So, my publisher has sent over an “internally approved” cover. It’s a touch overly dramatic for my taste, but there are reasons I’m terrible at self-promotion/marketing.
I know things have been quiet around here. Part of that’s Covid, family stuff, and work. Part of it is that things have been moving and shaking behind the curtain.
The result is that about mid-October, I sent a query letter to McFarland Books. Got a positive response in less than 24 hours. Sent out a full proposal a few days later.
Yesterday, I signed a contract to publish a book built out of the series of posts about magic from 2016 (tagged Magic Series). I need to add at least another 7,000 words, and have it all revised for delivery by mid-February. So, if things go well, it should be on shelves around May 2021.
The abandoned three story neoclassical colonial had a certain inviting appeal, Gil had to admit. Despite looking out of place, surrounded by corn and soy fields something like thirty miles from the nearest town. These signs screamed run away to anyone who had seen almost any horror movie.
Gilead Hayes smiled at the thought.
Not that Haven House’s appearance meant anything.
It had changed a few times in the several years that he had called it home. Not changed as in a new coat of paint and some landscaping. Changed as in last month it had been a two story Tudor manor.
Gil jogged across the deserted two lane county road, slowing to a stroll up the gravel driveway. He took the opportunity to absorb the changes, noting the wrap around porch. Someone, he saw, had gone all out with the shrubbery around the front. They looked southern, not native to the Midwestern farmland.
The door swung open silently mere seconds before he could knock.
(This one was mostly written to see if I could still write a fight scene. Also to see if I could describe a particular technique. I’m pretty happy with that part.)
An instant of resistance against the knife blade, but the Kevlar parted before superior strength.
Beep beep beep.
Damn. Bad timing.
Crunch as the heel of a combat boot connected with a jaw.
Beep beep beep.
On feet, survey surroundings in a second.
Four down, two active. Target frozen, probably mix of fear and shock.
Understandable, Talya decided. He’d hired the best he could afford. But they had no way to prepare for one of her kind.
She turned, blocked an arm with her own, as the beeping came back to her ear. A quick jab to the face broke the guard’s nose as she flipped his wrist, both snapping his elbow and causing his knife to clatter on the concrete. A spin and knee to the short ribs left internal bleeding and a single active hostile standing.
The woman had already shot her three times, and missed a couple others. Good grouping, Talya absently noted, all center of mass, an area the size of her fist.
The incessant, intermittent, beeping continued.
Shit. No time for this.
With a grin, Talya let a bit of beast show. Not enough to lose control, but just enough for a feral glow to her eyes and a bit of fang to show.
Just the amount to convince the other woman that she wasn’t getting paid enough. And that caution was the better part of valor.
As the last guard ran, Talya focused on the target and touched the earpiece to take her call.
“Gregor? Dude, I’m in the middle of a job . . . that you set up.”
“The Demetri thing. Just a sec.”
She thumbed her earpiece to mute.
“Waylon Morrell? Demetri sends his regards and says he wants his money. Two days, or this warning becomes the real thing.”
Turning away from the cowering man, Talya unmuted.
“Why was your phone on? Don’t you use ‘don’t disturb’?”
“Gregor. You called twice in a minute. It registered as an emergency and went through. I was shot, twice, because you distracted me.”
Talya rolled her eyes.
“I’ll be adding a replacement shirt to my bill, Gregor.”
“Fine. Demetri can cover it.”
“What’s the emergency?”
“I need a consult, Talya. Usual finder’s fee.”
“What’s the job?”
“Retrieval . . . I’d offer it to you, but it’s a team thing. In the community, not norms.”
“What’s the pay?”
Gregor named a figure that caused her to miss a step.
She recovered and slid into a nondescript Toyota.
“ASAP, three weeks max.”
Talya thought for a few seconds as she pulled into traffic.
“I can have a team together in 72 hours,” she said. Five way split, it would still be worth it for a three week job. Which meant either tough owner or expensive item.
“You sure?” Gregor did not, she thought, do a good job hiding his surprise. “It needs a team and isn’t your usual . . .”
“Just send me the details. I’ll cover the rest.”
“No details until the team’s confirmed. Not after Minsk.”
Talya paused, processing.
“You brokered Minsk?”
“Sadly. Took a big hit.”
“Fine. I’ll get in touch in two days. The usual number?”
“I’ll look forward to the call. But, come Friday, I’ll offer it to someone else. Just business.”
Talya disconnected the call as she turned onto an entrance ramp. The highway, 270, made a rough loop around the city, through the suburbs, and connected all the major interstates that passed by or through. She liked to think of it as more the heart of the city than downtown was. Everything passed through 270 somehow.
As her eyes scanned the traffic and sought the Highland Road exit, most of her mind ran down a virtual dossier of people she knew in the business.
Thomas and Mordecai would be in, easy. If they weren’t on jobs already. Jade would be good on the back end, and she’d see the challenge. Only a little effort to convince her.
