Drown Another Day Read online

  I circled around, approached squid mask’s seat from behind, and then leveled by wand into the back of his head.

  “Reading anything good?” I asked, jabbing my wand into him for emphasis.

  Squid mask froze for a second, before he heaved a sigh. “It would appear as though you have me at a disadvantage,” the man spoke in a calm, refined voice.

  “You bet. Why don’t you start by telling me who you are and who you’re working for,” I said.

  “Can’t I persuade you to pretend this never happened?” squid mask asked.

  I wanted to scoff. I wanted to laugh in his masked face. However, my instincts prickled and my hair stood on end. This wasn’t some no name thug. Too calm. This wasn’t the first time someone pointed a wand or a gun at his head. Which meant I had to keep my guard up.

  “Curiosity is getting the better of me. A gentleman with a weird mask takes pictures of the party, then slinks off into these abandoned back stages all on his lonesome to read?”

  The man chuckled. “I admire that. Curiosity is easily the best trait Humanity has. The desire to understand the unknowable pulls at the hearts of all with an adventurous spirit. Or an all consuming obsession.”

  Holding up his ornate leather bound tome for me to see, he added, “To answer your first question, I’m reading horror.”

  No sooner had he said the word ‘horror’, than the book glowed dirty orange and a bouquet of curled tendrils burst from within. Before I knew what hit me, tentacles wrapped around my neck and shoulders and squeezed.

  A mage. Shit.

  In a ripple of violet light, I willed magic into my wand’s tip, forming a blade of hardened arcana. With a slash, orange-black tentacles were severed and sent flying through the air, as more slipped past and tightened their hold on me.

  Squid mask didn’t even break stride. Bracing himself, he pushed his book towards me anew. Instead of numerous binding tentacles, a single barbed spike flew out as quick as lightning.

  Straight for the killing blow? He should have tired me out first. I caught the spiked appendage on the side of my blade and parried it away.

  Squid mask was wide open. This was my chance to turn him into fried calamari. With a grunt I threw myself into a sprint, sword poised to sever the hand holding his magic book. I thought I saw a glimmer of surprise in the eyes behind the mask, but before I could strike the finishing blow I was reminded that this guy was no amateur.

  “Now George!” squid mask called out. As he did, fresh tentacles poured out of the book, catching my ankles.

  The spiked tentacle from behind me warped into an immense scythe, the sharp blade looming like an executioner’s ax. With a snap, the book pulled it’s appendage back towards me with deadly intent as I drew a circle in the air. At the last possible second, I focused all my will upon the spell and flick the circle’s center.

  In a flash, a violet tinted mirror came to life, the tentacle striking it with an almighty clang. The ghostly guillotine cracked and crumbled as it strained against my reflection spell.

  We shared a long hateful glare in the brief pause in the battle, our magics straining against one another. Just as I’d planned out my next move, two ring tones filled the air.

  Lis was calling. I could tell because she’d set her ring tone to Amazing Grace.

  Squid mask’s tone was a digitized ‘Oh say can you see.’

  Our phones rang three times before I lifted my brows and said “Truce.” Squid mask obliged.

  Click.

  “Hey there tall dark and handsome,” Lis cheerfully greeted.

  “Do you mind? I’m neck deep in tentacle damn it,” I shouted into the receiver.

  A pause on the line, and then, “Oh. That means you’ve already met em.”

  “Met who?” I asked.

  “Someone from the fleet,” Lis replied. “They showed up by the way. I’m counting about twenty guys total. You might want to get back here, unless making out with an American woman is too much fun.”

  “It’s a guy,” I replied dead pan.

  “Wow Charlie, a guy?” Lis asked, shock staining her tone. “Well, when you’re done making out with your new boyfriend then--”

  “Straight to Hell!” I roared into the phone and hung up.

  Squid mask cut his call a moment later, turned to me and said. “Apologies. I must go take care of something. And by the sound of it, so do you. Shall we settle this another time?”

  “My pleasure,” I muttered, and sprinted back the way I came as quickly as possible.

