Afterworld (The Orion Rezner Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

The spell I had prepared was fresh on my mind. I dug deep and lashed out with my right hand as I bellowed the wind incantation.

I tried to finish—I needed only to release the spell—but no words came out. I tried again, but couldn’t speak. I looked down at my hand, dumbfounded.

Kronos laughed and blasted me with his prepared counter spell. A gust of wind tore through the bar and slammed me up against the wall. The gale held me in place. I had to turn my head to be able to breathe, as napkins, papers, salt and pepper shakers—just about everything not nailed down—started crashing against the wall around me.

“You will learn your place, Rezner!”

“Master Wizard Kronos!” Fracco yelled in a growling voice that drowned out the wind. The fireplace flared and the lights grew dim, and his shadow seemed to be that of a grizzly bear as it loomed on the wall.

The winds subsided and Kronos lowered his hand. I slid down the wall and landed among the debris.

“Get out of my establishment,” Paul said, calmly.

Kronos seemed to sober, realizing what he had done. He turned to Fracco and looked him over with a sneer. A glance back to me promised pain. Finally, and without a word, he left.

Mushiro and Paul helped me up, and I finally found my voice. “What the hell was that all about?” I asked.

“That was one pissed-off Russian!” said Mushi.

I ignored him, wondering if I’d really seen what I thought I had in Paul’s shadow.

I watched the pub’s slightly mysterious proprietor return behind the bar as if nothing had happened.

“You’re welcome.” Melody’s voice came from behind me.

I turned to find her grinning. “You? Why?”

She walked up and dusted off my shoulder. “You know how much shit you would be in if you cast against a master wizard…in public?”

Oh yeah, kind of forgot about that
.

“Now he is the one who will be in big shit. You’re welcome.”

“What did you do?”

She handed me a beer. It was a Sam Adams Summer Ale.

Is this chick for real?

“I knew you were going to do something stupid, so I hexed your voice.” She tipped back her beer, and I joined her.

We both turned to the side—Mushiro and Dude were staring at us.

“What?” we said in unison.

“You guys are cute couple,” said Johnny. He was sitting on the other side of her, beaming, and then leaned in as if she were his new confidant. “He could use good woman. You think with devilish good looks he’d be beating them off with stick, instead he just beating o—”

“Mushi!” I said, jumping in, “Dude is listening.”

Johnny looked dumbfounded. “What? You mean the chicken-choking-champion of chimps? Why do you think he wants his teddy bear all the time?”

“Ewww,” said Melody.

“Mushi, shut up, man.” I laughed nervously and turned back to her. “Sorry about him.”

Melody smiled. “What do you drink, Mushiro?”

I couldn’t help but stare at her neck when she turned to him. Beneath the tight leather jacket she wore a low-cut shirt which showed just enough…

“Sound good to you?” she asked, whirling on me.

My guilty eyes stuttered around her face, trying to find her eyes. “Sorry, huh?”

“A shot of whiskey?”

Behind her, Mushiro grinned like a devil.

I looked at Paul. “Sure, as long as Fracco’s got the good stuff.”

Paul Fracco threw a towel over his shoulder and leaned on the bar. His face said,
Now lemme tell you something about good whiskey
. “Listen.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t sell none of that cheap shit.”

“You don’t
sell
any,” I said, correcting him.

He considered this for a moment. “I don’t barter none of that cheap shit.”

“All right then,” I said. “Join us for a round?”

He turned from the bar and reached for a bottle. “If you insist.”

“So,” I asked, “what was with the shadow on the wall when you broke up the fight?”

He stopped for the slightest of moments before returning to his fluid motion.

“I didn’t see a shadow. Like you said,” he put the drinks on the bar, “I was busy breaking up a fight.”

“I could have sworn that your shadow looked like a b—”

“Tell you what, these are on the house.” He smiled and raised his glass.

We lifted ours as well.

“To the newest graduates of Harvard Witchcraft and Wizardry,” he toasted. “May you keep Boston safe from those who lurk in the shadows.”

We didn’t leave Fracco’s till the wee hours that night. Once again I was forced to let Dude drive. I know what Old Ben would have said, and I was drinking too much, but if the drink was for drowning care, as he put it, I could use all I could get.

I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, the faces of each of the Cain children fresh in my mind. They had looked so happy when they thought help had arrived. To see those faces turned to fear…there was no loud bar music to distract me from their pleading any longer. Stuck in the silence of my apartment, I slowly went mad.