That would give her entry, magic support, and tech-tactical support.
No, he didn’t work well with others, and there was Boston, she thought.
Chen might be good, but she’d heard he died a couple week before. Siddiq never left the Midwest, so unless the job was limited, he was out.
That left . . . Caroline.
Talya considered as she pulled into a parking spot.
She shouldered a knapsack and small messenger bag, locked the car, and strode toward the train station. She preferred the train to planes. They were slower, but there were fewer questions and travel between cities in the state was faster by train than car.
As she took place on the platform, Talya nodded to herself. Caroline brought a generalist to the team. She could hold her own and be second to the guys, if needed. And, most important, she could be trusted.
She’d also be the most difficult to convince, though having Jade in would help that. Lucifer would need wool socks before Caroline could pass up a cute redhead.
The train pulled out as Talya scanned the nearly empty carriage. Her phone was out before they cleared the station.
“Hey, Jade. How’re things? Good. Listen . . . Gregor’s got a job he sent my way. Could use a little help if you’re still freelancing . . .”
(Some of this piece may appear in another work, because I like parts of it. For now, it’s a brief exploration)
To the untrained eye, the main floor of the Luna Nova was a chaotic mix of people and species. However, an experienced patron could read the topography and tectonics of the room.
Jastian Wells was hip deep in the second group.
With that knowledge, a person could, he knew, see the enforcers and the normal joes, the Almasti and the shtriga, and read the affiliations, alliances, and feuds. Reading the room was, therefore, reading the city.
He visually swept the room, taking note of who and what was there. The Carusos and Narvos had half the room between them, which meant their short lives alliance was dead. And that meant Torvald lost the bet and owed him.
Jastian unconsciously, and subtly, checked the handful of knives about his person as raised voices came from the bar. He glanced over . . . a big shifter, who’d obviously had a few too many, looked about to go furry on a skinny Black guy, whose bearing and eyes screamed shtriga. The Luna’s security was already closing in, a mountainous gargoyle and her whipcord Almasti partner. The Luna’s strict policies on magic, bronze, silver, and long blades kept damage to a minimum, but the staff liked to stop trouble before it got too far.
As he relaxed, a heavy set, middle aged man stopped by his table. Smelled like a werebeast, canine probably.
“But, the barman . . .”
“Well, he was wrong.”
He must have still been able to pull off the ‘bad ass’ face because the were only paused a second before muttering an apology and beating a hasty retreat.
Jastian made a mental note to speak with Kira, the bar manager. He hadn’t used the Marcus alias in several years. Not since changing his calling and profession. A lifetime ago.
Besides, he was waiting on a probable client, not on the market.
The Luna Nova had started its life as a werebeast bar. They liked the joke in the name. Within a year, he’d heard, it became the place all the local beast changers hung out. Then all the changers. In a few years, Luna had acquired a reputation as the place to go to hire freelance changer talent. Pretty soon, the entire community began frequenting the place. The once little werebeast bar became a major night spot for all magical peoples in the city.
His reverie was interrupted by a trim, fit man just starting to go grey around the temples. Meeting his eyes, Jastian decided the man had been starting to go grey for a couple centuries.
At the man’s nod, he gestured toward the empty chair.
He waited for Cutter to get settled, and let the other man start.
“Mister Wells, are you familiar with Bareth Oren?”
“The number two man in the Three Horns’ presence in Caerik? Somewhat.” The man didn’t smell dead, so not a vampire. Didn’t smell of blood either, so not shtriga.
“The people I represent wish to meet with him face to face, not through intermediaries, to discuss business.”
“And? I don’t know him well enough to introduce you.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Wells. We will arrange a date through other channels. I require someone to ensure my arrival in Caerik, to the meeting, and back to Earth again. Someone familiar with Faere, Caerik, and our counterparts in that city.”
“And you don’t want the families, houses, et cetera on this side, or the authorities on the other, to know about this trip, I assume.”
Cutter nodded, almost imperceptibly, “Of course.”
“So the Talville gate is out on this side. The major players monitor it constantly. You have a gate opener?”
The Greeks and Egyptians, and some peoples of Jerusalem, speak of ancient magicians who claimed territory. This claiming was not the same as the ways in which princes today claim lands. Magical processes now lost to modern magic were used to bind the land to the magician and the magician to the land. The ritual of binding was exceptionally dangerous, particularly for large swaths of land, thus a reasons that doing so fell out of fashion and was forgotten. Those who claimed lands did so for two reasons: to exert their power and authority over the land or to protect the land and its people.
Demosthenes writes that a magician who claimed land could draw power from the land itself, nearly as much as by blood rituals. In payment, the magician found it difficult to leave the land for any length of time. Erasmus of Egypt writes, further, that a claiming magician could control parts of the land. Sextus Gracchus believes this control is the source of stories with the Roman army of forests that walked, whispered, and fought against the legions in Gaul and Germania.
