

  “Nonsense,” Torquemada bellowed, his voice rising. “The mask speaks the truth. Tradition begins with blood. Now that we have Seth for the ritual, spill it all.”

  The wizard kicked and fought but Michael grabbed a fistful of his hair, wrenched his head over the ceramic bowl, and slit his throat.

  I tore my eyes away from the barbarity as blood ran into the bowl.

  “It begins,” Torquemada cried.

  I turned back in time to see Michael’s feet touch the stone bridge leading to the ziggurat.

  The temple began to shake.

  18

  The temple reeled violently as a series of popping sounds echoed through the chamber. My eyes rose to the far wall. What I had taken to be stone pillars were actually cisterns. They ran from floor to ceiling and at their base water was pouring from them. Timber plugs at their base had blown free. The water level of the lake began to rise.

  The sound of rushing water filled the chamber, and I traced the sound to the ziggurat. Water poured from the holes in its face.

  It was going to drown us all.

  “What's happening?” Torquemada shouted over the din.

  “If I had to guess, I'd say you shed the wrong blood,” I replied, nodding towards the dead wizard slumped over the sacrificial bowl.

  It stood to reason that if the temple belonged to the Brujas de Sangre then its inner sanctum would be accessible only to those of the chosen bloodline. My blood might have allowed them to traverse the bridge without triggering the temple’s defenses. It was too late for that now. The trap had been triggered and it was going to drown the entire inner sanctum, and me along with it.

  “Get as much of the treasure out as you can,” Michael shouted at his men. “We’re leaving.”

  “Screw the treasure.” Torquemada pointed at the temple. “We must begin the ritual.”

  The water level continued to rise.

  “There isn't time,” Michael said. “We will all drown.”

  “Not if we hurry,” the bishop replied. “Get him to the altar. I'll grab the tome.”

  My ears perked up. What tome? Were the Inquisition in possession of more than just the temple’s location? A cold chill ran down my spine. If their wannabe Archangel had provided Torquemada with the requisite knowledge, it was possible that the priest’s lunacy might actually bear fruit.

  And they meant to sacrifice me to do it.

  Call me a party pooper, but I had no desire to play the part they had planned for me. Today, or any other day.

  Michael scooped me up and tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. My hands clenched around the black pouch that I’d pulled out from beneath my vest. Fortunately, the Bishop was far too preoccupied to notice as I closed my hands around it.

  Torquemada vanished back into the entrance hall as Michael loped across the narrow stone bridge, me still stuck to his shoulder.

  “Hey, boss.” Murdoch’s voice echoed in my ear. “That third party we’re talking about. They're closing fast. Less than ten minutes out. It’s three choppers. One transport and two gunships are en route to your position. It's the Americans.”

  “One problem at a time,” I replied.

  Michael glanced at me as he continued to run. The water rose almost reaching the height of the stone bridge.

  Murdoch continued, “What if it’s Section 9?”

  I watched the silhouettes moving through the water around me and had far greater worries in my present.

  “Safe to say that it is,” I replied. “If they want a piece of me, they’re going to have to get in line.”

  “Things going that well in there?” Murdoch asked.

  “Swimmingly.” I opened the pouch and felt the cold metal beneath my fingers. I pulled the length of gold chain out of its pouch. Each of its large gold rings was an oval large as the circle your thumb makes when it joins with your index finger. Working as quickly as the manacles would allow, I wove them around the manacles themselves. I could feel the hum of the artifact’s power. It was fully charged and ready to unleash hell.

  As Michael made it to the temple ziggurat, I saw the death mask motif up close and personal. It was staring right at us. Water flowed from its eye sockets, but unlike the other sources of water flooding the chamber it was tinged a vibrant crimson red.

  Blood.

  There was not a single doubt in my mind that in the inner sanctum of the Brujas de Sangre the thick crimson stream flowing from the mask’s eyes was blood. It ran down the ziggurat wall, across the stone island and into the water of the lake.

  The scarlet sheet spread through the lake as the number of shapes moving beneath its surface seemed to grow. The Inquisition’s forces paid them no heed; the soldiers were intent on looting the temple before it flooded.<
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  A ridged snout broke the surface of the lake, making a beeline for the soldiers plundering the mountain of gold on the island. I followed its progress toward a canoe laden with gold and a pair of Inquisition soldiers paddling for the safety of the wharf. Before the raiders knew what was happening, the creature launched itself out of the water in an explosion of scales and spray. Its jaws opened wide as the largest crocodile I'd ever seen clamped its jaws shut around the hapless soldier paddling the canoe.

  The bulk of the beast drove the soldier off the canoe as its scaled form landed across it. The reptile dwarfed the small craft, capsizing it and throwing the second soldier into the water. Gold sank to the bottom of the lake as a handful of other creatures converged on the pair of soldiers.

  The second soldier shouted franticly in Spanish as his assault rifle barked a few shots into the murky depths.

  In his panic, he either didn’t realize or had forgotten how ineffective such a weapon would be beneath the surface. Bullets only traveled a few feet before losing their stopping power. The giant reptilian creatures were in their element. Seconds later, he was dragged screaming beneath the surface.

  “Holy hell,” Michael barked as the water around the temple island heaved and simmered, a dozen reptilian shapes prowling through it, snapping at the surface before disappearing into the churning water once more. Soldiers on the wharf emptied their assault rifles at the shifting masses but the temple’s guardians moved deftly. The gunfire seemed to do little more than agitate the mighty beasts.

  With Michael's attention on his men and the temple’s fortune that was slipping into the depths of the lake, I made my move. Taking the end of the gold chain in my right hand, I wrapped it around the manacles and threaded it through the large golden loop at the end of the chain. Pulling it tight like a belt around the cuffs, I shouted “Keravnós.”

  With the Greek command, the relic I had stolen from the catacombs beneath the Vatican came to life and power surged through it.

  The chain had once been worn by the God of Thunder. To the Romans he was Jupiter, to the Greeks he was Zeus, King of the Gods and supreme ruler of Olympus. When the Goddess Hera led a rebellion against her husband, and the mutiny failed. Zeus chained Hera and hung her from the sky for four days as a lesson to those who would defy him. On being freed, Hera stole the chains and cast them into the earth, where they remained. Discovered by the Romans, they were preserved until the rise of the Catholic Church compelled them to bury all traces of the ancient faith. The chains had been hidden deep beneath the Vatican where I had found them.