Mage's Trial

Book 2: Mages of New York

by Sean Fletcher

Genres: Young Adult; YA Fantasy; YA Wizards & Witches; YA Contemporary; YA Paranormal; YA Werewolves & Shifters; urban fantasy; young adult fantasy; ya fantasy; mages

Synopsis

The epic second book in the*now complete* Mage’s Apprentice series!

An ancient evil is murdering the Mages, and she might be the next to die.

Things are bad for Aspen, the newest—despised—Mage of New York. The Council of Mages is in shambles, Lucien’s confession has left her wondering if she can trust anyone, and Isak, the boy she was starting to fall for, is nowhere to be found.

Now she’s running out of time. Maladias’ servants, the Kings, have made it to Earth, tasked with a single purpose: Kill all the Mages and make way for their master’s return.

Aspen might not be the Mage anyone wants, but soon she’ll be the only one they’ve got.

With Isak gone, it’ll take all of Aspen’s newfound power, cunning, and bravery to bring him back and find the Kings…before they find her.

Mage’s Trial is the second book in the *now completed* Mage’s Apprentice series. If you like snarky, fast-paced fantasies full of magical underdogs, mystery, and a slow burn enemies-to-lovers romance, this series is for you

Release date: May 7, 2019

Publisher: Epic Worlds Publishing

Print pages: 276

Sample

Chapter One—The First Death

What an absolute mess.

Mage Don Jones cut through the rain-slicked streets of New York City, head down against the slowly worsening weather. His mind repeated the words that had almost become a mantra to him the past few weeks. Ever since…ever since…She’d shown up. That’s when everything had started falling apart.

What an absolute mess. What an absolute mess. As if Maladias wasn’t bad enough.

He paused at a riverside park, whitecaps dotting the tops of the river’s swells as the wind scooped its hand over the surface. A small, worn path cut inland up the hill from where he stood on the sidewalk. There was a cemetery up that way. It was one of the many entrances to the Necropolis, one of the seven magical boroughs of New York; the one he was supposed to be the overseeing Mage for.

Supposed to being the key words. But now…now…

Don Jones struggled up the path—panting the entire way—and peered over the lip of the cemetery’s rusted gate. He wiped his eyes to see better. The cemetery was filled with weeds and thick with mud. Some of it splattered the nearest tombstone, a slight that in days past would have got him more than one complaint from upset Necropolis residents. But he didn’t care about those who were long dead now. He was here to see if…

The door to the crypt was tightly shut. Don Jones closed his eyes and reached out with his other sense, but felt nothing. The magic from this borough entrance was still and truly gone. Sucked dry. Stolen. By Mage Xavier no less. Don Jones still had trouble believing that, but it turned out that insufferable troublemaker Lucien Dunadine and his pseudo-apprentice—Mage now, Don Jones reminded himself with a scoff—Aspen Rivest had been right. Xavier had been stealing magic from the boroughs and from supernatural creatures alike. He’d killed quite a few of them, too. And with their magic he’d nearly completely taken down the protective wards that had been conjured around the city for centuries. The boroughs hadn’t been happy when they’d found out that a Mage—someone who was supposed to protect them, was supposed to be above corruption—had been behind the wave of terror gripping the supernatural community the last few weeks. How they’d found out Don Jones still didn’t know.

The crypt door remained shut, no matter how much he stared at it. Don Jones grumbled and pushed off the fence. So…another entrance to another borough closed. The other Mages weren’t too keen on sharing any of the goings-on in their boroughs, but in the sparse meetings the Council had called since Xavier’s demise, Don Jones could tell his wasn’t the only borough this was happening to. The Mages could punish and plead all they wanted, but the residents were getting unruly.

Ungrateful pests.

Don Jones raised a hand and pulled the light from the nearest streetlamp, casting a glow ahead of his footsteps as he waddled back down the path and into the winding streets of Hell’s Kitchen. He needed to go see the Heads of the Necropolis. Again. Not that they’d listen to him. Unruly. Ungrateful. A nuisance. Being a Mage had been so much easier back when he’d first started. He’d had power. Respect. Control. Nobody questioned every decision he and the Mages made. Nobody dared. The Council had ruled with a benevolent iron fist. Things had been working.

Then that girl came along.

Don Jones knew Mage Lucien and his upstart attitude would become an issue if unchecked. He’d warned the Council, but had they listened? Certainly not. And look where it got them. Lucien had brought the girl in. A powerless girl. A Null. Don Jones had been so hoping to see her fail. Perhaps he didn’t want her dead, but certainly maimed a bit, during the assessment against Xavier’s apprentice.

But had that happened? Of course not! The silly nobody succeeded! She’d proved them all wrong, killed Mage Xavier, stopped the wards around New York from completely crumbling so that now they were only mostly defenseless. Now Xavier’s apprentice, Isak, the only possible hope of restoring some sanity and order to the Council, had run off to who knew where. Don Jones suspected the girl did, but she wasn’t telling, leaving them with this…this…

What an absolute mess.

Don Jones paused. Without realizing it he’d wandered into more narrowed streets. Ahead, the light from car headlights skimming by cast dancing refractions into the puddles at his feet. It might as well have been miles away for how alone he suddenly felt. Alone, and so very, very cold…

“Mage Don Jones,” a voice hissed.

Don Jones jumped, his belly jiggling uncomfortably. He forced himself to slowly turn.

