Ascending Mage 5 Changeling Uprising: A Modern Fantasy Thriller Read online

  Ascending Mage 5: Changeling Uprising

  A Modern Fantasy Thriller

  Frank & RaeLea Hurt

  Ascending Mage 5: Changeling Uprising is Copyright ©2019 by Frank Hurt and RaeLea Hurt.

  All rights reserved.

  The people, places, and situations contained in this book are figments of the authors' squirrelish imaginations and in no way reflect real or true events.

  You can find an up-to-date list of our stories, along with bonus content and a free prequel novel at FRhurt.com

  Contents

  1. Curiosity Killed the Cat

  2. Tin Soldier

  3. In and Out

  4. She Has Bite

  5. Stuff Some Sausages

  6. Doesn’t Fit Right

  7. Cockeyed

  8. Numero Trois

  9. But Who’s Counting

  10. You Heard the Lady

  11. Fish in a Bloody Barrel

  12. I’m Not Letting Go

  13. Cost so Much

  14. This Damn Triangle

  15. Big, Bad Wolf in Disguise

  16. An Uncooperative Spirit

  17. A Tomorrow Problem

  18. Mork and Mindy

  19. Corpulent Cheese Fairy

  20. Big Cheddar

  21. Made of Lead

  22. Adjourned the Meeting

  23. Justice Administered

  24. Two Sorry Bastards

  25. How Bad Things Are

  26. Yours to Decide

  27. Here to Save the World

  28. Invite Ourselves In

  29. The Wrong Side

  30. They’re Down

  31. Alone Against the World

  32. A Different Sort of Future

  Ascending Mage 6: Hold The Line

  Author Notes

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Curiosity Killed the Cat

  “It’s lucky nobody got injured,” the rotund man said. He read from a pocket notepad, pen in hand. “End of the workday, yet nobody was in the building?”

  Thick plastic tarp rustled as a gust of late November wind snapped it taut against a hastily assembled lumber frame where the ceiling should have been. Frost formed on charred, splintered mahogany wall paneling where outside air invaded the corner office on the eighth floor of the Parker Building.

  Elton Higginbotham had forgotten the man’s name seconds after the introduction. Mundanes were forgettable in that way. The mage crossed his arms, jealously guarding his body heat from the uninsulated room that once served as the Viceroy’s office. “Staffers were here when it happened. Someone had the presence of mind to pull the fire alarm after the lightning strike. Everyone evacuated.”

  The round-faced man frowned at his notepad, a goatee hiding his double chin. His thick neck was framed by a conservative dark blue necktie that almost matched the cheap off-the-rack suit. “Witnesses from the gym downstairs said the fire alarm sounded before the explosion.”

  “He or she is mistaken.”

  “Several witnesses,” the man in the cheap suit said. “They were filing out onto the sidewalk outside the building when a loud explosion drew their attention toward the top floor. Fragments of bricks rained down moments later onto First Street.”

  “If they aren’t mistaken,” Elton offered with a shrug, “perhaps it was a second lightning strike?”

  “Lightning struck twice,” the rotund man scoffed. The expression in his inquisitive eyes were as skeptical as his tone. “In the same location. It’s not exactly normal to have lightning in North Dakota this time of year. I can’t begin to imagine the possibilities of that happening, especially in late November.”

  “Nor can I. But then, I’m neither a statistician nor a meteorologist,” Elton flashed his shark’s grin at the NonDruw. “Are you, detective?”

  The man in the cheap suit didn’t return the smile. “Are you uncomfortable with these questions, Mister Higginbotham?”

  “Not at all. Merely confused by them.” Elton leaned against the huge desk, its surface bare. “The fire marshal was already through all this the evening of the incident. He determined it was lightning—possibly from a freak discharge of static electricity.”

  “So he did,” the detective admitted. His gaze slid around the room, as though taking a mental inventory.

  “Well then?” Elton upturned his open hands without unfolding his arms. “Why is a member of Minot’s finest investigating a weather event?”

  The detective pointed at a framed, enlarged sepia photo hanging on the wall next to the executive desk. “This looks old. Is this Minot?”

  “Early days constructing the Parker Building. That’s a collection of the Magic City’s founding fathers in that still,” Elton said. He silently issued two curses: one at the recently departed for displaying that photograph. The second curse was for himself, for failing to remove William Roth’s artwork immediately after his murder.

  “You must be some kind of history buff,” the detective said as he leaned in, squinting at the figures arranged in the photo.

  “This is my office,” Elton lied. “I appreciate surrounding myself with old things. Books. History. Tradition. It’s useful to remember where we come from. Did you have any other questions, detective?”

  The detective looked away from the enlarged sepia image, mercifully failing to realize how one of Minot’s founding fathers bore a striking resemblance to the man he was now interviewing. His attention swept to a charred silhouette bisected by the mopboard. “That burn mark on the floor and wall…it looks kind of like the shape of a person if they were seated, doesn’t it?”

