armor of magic 02 - rising light Page 2

  “I can protect you,” I whispered.

  “No you can’t.” Asher got out of bed and put on his shirt and jeans.

  “You’re not going with him, are you?”

  “Like your Guide said, I don’t have a choice. If I don’t go, your life will be in more danger than it already is.” He leaned down and cupped my face, kissing me. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure things out with the old bosses. They’re big on redemption and all that …”

  Tearful goodbyes were the worst, so I pulled away and sunk under the covers. I didn’t want to see Asher glimmer away from me.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Ezra said. “We might have a lead on the other Scroll.”

  I lifted my hand out from under the covers and flipped him off.

  Ezra laughed in his patronizing manner reserved only for me. “That attitude won’t win you any favors with the Monarchy,” he said.

  “Just bring him home soon, Ezra. Okay?”

  And just like that my gorgeous rogue-angel ex-bounty hunter boyfriend was gone. Not the homecoming I was expecting—at all.

  four

  With Asher gone and Charlotte and my parents still missing, it was time to throw myself a little pity party. Perhaps melodramatic and petulant, but it just seemed right. Being alone in the house was causing waves of paranoia that I would always be alone. Like forever. But nothing a little Netflix and napping couldn’t fix. I made sure to replenish my food supply, and by food I mean Doritos, Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream and red wine. So those were my days for the next few weeks, and at night I went on demon safari. A good way to vent pent-up shit, by the way.

  Though I was kicking ass all over town and had binge watched a British melodrama about aristocrats and their servants in a manor, I was still restless. Something was missing. I mean, besides everyone I’ve ever cared about.

  So I dialed up Somer Barrett, my former editor-in-chief at Lifting the Fog, to see if she had any writing assignments … and I wasn’t above a fluff piece. I just needed something, anything really, to occupy my mind.

  “Hi, Somer, it’s Fiona Farrow. I used to work for you,” I said into her voicemail. “I’m back from my trip and wondering if you have any freelance gigs you’d like to toss my way. Text or call. Thanks.”

  Before I had gone to supernatural cross-training in Glimmer City with Ezra and Julian, I had made a secret agreement with Somer that I’d call her upon returning. She loved my piece that exposed Emmett Stone’s human trafficking operation. As a matter of fact, most people in San Francisco and throughout the country lauded the story: it woke up many people who had been clueless about the level and nature of corruption going on in the city, and the world, for that matter. Rather than the “politicians are corrupt” generality we hear all the time, my story put a specific name to the exact crime and nailed his ass. My story told the world: here is one messed up dude, and you bet guys like him are everywhere. If little ol’ Fiona Farrow could shine the light on some of these jerks, perhaps some others might be inspired to do so as well. Help with the fight—at least on the human level. Especially since the Shadow Order never ceased its quest for supernatural domination and complete control of the minds, bodies and souls of all humans. Darkness was their game. But mine was protecting the Light.

  Speaking of the Shadow Order, during my stint in Glimmer City I had an image of Cagliostro pinned up on the wall of my mind and I trained like a prize fighter looking at it. Yes, Julian’s “think-about-stuff-you-dig” technique helped with my general outlook, but motivation to go up against the most powerful demon mage within the Shadow Order was fueled by righteous hatred. Cagliostro was a real son-of-a-bitch, and because of him my parents were missing and my best friend was in hiding. Apparently, Cagliostro had also been keeping a low profile after the big attack at the Palace Hotel over the summer. Recuperating from Lilith’s dagger in the back, no doubt. Planning something diabolical, no doubt about that, either.

  My buzzing phone shook me back into the present moment. “Hi, Somer,” I said in my most cheerful voice.

  “Fiona! So great to hear from you. How was your time away? Feeling rested and ready to expose some criminals?”

  If she only knew the truth of that statement. I was ready to take down every bad guy in both worlds.

  “I sure am,” I told her.

  “At the moment, I have something a bit obscure, but it could end up being a juicy story to sink your teeth into.”

