It took me all day Sunday to come up with this. Not because I was interrupted, but because I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around the main character and his later motives. In addition, he’s a Circle mage, and these are supposed to be the bad guys.
1.
“Master, there is another.”
The magician who called himself MacDubh continued his chant, hearing the words but letting them wash over him like water. The white-haired man crouched over a bowl with a red-hot coal in it, continuing his chant.
He sprinkled the sage onto the red-hot charcoal and continued, concentrating entirely on the summoning spell. Finally, he lifted his head, and looked upon the spirit that had been summoned into the Brass Circle.
The top half of the spirit was a naked blue-skinned female, which turned into a blue snake at her bottom half, with shining blue scales that sparkled in the torchlight. Mac stood up to his full height, a broad-shouldered man seemingly without an ounce of fat on his 51-year-old frame. “What, Javan?”
“There is another summoner.”
“There are many other summoners,” Mac said, leaning backwards, holding onto the small of his back. He would have to put a mustard poultice on it before sleeping tonight.
“He summons us for evil.”
Mac gazed upon the snake-woman. Spirits would say anything to get out of the Brass Circle, but he had worked with Javan before, and she had never wanted to get out of the Circle before.
“He summons us to kill.”
Mac frowned. He thought he had taken care of the wild mages in the Isles, the demon summoners and the dark magicians who thought they had control over their wild powers. Most had joined him and his coven, keeping watch on the Isles of other wild mages. The others, the ones who chose to remain independent, were given the option of using their powers for the betterment of the people. Of course some mages would remain selfish, but those he made sure would not progress. Many of those left for Paragon City, and became their problem.
Then there were the few obstinate ones, the ones who wanted to take over the world, or who used their vulgar magic without caring what the collateral damage would be, or any damage at all. Those he called Murderers, and were subject to his pure wrath. The ones who could run did; the ones who couldn’t or refused were dead by his hand.
“Where is he?”
“He is in Paragon now.”
Mac turned to the table near the Circle and sat down at it. Seven inkpots were lined up along it, and scrolls were in a pocket at the side. “Then he’s their problem.”
“He wishes to become Incarnate.”
Again, he frowned. “So does everyone now-a-days, it seems. We have work to do, I do not have time for idle gossip.”
“Yes, master.”
“I need a spell to assist a young lady with her piano playing. She has what is called ‘fat fingers’…”
Javan dictated the color of ink and type of scroll, and dictated the spell itself. She finished, and said to him, “What will you do?”
“He’s in Paragon City. I have no reason to go there. There are plenty of heroes who could take care of him.”
“He killed four heroes.”
Mac again looked up. “What?”
“He did kill four heroes.”
“How do you know this?”
“We have heard from the ghosts.”
Mac sighed. “I will find out more.”
2.
Alpin McDuff opened the door to the garage, glancing back at the small line of people ready to go in. He passed a hand through his white hair and smiled at the customers. “Hey, Mac,” said a young long-haired man, pressing a cup of coffee into his hand.
“Joey, how was your weekend?” MacDuff smiled at Joey, while his other employees and some customers filed by him.
“Busy, you know? See the game last night?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Good game!” he said, walking on by and heading into the garage proper. Mac nodded to the customers, who were dropping off their vehicles. There was Mr. Lloyd, who was a hypochondriac when it came to his car. It wouldn’t be a proper Monday morning without seeing Mr. Lloyd.
“Morning, Mr. Lloyd,” Mac said, finishing turning on the lights.
“Yeah, well, my car’s clutch is slipping.”
“You have an automatic.”
“It’s got a clutch inside it, doesn’t it?”
“Not really, but we’ll take a look at it. Keys, please?”
The gruff older man handed them over to Mac who dutifully put his name in and gave him a ticket so he could pick it up. “Give us a couple of hours, okay?”
“I’ll be across the street.” He usually hit the donut shop there every Monday morning as well.
“Very good, sir.” Then Mac smiled at the next customer.
After checking the four people in, he went to find his employees. Six men were gathered in the back room, while Arthur told them stories of his weekend that left them all in stitches. “Guys, guys…” Mac said, closing the door. “Anyone do any work this weekend?”
The group fell quiet, looking at each other. Not only were they his employees, but they were also part of his coven. Mages all at one time or another, the ones he considered the wilder ones, he trained them in mechanics so he could keep a closer eye on them. Many had gone to start up their own garages or other businesses in other parts of the Isles, still returning to him during the high holidays or whenever he needed their services.
