Valiant Light, page 7
“Excellent. You two are right for each other. And good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes. I’ll be cheering you on.”
“I will,” Simi said, still smiling. She dropped Riley’s change in the tip jar, knowing it was headed there anyway. “You want a refill down the line?”
“Don’t know. Depends on how the meeting falls out.”
“Good luck playing dictator with the magical folks.”
“Thanks.” I’m so going to need it.
The private meeting room at the Grounds Zero was in the rear of the shop. Someone had spent some effort making it inviting—it had comfy overstuffed chairs, artwork on the walls, and a gas log fireplace that was already lit, giving off inviting warmth. Riley settled into the chair closest to it. At least she could be comfortable while being uncomfortable. As if that made any sense.
The Usual Suspects, as she called them, were representatives of the Summoners Society, the witches, and the Demon Trappers Guild. Mort, and sometimes Lord Ozymandias, stood in for the necromancers. Rada Litinsky, Riley’s former neighbor and the most senior witch, was the designated representative for her people. Grand Master Stewart served as the trappers’ spokesperson. That left Riley to act as ringmaster because conversations could became heated.
The idea of creating this group hadn’t been original, but had come from one of Riley’s favorite authors. Not that her life was anything like the fictional heroine Kate Daniels’s—Riley just knew a smart idea when she read one. Kate’s books were set in a futuristic Atlanta, one that made Riley’s seem like naptime in kindergarten. Still, the notion of having all the magical people talk to each other had stuck in her mind. It’d taken some bargaining and cajoling, but eventually the meetings had come to pass. Now it was her job to ensure they remained successful.
Fortunately, Ozymandias, Angus, and Rada got along fairly well. Since the senior witch was out of town, hopefully it’d be Ayden who showed up tonight. She was always even-tempered—unless she encountered rank stupidity, which neither Ozy nor Mort were capable of. If it wasn’t Ayden, it would most likely be Morgaine, who had an axe to grind with both the necros and the trappers. With Angus in Scotland, Master Harper might also attend this session, though, like Ayden, he’d been noncommittal when Riley had asked him about it.
Luckily, the first few meetings had been productive. Everyone had been reasonably polite, and slowly but surely, the ice had thawed between the trappers, the necros, and the witchy folks. There’d been a couple tense moments but nothing that erupted into open warfare, because the most senior folks had attended. Hopefully, tonight would be the same.
The door opened and Mort entered, wearing a pair of black slacks and a stylish red sweater—probably a Christmas present.
“Senior Summoner Alexander,” Riley said, smiling up at him.
“Master Blackthorne. Lord Ozymandias sends his regards. He has other commitments tonight so I’m here in his place.”
“Ah, more apprentice summoners to fry?”
“Nope. Nothing that fun. Your headache gone yet?”
She groaned. “Barely.”
“Then once you’re back from Scotland, we’ll ramp up the training,” he said, settling into one of the high-back chairs, the one with the extra stuffing. He placed a mug of coffee on the small table next to him.
Riley took a long sip of her hot chocolate and sighed as it hit all the right places. “Please tell me it’ll get easier.”
“You know it will. You are fairly skilled at illusions now, right?”
“Yeah, about eight out of ten attempts.”
“Eighty percent isn’t bad. Soon it’ll be a hundred. When you first started, you were batting zero. Even your levitation skills are improving. You’re right on track.”
Of all the people who could be teaching her, Mort and Ayden were ideal because they came at magic from different directions, but still somehow complemented each other. She swore they were working together to set up her classes, but she knew they’d never admit it.
Chris Jackson was the next arrival, a wiry man with a ponytail, a great sense of humor, and little tolerance for bureaucratic nonsense. A master demon trapper, he’d had Riley’s back from the first day she’d joined the Guild. She always jumped at the chance to trap with him.
“Hey, Jackson. How goes it?” she said. “Filling in for Harper?”
“Yeah. He’s got an AA meeting, so he asked me to come to this thing instead.”
