Wizard Unleashed
WIZARD UNLEASHED
AN URBAN WIZARD’S TALE
Jamie McFarlane
Fickle Dragon Publishing
Contents
Preface
Prologue
1. What The Heart Wants
2. Handsome
3. Call Me Fannie
4. Prior Bad Acts
5. Fired
6. Fagin
7. Truce
8. Nothing Says Christmas Like Reindeer
9. Farm
10. Finding Twist
11. No, Yoda
12. There Be Dragons Here
13. Bump In The Night
14. Master
15. Gaeland
16. Elves Of The Glade
17. Castle Parnassus
18. Demon Blood
19. Chicks Dig Bad Boys
20. Fouled
21. Summoned
22. Adajania
23. Half Breed
24. Down To Earth
25. Palace
26. Finale
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Also by Jamie McFarlane
Copyright © 2017 by Jamie McFarlane All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Preface
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Prologue
A young witch materialized at the end of the alley; the street light's incandescent bulb illuminating her dull, unevenly cropped red hair. Her pale freckled skin looked like it hadn't seen the soapy side of a washcloth in some time. She wore a long black trench coat that gaped open, exposing tattered jeans and multiple layers of dark cotton shirts.
"Open up. It's me." With quick, sure strikes, she rapped on a dented industrial metal door. A moment later, the door opened just enough for her to slip through.
I jogged to the end of the alley. The girl had come from somewhere, but all I could see was a dead end. Fifteen feet above my head was a rusty fire escape. The logical explanation would be that she dropped from it, but I knew better.
From behind, the scrape of footsteps against wet asphalt alerted me to the fact that I wasn't alone. Surreptitiously, I pulled my phone out, leaned against the brick wall opposite the door, and managed a casual glance in the direction of the noise. An even younger girl than the redhead, maybe fifteen years old, ran down the alley, bumping shoulders with a boy of similar age. Bright purple hair spilled out from her hooded sweatshirt. With heads down and hands buried in their coat pockets, they bustled past wordlessly.
The boy banged a narrow, closed fist on the door. "Charley and Than." He laughed in response to something the girl said.
The sound of angry words spilled through the door as it opened again. The girl rolled her eyes as they jostled for position and she was shoved aside, then followed the boy through the door.
Flicking my fingers, I moved a shard of broken brick into the path of the closing door. I crossed the alley and listened at the opening. A man's voice, hot with accusation, scolded and was followed by a shrill teenager's voice, responding defensively. I reached up and knocked the light bulb with the silver ring on my finger. It flickered but refused to go out. I hit it harder and succeeded in breaking it. For a moment, I froze, worried I might have attracted attention.
I slid my fingers along the edge of the steel door and pulled it outward. A quick glance around the large open room reassured me that I hadn't attracted any undue attention. I slipped inside along the darkened, exterior wall. The occupants were gathered in the middle of the room where a collection of furniture was scattered, each piece mismatched and probably rescued from rubbish piles. The man doing the yelling was unusually dressed, wearing a rust-colored waistcoat with long tails, dark blue breeches, and a cream bloused shirt.
Menacingly, he held a silver-topped, wooden cane perilously close to the red-haired witch's face. "You have stolen from me, misfit. I, who took you in and gave you a place to live." He swept the cane in an arc and brought it back to rest on the girl's chest. "And this is my repayment?"
"I'll find it," she stammered.
"Adajania is looking for her Key and you stand here like the dumb whore you are! I have lost patience with you," he said, his words betraying a slight British accent.
"No, Mr. F.," Than, the girl with purple streaked hair, stepped between the arguing pair. "I'll find it. Tell him, Missy!"
"We're too late for that," he sneered, lunging forward and grabbing the red-haired girl by the nape of her neck.
"No!" She thrashed wildly, but to no avail.
"Adoloret!" I shot a stream of wizard's fire from my open hand. The man turned and smiled as the fire passed through him.
Without further regard, he turned back to the struggling girl. I tried to bolt forward, but seemed to run in slow motion, unable to find traction on the floor beneath me.
"Mittere in gehennam." Power drawn from the earth beneath us channeled through the man's cane.
I tripped while trying to jump over the nearest couch and fell forward.
"Mittere in gehennam." A blue light ignited on the girl's chest. She opened her mouth and screamed in agony.
"No!" I jumped to my feet, only to find they were caught in a rug I hadn't previously seen.
"Mittere in gehennam!" The stream of blue energy poured from the girl's open mouth and eye sockets as her scream was cut short.
"No!" I feverishly struggled against the rug that had wrapped around my feet.
Helplessly, I watched her body cave in upon itself. The once vital girl had been mummified in a matter of seconds.
"You bastard!" I finally kicked the rug away.
"This is your doing, Thanda. Now put her in the car." He swung his staff around and pointed at the cowering girl.
"You're a monster," she said through tears.
"Best not to forget that."
I tried to step forward and fell again. This time, my head hit a table made of wooden crates. I sat up, dazed, unable to clear my vision. I was on the floor of my bedroom with bedsheets twisted around my legs. A warm trickle on my forehead, the coppery smell of blood, and my face's current proximity to the sleigh-bed's heavy oak frame was enough to fill in the remaining details.
