Wilder Mage Read online

  Wilder Mage

  by CD Coffelt

  Copyright © CD Coffelt, 2013

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  Musa Publishing

  633 Edgewood Ave

  Lancaster, OH 43130

  www.MusaPublishing.com

  Issued by Musa Publishing, August 2013

  This e-book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-61937-620-5

  Editor: Angela Kelly

  Artist: Kelly Shorten

  Line Editor: Jenny Rarden

  Interior Book Design: Cera Smith

  To Mom. Lookee what I did.

  Chapter One

  The earthquake wasn’t his fault. Not this time.

  Justus Aubre stumbled and nearly fell as he jumped from his pickup cab. Under his feet, the ground muttered and groaned. The chaos around him tasted of magic.

  Four point something, maybe. Powerful.

  The earth-deep sound screamed of energy, the kind a wizard like Justus controlled. But this mage was different. The worker of this seismic event was out of the closet and unafraid of watchers.

  Magic swirled around him in streams, red and orange like the contrails of a jet.

  Some wizard with Earth ability. The Imperium will be pleased, he thought wryly. Impressive, but…

  Justus shrugged and calculated that the damage was minimal. He could have done better in his sleep…if he’d wanted the world to fall on his head.

  The parking lot lights still wobbled from the quake, adding a strobe effect to the surreal. The cars, like partygoers after a drunken brawl, canted sideways over a crack that split the asphalt. Car alarms whooped.

  Anger flicked through him. Magic coursed from his will and into the night. Silence. But only for a moment.

  Around the lot, houses came to life with porch lights and shouts. Dogs barked. Doors slammed. People in the parking lot stumbled to their cars. Voices blended and overlapped into a single note of shock.

  “Was that an earthquake?”

  “No way. Not in Iowa.”

  “An explosion? A plane crashed? Building demolished?”

  All the same. Typical blind-eye thinking.

  No one seemed hurt. Distressed, yes. But so what?

  Absently, he brushed his cheek with the back of his hand, then frowned at the streak of blood. Justus wiped his face until no fresh crimson collected on his hands.

  He shrugged and walked to his pickup, keys swinging in his hand.

  A scream made him jerk to a stop and swivel around.

  Behind him, two figures struggled. A silver-haired man grappled with a thick-bodied figure. With a brutal twist, the thug ripped a watch from the oldster’s wrist and shoved him to the ground. Half-hearted protests came from a group of people clustered on the sidewalk of the Civic Center. Some pointed. Others thumbed their cell phones.

  Anger poured into Justus again, and his frame shuddered with unused power. But he throttled it down when the hairs on his arms tingled like thousands of bees fighting to free themselves, thrumming.

  Another mage was close.

  He severed the magic, and like a strand of fine glass, it broke and raked him with its sharp edges. The sentient magic never went easily.

  Justus gripped the small mud-colored rock that hung from a black cord around his neck. It warmed to the magic in the air and to the other mage’s presence. He hesitated. The old man seemed unhurt. After all, losing a watch wasn’t that terrible. The thug stared down at the prone man with a sneer on his face. Hot words followed. Justus was shocked when the older man shook his fist at the mugger standing over him.

  Wrath threatened to overwhelm him.

  His grand plan to avoid attention—shot to hell. What an idiotic thing to do, getting involved in someone else’s problem.

  A whisper of magic escaped his control and coursed to his fingertips. He firmed his grip, placing the volatile emotions into a mental vise.

  Calm. Stay calm.

  Justus advanced on the mugger, whose focus was on the old man. He knocked the watch from the thief’s meaty fist and backhanded him as he whirled. The man staggered with a grunt.

  Justus chanced a look at the old man. The guy had crawled out of the light and to the shadows. Relief, despite his internal rebuke, softened his irritation. A hiss of metal on leather killed his interest.

  A saw-toothed blade, held in the thug’s hand, reflected light from the streetlights with the same gleam as the man’s bared teeth. Justus angled away, shifting to the side as the mugger’s stroke flashed wide. Justus shoved him, then danced out of the way. The mugger fell on the concrete in an epic—and very satisfying—face plant.

  Justus tested the comet trails of magic as a child blows to see their breath on a cold morning. The glittery energies brightened as he named them.

  A deep chill shivered over his skin like ice. No one stepped forward or called the elements as he had. But someone was there who knew and spoke with the energies, the other magic maker, using the anonymity of the crowd to hide. The sparkles mingled with the fog of his breath and faded.

  Why hadn’t he listened to that little voice, the annoying one that had warned him away from public concerts? Even in Iowa, watchers lurked.

  The mugger stood and spat a glob of blood from his broken mouth. Justus took a step back to make his retreat. He froze when the mugger focused on something over his shoulder and gave a brief nod. A heavy foot scuffed the sidewalk.

  Crap. Not just one problem, but judging by the sound, two more had joined the party. At least they didn’t taste of magic.

  Nevertheless, this was fixin’ to hurt.

  With that thought, another surge of anger began to build. He beat it back.