“That’s fine by me. You’re a lot more civil.”
“That’s for damned sure.” He chose a seat near Mort and smiled over at the summoner. No worries there—they’d fought together in two big battles last year, so they already trusted each other.
“What are you teaching this girl nowadays?” Jackson asked, a devilish gleam in his eye.
“Warding,” Mort said simply. As if it were just that simple.
“Which means he lobs nasty spells and I have to stop them before they flatten me like a bug,” Riley said.
“How’s that going?” Jackson asked.
The necromancer grinned. “Good. Real good.”
Riley smiled at the praise, but that smile began to fade when she felt the witch approaching the room. After Ayden had taught her how to pick up each person’s life signatures, some just stuck out more than others. This was one of those.
She took a deep breath a second before the door opened and Morgaine stepped into the room. Making sure she kept a neutral expression, Riley nodded at the newcomer, wondering why her friend wasn’t here instead.
“Morgaine. Welcome.”
The witch let the door close behind her. She didn’t have coffee in hand, but clutched the strap of her leather purse so tight her fingers blanched. Her usually tidy blond hair hung in tangles around her face. She shot a look at Jackson, then at Mort. Riley felt the woman’s personal wards ramp up, like she was preparing to cast a spell.
Sensing the threat, Mort straightened in his chair, the tips of his fingers glowed faintly blue.
“We’re on neutral ground here, Morgaine,” Riley warned. “No spells, you understand?”
“Sorry.” To Riley’s surprise, the magic vanished as the witch dropped into one of the chairs. All without a snarky comment. This wasn’t normal behavior.
Ohhhkay.
“Morgaine, this is Senior Summoner Mortimer Alexander. He’s the necromancers’ advocate for Atlanta.” The witch issued a curt nod, her mouth pursed. Gesturing, Riley said, “And this is Master Chris Jackson from the Demon Trappers Guild.”
“Glad to meet you,” Jackson said. His expression said he was watching the dynamics in the room with considerable interest.
“Morgaine,” Mort said politely.
The woman gave another nod, but didn’t respond, her fingers still knotted on the purse’s strap.
“We usually open the meeting with any issues or concerns,” Riley said. “Kick in anything that’s bothering you or your people. That’s what this is all about. Sharing information works in our favor, not against it.”
Jackson began by recounting a recent encounter between a summoner and a demon trapper. In this case, it was to offer an apology for the trapper’s behavior because the man had been an asshole by suggesting that the necros were all sick perverts.
“Harper gave him hell, and then I gave him hell. He knows that if he acts like that again, he’s out of the Atlanta Guild.” Jackson looked over at Mort now. “Your summoner held his cool, and we appreciate that. Frankly, if I’d been the least bit magical, I would have roasted the guy.”
“I probably would have been tempted as well. Thank you for taking care of the situation.”
“It’s not the first time Hemsey’s been a problem. He’s new to the area and I’m guessing whoever trained this guy did a piss-poor job of teaching him how to behave like a human being.”
Riley nodded. She’d encountered Hemsey on a trapping run and found him a foul-mouthed jerk. They’d traded words and she’d gone out of her way to avoid him since that time.
Jackson looked over at her now. “Maybe when Beck gets back he can give him the ‘come to Jesus’ speech, since they’re closer in age. Hemsey’s sure as hell not listening to Harper or me.”
“I’ll mention it to Den, see what he thinks,” she said. Sometimes these new guys just needed to know that the Atlanta Guild wasn’t like some of the others across the country. Respect was earned, but never on the backs of others. “You have any issues, Mort?”
Her friend shook his head. “No. It’s been quiet. I haven’t heard anything about any witch and summoner feuds, which is a blessing. What about you, Morgaine? You heard anything?”
The woman issued a very long sigh and finally set her purse on the floor next to the chair. That, at least, was a start.
“Rada is out of town for a family emergency, and she didn’t leave anyone in charge.”