  “I’m all ears,” I said.

  “I’ve heard about a few murders in some remote towns that are questionable. Like blood being drained from bodies. I can email you the links to the stories. You can start there and see if they lead to anything bigger. Sound good?”

  I paused. Not because I didn’t want to follow a lead to a potentially juicy story, but because the murders didn’t seem questionable; they sounded supernatural. Great. I really just wanted to write a straightforward story, like something about a prostitution ring. Or fraudulent bankers. Why the added burden of an evil supernatural element? I knew why: the evil supernatural element would most likely be the common denominator for all scandals. Duh. I had to keep remembering that—the supernatural and the natural were inextricably entwined. After all, humans weren’t the originators of Darkness—that was the Shadow Order’s stock in trade. But humans made the choice to go down the path. My job as a Protector of Light was to snuff out the Darkness, and at least make the choice a bit less enticing.

  Yet here I was, trying to balance my natural side with the supernatural one; investigative journalist and Protector of Light. Of course I couldn’t hand Somer Barrett a story detailing the exact nature of things—she would either have me committed or transferred to the fiction department. “Yeah, Somer. Figured it all out. It’s just a ring of demons draining people’s blood to sell to vampires.”

  Nope. Even my human trafficking piece had disclosed only the human side of the operation with allusions to “evil-minded people” like Emmett Stone. None of the faeries, demons, and magical components showed up in the piece. In the footage that Laila, my faerie friend, shot for me, anything supernatural either showed up as human, a lens-flare, or just didn’t show up at all. That’s how things were. The humans were, for the most part, being kept in the dark about the other dimensions. I didn’t know how I felt about that. Should they know? Or would they completely lose their shit if they could see all the magical phenomena that was really going on?

  “I’ll pay you triple what I was paying you before,” Somer said, mistaking my silence as a negotiating tactic.

  “I’m in. Send me the links, and I’ll get to work. I’ll keep you posted with my findings.”

  She practically squealed. I could just picture her wearing her earpiece and clapping her perfectly manicured hands as she paraded through the office like a cyclone. Somer Barrett loved a good scoop, and my last story had skyrocketed her to the top tier in news blogs, so I had pretty much made her day. And vice versa.

  ***

  Somer sent me the links to the stories; each of the three incidents happened in a different small town in Arizona. I looked for any patterns or similarities, but the only obvious thing was the way they were murdered. The bodies had been hung up on hooks then drained of blood. That vampire bitch came to mind. I filed that in the “possibly connected” folder in my brain. I started sleuthing around the internet searching for murders via blood drainage. One thing led to another, and by the end of the day I had a pattern: all the bodies that had been drained of blood recently were in small southwest towns. A total of thirty-three so far. Obviously a pattern. Obviously evil. Just not sure which faction. Vampires? Sure, you’d get random thug-like vampire killings here in the west, but generally on this side of the Mississippi the bloodsuckers stayed low-key and acquired their blood via the “cleaner” means. Usually on the black market run by Cagliostro and company. Vampires didn’t orchestrate ritual killings in known Shadow Order turf. At least according to the many briefings Ezra gave us up in Glimmer Cit
y about how things are run down here.

  The front doorbell chimed and at first I didn’t recognize the sound because I had never heard it. Nobody had “stopped by” since I had returned from Glimmer City. Not a single nosey neighbor. Probably had something to do with Asher’s cloaking mechanism.

  I looked through the peep-hole to find surfer-bro Julian on my front porch looking roughed up. Cuts streaked along his cheeks, and his clothes were shredded. I opened the door and let in the only other Protector of Light I knew. Besides my parents, of course.

  “Dude!” I said, teasing him.

  “Hey,” he mumbled in a very un-Julian manner.

  “Whoa, what’s wrong, kid? You run out of weed?”

  He looked to the ground, ignoring my barb. I patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m just messing with you. What’s going on? I’ve never seen you so, um, sullen or forlorn. Did you become emo or something? No more surf and sun?”

