Ascending Mage 6 Hold The Line: A Modern Fantasy Thriller Read online

  Ascending Mage 6: Hold The Line

  A Modern Fantasy Thriller

  Frank & RaeLea Hurt

  Ascending Mage 6: Hold The Line 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. Please Be Seated

  2. Little Miss Public Enemy One

  3. Getting to It

  4. Hubris Will Kill You

  5. Tango Echo

  6. I Suggest Fleeing

  7. Incurably Stubborn

  8. She’ll Be Right

  9. Cheeto Claus Understands

  10. Too Close to Things

  11. Anything But Harmless

  12. Enjoy The Show

  13. Long Forgotten and Brilliantly Important

  14. An Acquired Taste

  15. Pop the Hood

  16. Thanks for Visiting

  17. Show’s Over

  18. Exercising Rational Sense

  19. No Second Warning

  20. The Lie of Freedom

  21. You Always Go There

  22. Sore Winner

  23. Snagged and Dragged

  24. Just Fodder for the War

  25. I Hope It’s Not Full

  26. My Most Brilliant Plan

  27. You Walk Like Lady

  28. Targets of Opportunity

  29. A Mutual Hatred

  30. Rekindling the Tradition

  31. Beyond Your Wildest Dreams

  Ascending Mage 7: Prairie Poltergeist

  Author Notes

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Please Be Seated

  She was an adult human, reduced to the size of a mason jar.

  Flanking her on one side was a polished silver-and-blue motorcycle helmet, its colors resembling those of the urn. On the other side was an enlarged photograph of the deceased, smiling brightly in a leather jacket as she leaned against a 2005 Harley Softtail Deluxe painted an exact match to the rider’s helmet. It was the sort of photo taken on a whim by a friend, unplanned and un-posed, forever capturing a snapshot of the subject’s personality. Her espresso-colored eyes were framed by dark, curly locks, the corner of her lips quirked as though ready to burst forth with laughter if the photographer hesitated just a second longer.

  The bishop granted special dispensation to the family, allowing them to cremate their loved one before the funeral mass and Rites of Burial. With much of Minot still waterlogged by the receding Souris River, the usual rules and order were suspended as the community grappled with the biggest crisis it had yet experienced. It was a simple act of compassion for a woman loved by so many.

  The pews of Saint Leo the Great were filled by friends and family, and steel folding chairs had to be set up in the back of the church to accommodate. At least half of Minot’s police force and volunteer firefighters were in attendance, showing their support for the deceased’s fiancé. Detective Cooper Severson sat up front with those who would have been his in-laws just two days from today, had things turned out differently.

  Ember sat farther back, though she was close enough to the altar to accidentally glance at the portrait next to the urn. Thirteen months ago, Ember was newly arrived in Minot. Cooper had been the first local to befriend her. Josette Hanson had been the second. As the manager of the Magic City Spa where Ember worked (at least officially) as a massage therapist, Josette had been protective of her. She ensured Ember’s new apartment was to her liking and cheerfully showed her around town. Josette was a true friend.

  And then I killed her.

  Ember bit her lower lip and suppressed the sob forming in her throat. Alarik squeezed her hand, which only made the emotions harder to hold back. She avoided looking at him then, just as the others who knew what really happened avoided looking at her.

  “There are casualties in every war,” Wallace had said, as gently as he could. “You gave her a chance to make it right—or to at least get away.”

  “But she was my friend,” Ember had said. “Did you ever do anything like this when you were alive?”

  Wallace Livingston hadn’t answered immediately. The ghost stroked his chin, his eyeless gaze measuring his one-time partner’s grief. “I had not, no. But I was never placed in a circumstance like you were, either. Nor did I ever have the ability to do what you had to do.”

  “How does someone come back from this? How do I atone?”

  He didn’t hesitate then. “There’s nothing to atone for. She made her choice. It was her decision to turn against you—against you and your friends, against the cause of righteousness in the face of evil. You and your friends were trapped. She was prepared to let you drown. To let you and the Schmitts and your friends drown. That was her choice. Remember that.”

  It was an irony that Ember and her friends would survive, and that Josette would instead be the one to drown. That was how they made it appear, at least, so the NonDruw humans wouldn’t investigate further. Her team deposited Josette’s body in a place along the trestles of the walking bridge over the Souris, where the corpse would be found quickly. With water guided into her lungs by a reluctant Elementalist, there was no reason for the medical examiner to rule out any other causes of death. No reason to inspect her cranium, where semi-liquified contents would be discovered.

  Josette Hanson would be the only death incurred from the historic flooding in Minot that spring. The others who were with her—the mercenaries and thugs sent by Elton Higginbotham—those remains were disposed of without fanfare, buried in the secret cemetery in the forests north of Towner, North Dakota. Whatever they had been in life, they were still Druws—mages and changelings among them—and as such deserved a proper burial, even if theirs would be unmarked graves.