“I know one of you is lying to me.”
An older man with a pony tail down his back waved his head back and forth. “Okay, okay, I did a lust spell.”
“Did you get laid?” Arthur asked, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Was it worth it?”
The older man waved his head back and forth, blushing. “I…uh…”
The rest of the men roared with laughter and Mac shook his head. “What lesson did you learn?”
“Never to cast a spell into the ether, because you might get a dog!” roared a black man with translucent gray eyes.
“Or some psycho bitch,” commented another.
“You’d know all about those,” said the older man.
“Enough. Who wants Lloyd’s car?”
They all groaned. The only one who had been silent all this time, a man maybe five or six years younger than Mac, held his hand out for the slip. “I know that car inside and out.”
“I know you do,” Mac said, giving it to him. “Let’s get to work, boys.”
3.
Mac had his head deep in the guts of Mrs. Gravois’ Mercedes when the bell to the shop entrance rang. “Somebody get that!” he yelled, and soon saw a woman’s face peer through the space in the engine. “Misty?”
“Mac.”
Mac rolled out from under the Mercedes. “Hey, what’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She nodded, her eyes wide and clutching one of her many large tote bags. Misty was one of the other few mages that he could trust with his life. She had hooked up with him for a May-December relationship, which didn’t go much further than the December of that same year. She was going out with another young man who he knew had no inklings of becoming a mage, but didn’t mind her dabbling in it.
Mac put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the office behind the counter. He shut the door and sat at his huge desk, piled high with invoices and orders, most paid, some not. There were too many customers who didn’t pay their bills, and he didn’t have the heart – or the inclination – to send enforcers after most of them. However, there were a few that he was tempted…
He put that thought aside and looked at the mousey young lady across from him. While not necessarily agile in bed, she certainly was creative. “So what’s wrong?”
“The djinn told me a man in Paragon is killing people.”
“I’ve heard that too.”
“He showed me. Mac, it was horrible! It was…he tore them apart, body and soul. He tore the souls apart and fed them to his demons.”
“Demons don’t necessarily eat souls.”
“These do!”
Mac held back a sigh. “Did you get a name?”
“He has red hair and is black. I mean…black. With red lines on his body.” She leaned forward. “Can you ask the spirits, the demons, if they know who he is? Or at least the demons…”
“Which djinn did you summon?”
“My own, Fariel.”
“So where did he hear this from?”
“It’s all over the aether. The spirits are afraid. He knows how to get to the spirit world.”
He tried again not to sigh. “Misty, he’s not causing trouble here. There are plenty of other mages, and heroes, in Paragon. They have the Zig, for God’s sake. Let them take care of him.”
Misty nevertheless looked frightened. “Don’t you know any mages over there? To tell them?”
“The ones from my old coven are dead and gone.” He didn’t want to talk about that time. He wished he could forget it. “The only other mages I know are the Circle mages in Nerva. They can contact their brethren in Paragon.”
“There’s us!” Misty cried.
He shook his head. “Let’s not involve ourselves in Paragon’s issues, or they’ll expect us to come running to their rescue all the time. No, we deal with enough wild magic here.”
“What if – what if – he takes our djinn?”
“I doubt he can do even that. They are bound to us first, they won’t go willingly. And we would know.”
She didn’t look too convinced. Whatever Fariel had showed her frightened her to the bone, and it took a lot to get Misty that scared. “I’ll talk to an Orestes, have him pass the message on to the Orestes in Paragon.”
Misty realized that was the best she was going to get out of him, and nodded. She gathered her tote to her and said, “Sorry to bother you, Archmage.”
“Misty…”
She tossed her head up and left the office. He frowned. Who was this mage? And why are the spirits so concerned?
Mac had made a promise, however, so he meant to keep it. He threw open the window to the office. He went to the fridge and pulled out a piece of liver. Using a Sharpie, he drew a symbol on it and left it on the windowsill. He threw out the Sharpie, and then waited.
A huge black crow came and lit on the piece of liver. It looked at the symbol, and then looked at him. “Tell the Orestes there is a wild mage in Paragon that needs to be spoken to. That is all.”
The crow took the liver and flew off.
Words: 1777
Inspiration: Looking for Grim’s Nemesis. His Dark Materials for the idea of djinn and demons as helpers.
Music: too many