The street behind him was empty. He cast his light a little farther out. Still nothing.

Perhaps he was hearing things. As much as he bluffed and blustered his way through that ridiculous girl’s warnings about Maladias coming to destroy them, he would admit he was nervous. Maladias would not be the first to come through the wards, she’d warned the Council. First he would send his Kings, three malevolent servants who would prepare the way. Their task, their horrible, wretched task, would be to kill all the Mages.

Absurd. Absolutely absurd. As absurd as it was to hear Maladias of all beings was coming back. He was Mage Don Jones! He wouldn’t be frightened of children’s fairytales and the half-cooked stories of some Norm Null girl who would have been better off staying on her side of the city.

“Mage Don Jones,” the voice hissed again.

A shadow moved from beneath the overhang of a nearby doorway. Don Jones had to tilt his head ever-so-slightly to the right to view the speaker out of the corner of his eye, before he was able to look at him straight on. Wraiths did not make a habit out of being easily seen.

“What is it?” Don Jones snapped, some of the tension leaving his body. Just a wraith. A normal, simple, pesky wraith. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

The wraith stepped closer, being sure to stay out of the direct light. More solid than ghosts but meaner than wisps, wraiths, the vengeful spirits of those wronged at death, perhaps had worried him at one time. Unlike spirits, they could affect the physical world. Most of them had unfinished business here on the physical plane. Even more had vendettas. Gods help the one they held those against.

“Isn’t it a bit late to be out wandering the streets alone, Mage Don Jones?” The wraith said. Magic dripped over him like a cloak and pooled at his feet, giving him a vaguely human shape. His glowing eyes peered from wreaths of blackness where his head would have been. “Especially…” the wraith went on, “with the news we’ve been hearing.”

“Is that all you’ve come to talk to me about?” Don Jones drawled. He raised a hand. The tips of his fingers glowed with the promise of a spell. “Should I show you what I do to those who waste my time?”

The wraith didn’t flinch. His eyes continued boring into him.

Ungrateful pest.

“I simply came to see if you’re all right. You’ve been so absent from the Necropolis lately. We were…” The wraith chuckled. “…worried.”

“You know very well why I haven’t been there!”

“Ah, yes. The closed entrances. I am sorry. It’s a precaution, you see.”

“A precaution?”

“Maladias? And his three Kings? Surely you’ve heard—”

“Of course I’ve heard! And as your Mage you will cease closing the entrances unless I give you explicit permission to do so—”

There was a slither in the shadows behind the wraith and suddenly the darkness teemed with movement. Don Jones, in his experience working with the Necropolis for so long, was adept at seeing the true form of something that others often missed. And he did not like what he saw. Tentacles, tendrils, claws, fangs. A massive multitude of roiling darkness and nightmares. For a moment he was frozen by a somewhat unfamiliar sensation:

Fear, he realized. It was fear.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, drawing his short frame as straight as he could. “You dare try to threaten me?”

The wraith raised a hand and waved the teeming mass away. It slowly slunk back into the shadows; still there, Don Jones knew, still waiting, but just out of sight. “I apologize. They wanted to come along. You understand how hard it is to keep the undead under control.” The wraith gave him a heavy look. “Especially when they are tired of being under someone’s thumb.”

The wraith tilted its head up to the sky. He breathed in deeply, and Don Jones, in all his time speaking with the undead, had never thought to ask if they could breathe. He’d never wondered, though they were dead, if they ever feared the physical threats he so often used against them.

“Can you feel them?” The wraith whispered. “One is here. He is searching. There has been darkness moving in the boroughs. Darkness not of our making. It prowls the streets and seeks you. Seeks all of you.”

Don Jones glanced sharply around. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Perhaps the eyes of a Vamp—they’d been especially rowdy lately—but all he saw were shadows.

The stupid wraith was making him jumpy.

“Have the False Mage come to us,” the wraith said.

“Excuse me?” Don Jones blustered.

“The False Mage.”

“You don’t mean—the girl? What on earth do you want with her?”

“Have her find us. We’d like to speak with her. There are things we think she should know. Things we wish to discuss.”

“Now listen here!” Don Jones’ usual confidence returned in a sudden rush. He stepped forward, waggling his finger. “I am your Mage! You will speak to me, only to me. You will obey my commands and right now I command you open up the borough entrances for me once again. You will not deal with that…that...imposter!”

And before the wraith could answer, Don Jones swirled around and stomped off. He stuffed his hands beneath his coat. Because they were cold, of course. They were shaking because he was cold.

He kept the wraith and his shadowy cohorts at the edge of his vision until he turned the corner and let out a long breath. Home. He needed that. Needed to get inside his place of sanctuary, perhaps heat himself a nice mug of tea. Get his mind off all these unsettling thoughts.

Speak with the False Mage. Ha! What a ridiculous idea. Though Don Jones had to admit that was a nice name for her. False Mage. The girl had some smidgen of talent. For a thief. And yes, even he would admit being a Null had its perks when one was dealing with the magical community.

But residents from his borough speaking to her? Absurd. As if she could do anything he couldn’t.

He was almost home. He’d gotten a nice apartment overlooking the Rockefeller Center. The spot hadn’t come cheap, of course. But then, it overlooked the plaza and had all the best restaurants in less than a five minutes’ walk. And he was a Mage. What good was having the position if he wasn’t able to indulge a bit?