  Elton casually pivoted against the desk as he pretended to study the ashen surface. It was perfectly sized to the man who previously occupied this office. “Does it? I suppose it could, yes. You have a better developed imagination than I, Detective.”

  The NonDruw man sucked his teeth as he squatted next to the charred outline. “Where were you when the explosion happened? You weren’t in your office, I assume?”

  “Correct. I was on another floor tending to business when the lightning strike happened.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “Indeed.”

  The detective cocked his head. “What sort of business is this, anyway?”

  “Property management, mostly. We operate the Magic City Spa downstairs,” Elton said.

  “And you need seven floors’ worth of offices to manage that?”

  “We’re engaged in other ventures,” the mage said. “Import-export trading, finance.”

  “Until now, I never even knew there were offices on these upper floors.”

  “There’s no reason you should have,” Elton flashed a charming smile. “Most of our business is out-of-state. We serve a global market.”

  “Yet you choose Minot as your headquarters?”

  Elton shrugged. “As I said, I appreciate tradition.”

  The banality of the Mundane’s questioning dragged on. The mage, for his part, exhibited incredible patience. Elton could afford it; if the detective could be defused naturally, it would be cleaner. If he couldn’t—if his intuition proved too effective—Elton could always rely on a Deference Spell to coerce the detective by less natural means.

  When the interview finally exhausted itself, Elton and the man exited the corner office, closing the door to the frosty scene within.

  A broad-shouldered mountain of a man unfolded his legs and stood from the chair he had been reclining in. A worn bundle of pulp returned to his back pocket, the crossword puzzles on its pages unfinished
.

  “I appreciate you showing me around, especially over a holiday weekend,” the detective said. “Are all your staff off for Thanksgiving?”

  “All but this one. Dennis will see you down the stairwell back to the lobby,” Elton said, as much to the changeling security officer as to the detective. “We’re waiting on technicians to sort out the elevator. The lightning fried circuitry throughout the building, especially on this floor.”

  “Really lucky nobody got injured,” the detective said. He tucked the notepad into a chest pocket, exchanging it for a business card which he promptly offered. “If you think of anything—”

  “I’ll be sure to call you. Though I can’t imagine there is any sort of curiosity to unravel here. Not unless you know of someone who can conjure lightning, detective.” Elton flashed a broad grin.

  The grin melted from Elton’s face the moment the stairwell door closed behind the detective and his escort. He read the conservative white business card, flicking it absently with his thumb. “Curiosity killed the cat, Detective Cooper Severson.”

  The mage walked the length of the eighth floor, turning into the abandoned Deputy Viceroy’s office. He had moved into that space when he assumed the Viceroyalty. It wasn’t as if the Deputy Viceroy was in any position to complain about being usurped.

  It was William Roth—the now-deceased Viceroy—who planned his Deputy’s kidnapping. Geoff Shadbolt remained safely locked up, guarded heavily by a team of mercenaries who now answered to Elton.

  Elton’s temporary office on the eighth floor was smaller than the one he occupied on the sixth floor. He was still officially the Director of Wellness, but as the acting Viceroy, he found it appropriate to have an active presence on the top floor of the embassy. It was helpful for the little people to know someone was in control.

  Where Geoff had the office clogged with guitars and music stands, the new tenant had an icemaker installed. The cabinet of cheddar-flavored snacks had been exchanged for glass tumblers and cylindrical bottles of Drambuie.

  He poured himself a healthy serving of the sweet liqueur over three clinking ice cubes before leaving the claustrophobic space. Elton returned to the chilly Viceroy’s office, swirling the beverage in his hand. The satisfying aroma of spiced honey greeted his nostrils a moment before he allowed himself a sip.

  The corner office was illuminated by a pair of work lights plugged into the only working outlet in the room. He pivoted one of the lights so it highlighted the burned outline of his deceased friend.

  No—not friend—associate. They were never really friends. Will made sure of that. Will made a point of periodically reminding Elton who was in charge, who was top dog. They were supposed to share power in this new world they were forming, but everyone knew it was Will at the helm.

  “But no more,” Elton muttered. He held the tumbler up, amusing himself by casting his arm’s shadow over the charred silhouette that once was William Roth. “I don’t know how that bitch pulled it off, but I should thank her for doing it. Rest in pieces, Billy boy.”

  The thick honeyed scotch coated his throat as he imagined the renovation of the corner office—his new office. He would get the High Council in Malvern Hills to confirm his appointment as Viceroy of the North American colony. They would be glad to have someone to maintain the status quo—someone who wouldn’t challenge their own corrupted authority.

  He would reassure them with what they wanted to hear: there would be consistency, stability. Once legally in power, though, he would clean house—literally and figuratively. It was past time for change in the Magic City.

  He had been patient. He had served as loyal lieutenant to the cause. It was his turn at last. Elton always planned on bumping Will off his throne. He just could not have guessed it would be so messy.

  The first order of unfinished business: he had to deal with her. He had to find whatever rock Ember Wright was hiding under. He had to be careful, though. She had, after all, somehow figured out how to turn William Roth’s own magic back on himself. She was a serious threat, of that there was no doubt.