  Ember was shaken back to the present as the parishioners stood and sang a mournful tune. She held the hymnal in her hand and pretended to join. Someone behind her sniffled and blew into a tissue. While standing, she could see Josette’s mother, a heavyset, wizened version of her daughter clad entirely in black but for the white handkerchief she held in her hand. The woman’s hair was grey and thinning, her cheeks a mass of wrinkles. She looked far older than she must have been. Ember wondered how much the daughter would have resembled her mother had Josette lived long enough to become an old woman.

  In the pew immediately behind the old woman was an obese man who could only have been the woman’s brother. What wisps of remaining grey hair still clinging to his scalp were combed over and fastened into place with gel or hairspray to form an unconvincing toupee. His belly stretched against a white collared shirt, the black jacket unbuttoned to exaggerate his rotund midsection. His chin and cheeks were covered by an unkempt, curly beard of snowy grey. The man was sweating profusely in the humid church.

  The hymn completed, the organist instructed, “Please be seated.”

  Ember looked back at the hardwood pew before obeying along with the rest of the congregation. That’s when she noticed the assassins.

  She didn’t know they were assassins—not immediately. It would have been easy to miss the pair of mages in the crowd. They, too, were dressed in black, though they were wearing long trenches. They stood and sat and kneeled and sang along with the rest of the mourners. They were trying to blend in.

  What made these two stand out were their faces. Theirs were the
expressions not of mourners but of calculating hunters. The two men were staring at her, Ember was sure of it. When she allowed herself a quick study of their auras, even from this distance she could sense the strong energy enveloping them. They’re definitely mages, and not mages I’ve seen around here before.

  There might have been soul-enriching content in the homily, but she wouldn’t hear it. As Father Vetter waxed on about the deceased and her piety and about life ever after, Ember stole glances at the back of the church. Each time, she found the pair of men staring back at her.

  Am I just imagining this? Could they be so bold to try something in a church packed full of people—of cops, for that matter?

  It occurred to her that this would be an obvious setting to find her with her guard down. If they had been sent by the High Council, they would not dare attempt anything when there were so many NonDruw witnesses present.

  Or would they?

  Ember—to the High Council’s reckoning—was Public Enemy Number One. To them, she was a terrorist capable of killing local leadership including one of the most powerful Elementalists in the world, and in turn toppling a colonial Viceroyalty. She broke into an impenetrable prison, freeing dangerous inmates. She had destroyed squads of mercenaries sent to capture her. She led an uprising which declared specific members of the Druwish leadership as conspirators and enemies she would see brought to justice. And not least of all, it was her who they blamed for destroying the world’s ley lines, throwing Druwish civilization into chaos.

  To them, Ember Wright was an existential threat.

  Believing I’m all that, what desperate lengths would the bloody High Council go to, to stop me? Would they be willing to kill a few hundred innocent funeral goers if it meant securing their power?

  She knew the answer, and it scared the hell out of her.

  Ember shifted in her seat, leaning into Alarik. “I need to visit the loo.”

  He whispered back, “Right now? You can’t wait until he’s done talking at least?”

  She shook her head. “Afraid not. I’ll be right back.” Ember squeezed his hand before releasing it. She hoped she wasn’t lying to him.

  Alarik Schmitt was dressed attractively in black Wranglers over dark leather cowboy boots. He wore a long-sleeved shirt with snaps down the center. He had bathed, of course, but even so the shaggy-haired changeling bore the hint of burned flux. The man stood and stepped into the aisle, letting his girlfriend slip past.

  Her fire-blue eyes stole a glance at his umber irises before she left for the back of the church. She recognized some of the faces that looked back at her: Druws, half-Druws, NonDruws. Many were coworkers from the Parker Building, while others were friends of Cooper’s that she had met at his house party last summer. Many others were strangers—and none more so than the pair studying her departure.

  Ember kept a normal pace past the bored-looking, suited morticians, hooking a sharp right and increasing her gait as she made for the side exit. A newly built red brick vestibule formed an airlock of sorts between the church and the gentle rain outside. It was in there that she summoned the spirit.

  “Wallace Livingston,” she murmured as she drew upon the memory of his bushy eyebrows and handlebar mustache, his drawling voice. “I could use your help.”

  2

  Little Miss Public Enemy One

  Overcast skies drizzled light rain over scaffolding shrouding the old structure. Renovations for the 125th anniversary of Saint Leo the Great Catholic Church were already underway when the Souris overtopped its banks, flooding much of downtown Minot. The majestic red brick landmark had been spared from the invading water, but Father Vetter contemplated suspension of renovations as a show of solidarity for the greater community. The crew of skilled craftsmen, however, insisted that too much mortar and cracked brickwork had already been removed; pausing now would risk leaving the building unsealed when winter arrived.