“Mage Don Jones?” a voice hissed.

“Oh, now what—”

He turned. There was a shape in the darkness, walking quickly toward him. Don Jones felt a clench of fear in his chest. This shape didn’t move like a wraith. This shape…

“Mage Don Jones?” the voice hissed again, and there was a sinister growl beneath.

 “What are you—?”

The figure raised its hands. There was a bright flash of light. The spell hit Don Jones square in the chest. He felt the searing, felt the agonizing burning as it crawled over his skin, buried itself beneath, scorched his bones and kissed his organs to oblivion. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think of anything except the excruciating agony. The spell reached his neck and crawled into his mouth, choking him. He tried to scream.

Then he knew no more.

 

 

Chapter Two—The Warning

Aspen wanted to punch something.

Specifically, she wanted to punch the slimy-faced orc currently smirking at her. The rest of his buddies he’d brought snickered, closing up ranks behind him in what she was sure they thought an intimidating display. To her left, the small group of dwarves she was mediating for looked as though they wanted to shove her out from between them and give her hours of explaining to the Council why a clan of orcs were now nothing more than neatly cubed chunks of axe meat.

It wasn’t her favorite way to start a Monday.

“Okay…Okay…” Apsen said, pinching the bridge of her nose in a movement that was becoming disturbingly habitual. “Go over what you told me one more time.”

Grubly, the lead orc, sneered. “Go over it please, you mean.”

Aspen’s fingers itched to wrap around the hilt of her Dakri knife. One nick and these pigs on two legs would bleed until she wanted it to stop. But she was a Mage now. She couldn’t do things the way she used to.

Even if she really, really wanted to.

“Please go over what you told me one more time,” Aspen gritted out. “And quickly. I haven’t got all day.”

“But yer supposed to listen to us,” Grubly said. “Ain’t that what you Mages do? You work for us now, girlie.”

“That’s Mage Aspen to you,” Aspen said. “Don’t make me remind you again.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Grubly and the other orcs chuckled again. Grubly pulled up the sleeves of his hole-filled, filthy rags he called a shirt. His fat, gray pockmarked face looked like he’d run into an angry beehive, his mouth filled with unfiled, rancid teeth. He was big. Much bigger than her.

No. Aspen clenched her fists, swallowing a sudden surge of anger. She couldn’t just stab them. She had to at least try acting like a Mage.

“Sorry, Mage Aspen,” Grubly mocked. “But ya supposed to hear us out. Gurk never did. These land thieves—”

“We’re no thieves!” the dwarf beside Aspen protested. He and his group took a threatening step forward. They were a full head shorter than the orcs but thick with muscle and gnarled, strong hands. Even the women. “This has been our hole for years!”

“A hole you stole, ya mean!” Grubly said. He turned to Aspen. “Listen, girlie…”

Aspen pulled aside the fold of her tattered leather jacket just enough so that Grubly could see the grapple, powders, and knife she had tucked away there. The little bit of magic her Null body had stored at the moment bristled. She couldn’t risk letting that out. As a Null, she could absorb and negate magic attacks, even use some of that same magic against her opponents. But she couldn’t control it well. Not yet.

“That’s Mage—”

“—Aspen, right, yah, sorry,” Grubly said, leering. “But these ground humpers’ve been squatting on our land for here bouts ten years now. Mage Gurk, rest his weary bones, would have seen it our way, you can be sure a that.”

The dwarf beside Aspen was turning purple with rage, too angry to even sputter out a response. Aspen sighed and looked again at the hole in question, neatly bored into the side of the hill on the east side of the Cloisters in the Bronx. She’d seen dwarven housing before. It was often smooth-walled. Tidy. She might even call it quaint. This particular hole was all those things. It also looked like it’d been that way for a long, long time.

But Aspen already knew that.

She also already knew the orc’s claim was complete dragon piss, as was her time wasted coming out here. But the orcs knew she would anyway. They knew, as the newest member of the Council of Mages, she was required to listen to every petty grievance thrown her way. That meant most of the supernatural beings in Rivendell, home of the orcs, elves, and dwarves, were using this chance to rekindle old turf disputes. It was odd, how much all the supernatural beings had hated her before because she was a Norm and a Null. But the second she became a Mage and poof! Suddenly she was the most popular person around.

“Mage Aspen.” The dwarf nearest her looked pleading. His hazel eyes were practically brimming with tears. “I know you’re new here, but I promise this hole is ours. I swear by my father’s hammer it is.”

Aspen took a deep breath, preparing herself. “I believe you.”

The slimy grin slid off Grubly’s face. “’Scuse me?”

Aspen faced him, mentally preparing herself for a confrontation. “We all know you have about as much claim to their home as I do. That means absolutely none, in case you were wondering. I’ve heard your complaint and I’ve made my decision. Now get out of here.”

The orcs behind Grubly began to spread out, closing her in on either side. A few reached toward their waists for their weapons.

“You listen here, girlie,” Grubly growled. “We’re taking that spot. We were tryin’ to do this the easy way, but if you’re gonna try to stop us then we’ll pick yer bones clean and take it anyway.”

Aspen dropped a foot back. Her ratty sneakers dug into the dirt as she crouched, ready to defend herself. She tried channeling her magic so that it bristled off her body, filling the air around her.