  Chapter 7

  By the time I made it back to the exhibition hall, they’d already arrived. I turned my eyes to the top of the stairs to see a group of men dressed in black formal wear and baroque fish masks.

  “Might I present Admiral Jeremiah Marsh, and select officers from the United States Sixth Fleet,” the announced spoke.

  Applause came from the other party goers. What a strangely warm welcome. Odd that they’d eagerly snub me and yet be so openly friendly with the Americans. Was my mission just too much paranoia on behalf of Nine Towers?

  I grinned to myself as I found my way to the main floor. There was no chance in hell any of my missions would be so easy. Something was going to happen. The air was electric with anticipation. As the fish masked officers mingled, I made my way through the crowd to a proper vantage point.

  Among the gathered upper class, a particularly tall and muscular man stood out. His regal suit struggled to keep his bulging physique in check. He was the first to approach the fish masked Americans.

  “Welcome, welcome to my little festa,Admiral Marsh,” the muscular man spoke. “It is such a pleasure to see you here in the Mediterranean again. With the utmost generosity I and my family offer you hospitality fit for a king.”

  “Hector,” the admiral said, “What a distinct honor.”

  Hector, the muscular man, had a handsome, curly haired mask with a smile carve into it. However, I got the distinct feeling that neither he nor Admiral Marsh were actually smiling.

  “Only the best, neighbor. Bacchus’ own parties would not be so grand. Please have a drink,” Hector said, grabbing the last drink from a nearby caterer’s plate and offering it to the fish masked man. “No, better yet, let’s have a toast.”

  Marsh took the champagne glass, and held it high as everyone else followed Hector’s gesture.

  “May your seas be ever warm. Your currents ever calm. To Admiral Marsh!”

  Hector downed his drink in one fell swoop. But Marsh stared at the towering man for a moment, before calmly pouring his glass of champagne right onto the floor.

  Gasps rang out from the gathered party goers. Silence reigned supreme as Hector slowly tilted his head back down to regard the Admiral. The tension in the air reached a fever pitch. You could hear a pin drop as I watched Marsh turn his eyes to the floor.

  Where the champagne had spilled onto the marble floor, smoke began to rise, thicker and thicker the fumes expanded until deep pockmarks marked where the ‘champagne’ had fallen.

  Admiral Marsh was very nearly killed by an acid spiked champagne.

  “It’s insulting, I think, that one of Neptune’s brats would make such a petty attempt. Either insulting, or terribly forward,” Marsh said, nonchalantly. “If it’s not an incompetent shot at assassination, Hector, then this can only be one thing. A declaration of war.”

  Hector didn’t say a thing, but his hands had balled into fists. Admiral Marsh carried right on.

  “Your father must know full well why we came here. This isn’t revenge or an invasion. We’re just here for what is ours. However.”

  “However what?” Hector demanded.

  “If you want a war, we are prepared for a war. Be sure to relay just that. Won’t you?” Marsh asked before turning right around, and leaving the gathering with every other fish masked man in tow.

  Less of a meeting, and more of a parlay before battle. Just my luck. I could see Hector’s muscles bulge as he crushed his fist in
barely contained fury. Just as I began wondering how things could possibly get any worse, I suddenly heard a feminine voice whispering into my ear.

  “Hey.”

  I turned my head to see a bird masked woman with very pronounced cleavage entwine her arm around my own.

  “You’re not like the others, are you, sailor boy?” she asked.

  Her voice was like red velvet cupcakes for the ears.

  “I hope that wasn’t your best pick up line,” I told her.

  The woman giggled. “Very amusing. But not quite as funny as the things I’ve seen you do.”

  I kept my mouth strategically shut as the woman basked in her advantage over me. A moment later, she began anew, “Don’t worry, I’m on your side. We all are.”

  “‘We’?” I asked.

  I could practically see the smirk beneath her bird mask. “We Olympians. I’m--”

  “A Siren, if I had to guess,” I swiftly cut her off. “Not many other explanations for your voice or your confidence with the opposite sex.”