That wouldn’t bother most witches because they weren’t much for organizational structure. As Ayden had once explained, “We do our own thing and try not to be idiots about it. Works most of the time. If not, Rada steps in and slaps wrists.”
“What is it that has you worried?” Riley asked.
“Ah, we’ve had a couple new witches move into town. One of them, Sibyl, is really kind of strange. She’s been pestering us about these visions she’s having.” Morgaine sighed again. “I figured she was just really flaky. Like Luna Lovegood crazy—from the Harry Potter books, you know?”
Riley raised an eyebrow at that. “Okay. What’s she saying that’s bothering you guys?”
“Well, first she warned Rada that someone in her family was going to be in a very bad traffic accident, and that happened. Then she told Leslie that her job was going to be ending soon. Leslie’s employer closed down two days later without any notice.”
“She’s precognitive,” Mort said. Looking over at Riley, he added, “You see it more in witches than in summoners. They have a more nature-based magic and that seems to aid in the gift.”
“Okay, so this Sibyl person,” as if that name wasn’t a big hint, “is able to see the future. What’s spooking you about that?”
“She said,” Morgaine began and then hesitated, frowning, “what Sibyl is telling me doesn’t make any sense. She keeps going on and on about the death of the world. How it’s going to burn away and we’ll all be turned to ash. I tried to get her to talk to Ayden or Locasta—maybe they’d understand her better—but she won’t. She’ll only talk to me and she’s driving me crazy.”
Jackson shifted in his chair. “How’s her see-the-future track record been?”
“Fifty-fifty. My house didn’t burn down and Ayden hasn’t won the lottery.”
“Not yet, at least,” Mort said softly. “Our lives are mutable, our paths easily changed by one decision or another. Unplug the iron, don’t buy a lottery ticket, and her forecasts don’t come true.”
“I’m just worried because she keeps calling me, demanding to know why I’m not taking her warnings seriously. Like I know what to do.” Morgaine frowned deeper now. “And if that’s not weird enough, Sibyl’s moved out into this little shack in the woods. Took all her cats with her. She’s sure that something’s going to happen, and it’s freaking her out that no one seems to care.”
“So, what can we do for you?” Riley asked, confused as to the group’s role in this situation.
“Talk to her. You know stuff other people don’t know. Maybe this will make sense to you.” Morgaine shook her head. “I didn’t want to bother Rada. It’s her nephew that got hurt in the car accident and she doesn’t need this right now.”
Riley didn’t really have a choice, even though she thought it wasn’t her problem in the first place. For Morgaine to ask for help was unprecedented, so she’d have to make the effort. “I can try to talk to her. Does she know who I am?”
Morgaine sniffed. “Everybody knows who you are.” That sounded more like the prickly woman Riley knew. The witch dug in her purse, scribbled out a few lines of directions, and then handed the piece of paper to Riley. “Be careful with her. She’s wacky, but she’s also got a lot of power. If she doesn’t trust you, it could get really bad.”
“I’ll . . . be careful.”
“Can you go tonight?”
For a half second, Riley wondered if she was being set up, but then she discarded the idea. Morgaine was not that good of an actress.
“Yes, I can.” Because tomorrow night, she’d be headed across the ocean to Scotland, Sibyl’s visions or not.
“Thank you. Really, thank you,” Morgaine said, relieved. Before Riley could respond, the witch was out the door.
Oh boy.
“And here I thought this meeting was going to be a snore,” Jackson said, shaking his head.
“Nothing about us magic users is ever dull, even when we wish it would be,” Mort said. Then he eyed Riley. “I’ll be coming with you to see this woman.”
Since it was rare of Mort to insist on anything, he had to be worried. It would be stupid for her not to accept his help.
“I’m good with that. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to practice my warding in real time.”
He huffed. “We both should eat supper, get some fuel on board. This Sibyl person sounds unstable, and that might mean a lot of magic being tossed around tonight.” The summoner rose out of his chair. “Can you pick me up around seven thirty?”
“Sure.” Apparently, she was going to be chauffeur too.