“You’re going to attack a Mage?”

Please say yes, please say yes. Anything to let off a little steam.

Grubly took a threatening step forward. “We’re gonna—”

He stopped mid-stride, mouth agape. He took a step back. Then he spat at her feet and backed away. “Come on, boys! Another day…Another day…”

Aspen blinked, feeling a small sense of relief. That had gone better than expected. Maybe she was finally getting the cred she deserved—

“Hello, Aspen!”

Aspen turned. Brune, her half-giant guardian, smiled down at her, his towering form blocking out the nearby lamplight. Aspen’s enthusiasm plummeted. So much for building a reputation…

“Hey, Brune. How…long were you standing there?”

“Oh, a minute or so. Those mean orcs didn’t seem to like me very much.”

Aspen looked over her shoulder where the orcs had vanished into the Cloisters. “No…I guess they didn’t.”

The lead dwarf approached her, his head slightly bowed. “Thank you, Mage Aspen. I’m sure they’ll be back,” he shot a nasty look toward the orcs. “But knowing you’re on our side gives us hope.”

“Really, it’s nothing,” Aspen said, embarrassment creeping into her cheeks. “Just trying to do my job.”

Right. More like trying not to completely screw up and ignite a blood feud between the races. But whatever.

“Aspen?” Brune rumbled, and the dwarves shot him a wary look. “Are we done? Can we go now?”

One by one the dwarves gave Aspen slight bows and retreated back into their hole, descending toward the deep underground where tunnels connected a sprawling network of dwarven cities. Aspen glanced once more at where the orcs had gone. She swore she could feel their hateful glares on her, just waiting for her to slip up. She might have been a Mage now, but nowadays, being a Mage didn’t mean much.

“Yeah, we’re done.”

                                                            ***

The commute to Rivendell from Ember’s Landing was one of the worst things about her job.

Before, when she’d only been a thief with nothing to worry about except being evicted, or having to live on the streets, or being hated as a Norm and almost driven out (Actually, when she thought about it, that had kind of sucked. Majorly.) she’d barely left Ember’s Landing. Most of the Supes never left their boroughs unless they had to. There was a reason the Supe world and the Norms’ were separate. It was to protect the supernatural beings from the threat of extinction. Aspen had been one of the few who actually ventured out on occasion. Now she had to do it almost every day.

She could absorb tons of magic, but with the little she could actually control she couldn’t Farcast herself to where she needed to be. Walking took forever and was dangerous unless she stayed in the Norm world and didn’t shortcut through the northern side of Ember’s Landing. That meant taking the MTA at least two stops until she arrived at whatever problem was on the menu for the day. She’d tried to find some kind of spell that would make it easier, but so far was out of luck; if she absorbed too much magic without letting it out, then things could get volatile. Fast. But any spell she tried even slightly over the most basic gave her a serious headache.

Like this one, Aspen thought, furiously rubbing her temples.

“I cleaned up the shop again,” Brune said brightly as they walked. Him being here meant she was walking all the way back home. There was no way Brune could fit his massive frame on one of the buses. Assuming they’d let him on at all.

“Sounds like you’re getting more customers,” Aspen said. Her eyes continued scanning their surroundings for any threats. Not that she expected the Kings to pop out and say hi right then. But there were plenty of other supernatural beings who were less than thrilled she was the new Mage.

Not just you, a voice in her head said. There’s someone else who should be Mage right alongside you.

Aspen shook her head to clear the thought away, but that didn’t stop the images rushing through her mind; those of a dark-eyed boy whose horrified face haunted her dreams. The boy she’d cared for more deeply than almost anyone else in her life.

The boy she’d broken a promise to, and the boy who’d left her.

“Aspen?”

Brune was looking down at her, concern etched on his face. “You’re awfully quiet today. Are you tired? Is being Mage making you tired?”

Aspen laughed. “I guess so. I was just thinking, Brune, don’t worry.”

Brune nodded sagely. “Yes, thinking can make you tired, too.”

They cut through a neighborhood park, Aspen pushing through the fence’s gate. Brune merely stepped over it. “You’re not thinking about that bad man again, are you?” he said.

Aspen glanced at him. “The bad man?”

“The other Mage. Luc—Lu—Luc” Brune thunked the side of his head in frustration. “The one who made you his apprentice. The one who hurt you.”

Him. Aspen only thought about him, too, every day. About how Lucien Dunadine had blackmailed her into being his apprentice for the Council’s contest. How he was the most frustrating, arrogant person she’d ever met. How she’d come to care for him like a mentor, and, more shockingly, he’d come to care for her.

But mostly she thought about how he’d admitted murdering her parents and then expected her to forgive him for it.

“I’m not thinking about that bad man,” Aspen said. She pointed. “Want to stop for a treat?”

They slipped inside the supermarket and picked up their usual ice cream—raspberry-mint—and ate it sitting on the curb. Aspen absentmindedly licked her spoon while Brune finished off the carton in a couple large bites.

Aspen continued staring at the empty carton after Brune had put it down. Lucien had paid for this ice cream. He’d paid for their rent too. That’d been part of the agreement she’d made him take, that he would take care of Brune if Aspen had died during the assessment. He’d assured her she would be in no danger, but she’d made him promise all the same. Now he was following through on his promise, giving them enough money each week to help Brune keep the shop and Aspen to put food on the table.