  “Oh, I like a man that has both brains and brawn,” the Siren spoke. “Nerine. Whom might you be, ‘Daniel Hunter’?”

  “It sounds like you already know,” I replied.

  “Charles Locke. The sorcerous secret agent of Nine Towers. Not so secret that we can’t figure it out, I admit. You’re pretty famous in some circles.”

  Reputation goes both ways. On the one hand, a good reputation is like have an excellent resume pinned to your shirt at all times. On the other hand, in businesses involving suave and subtle action, it can be the thing that gets you killed.

  I made a mental note to lay a bit lower after I finish up this mission. Assuming I survive.

  “Is there a particular reason you’re speaking to me?” I asked the Siren.

  Nerine nodded her head. “Yes. We’d like get Nine Tower’s help killing off those Dagonians once and for all.”

  My blood chilled the moment the word ‘Dagonians’ reached my ears. My face must have turned sheet white.

  Nerine tilted her head to one side in surprise. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Those fish masked men? Every last one of them is a stinking, wide eyed, gill necked, Dagonian. And they’ve come here to kill us all.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I replied as neutrally as possible.

  Another giggle. “Call me?” Nerine asked.

  Slowly caressing her hand up my chest, she tucked a business card with nothing but her phone number on it into my suit. Turning around, she disappeared back into the crowd before I even knew she was gone.

  Olympians and Dagonians at each others throats. With enough modern and magical firepower on each side to level Venice to the ground twice over.

  Why can’t it ever be a land dispute between Gnomes and Kobolds?

  Chapter 8

  Truth be told, it was a lot to take in.

  I’m used to having many and varied troubles all converging in one place, but this was all getting to be a bit much. It didn’t help a single bit that Nine Towers neglected to give me a specific course of action to take beyond ‘babysit those Americans’.

  There was only one thing I could do, and I dreaded it with every fiber in my body. I was going to have to go ask Lis for advice. Don’t get me wrong, Lis was probably the best person in the world to get advice from. She knew anything about everything. The problem was the price.

  The more prices I paid, the narrower my survivals had been. She might finally get me this time. But what choice did I have?

  The streets of Venice were cold this time of year. Cold enough that it pierced my fancy suit and threatened to leave me with a fever if I hang out in the open air too much longer. Besides the distant sounds of merry making, the cobbled ways were deserted. Lonesome.

  Just like I liked it.

  I was halfway to the chic waterfront villa I’d rented when I got the first whiff of something wrong. It was subtle. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe someone was following me just out of my line of sight?

  Heeding my intuition was part of the reason I was still clinging to life, so I always took any bad vibes I got seriously. Go the long way around. Better safe than sorry. I cut through a lane and wound my way down a back street. The crooked cobblestone was intercepted by a canal at the far end, and another turn to the left saw me seemingly alone again. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I shouldn’t have.

  The moment I turned the corner onto the canal thoroughfare, an immense knot muscles about the size of a bull came to a crash in front of me. Bestial horns. Hooves ashen black. And a stumpy spiked tail.

  In a split second I’d realized exactly what I’d smelled earlier: The pungent scent of brimstone. I was being attacked by a Demon.

  With a warped snarl the horned bruiser charged directly at me, huge claws rising high to crush me into a fine red paste. I stepped back just out of reach as its fists collided with the cobblestone, sending shards of stone whizzing past my head as I gripped my wand hard.

  This wasn’t some imp. This blundering thug was a proper Demon that didn’t bother with niceties like looking vaguely human. As my wand blazed to sharp violet life, I wondered for a brief instant what Lis looked like outside of her Human costume.

  An underhand slash saw a line of gore appear on the Demon’s chest, blood spilling from the shallow cut like I was starring in a zombie flick. Using my momentum and the Demon’s shock, I pushed my blade forward into a rapier thrust, seeking the fiend’s throat.

  I underestimated him. The Demon caught the tip of my wand in a clawed hand. A stream of blood erupted from the palm as the Demon clamped its claws down on the blade, eagerly drinking in the self inflicted pain.