I stood upon a peak of a high ridge. Down in the desert valley below, voices cried out in the night as fires raged. Strange-looking buildings crumbled, and majestic, spiraling towers fell. No enemy attacked from any side…the city seemed to be tearing itself apart.

“Such strange creatures you are.”

I turned.

Azazel stood beside me, taking in the show.

“This is a dream,” I told myself.

Azazel nodded. “A dream of a memory…a memory of a dream.”

A hot wind blew back my hair and burned my nostrils. The pungent smell of sulfur came with the heat. This was no dream. Somehow Azazel had found me.

“It was quite easy,” he said, with a quick, distracted, sideways glance. He seemed unable to take his attention off the destruction being wrought and the screams of the poor souls within.

“They were given a choice…and they chose wrong. This seems to be a flaw you all share,” he mused.

“What do you want with me?”

“I want to help you.”

“Said the demon.” I laughed. “Piss off.”

“Demon?” he scoffed. “Your ancestors called me a god.”

“What are you doing with the children of the Cain?”

“Saving them, of course.”

It was my turn to scoff. “You’re the one who corrupted mankind. Am I supposed to believe you?”

He turned to regard me with eyes of the clearest blue. His face was not that of a monster, but neither was it a man’s. “One cannot debase that which is already corrupt. Your kind have ever been eager to commit sin. It is in the heart of every man.”

“People are corrupted by their leaders, who are corrupted by power.”

“Who are your leaders? Are they corrupt? To leave children to die like that…” He clucked his tongue.

I said nothing.

“I have your sister,” he told me.

I stared into his eyes and saw no deceit, but then again, he was a powerful demon.

“I’m waking up now,” I said, as if bored, trying not to show how his words had affected me.

“She is well. She misses you—”

“Shut your goddamned mouth!”

“Would you like to see her?”

What kind of game was he playing? What was the point? I knew he was lying, but…“If I say I want to see her, you will only show me an illusion.”

“Then go to her. See for yourself. You can be reunited.”

I didn’t want to play along with this, but if he really had Mary…“Where is she?”

“Leave the city and I’ll guide you to her.”

A screeching ape tore me from the dream, and I bolted upright in a cold sweat, looking around frantically.

Leave the city and I’ll guide you to her.

Azazel’s words echoed in my mind.
Had
it been a dream?

Dude screeched again, ran into the room, and jumped on my chest.

“Come on, bro, it’s early.”

I checked my pocket watch—10:00 a.m.

Shit!

M
ushi had said the council wanted to see me at nine o’clock. I threw on last night’s clothes, and in five minutes, Dude and I were cruising to the Temple of Light.

I signed in and hurried to the big wooden doors. I took the stairs to the fifth floor two at a time and paused before the white door to catch my breath. When I had composed myself, I knocked once. A small panel about three feet from the floor opened up, and beady eyes regarded me through the slot.

“Please wait for the council, apprentice Rezner,” said Croc.

Apprentice
?

I was in more trouble than I thought. I sat down with Dude on the Victorian bench set off to the side and waited. After what seemed like forever, the big white door opened, and Croc began the long rambling that led me to the council. Kronos sat off to the side, as before, and glowered at me as we approached.

Maximillian, the head elder wizard, regarded me over his spectacles and chewed his cud—he had lost all his teeth long ago. “Orion Rezner,” he read from a scroll—as if I hadn’t just been there a few days ago. “Master Wizard Kronos has informed us that you disobeyed a direct order while on the Crystal Lake mission.”

“Yeah? Did he also tell you that he cast a wind spell against me last night in a crowded bar?” I gave Kronos my best stink eye and he exploded.

“Have some respect for council, little shit! Elder wizards do not answer to you!”

“You guys are taking
this
madman’s word on things?” I asked.

“We are aware of your disagreement last night. Now, please answer the charges,” said Maximillian, too calmly.

“Yes, I disobeyed the order—an order to leave behind innocent children.”

Maximillian raised his eyebrows and looked over the scroll carefully. “Nothing here of innocent children. The reports say a group of Cain children were encountered. Are
these
the children to which you refer?”

“Yes.” He knew damn well what I meant, but in the face of such an obvious wrong, they were forced to delude themselves.

“So…you admit to disobeying Master Wizard Kronos’s order, are you aware you were on a probationary period?”

“I am.”