Aspen hated him for it.

She was often overtaken by this internal battle. She wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t going to turn down free money, especially when she didn’t have time now to steal or work for it herself. Brune never knew where it came from and he was too happy to ask.

But to take it from him…

Ten minutes later they arrived at Brune’s Magical Surplus, squashed between two other houses just like it on either side. It was three stories of worn red brick and rusted bars over the cracked, yellowing windows, but it was theirs.

“Home sweet home!” Brune chortled as he unlocked the door. “Some more food arrived today. I don’t know where it is coming from, but somebody’s being very nice to us!”

“That’s great, Brune,” Aspen said.

“I can cook some pasta and some chicken and cut up some of the green vegetable. The, uh, the zuch-zuchi…”

“Zucchini?”

“Yes, zuchininini,” Brune said proudly.

He lumbered off back into the kitchen. Aspen resisted slumping exhaustedly into the nearest chair and set about restocking her necessary supplies from the bins in the center of the shop. That had been one plus of her new position. As a thief, she was part of the lowest scum on the totem pole, and everyone knew it. It meant too many were willing to give her trouble.

  But not as a Mage. Despite the lack of respect most of the supernatural creatures didn’t bother with her as much. Probably ‘cause most of them didn’t know she couldn’t use magic properly. Her being a Null was common knowledge, but after Lucien had nearly killed Segur, Dark Queen of the Unseelie Fae, for kidnapping Aspen, word had gotten around she wasn’t somebody to mess with.

Another thanks she owed to Lucien, she thought, throwing one of the vials angrily back in its box. Troll piss.

She finished stocking her powder, made sure her grapple was recoiled, and readjusted her jacket so that everything was within easy reach. The rest of her stuff went into her jean pockets, tucked on the side of her scuffed shoes, or slipped beneath the collar of her shirt below the nape of her neck, where her silver hair—her only physical feature she was somewhat proud of—would keep it concealed.

 The only thing left was her Dakri knife, which needed a little blood to keep the blade from rusting. She pulled out her vial and applied it, then went over to the table in the corner.

Ever since becoming a Mage a little over three weeks ago, she’d begun painstakingly searching any text she could find for clues on locating the Kings. She knew that, out of the three powerful Kings serving Maladias, one of them had to be trying to get into New York, no matter how much Simshar and the other Mages scoffed. They could deny it all they wanted, but as one of the, if not the most powerful concentration of magic and supernatural beings in the world, Maladias would have to be the dumbest super evil overlord in existence to not send one of them to screw up their city before he arrived.

Aspen leaned across the table to the map she’d tacked to the wall and put a thick X over the Cloisters in the Bronx, making the total X’s an even ten. At least her trip today hadn’t been a total waste. The Cloisters were one area she’d been worried the Kings would use to come into the city, but from what little magic she’d sensed while there, it wouldn’t be nearly enough for them to use it. It was funny, in a way. Xavier had been trying to bring Maladias in, but in doing so had taken so much magic from so many other places that it’d actually helped narrow down her search.

At least that was one good thing he’d done.

Aspen peeled apart the yellowing pages of the latest book she was working through and peered at the squiggles of runic symbols and spells. Her mind flashed back to the last time she’d done something like this, in a cramped, stuffy demon’s shop with Isak standing beside her, the heat of his body close, his dark, intense eyes burning with concentration as they peered at the pages…

Aspen shook her head. Hard. Enough. Enough! She couldn’t torture herself anymore. She was supposed to be looking for him, but even if she found him, how could she face him again? He would never want to see her again, not after what she did to him. Not after she’d killed his master, Xavier, the one man Isak had cared about most in the world…

Hmm…that sounds awfully familiar, an annoying voice in her head chuckled.

Aspen redoubled her grip on the book. But as much as Isak probably still hated her, the Council needed him. He was supposed to take Xavier’s spot. And with the Kings out there they needed everyone they could get to help protect New York.

Problem was, she had no clue where to start looking. He’d just…left, and she hadn’t yet been brave enough to travel to the Brindle’s Spire, the Staten Island borough where Isak had lived, to see if she could find anything there.

Coward. She was a total coward. The old Aspen, the one who wasn’t afraid to get her hands a little dirty, who wasn’t worried about what others thought or about something as trivial as caring for someone else, wouldn’t have bothered.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

There came a tremendous crash from the kitchen, followed by Brune’s stumbling footsteps.

“Go away! Go away, you annoying fly!”

Aspen immediately pulled her knife and rushed to the kitchen door; just in time to avoid nearly getting crushed as Brune lumbered out, waving at a small flying creature buzzing around his head.

“I said go away!”

Brune gave a massive sweep of his hand. The air current it created swept the buzzing creature into the shop’s front window where it hit with a slap!  There it lay against the glass, stunned.

“Hold on—Brune, stop.” Aspen held up a hand as Brune stomped forward, meaty fists clenched and ready to finish it off. Aspen peered closer at the window. “I think…that’s a sprite.”

“I am! I am a sprite, you great oaf!” the small creature squeaked. It peeled itself off the window and erratically fluttered before Aspen. Up close, she could see the baby-blue tint of its skin. Its large, watery eyes and glass-clear wings gave it an almost adorable look. The needle-sharp teeth, however, did not.

“You’re one of Nina’s,” Aspen said in realization. “What are you doing here?”