  “My house is gone. Burned to the ground. So not only are my folks missing, I don’t have anywhere to live.”

  I saw where this was going and I needed to nip that shit in the bud before he—

  “I need a place to stay. So, whaddya say?”

  “Oh, um. What about your friends? Won’t they miss you?”

  “My buds are a mess. Got into some dark shit while I was gone. Tried to steer them down the right path, but they didn’t want to listen. As a matter of fact …” He gestured to his wounds and his torn shirt. “Those dark warlock asshats in Los Angeles are convincing-ass mindfuckers. They turned my own homies against me.”

  Julian didn’t wait for my answer. He set his ratty backpack down in the foyer and began strolling through the house.

  “Shoes off!” I yelled.

  He managed a laugh. “Dude. You’re more uptight than ever. Thought you’d be more chill now that training is over.”

  “Well, let’s just say I have some pent-up aggression. The Monarchy has Asher ‘under review.’”

  Julian laughed again as he went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “The dude did go rogue. So you’re still a virgin, I take it?”

  I gave him a hearty eye roll. “Not your business, kid.”

  He stared into my empty fridge. “And you have no grub. What have you been doing?”

  “Also none of your business.”

  Taking out the last pint of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer, he sat down at the kitchen counter and dug in. I guess that was a good thing. I needed to fit into my jeans again.

  “How’d you find my place? Asher has it cloaked.”

  “Not from my gear. I can see it loud and clear.”

  “Loud and clear? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  Once he polished off the ice cream, he started going through my bare cabinets. “This is pretty sad, Fiona. No wonder you’re still a virgin. Dudes like food.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “But I’m your favorite asshole. Let’s go shopping. I’ll buy you some grub and you can tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself. Judging from the looks of it, I’d say a whole lotta boob-tube.”

  Julian didn’t give me a chance to rebut his suggestion; he yanked my arm and pulled me out the front door.

  I held what was left of his sleeve. “Can we get you some new clothes while we’re at it? You can’t walk around Pacific Heights looking like this. They’ll call the cops.”

  “Sure. I’ve got plenty of dough. Fortunately, my folks left me a trust fund. Planning ahead, I guess.”

  “So you’re a trust fund brat? That explains a lot.”

  We made our way to one of the boutiques on Fillmore and entered. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Also, if you’re going to stay with me, there are some rules we need to establish.”

  Julian waved me off and went straight to the gorgeous sales woman and began flirting. She showed him a bunch of shirts and jeans that suited his personality to perfection. I waited in the front of the shop while he sorted out his new wardrobe.

  At the market, a much more dapper-looking Julian bought a bunch of food—enough for the next couple weeks.

  “I really dig cooking. Can’t wait to break in your new kitchen.”

  Yep. I had called it. Julian was planning to take over my house and ruin my life. The writing was on the wall.

  As we walked across the small parking lot, a loud ruckus emanated from behind a dumpster. We stopped. A flock of bat-like creatures swirled up out of the bin, morphing into a colossal black tornado.

  “This is new,” I said.

  The growing twister surged our way at full speed, causing us to drop our bags and call on our Armor. We cloaked ourselves so people passing by couldn’t see what was going on—just your average supernatural attack in broad daylight … move along, nothing to see … and I had no idea whether or not these things were visible to the human eye. I lifted my shield and under its magical force field I was able to move closer to the tornado without getting sucked up into it. Dirt, gravel and pieces of garbage flew in the air around us as the spiral of black grew larger and louder. Julian stood next to me, aiming his sword at the mass.

  “What the hell is that?” he yelled over the gusting winds.

  “No clue, but it’s definitely not good.”

  Julian nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the black storm zeroing in on us. A string of the bat-like creatures pulled away from the swarm like a piece of thread from a spool. Then it swept down low and wrapped around Julian’s waist, locking his arms to his sides so he couldn’t swing his sword.