Maximillian conferred shortly with the council member to his right, Elder Wizard Crowly. The man looked at me as if I were a strange specimen. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I didn’t have to. It was pretty clear what was going on.

“Orion Rezner.” Maximillian’s voice carried the weight of judgment. “You are hereby suspended from any and all wizardly activities until such time as this council sees fit to reinstate your title. If caught using magic during this time, you will be punished accordingly. You not only disobeyed your master, but the will of the council and the city of Boston as well. The Cain children are potentially dangerous. We do not know what sickness they might still carry. We do not dictate such laws because we are uncaring, young man, but because it is necessary. The survival of the human race is in grave peril. We know of only a handful of other Witness colonies. We cannot allow anyone into this city who might pose a threat to the people’s safety. We hope you come to understand. Perhaps you might reflect on the subject during your suspension. You are dismissed.”

I knew better than to bother arguing with them.

“C’mon, Dude,” I said, turning to leave.

“The chimp stays. He will be returned to Harvard for the time being,” said Maximillian.

My anger flared and I whirled around in shock. “This has nothing to do with Dude.”

“Indeed, the chimp has been trained in reconnaissance. You have been suspended, not he. The Boston Militia still has use for him.”

Dude followed the conversation like a child watching their parents fight. When Maximillian finished speaking, the poor chimp gazed up at me helplessly.

“It’s not my call, Dude. Be good, all right?”

He whimpered and reached for my hand. I wasn’t about to get teary in front of the Wizard Council, so I pulled my hand away and quickly marched out of there. Behind me followed a screech of my betrayal. The council could try to keep him at Harvard, but I had an idea he would give them trouble every step of the way. He would probably wind up at the apartment tonight.

I told myself that—I told myself a lot of things.

No magic
.

I’d been using magic for only two years, but I already missed it. It would be hard to not instinctively use it. Thinking about it as I left, I realized that I used magic far more than I thought—little things mostly, like lighting a candle, or stoking a quick cook fire. I also realized how lazy it had made me. I wasn’t as bad as some wizards, who used magic for the most menial of tasks, like floating something they had dropped back into their hand rather than bending to pick it up.

I felt naked without my magic. Boston was a fairly safe place, but now I had Azazel after me. And while I was pretty sure he couldn’t get through the spell shield physically, he had somehow come to me in my sleep. I needed magic now more than ever. The council knew this. Why would they leave me so vulnerable in the face of such danger?

I had once been annoyed—back before I’d mastered a few simple incantations—when I had to constantly read from my spell book to perform incantations. I have often thought how great it would be to tattoo intricate spells on my arms and just be able to rattle them off, one after another, without the hindrance of a bulky spell book.

Unfortunately, only spell scribes—starchildren—can record spells. It is for this reason that they are hunted so. Magic still existed without them, but only in the form of mental casting, which made it that much harder for practitioners to train apprentices. Written spells are easier to control, more predictable for beginners. Mental casting, on the other hand, is often disastrous. Without perfect translation, inflection, focus, and intent, even a recited spell can easily go awry. At Harvard, apprentices were forbidden to attempt mental casting due to the inherent dangers and unpredictability of the art. One wrong inflection can change a simple water spell into a blazing inferno. Wizards like Kronos and the elders rarely use spell books, having mastered the art long ago. When mentally casting, the practitioner may be using a spell from memory, or even creating a new one altogether. Depending upon their understanding of the domain they are manipulating and their understanding of the language of magic, well-trained wizards can do amazing things. The art is a lot like cooking. A great chef can create a delicious meal without the use of a recipe book, given their knowledge and experience. But a beginner needs the recipe to get it right, and even then it’s easy to screw up.

Now that it was forbidden, the itch to cast was all the more tempting. I really didn’t care what the council said. If my life was in danger, I was going to use magic to protect myself, period.

I hopped on my scooter, sans Dude, wishing I drove a loud-ass Harley Davidson, which would announce my anger with its obnoxious engine. Instead I tried to peel out with the scooter. The result was a sad whine and small puff of dust.

I drove aimlessly. What was I supposed to do now? I had a demon after me, trying to get me to lower the spell shield, and I was forbidden to use magic. And what horrors would Azazel unleash on Boston if the shield
was
lowered? I didn’t want to know. The fact that he was trying meant that he’d probably amassed an army large enough to take the city. Yet, Azazel hadn’t destroyed the cities in my dreams, he had corrupted them—as he was trying to do to me. It would be egotistical to assume I was the only one he was trying to manipulate. He must be working others as well. How long would it take one of his fish to bite?