“Delivering a message,” the sprite shrilled. It eyed Brune warily. “At least I’m trying to! If someone will let me!”

“You scared me,” Brune said sheepishly. “I’m sorry.” He raised a hand to pat the sprite on the back, but it buzzed out of reach.

The sprite continued glaring at him until Aspen snapped her fingers in front of it. “Nina? Message?”

“Oh yeah, right.” The sprite cleared its throat and straightened up regally in midair. “By the request of Mage Nina Ashmir, Mage of great renown, contractual master to me, a lowly sprite, summoner of powerful entities across the planes—”

“Skip the formalities,” Aspen growled. “Message. Please.”

“Mage Don Jones is dead,” the sprite said.

Aspen’s stomach dropped, as if a trap door had been opened beneath and all feeling had fallen through.

“They’re here…” she muttered.

“Mage Nina requests your assistance,” the sprite went on. It rattled off an address. “She says that it’s of utmost importance and implores you to hurry—”

“I’m already there,” Aspen said. “Brune, I’ll be back later!”

“But—but Aspen! What about dinner?” Brune sputtered.

The sprite buzzed ahead of her, and in a second Aspen was sprinting out the door.

                                    ***

 “Hurry, hurry!” the sprite squeaked, taking another right on 50^th Street. Aspen had to slow to avoid slipping on the sidewalk. The morning commuters merely glanced her way before shuffling on. For not the first time, Aspen thanked the magic that concealed the sprite—and most magical beings—from Norm eyes. That, and the New York state of mind. Mind your own business. Keep to yourself.

The sprite zipped down another street and turned onto a wide plaza. Aspen slowed to assess her surroundings. Even in the gray morning, Rockefeller Center was impressive; two broad rows of buildings flanking either side, closing her in like the walls of a canyon. Islands of teal-blue pools ringed by trees made a procession toward where the ice rink and Christmas tree would be in just over a month’s time.

“Would you come on?”  The sprite complained. “I’d like to complete my contract and get back home, thank you very much!”

Aspen forced herself to keep running. She was flagging, and she knew it. Her lungs ached and her limbs felt sucked dry of energy. Weeks of nights more sleepless than normal were making her head hurt. But she never got much sleep these days.

The sprite suddenly came to a screeching halt, hovering in midair. They’d arrived at an impasse between a couple of the buildings, a narrow, empty alleyway cutting between two halves of the complex.

“There’s no one here,” Aspen said. “Why’d you take me—”

“Aspen!”

Nina appeared out of nowhere, running toward her.

“All done!” the sprite squeaked. “I’ll be taking off now, if you don’t mind.”

Nina waved to him. “Thank you, Clarejoy. Your contract is finished.”

The sprite vanished with a loud pop! Nina turned breathlessly to Aspen.

Nina Ashmir, Mage of the Jade Palace, the borough of the djinn and low-level demons, gave her a tired smile followed by a brief hug. Aspen saw tear tracks had dried on the caramel-brown skin of her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” Aspen said, gripping her tighter. “You knew him longer than I did, but…” Her throat closed up, trying to imagine how it’d be if she’d lost Isak, or somebody she’d known as long as Nina had known Don Jones. “It’s still a shock.”

Nina nodded into her shoulder before wiping her cheeks with the sleeves of her robe. Her arm was covered in elaborate mehndi tattoos, trailing down to her wrist where she’d hooked two wicked wrist scythes beneath. “It’s okay. It’s not like it’s a huge shock. Well…it is, but…you know. You knew.”

Aspen nodded, unsure of what else to say.

“They’ve already cordoned off where they found him.” Nina thumbed to the alleyway behind her. “As you can guess, this is big news. All the boroughs know something’s up, but we haven’t told them what exactly. I don’t want to know how the Necropolis is going to react when they find out their Mage is dead.”

“You…don’t think someone there did it?” Aspen said, hating the slight, desperately hopeful tone in her voice. If Don Jones had been killed by just a regular supernatural being…

But Nina shook her head. “We both know what did it. At least, we’re pretty sure…Maybe you’d better come look.”

Aspen once more peered over Nina’s shoulder. “Come look…where?”

Nina took her over to the alleyway, right where the building’s outer wall lay flush against the sidewalk. Then she stepped across it, taking Aspen with her. Aspen felt cool liquid running across her skin like a thin film, before dissolving behind her. Instantly, she was crammed amongst chattering voices and supernatural beings all crowded together in the alley-squashed space.

“Stay close to me!” Nina called over the din of grunts and howls.

She pushed her way through the crowd, Aspen struggling to keep up and trying not to bump anybody. The entire alley smelled of dampness and garbage. There were the supernatural beings she expected: a couple ghouls, their ice-blue eyes narrowed, distended jaws salivating at the prospect of so much potential prey around them. She spied a few Vamps in their stylish, well-trimmed daylight garb. Aspen was surprised to see some ogres, an unnaturally good-looking incubus, even the tell-tale glimmer of the Fae. She averted her eyes in case that one caught a look at her. The last thing she wanted was any report getting back to Segur.

They finally broke through the crowd and headed toward a dumpster. Aspen froze. Nervousness and panic and anger flashed through her all at once.

“You didn’t say he would be here.”

Nina looked where Aspen did. Crouched beside the nearest pile of trash, deep in conversation with Mage Simshar, was Lucien.