"Felix. Are you all right?" My sister, wearing only an overly long cotton t-shirt, padded into the room. She was a whisker over five feet tall, with straight jet black hair and generally thin as a rail.
"Bad dream," I said.
"Well, shit!" She ran across the room and inspected a still smoldering scorch mark on the wall. "Are you trying to burn us down while we sleep?"
"I guess."
"Same girl?" she asked, in a more conciliatory tone.
"Same man, too. He was wearing that same clothing, like he's from the eighteen hundreds."
"Do you think the demon is doing this?"
It was a good question. We'd locked a demon in our basement last year. If it had found a way to mess with us, that would be a problem.
"Damn. I hope he can't get in my head like that. This dream feels like all my others. The girl is real and she's a witch, although I don't think she knows it. She's in trouble, Maggie. I can feel it."
"Just when I thought things were going to settle down around here," she said.
Chapter 1
What The Heart Wants
"Blessed Solstice to you, Felix," Marigold Katty greeted me as I entered Chatty Katty's restaurant. The mansion where the Katty Sisters - Mari, Belle and Willow - lived was beautiful, if eclectically decorated. We were only a few days from the Winter Solstice and everything was wrapped in fresh pine greens, silvery lace, and so many candles a fire marshal would certainly have closed the place down had they visited.
"Happy Solstice, Mari." I embraced the plump, middle-aged witch, soaking in the subtle magic of hospitality that surrounded her.
"Felix!" Willow, Mari's younger sister, bounced down the oak staircase that led to the residence above the restaurant. She wore a tight green velvet dress that accentuated her curvy, middle-aged figure in a most pleasant way. "Where are the girls?" She spun around for me when she got to the bottom of the stairs and waggled her eyes, pleased that I was watching.
"Mom, stop flirting. It's just Felix." Cypress, who'd recently turned twenty, couldn't be more different from her mother. She was tall, thin, and angular. Her personality was also much more in line with most witches, in that they generally had very little to do with men. Fortunately, I was 'just Felix' and considered family. Cy leaned in and gave my cheek a quick peck. "Ooh, you smell good. Is that Gabriella's lemon and sage cologne?"
I smiled. Affection from the prim young witch was something I treasured, knowing it was both genuine and reserved for only a few. "Yes. She's been mixing again."
"What's in the bag?" Mari looped her arm around my own and led me through the busy restaurant as Cypress bustled off.
"Oh, darn it, that's for Willow," I said. "She's a slippery one."
"Only when oiled, love." Willow's hot breath on my neck quickened my pulse. Her promiscuous behavior was not new to me. Her magic was that of fertility and it was hard not to be distracted by the pull.
Mari rolled her eyes as we arrived at the table that was somehow always open when I showed up for meals. In my opinion, it had the best view in the house. Set in front of huge windows at the back of the restaurant, the table had an unobstructed view of Willow's vast greenhouse that adjoined the old mansion and the extensive gardens which meandered through the back of the property.
"And you did not properly greet me, Wizard Felix Slade." Willow pulled me in for an embrace. Ordinarily, I wasn't one for a lot of touching, but the Katty sisters had become my family. Even Willow, with her constant sexual innuendo - that I had no doubt she'd happily act on - was a welcome sight.
"I brought a present for you."
Her face lit up as I placed a brown bag on the table and extracted a five-inch terracotta pot. Growing from the soil was a young plant with a broad canopy of tiny white petals.
"What is this?" she asked.
I smiled. It wasn't often I stumped her with a plant. Truth was I'd cheated. The plant was too small to produce flowers and I'd had to draw them out prematurely with my own magic.
"Dong Quai," I said.
"Someone's been talking out of turn," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh?" I feigned innocence that Willow easily saw through. "Belle wants to make a tea once you get enough of it growing." The plant's roots were helpful to women who experienced hot flashes.
"Scoundrel," she said, accepting the plant and pretending to be miffed. She turned from the table and stalked toward the door that would give her access to the greenhouse.
"Uncle Felix!" I turned just in time to catch my seven-year-old niece, Clarita, who launched herself at me. Sometime in the past year, she'd come out of her shell and put on both height and weight enough that I sagged as her arms wrapped around my neck.
I helped her onto the bench. "Hey, Monkey."
My eye caught Gabriella's as she spoke with Mari at the front of the restaurant. Electricity seemed to pass between us as we connected. Her once-black hair had turned silvery white after an attack by the demon, Gester. Since then, it had grown back with only a blaze of white. Always beautiful, she wore a red dress and I smiled as she smoothed the linen fabric over her rounded hips. To my eyes - and most others’, I was sure - Gabriella was one of the most naturally beautiful women I'd ever seen. Her Mexican heritage was evident in her brown skin and fiery Latina temper. The irony was that she found fault in the curve of her hips. It was a vanity she wouldn't admit to and was only given away by her subconscious hand movements.
"How was work?" I asked as we greeted.