I needed to talk to my old Demonology teacher…Father Killroy.

I hung a quick U-ey and headed for Trinity Church. As pissed as I was at Killroy, I needed him now more than ever. Our personal differences could be addressed after the corruptor of man was dealt with. Hopefully, the father had something up his holy sleeve that could weed out those under the demonic influence.

I arrived at Trinity and went through the back. Killroy seemed to have been coming out.

“Rezner!” he said, with surprise. “I was hoping you would come. We’ve so much to talk about. I—”

“No time for bromance, Father. Azazel is trying to influence me through my dreams. I believe he’s trying to get someone to lower the spell shield.”

Father Killroy’s eyes fell and jumped around in deep thought. “This is grave…hurry, come in.”

He ushered me inside and led me to his office in silence. I sat across from him at his massive wooden desk while he kneaded his big, gnarled hands together.

“He says he has your sister?” he asked, finally.

“Yup, and he was after the children of the Cain the other day—he didn’t care about the regular kids.”

“True.” He nodded absently, his eyes locked on some spot on the desk.

I leaned in as if divulging a secret. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Azazel could hear my every word…my every thought. “Father, if he’s successful in lowering the spell shield, who knows what hell will be wrought?”

Killroy nodded gravely. He looked like a man who needed a drink.

“Is there any way we can discover who he is influencing?” I asked.

He shook his head. “In a city so large? That’s a tall order. There are prayers, holy incantations, but I have never used them on such a grand scale.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about the whole city,” I told him, “just the Wizard and Witch Councils—anyone who has access to the Temple of Light.”

“Rezner, there are hundreds of witches and wizards in Boston!”

I shrugged. “It’s better than having to search the entire city.”

“Well, why not just go to the council with this information?”

A laugh escaped me. “Good idea. I’ll go to the council and tell them a demon told me in a dream he wanted me to lower the spell shield, and that others among them might be so influenced. Likely, it even is one of them.”

“Well when you put it that way…” He sighed. “I’ll get to work at trying to find something that might help.”

“A half a truth is often a great lie,” said Old Ben, suddenly appearing beside Killroy’s desk.

I jumped, startled. “Jesus, Ben!”

He cocked an eyebrow and added, “A lie stands on one leg, truth on two.”

“All right, I get it.”

I threw him a scowl and turned back to Father Killroy, who regarded me as if I had just proclaimed that I liked putting candles in my ass.

A thought struck me—“Clive!”

“Who?”

“The doorman, at the Temple of Light. He sees everybody who comes and goes. If you could create something for him to use…”

“Perhaps.” Killroy nodded. “Or he’ll tell the council everything. That seems like something a security officer would share.”

“I’m not asking him to do anything against the council.”

“It’s deception, nonetheless.”

Old Ben nodded. He looked like he had something on his mind. I didn’t know where he had been; he comes and goes in the blink of an eye. His reaction to Azazel’s name, back in my apartment, had been uncharacteristic. Considering what he had done to help against the demon last week, I was hoping he would have answers—though they would come as quote-riddles.

“It’s all I can think of,” I told them both. “If either of you have a better idea, feel free to share.”

“Either of us?” Killroy looked concerned.

Yeah, Father, not only do I see demons in my sleep, I talk to a ghost all the time
.

He must have thought I was out of my freaking mind—I would have.

I shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“Son—”

Yup, he thinks I’m nuts
.

“Are you still seeing the Ghost of Ben Franklin?” he asked.

“Gimme a break, Father. You know ghosts exist.”

“Yes, but they can’t communicate to the living.”

“They’re not Old Ben. The Wizard Council is named after him, for Christ…mas sake. He was one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived. Is it really such a leap of faith?”

“I don’t know, Rezner…I guess not. It’s just…the world has changed so much in the last seven years—wizards, witches, vampires, ghosts. I’ve just begun to understand my own powers.”

“I hear ya, Father.”

I returned to my apartment around noon, hungry as hell. I should’ve picked up something from the soup kitchens on my way home, but Mushi was supposed to meet me at twelve. As I walked up the steps I noticed an envelope wedged in the door, above the knob. I turned and scoured the street—nobody. Hesitantly, I opened the nondescript envelope. A single piece of paper was within. Glancing around once more, I unfolded it.

Rezner,

We must speak. Meet me at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum at midnight.

-M. S.

PS: Drop this letter.