  Cold. Be cold.

  Justus held his hands up, as if in surrender. “Lookit, I didn’t mean anything. I don’t want any part of this,” he said.

  Diplomacy or defense? He heard the rustle of clothing behind him.

  Defense, it seemed.

  The sound of shoes on pavement warned him. A fist gripped his shirt at the shoulder. He clapped his hand on the knuckles, backed up, and elbowed the thief’s ribs as he passed. An explosive grunt accompanied the release of his shirt.

  Pain always changed a guy’s priorities.

  No time to appreciate the tumble of limbs and legs, curses and snarls. Number Three joined the dance.

  He turned aside, swaying back when the other man threw a roundhouse, avoiding the jawbreaker, but not the scrape of the man’s knuckles across his cheek. Justus felt something burn his face, from the corner of his mouth to the cheekbone. Only a glancing blow, but it rattled his teeth, followed by hot pain.

  The third man angled for another blow, and a glint of light showed a large ring on his hand. His mind cloudy from the blow, Justus realized the ring had grazed his cheek. He stumbled back against the retaining wall, unable to focus, and it gave his emotions the edge they needed to escape.

  Rage tore through him, begging him to pull the fires f
rom the air and fling them into the man. He fought the magic, trembling with the need to release the phantasms, the sound from between his clenched teeth more snarl than words. It made the thug pause, his eyes widening.

  Before the Fire element came to life in his fists, Justus forced his will into controlling it and the energies faded.

  He threw his arm up to block the next punch. The fist connected with his shoulder, muting the blow. A quick, hard jab to the guy’s ribs, and Justus danced back and away, shaking off the dregs of confusion. The man’s breath left his lungs in a rumbling moan as he stumbled into the two accomplices tangled on the ground.

  With the thugs preoccupied, Justus threw out a tendril of seeking magic, testing for the mage in the crowd.

  Nothing. No other magical signature but his. He wavered. Maybe he could get by without using his talents at all. But now three pairs of eyes focused on him, and Broken Face grinned as he gestured to the others. They began to advance once again.

  Frustration threaded through him as he realized he had run out of options.

  Time to stop fighting the magic and use it.

  With the barest expenditure of effort—the better to avoid attention from the passing adept—Justus pulled a ribbon from the surrounding energies, the element Air, and encircled the three men, freezing them into unmoving statues.

  Justus stepped out of their path and, with a flick of will, released the men. They stumbled, their momentum carrying them forward. Justus wrapped them again and gave a firm push with the shaft of Air into the wall. The familiar mass of legs, limbs, and curses formed again. It had taken no more than two seconds to push them into the pile.

  Time to split.

  And no adept confronted him.

  Justus walked away, moving briskly down the sidewalk through the spectators scattered in various poses of interest and amusement. The whole show had taken less than a couple of minutes. Not enough time to acquire a crowd or alert the cops—or attract attention.

  He glanced back over his shoulder and saw help for the old man had appeared in the form of a young woman in a turquoise T-shirt. She wore a massive silver-colored bracelet that chimed as she steadied the man. They moved away, the old man leaning on the girl, and neither spared a glance for their protector. He felt a pang of irritation when he realized no one had noticed his part in preventing the mugging.

  Oh, well. What did he expect? A parade?

  Just as he pushed the key into the driver’s side door, Justus felt his ward stone grow warm on his chest. From the barely discernible heat, he knew the magic was not close or strong. Probably the mage he felt earlier who nearly became his undoing with the hoodlums. Justus shrugged, opened his door, and slid into the seat, satisfied with the protection of his warding stone.

  He touched his burning cheek and wiped off a smear of blood.

  After helping the old man to his car where his anxious family gathered to hug and fuss over him, Sable Rounds stretched out her hand and gathered the element, Air. The watch flew to her fingers with a puff of energy. It was too dark for the humans to see clearly. They wouldn’t notice, she reasoned. Sable clenched her teeth when exhaustion hit her, and she handed the watch to the old man.

  “Oh, my dear,” the old gentleman said. His voice quivered. “How did you manage to find it in the dark?”

  “Picked it up after you got to your feet,” Sable said.

  She spread her hands wide and shook her head when he suggested a reward.

  “At least give me your name,” he said.

  She shook her head without replying and walked into the darkness.

  Her heart thumped. Magic. Someone had used their talent close by her, someone in the crowd. She fisted her hands as she walked. The gathered energy released by the unknown mage seemed tiny. Maybe she could slip away.

  In the shadows of the building, Sable found the concrete bench where she had left her large denim travel bag. Rumpled and dingy from many unintended journeys, the heavy material could take a beating. Sable sat on the cool bench and gave in to the fatigue, just for a moment, and felt again the pang of missing the concert. But listening to the reverberations and bass of the band through the walls of the auditorium seemed nearly good enough. Especially since cash wasn’t for extravagances.

  Nothing wrong with second best anyway.