After a nod to Jackson, Mort left them behind.
“Bet you can’t wait to get out of town and off to Scotland,” the master said as he stood. “I know I’d be counting the hours, the way things are going.” He paused at the door. “Send Beck my best, will you? Tell him I’m damned proud of him.”
She couldn’t stop the smile. “I will. We’ll be back soon.”
“You better be,” he replied. “Don’t you dare leave this mess to the rest of us.”
Now it was just Riley and the dregs of her hot chocolate. The way her stomach churned, she knew getting a refill wasn’t a good idea. As she reached for her phone to check her messages, it pinged. It was Beck.
BACK IN SCOTLAND. LOVE YOU.
Not a word to indicate what had happened between him and the Vatican.
YOU OKAY? she typed.
YES, SEE YOU SOON.
LOVE YOU.
No reply.
Riley tapped her phone against her cheek in thought. Usually when Beck texted, he gave her the countdown to their wedding in days and hours. Not this time. In times past, she would have worried something was going on between them, as a couple, but she knew that wasn’t the case.
No, this was because of whatever had happened with the Church. Coupled with the witch’s dire warnings and Ayden’s strange tattoo . . .
Something was brewing. Something bad.
Chapter Seven
When Riley pulled up on the street behind Mort’s house to pick him up, she saw that Ayden stood next to him. She was back in her customary long skirt, with a thick coat on top in deference to the chilly spring weather.
Mort slipped into the backseat, Ayden into the front. “She’s going with us,” he announced, as if that wasn’t obvious.
Before Riley could respond, Ayden added, “Put yourself in Sibyl’s shoes and think like a witch for a moment. A paranoid, slightly schizophrenic witch.”
Not an easy assignment, but Riley did her best. “Paranoid, huh?” A nod returned. “So if two summoners—even if one is a trapper—showed up on my doorstep, I’m going to freak out. But if those same summoners are accompanied by one of my own, someone I sorta trust, I might not throw spells as quickly.”
“That’s the plan,” Ayden replied. “Sibyl is a loony, but she’s often correct with her prognostications, so it’s best not to ignore her. Provided she doesn’t go ballistic on us—then the gloves are off.”
“See, you might get to practice your warding tonight after all,” Mort said, sounding way too pleased.
Ayden gave a hoarse chuckle under her breath.
“You know, you two enjoy my agony way too much,” Riley said.
“Yup,” the witch replied, grinning. “Who else are we going to torture?”
Riley wisely kept her mouth shut.
*~*~*
Sibyl the witch lived southeast of Atlanta, deep in the countryside. They’d been on the road for almost an hour now, passing both Covington and Social Circle. Then they were off the interstate and the main roads, headed into the woods on a narrow dirt track. One that really needed grading.
“I hope I didn’t make a wrong turn somewhere,” Riley muttered, keeping her eyes on the road. You knew you were in rural Georgia when there were no streetlights and no houses, just trees and lots of night.
“We’ll find out—” Mort began.
Riley gasped in surprise the moment they crossed the ward, a magical “Do Not Trespass” sign. It was like being doused in ice that had been electrified. Even her companions had held their breath.
“If we try to shield against her wards, she’ll consider us a threat,” Ayden cautioned. “I think she just means to scare off intruders, not kill them.”
“We hope,” Mort added.
“I wonder how many more of them there are—wards, that is,” Riley replied, moving the car forward again, though slowly.
The answer was two more, each of increasing intensity. By the third, her head buzzed and her heart pounded, and she swore her eyeballs were going to fall out into her lap. Even Mort had clenched his jaw as they’d passed through that last one.
Riley finally parked the car in front of an old two-story house. A single security light illuminated the building, which had a battered, red metal roof and was covered in sun-bleached yellow paint. A black Subaru wagon sat on the other side of the structure. As she looked around, the spiky itch of magic continued to scrape across Riley’s skin, sending “go away” messages. If she hadn’t been trained in spellcraft, she would never have made it down the driveway.