He hadn’t changed much since she’d seen him last, on the lone rooftop, a dark sky overhead. His pale, flawless skin seemed to glow under the dim light filtering into the alleyway. His honey-blond hair, the bangs sliding over his eyes, matched the golden rings slipped over his fingers.

He brushed aside his Mage’s robe as he turned and saw her. His almost ever-present megawatt smile lit up his face.

“Mage Aspen! So nice of you to join us!”

Aspen suppressed a snort. Only Lucien could manage to remain chipper, even at a murder scene.

 “What—” Aspen said, grabbing Nina and turning them so they were facing the pushing crowd, “—is he doing here?”

Nina didn’t look the least bit surprised Aspen was reacting this way. In fact, if Aspen had to guess, she’d expected it.

“He’s a Mage, Aspen. And one of the Mages is dead. That involves all of us, which means he’s going to be here. We need his help.”

“You could have told me before!”

“And give you the chance to avoid coming?” Nina gave a wry grin. “You’re a Mage now, Aspen, and I’m not a total idiot.”

“I wouldn’t have avoided…”

“Yes you would have, and we both know it. Aspen…” Nina looked like she was choosing her words carefully. “Lucien…told me what he did.”

Aspen’s breath caught in her throat. A brief memory seared through her mind: her house up in flames. Her parents’ bodies charred beyond recognition as Aspen sat in the middle of her burning home and watched them wither away. Lucien had caused that. Lucien had…

“It was an accident, Aspen,” Nina insisted, pulling her back to the present. “That doesn’t make it any better, but it’s true. Aspen…Look at me.”

Aspen dragged her eyes up to meet Nina’s.  “I know it’s hard, but if we’re going to get through this you’re going to need to work with him again. You did it once.”

“That was before—”

“You can do it again. One of the Kings is here in the city. I know it, you know it. If we’re going to get through this we have to work together.”

Aspen glanced over her shoulder. Lucien and Mage Simshar were coming their way. She took a deep breath, mentally prepping herself for what she already knew was inevitable.

“For how long?”

Nina gave her a smile. “As long as it takes. He’s a total pain, but we’ll get through this, okay?”

“Mage Aspen!” Simshar said. He looked at her disapprovingly. “A little slow getting here, considering how close your borough is. Perhaps the threat to a Mage doesn’t mean as much to you as it should—”

“Lay off her, Simshar,” Lucien said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Not everybody can get here as fast as you did.”

Mage Simshar adjusted the fez atop his chocolate-colored head. Being this close to the glimmer of Fae magic emanating off him made Aspen’s eyes water. “I heard he was killed by one of the Kings,” Aspen said.

Simshar gave a derisive snort. “We’re still investigating. King or not, a Mage is dead. I’ve sent out instructions to the Heads of my borough to help enforce order, and I suggest you all do the same.”

A particularly aggressive ogre tried to shove his way to the front of the gathering crowd to get a look at Don Jones’ body. Simshar raised his hand. There was a bright flash of light followed by a pained squeal. The crowd surged back, but almost as quickly began trickling forward again.

“Mage Aspen, do some crowd control!” Simshar barked. “I don’t want this riffraff to interfere!”

“Perhaps she should take a look,” Lucien said. “After all,” he said as Simshar gave him a dubious look, “she does have a few talents we lack.”

“I’ll take care of the crowd, Simshar,” Nina said. She pulled at one of the small metal beads on her wrist and pinched it. A glowing circle of runic symbols opened at her feet. A tiny, green-skinned imp with needle-sharp teeth leapt through.

“Back them up,” Nina commanded, pointing at the crowd.

With a maniacal cackle, the imp bounded toward the crowd, gnashing his teeth and causing the front line to hurriedly backpedal.

Aspen felt a gentle tug on her arm.

“Come on, before Simshar changes his mind,” Lucien muttered.

“Don’t expect me to thank you for that,” Aspen said, following him over to the dumpster.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lucien brushed aside his flowing cloak to avoid dipping it in a puddle of scum water. He pointed inside the dumpster. “See anything unusual?”

Besides this conversation? Aspen thought. She hadn’t so much as spoken to Lucien the past few weeks, and now he was treating her as if she were his equal; as if nothing had ever changed between them.

She couldn’t figure out whether she was furious or relieved.

Aspen peered over the lip of the dumpster. Yep, there was Mage Don Jones. Former Mage Don Jones. From his bald head and weak chin to now-unnaturally gray skin. He’d looked half-dead in life. Death hadn’t done much to change that.

Aspen felt a twinge of sadness. The guy hadn’t exactly been a cheerleader for her, but he hadn’t been pure evil, either. Another life, snuffed out. Another hope they had to keep New York safe, gone.

“See anything?” Lucien asked again.

“What exactly am I looking for?” Aspen snapped.

“Well…” Lucien stepped up beside her. He lifted a hand. One of his rings glowed and Don Jones’ body rose out of the dumpster and lowered on the ground. “You have a knack for sensing magic. Tell me what you see here.”

“You can see magic too!”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Just do it, Aspen.”

Aspen grumbled and knelt beside the body. She wasn’t a stranger to death, and this time was no different. It was also true that she could see the shimmer of magic around beings or wherever magic had been used. She’d been able to, even before having the ability to cast spells herself. The Mages could see magic as well, but as a Null, and ever since Segur had awakened her powers, her senses had seemed more attuned than even theirs.