  “A serious threat. But so am I,” Elton said to the charred silhouette.

  A strained voice that wasn’t quite human said, “If only to themselves.”

  Elton spun around, half expecting to see some grotesque manifestation of William Roth in spirit form. Instead, he found an unassuming man of average height and average build, wearing an average looking coat the color of soot. The man’s back was to him.

  “Who are you?” Elton glanced then at the office door, which remained closed. “How the hell did you get in here?”

  The stranger was peering down at a dark smudge of smoke on the floor near the door. A wisp of smoke damage arranged itself over mahogany wall panel, opposite from the wall that Elton had been toasting. The stranger pulled off black leather gloves and carefully touched the smudge.

  A faint buzzing teased at Elton’s ears. He set the glass onto the desk and circled the desk, approaching warily. There was something unsettling about this stranger’s energy—he could feel it even from across the room. “How did you get past my security officer?”

  The stranger made a sound resembling a pained chuckle. His voice was the thin, hoarse straining of someone afflicted by strep. As though forming words was an uncomfortable chore, he whispered, “They see only what they need to see.”

  Elton shivered. “Alright. You’re trying my patience. Who the hell are you?”

  “He was here,” the stranger whispered. His fingertips traced a line from the smudged floor to the framed photograph on the wall. With both hands, he gently touched the filigree frame, caressing it like an unfamiliar lover. He closed his grip around the frame and in one short motion, tore it from the wall.

  The heavy frame had not been merely hanging from a hook but instead was mounted on a set of sturdy hinges. Screws dropped to the floor and a half dozen jagged holes remained where the fasteners had been driven.

  As a child might discard gift wrap, the stranger tossed the sepia photograph and its heavy obeche wood frame aside. A fireproof safe had been built into the wall behind the photograph. Without hesitation, the man plunged his hand into the solid steel door of the locked safe.

  Elton’s jaw went slack as he watched the stranger’s hand sweep along the inside of the safe, pulling its contents out through a transparent space where the door had been. Gold coins, sealed envelopes, and bound documents bearing wax seals tumbled to the floor. “How did—”

  “He’s not here. But he was,” the stranger whispered. When he pulled his hand from the safe, the locked steel door returned, as if it had always been there.

  Elton tasted oily copper and realized his mouth was agape. He shivered, though it had nothing to do with the chilly air. The plastic tarp snapped and billowed above, its wind-driven percussion collaborating with a general buzzing noise to drive away the mage’s sanity.

  The soot-colored coat turned, at last showing the stranger’s face. He could not have been much over thirty years old, bearing a pale crescent-shaped scar which tore through the stubble of his right cheek. His eyebrows were dark over unnaturally bright green eyes the color of oxidized copper. He whispered, “They know where he is.”

  Elton stepped back as the stranger approached. He shook his head. “I don’t even know who the hell ‘he’ is. I believe it’s time for you to leave. You’re trespassing.”

  “They’re afraid.” The stranger’s hoarse whisper contained no hint of emotion. “They needn’t be so. Just tell me where he is. They’ve seen him. They’ve handled him. I see this.”

  “Alright, you goofy fuck. That’s close enough.” Elton clasped the stranger’s arm. He tugged at the mana stored within the zaffre tie pin he always wore. The Leystone obliged, releasing a dose of mana for the mage to convert into a Deference Spell. He had done it countless times before—it was one of the earliest spells he had learned, after all. As easily as a great white shark clamping down on a hapless seal, Elton Higginbotham sent
his spell over the stranger’s aura.

  The stranger’s eyes went wide, his unnaturally green irises darkening into an inky black. His hot breath stank of moldy bread as he exhaled a whispered, “Oh.”

  Elton allowed himself a triumphant grin and released the man’s arm. At least, he tried to let go. He gave his arm a tug, but his hand remained gripped on the soot-colored coat sleeve. Invisible ice emerged from where he touched the stranger, flowing up and over Elton like an avalanche.

  The stranger whispered in a voice eerily similar to Elton’s own. “Curiosity killed the cat, Elton Higginbotham.”

  2

  Tin Soldier

  Elton was 12 years old when his mother remarried. The abuse began soon after.

  Archibald Dalton was as slow of wit as he was quick of temper. But, he was also an available young Malvern—a Second Level mage on the Analytics Track. As he was a widower and Elton’s mother was a widow of similar age, they apparently found common enough ground to marry one another.

  Archibald brought Simon with him. Elton and his new stepbrother were close in age, but Simon lacked the precociousness and wit that Elton possessed. Simon was shy, withdrawn, even timid.

  It did not take long to figure out why Simon was that way.

  Initially, his new stepfather was warm to him. He would bring home gifts of unfinished, leaden toy soldiers for the boys. He used his pocketknife to remove the jagged sprues. The two boys would arrange the toy soldiers into companies among the furniture in the family’s flat. Archibald, for his part, would drink cheap ale and watch the boys play.