  “Let him go!” I yelled at the massive twister.

  Another string of bats, or whatever the hell they were, separated from the tornado like an arm and came right at me. I held up my shield, creating a force field around me. I needed to help Julian before those things swallowed him whole, or swept him away. Something Ezra had told us in Glimmer City came back to me. Words for an invocation.

  “Julian! The Logos! Repeat the Logos!”

  “Dude, I can’t remember them,” he shouted.

  Of course he couldn’t remember them. They were in some crazy ancient inter-dimensional language that only a very meticulous and hyper-vigilant student could’ve memorized. Fortunately, I was that type of student.

  I moved closer to the tornado, keeping my shield locked in place. “Repeat after me: Your Darkness has no authority. We stand with the power of the Light. The Light binds the dark. The Light binds the dark.”

  The buzzing tumult of the swarm grew louder, and I wasn’t sure if Julian could make out the words I shouted. Especially since they sounded like they were ancient Sumerian or Hebrew. Either way, foreign and a mouthful. I continued yelling the words, hoping he’d pick up something and start repeating it. Ezra had told us that together our words called upon the mighty forces of Light to bind the Dark. The more Protectors repeating the invocation, the stronger their power.

  Finally, Julian got the gist of it and began shouting with me. The black tornado of bat-like creatures began to whimper and squeal like a dying cat. Julian dropped to the ground and lifted his sword. As I shielded us with the force field, he began chopping away at the swarm and we kept repeating the words Ezra had taught us.

  The blackness burst into an explosion that shot both of us back a few feet. It was gone. We de-cloaked and nonchalantly collected our bags before any of the grocery store attendants came out to remove them from the parking lot.

  “That was fun!” Julian said, practically skipping down Fillmore.

  “Yeah, barrels.”

  “You’re a bump on a log.”

  “And you’re a pain in my ass.”

  He laughed and slapped my shoulder; the two Protectors were back in business. Julian might’ve been stoked, or maybe he was pumped up with Armor adrenaline, but I knew in my bones that something was way off. I had never come across anything quite like that massive cyclone of bats.

  five

  While digging around on the internet for more details about the biza
rro murders in those small Southwestern towns, Julian shouted for me from his bedroom. He had been holed up in there for a few days doing who knows what, so I was a little nervous about entering his domain.

  I stood by the door. “What’s up?”

  “You gotta come in here. I just found something you might wanna see.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s on the internet, related to your creepy-ass research.”

  I barreled through the door, curiosity piqued. The pungent stench of dirty clothes and sweat slapped my face. I had to open a couple windows to let out the stink and allow in some fresh air. Stacks of plates and crusty silverware sat on the nightstand and dresser top.

  “Dude!” I said. “You are not abiding by the house rules.”

  “I thought that only applied to the communal areas.”

  I yanked him out of bed. “All areas. I know you’re a little depressed, and trust me, I get it. When my parents disappeared I thought I’d die. But you have to get back up on the horse. So, come on, let’s clean this up.”

  “Don’t you want to see what I found?”

  “Oh, yeah. But let’s put the laptop on your desk. I’m not going anywhere near that bed. You really need to wash those sheets.”

  Julian set the laptop on the desk and stepped back, dramatically pressing play on the YouTube video on his screen. The video was an interview with a sheriff from a tiny town called Eagle’s Nest north of Santa Fe, New Mexico. The tall and brooding Sheriff Padilla stood out in the hot sun, tilting back his hat and wiping his wrinkled brow with a handkerchief. I turned up the volume to make sure I didn’t miss anything. He had found a young woman hanging up in a nearby barn with all the blood drained from her.

  “Sick, right?” Julian said.

  “Shh.” I moved closer to the screen.

  Something about Sheriff Padilla seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I replayed the video a couple times, trying to glean what I could. But the quality was poor and the only pertinent information I had been able to lock in had been the date and time of the murder. It was the most current in the string of diabolical slayings.