Using her knife, Aspen prodded the body. She gingerly lifted up one arm, then let it down again. She held her hand over it, dipping her consciousness into the magic surrounding them, poking and prodding for any abnormalities. Everything appeared normal.

“Anything?” Lucien asked again.

“Nothing,” Aspen said, confused. “No magical signature. No residual spells. Not even…” she used the tip of her knife to peel back the fold of Don Jones’ tweed jacket. “Wait…There’s something.”

She felt the brush of air as Lucien leaned in beside her. His eyes narrowed on the small black hole burned through Don Jones’ shirt and onto his skin. “Interesting…”

Lucien waved his hand over it and a thin wisp of dark magic raised over the body. He pulled it this way and that like taffy before dispelling it with an annoyed wave.

“What was that?” Aspen said.

“Remnant of dark magic,” Lucien said. “Which doesn’t tell us anything except—”

His eyes widened. “Watch out!”

He threw Aspen to the side as a burst of fire erupted from Don Jones’ body, a wreath of flame scorching the ground immediately around him. A hissing sound shot right over Aspen’s head, then everything fell silent.

She pulled her head up to find the brick wall above their heads had a blackened message now burned into it.

The tainted will be no more

The weak will fall

Your true master is coming

Be still and weep

“Are you all right?” Lucien asked, checking her over. It took Aspen a moment to realize he’d shielded her from the explosion. Don Jones’ body was now nothing more than an ashen husk, bare bones protruding from piles of gray.

“I’m fine.” She pushed him away and stood. Lucien brushed himself off and examined the message. His expression darkened before he grinned. “I hope this building has insurance. At least this spells it out for us: Maladias sent one of his Kings to cleanse New York. The question is which one.”

Aspen gawked at him. “Which one?”

“Of course,” Lucien said, shrugging like this news was no big deal. “They aren’t just called the Kings for nothing. Three Kings, three different rulers, the King of Decay, Desolation, and Silence. At least, that’s what I know from what I’ve read about them.” He gave her a blinding smile. “I could be totally wrong!”

“Lucien!”

Simshar rushed over, trailed closely by Nina. He looked distastefully down at what remained of Don Jones’ body, then up to the message scarred on the wall. “What—what is the meaning of this?”

“What does it look like?” Aspen said, managing to overcome her initial shock at seeing the message. “The King left his calling card.”

Simshar’s mouth opened and closed. “We do not know this was the work of the King.”

Aspen gaped at him. She was almost too impressed by Simshar’s insistence to deny the obvious to respond. “Not the King? Are you actually an idiot, or do you just look lik—”

“Aspen!” Nina snapped.

Simshar lowered his voice to a whisper. “Look around you, girl. Look at the rabble that’s gathered. It’s just as likely that one of our own borough residents killed him. They could do it. They want to do it. They don’t trust the Mages anymore.”

“To be fair, we haven’t given them a reason to,” Lucien said. “But I agree with Aspen that a King is the most likely culprit. And if he is, then we need to—”

“No! If this ‘King’ has returned, then where is he? He’s a servant of Maladias, isn’t he? Surely that means he’s powerful. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t heard of any unchecked magical beings rampaging through my boroughs.”

“There could be a reason for that,” Lucien said, stroking his chin. “Remember when we visited Charlie in the toy store, Aspen?”

She did remember, but why was he asking her that? She and Lucien had gone there to figure out whether whoever was stealing magic from the boroughs had been using the underground tunnels beneath the city to sneak…oh…

“Yeah,” Aspen said, a small smile coming to her lips at the memory. She quickly dropped it. “But we’d have heard if something was using the tunnels. Somebody would have said something.”

“I can still send someone to check,” Nina said. “I’ve got contacts in the Jade Palace who know the underground well.”

Simshar snapped his fingers and Don Jones’ body rose off the ground, ashes and all. Another snap and an invisible cloak seemed to settle over him, so that all Aspen could make out was the small shimmer in the air when Simshar moved him.

“Enough about this King business,” Simshar said. “We should be more worried about maintaining the little order we have left, not on chasing phantoms!”

 He paused as he walked away. “And Mage Aspen, didn’t we task you with searching for Mage Isak?”

Aspen’s cheeks flamed. “I—yes, but…”

“If you’re so convinced that we’re under a threat as malicious as Maladias, then you’d want our Council back to its full strength, wouldn’t you? I suggest you get on that.”

Aspen ground her teeth as Simshar stalked off.

“I think that went well, considering,” Lucien said brightly.

“You’re impossible,” Aspen scoffed. “A Mage is dead and we have a King running around that he’s too blind to see.”

“Not blind, willfully ignorant, as the Council tends to be,” Lucien said. “I don’t blame him,” he added in a low voice, looking at the crowd that had lessened somewhat since Nina had intervened. “He wasn’t wrong about the boroughs being upset. We’re…losing our grip. That’s hard for anyone to take, mostly someone who’s been in power as long as he has.”

He turned to her. “Are you still looking for Isak?”

Aspen pursed her lips. She was and she wasn’t. She did and she didn’t want to. Seeing Don Jones’ body had reminded her how vital it was they got him back, and yet…

“I’m working on it.” She gave Nina a brief wave and began walking off.

“You might want to work faster,” Lucien called unhelpfully. “I think we’re running out of time.”