  Sable stood and slung the bag over one shoulder. Time to move. No doubt, some of those good folks had called the cops, and she did not want to answer questions.

  And the magic worker was out there, blending with the crowd, probably waiting for her to mess up.

  The sound of distant thunder rolled over her, and she glanced at the night sky but saw no clouds. The stars glimmered fitfully beyond the streetlights. Ah, well, she needed to find someplace out of the night air anyway, rain or no rain. She set off for the overpass she had scouted earlier. She slipped past gyrating teens bent on imitating the band with air guitars, their strained, grimacing faces cast in ecstasy.

  She replayed the scene in her mind as she trotted down the sidewalk—the old man as he hit the ground, the laugh of the greasy creep holding the watch. And the dark blue shirt of the man standing between her and the thug, his back to her, arms spread wide, palms forward. She had had no other impressions of the tall, broad-shouldered man, but felt relief that someone would help the poor old guy. Instead, the young man moved away from the victim, as if he didn’t want to get involved. That thought was enough to start her emotions boiling again.

  When the flick of magic had shivered through the air, her stomach had roiled, but she’d forced her attention on the old man, ignoring the curses and grunts of the four men exercising their testosterone. She had to survive, and running away blindly was sure to get the magic maker’s attention.

  Sable hoped the blue-shirted man wasn’t hurt too badly. A little, yeah. Just a little—enough to sting. Maybe a pop to the mouth or, even better, a broken nose.

  She grumbled as she trotted down the empty street. Leaving an old man to fend for himself deserved a good hard smack. At least it would make her feel better.

  What a pathetic wuss for turning his back like that.

  Walking faster, she caught sight of the dark mouth of the concrete overpass just as another rumble of thunder warned her of the closing storm. Others had already claimed it as their shelter. Several pairs of eyes narrowed as she slipped under the concrete ledge and paused. With a spitting hiss, a large cat shot out from a dry patch of leaves, followed by four smaller versions of itself.

  “Oh, hey, I don’t mind sharing,” she said to the vanished forms.

  When there was no response, Sable shrugged and eyed the leaves for herself. The bed was still warm.

  Crap, no way around it. I need to find some work tomorrow, no matter what, and make some money. Living like this isn’t human.

  Sable laughed bitterly, then yawned and squirmed to find a comfortable position. A smell of warm cat and oak leaves rose, earthy and strangely comforting. She laid her head on the crook of her arm and her eyes drifted shut.

  As she slept, a pair of violet-blue eyes shone in the night and hesitantly crept closer.

  “Got it,” the man said, holding the ring up for the others to see. “Got the tissue sample.”

  Chapter Two

  Justus’s first concern was for his aged mother. She lived alone some distance from the shop he owned. Driving to her small home from the auditorium’s parking lot was a heart-in-the-throat trip, dodging tumbled light posts and emergency vehicles. The pickup hit the curb in front of her house with a tooth-chipping stop, and Justus was out of the cab before the vehicle could rebound. His headlong rush slowed when he saw her on the porch with a broom and a smile, completely unfazed. Nothing seemed to bother her—not the late hour, or her faintly askew front door, or the new crack in the living room window. Her concern was more for him. Or maybe for the toppled gazing ball. It had shattered into many pieces of turquoise-blue glass. Justus talked to her of the damage to the city while dropping the shar
ds into a metal trash bin.

  He stayed with her that night but, in the early morning, knew he could not put it off. Time to screw up his courage and check the damage at the antique shop.

  “You be good now,” Justus said sternly, pointing his finger at her. “Don’t be trying to do too much, or I’ll come back and give you what for.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You and who else?” his mother, Raissa, said. She rolled her eyes and pushed him out the door. “Get to your shop. I bet you have a lot more problems there than I do here.”

  “Oh, Emmett and Maggie will be there.” He grimaced as he thought of the McIntyres. The aged couple always tried to do too much. “You’re right, I’d better hurry.”

  “Maggie isn’t as old as I am, but that arthritis is a killer on joints.”

  Justus kissed his mother’s soft cheek, which smelled of lilacs and soap, and walked to his pickup. He waved as he slid into the cab. She stared intently, as if she had forgotten how to smile, then her face creased into laugh lines.

  Justus’s spirits lifted when he turned onto the familiar tree-lined street and at first saw little damage. But the scattered glass covering the walk in front of his shop sank his optimism. Justus looked up and clenched his teeth when he saw the broken windows to his apartment and the curtains waving in the breeze.

  Later. When there were no witnesses.

  Dust hung in the air as Justus crunched through the glass on the walk, eased through the open door, and groaned at the damage. The scent struck him first: the smell of alcohol. Why did it have to be the rare bottles of cognac that lay weeping on the old mahogany floor? Why couldn’t it have been the blackberry wine?

  “Damn it,” Justus said, louder than he’d intended.

  “Justus, is that you?” Maggie called out. She wobbled out of the back storage room, dragging the black garbage bag along the floor. Her knobby hand gripped the pull-strings. “Thought you’d be in soon. Your mom okay?”