The harried look on her face gave way to an eye roll. "Don't ask." She'd trained as a lawyer and originally worked as a prosecutor for the District Attorney. The position wasn’t well suited to a witch of Gabriella's strength; one who could often sense the truth of a person's statements. As she'd explained to me, the justice system only worked if the D.A. aggressively prosecuted, even if they had misgivings as to the defendant's guilt. The stress of prosecuting the innocent had caused her to resign three years ago and switch to corporate law, specializing in mergers, acquisitions and real estate deals.
"Ask her about the girl," Clarita said, pulling me onto the bench next to her as Mari set drinks on the table.
Gabriella shot Clarita a concerned look. She had difficulty hiding information from the emerging child witch, mostly due to their proximity.
"You know it's not nice to read me like that, dear," Gabriella reprimanded gently as she leaned in for a kiss before sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the table from Clarita and me.
"Sorry, Mom," she said. I raised an eyebrow at the new address Clarita was trying out. A year and a half ago, Clarita had witnessed the death of her own mother at the hands of a werewolf. It was something she never talked about. We'd been told by professionals to wait and let Clarita bring up the subject in her own time. Gabriella's look suggested we'd be talking about it, but not in front of Clarita.
"Okay. Back to your day, Gabriella. Anything you want to talk about?" I asked.
"I don't know how much longer I can continue working at the firm," she said. "Everyone is nice, but the work is so mundane. I had a client today who was all worked up about escrow terms."
I reached over and placed my hand atop her own, quieting her strumming fingers. "Sounds stressful."
"That's just the thing. It is stressful and there's no need for it. It's a five-million-dollar deal and she's trying to take possession before the money even moves, much less clears. It's like she's trying to skip us entirely," she said. "What part of escrow service doesn't she understand?"
"Another real estate deal?" I asked.
"No. It's some sort of antique. I have to pick it up tonight and run it back to the vault," she said. "Want to tag along? I'm expecting a call any minute now."
"Is it okay if we eat dinner first?" I asked.
"It better be," Mari said, arriving at the table with bowls and drinks. "Tomato bisque with fresh basil and rosemary. Chocolate milk for the ornery witch in the corner, water for Lady Valverde, and a cream ale for the equally ornery wizard." She smiled at Clarita conspiratorially and whisked off.
"I just want to be done with this deal," Gabriella said. "Both sides are so untrusting."
"Isn't that why they need lawyers as intermediaries?" I asked.
"That's not helpful."
"What about this girl?" I asked.
Gabriella sighed. I knew she was frustrated at work and I should probably have left the conversation alone, but I also knew the change of subject was called for.
"I had lunch with a friend from the D.A.'s office. There's this runaway. She’s a hard-luck case with an abusive father. Unfortunately, a common enough story. She just turned eighteen and was brought in on class-four, felony theft. She’s accused of stealing six hundred dollars and was assigned Brian Ratterman from the defender's office."
"This friend being Dean?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
"Yes. Dean," she said. "Don't be jealous. He's a friend. We had lunch."
It was my turn to sigh. I was on thin ice and I knew it. Last year, I'd had a brief, albeit steamy, relationship with my now best friend Amak, th
e Senwe troll princess. Gabriella's feelings about that hadn't stop me from hanging out with Amak as a friend. Turns out jealousy doesn't really care about fairness. "About Ratterman. Is he bad?"
"Bad doesn't begin to explain it. He's six degrees of incompetent. Class-four felony can get you real time," she said. "Dean said he's not even trying to plead it down."
"What'd she take?"
"She allegedly stole camping equipment and jewelry from the Twelfth Street Mall. The property manager is pushing for a conviction because street kids have been targeting him. Dean knows I have a relationship with the mall's ownership and wanted to know if I'd talk with them."
"To do what?"
"Reduce this by a hundred dollars and it's a class one misdemeanor. She has priors, but they're all juvie-based and sealed."
"I don't get it. If this is so common, why is Dean reaching out to you?" I asked.
"He has a good heart, Felix," she said, defensively.
I raised my eyebrows. It wasn't that I thought Dean wasn't a good guy, but I also knew his workload. He was going out of his way. "Gotta be more to it than that."
She tipped her head to the side and shrugged. "There is. I know her. Her older brother is the reason I quit the D.A.'s office."
I set my spoon down and held her gaze. "You've never told me what happened."
"We convicted her brother, Robbie, of killing their father. Robbie was tried as an adult at sixteen," she said. "I helped with trial prep and was there for his deposition. No doubt he was involved - knuckles were skinned, blood on his hands, bruises. It was obvious that he and his dad had been fighting; Robbie was strung out on meth and his dad was drunk. They got into it. Thing is, Robbie didn't kill him."
"Who did?" I asked.
"Everybody says Robbie did," she said. "Forensics all pointed to him. But I interviewed him. He didn't do it. He admitted to the fight. Robbie told me a story about how his dad had arranged to sell his sister to some mysterious human trafficking ring. Only, she'd somehow figured it out and run away. The dad blamed Robbie and they fought. Robbie said his dad was alive when he left the apartment that night."