  Plastic yellow caution tape weaved around the steel legs of the scaffolding, allowing for narrow passage into and out of the church’s front and sides. It was from one of the side doors Ember now exited, hurrying her pace even as she summoned her one-time partner.

  The scaffolds above were devoid of workers, apparently given the day off due to the weather. Vehicles zipped past on Third Avenue. Ember was the only pedestrian, but she knew that was soon to change.

  A thirty degree drop in temperature announced the ghost’s arrival. The spirit coalesced in the air nearby, tracking alongside the summoner as she trod the rain soaked concrete sidewalk.

  “Wallace,” Ember hissed at the still-forming silhouette of a man. “I think I’ve got a tail. Two mages, I think maybe sent by the High Council to…well, to handle me.”

  The ghost’s drawl was distant, as someone calling from another room. “I don’t see them. I don’t see anything yet.”

  “You’re still coalescing,” Ember said. “We’re outside a church in downtown Minot.”

  “A church? I’ve never known you to be a church goer.”

  “It’s a funeral,” Ember huffed as the sidewalk incline matched the slope of a hill. “I’m trying to lead them away so they don’t try harming anyone else.”

  The ghost floated alongside. “I see them now, just exiting a building behind you a way. I believe they have noticed you.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “What’s your plan?” Wallace asked.

  “I don’t have one,” Ember admitted. The soft rain weighed on her hair, making it cling to her neck. “Rik’s pickup is in a car park down the block. Maybe I’ll lead them out of town, lose them on a country road.”

  “A high-speed chase,” the ghost mused. “I suppose that could work—”

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Ember grimaced. “I don’t have keys.”

  “That’s a problem.”

  “I’ll have to fight them,” she said between breaths. “I’ll cut into the alley up ahead. I’ll wait around the corner. You’ll keep watch. Let me know when they approach. I’ll catch them by surprise. Hit them with Containment Nets.”

  “Ember, this isn’t—”

  “I don’t have time to argue,” Ember growled as she turned the corner along Main Street, opposite a public parking lot.

  “Ember, I recognize these men.” The ghost’s tone was urgent. “These are two of the men who killed me. They’re armed. You’re not. Dammit, Ember, you need to run.”

  “Not gonna be chased underground again,” Ember breathed.

  Wallace swirled around her, briefly entering the wall of a real estate office. “Dammit, these blokes are trained killers. They’re dangerous.”

  “So am I.” Ember gestured at a pair of roll-off dumpsters taking up parking spaces next to a commercial building. “Those things will have to do. I’ll hide behind them. Be my eyes.”

  The eyeless spirit frowned, shaking his head but obeying. Wallace drifted a short distance from her as she ducked between the dumpsters. The pungent odor which greeted her suggested that they contained moldy carpets and wet sheetrock.

  As she controlled her breathing, Ember formulated a plan. I can’t use a Cranial Liquefaction Spell; it’s too broad, too uncontrollable. Too great a risk of hitting civilians in the stores nearby. I’d form an Aura Shield and reflect their magic back at them, but that won’t do any good if they just decide to shoot me. I’ll need to hit them with Containment Nets, then hit them with Sleep Spells while they’re down.

  Sudden dread filled her as she belatedly recognized the risk. These aren’t just any random fools; these are assassins. Operatives hand-picked to take out Wallace. To kill The Legend himself. And now they’re targeting me.

  “They’re coming,” Wallace called out. “Thirty yards away. Splitting off; one is crossing the street.”

  Bloody hell, I got too far ahead. They don’t know which way I went.

  Something trickled down her back—it could have been rain or perspiration. She thought of Josette’s uncle back at the church, how the obese man sweated merely s
tanding still among the congregation. She chased the random image from her mind.

  “One of them’s twenty yards away,” Wallace announced.

  Time slowed, as it tended to do in a fight. She drew mana from within, calling on the warm energy. She would pull it into her arm, forming the seed of a Containment Net Spell.

  When she needed to focus most intently, the uninvited image of Josette’s uncle popped back into her mind. That image was immediately followed by another: a photograph she had taken and had been studying for the past week.

  The photo was on the smartphone in her pocket and was of a page from the handwritten copy of the “Assemblage of Forbidden Magic.” She discovered the collection of offensive magic spells in an abandoned grain elevator three weeks ago when she helped rescue Geoff Shadbolt from kidnappers.

  In the days following, Ember took careful, high resolution photos of each of the book’s weathered pages. She studied those pages, every chance she had. It was by interpreting one of those arcane recipes she was able to develop the Cranial Liquefaction Spell. She unleashed that spell with devastating effect, freeing herself and her friends from inevitable drowning in the sub-basement of the Parker Building.

  She was thinking now of another spell from that book. It was one she had been studying and practicing for the past week, with some limited success. It only lasted for a minute or two, but that might be enough.