  Not good.

  The horned Demon’s head butted into my stomach, blasting the air out of me and sending me flying. Before I could even think of getting up from the chill stone ground, clawed hands had clamped my own arms against my sides, and crushed me together.

  I glared into blood red eyes as the fiend squeezed. It was over unless I thought of something fast. Before I could hatch any brilliant plans though, both I and the demon heard something that put a swift and sudden end to hostilities.

  We heard the tip tap of high heels on cobblestone.

  I craned my head back far enough to catch sight of Lisistrathiel, leaning against the wall of a nearby building. Molten yellow eyes seared into the demon.

  “Is there a particular reason you’re hassling your number one warlock?” She asked, a dangerous edge to her voice.

  Despite what Hollywood would have you believe, Demons don’t just pop out of nowhere and get into fist fights with people. If I remember Nine Towers’ seminars on demonology, they only ever enter the Mortal Realm if they are contracted to do so. Of course, this meant that wherever there is a Demon, there must be a demonologist. Just like necromancers and zombies.

  “Now now,” spoke a voice from somewhere nearby. “You can’t begrudge a teacher dropping a pop quiz on his favorite student, can you, angelic Ms. Devil?”

  Recognition thrilled through me. There was only one person brave enough to call Lisistrathiel ‘angelic Ms. Devil’.

  “Phil,” I spoke.

  From the shadows of the nearby alley, a trio of figures approached. The center one, dressed in a black suit with a stark white tie, was Philestos Swanquill. He looked like like he’d just come fresh from a court hearing. The other two flanking him were aides or maybe retainers. Not that Phil needed any help.

  My joining of Nine Towers wasn’t the smoothest of affairs. And it didn’t help that I was a head strong asshole back then (even more so than now, I mean). Being a talentless hedge mage with a chip on my shoulder made other proper sorcerers sneer at me with contempt, but not Phil. Because of Phil I got to become a warlock and gained a real opportunity to atone for my sins, one saved life at a time.

  He also happened to be one of the nine Archmages of Nine Towers. The Lord Demonologist to be precise.

  “Charles Locke, Warlock
First Class. Considering I hit you out of the blue with a Demon of Wrath in close quarters, I’d say you’ve done rather well for yourself,” Phil greeted.

  “Six out of ten. Not enough finesse,” Lis added with a shit eating grin on her lips.

  I shot a glare at Lis as she stuck her literally forked tongue out in response. Phil’s fiend set me down and brushed the wrinkles out of my suit.

  “Phil, what the hell are you doing in Venice?” I asked.

  “Pure coincidence of course. No time for pleasantries?” the Lord Demonologist asked.

  I narrowed my eyes and furrowed my brows. “No such thing as coincidence. You’re here in an official capacity.”

  Phil heaved a sigh and shrugged his shoulders, “As much as I’d like to say I came by just to pay you and angelic Ms. Devil a visit, Nine Towers just won’t let me out of HQ without playing errand boy.”

  “What’s the errand?” I asked.

  “Somehow, Charles, you always end up being in the worst locations at the worst moments. And this time is no exception. An emergency meeting of the Nine has decided that extra supplies and personnel are to be poured into Venice and Italy.”

  The words ‘declaration of war’ spoken in Admiral Marsh’s voice echoed through my mind.

  “And since I’m already here, that means that I’m going to play damage control until the cavalry arrives?” I asked.

  Phil offered me a tired smile. “You’re going to be given your orders in person.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Spirit Summons?”

  Phil nodded. “Follow me.”

  Chapter 9

  I was joking about Native American shamans earlier, but truth be told their particular brand of magic has been nothing short of integral in creating the spells crucial to modern magical convenience.

  A Spirit Summons was exactly what it sounded like: An out of body experience. The convenience is two fold. Firstly, wizards, mages, shamans, witch doctors, and anyone else with a claim to fame in magical powers, all love being left the hell alone. However, particularly powerful sorcerers love being magnanimous and lording over others even more than being left alone.