Rediscovering such power could be a sword for ourselves, allowing us greater power to defend our society and people. It would also be a sword for our enemies, as it would tie our best and strongest to static fiefs and estates from whence they could not move.
-excerpt from “Knowledge of the Ancients”, Sir Thomas Clifford, 1582
Translated from the original Latin by Clarissa Hoyt, 1994
In the earliest days of the world as we know it, long before the history known to normal, magic was at its most basic.
Today, we call the most ancient magics the primal magics.
They are called crude, unrefined, even simplistic.
They are most of those things, to those who do not understand them. They are also ancient and powerful in their own ways. The power inherent in blood and the procreative acts is exceptional.
Most magicians who deign to study the old magics never look beyond the raw power they can gain from either practice. They never learn or explore the true extent of blood magic, or sex magic. The primal magics offer so much more than pure power for those willing, and able, to take the time and expend the effort to learn.
Experienced blood mages, building upon ancient rituals found around the world, are capable to healing, crafting magical weapons, and theoretically altering their own blood in exotic ways. There are stories of a 15th century Nepali who made his blood poisonous to beast and abaa’ya. It is also said that a Romanian mage often used the blood of sacrificial victims to cover himself in blood-red armor. Obviously, this practice, if possible, would be forbidden today, for clear ethical reasons.
Practiced sex mages routinely use their powers to find both objects and people. Many also learn to charm others, a useful skill in dealing with normal. Stories still circulate of masters of the art who could change their own appearance. And the best of the ancient sex mages were known to be gifted oracles.
Due to the nature of the primal magics, all potential students must be at least eighteen years of age and will be screened by a panel of instructors, for safety.
-Gwen Bailey, Headmagister of Students, Hollyoake College
You’d think sorcerers would be easy to see, but they sometimes ain’t. They need their gems, but not every‘un with gems is a sorcerer. The trick is looking for the right gems, and how big they are. See, a sorcerer can’t work with little stones. Gotta be at least as big as your littlest fingernail, bigger is better. That helps. An’ knowin’ which stones to look for tells you what kinda sorcerer you’re dealing with.
You’ve only gotta look for diamonds for air, beryl for earth, opals for fire, hematite, the shiny one like steel, for metal, turquoise for water, and aquamarine for wood. If they ain’t got those, they ain’t a sorcerer.
The smart ones, though, they’re sneaky. They hide their special stones with other rocks or wear ‘em on necklaces under their shirts so you can’t see ‘em.
-Harry Brown, shifter, to young shifters
In the past, particularly during the 18th and 19th centuries, we have had an unfortunate tendency to look down upon and dismiss witches and witchcraft. Because their magic focuses on nature and tends to be more intuitive in form, wizards have had a history of denigrating witchcraft. We considered them less refined, less powerful, hedge magicians.
We were wrong to do so.
In this technological era, much of humanity has lost touch with the world. There is imbalance, in many areas severe imbalance. Although we have no right to ask it, perhaps witchcraft’s ability to aid animals and plants, and alter the weather, are our only way to rebalance the world before it is too late, since humans are clearly unwilling to do anything significant.
-from “Magic and the Modern World” by Donald Cantor, Akkare
A wizard’s staff is the most recognizable focus of any magician, more so than a witch’s familiar or a sorcerer’s gems. However, a staff can take many forms, from a wand to a staff taller than its wizard. Among the Victorians, a cane was preferred. Some Asian wizards, and modern ones, carry bokken-staves.
To render a wizard truly safe, you must remove their staff, their ability to speak, and their ability to write. For a wizard’s power is in words and sigils. These are how they use their magic. Some say this makes their magic the most difficult to learn, but also the most adaptable. I don’t know if either claim is true.
What I do know is that they can be formidable opponents, if you are not fully aware of how to contain them.
-Nica, House Tyerman, abaa’ya
Why do you need to practice martial arts and meditation?
Do you wish to remain limited to human and beast, forever a child?
Then you need the discipline of mind and fortitude of body required to achieve and effortlessly hold a half-form and become an adult.
Without discipline, you will not gain the control of mind and body that holding a half-form takes. And, in the eyes of shifters everywhere, you will be considered as a child.
That, young one, is why you must practice meditation and a martial art, like your ancestors before you and your peers.
-Clarissa Pinol, bear shifter
Before we begin delving into practical necromancy, or any other direct contact with spirits, all of you will study spirit taxonomy and must pass an exam on general spirit knowledge. This requirement is in place for your safety, as well as the safety of your classmates. Dealing with spirit entities is not a game or something to be entered into lightly.
Anyone who wishes to leave now may do so without penalties and switch to a different class.
The brief overview of spirit taxonomy is as follows:
There are four broad classes of spirits, you will be expected to know all four and their traits, sub-classes, and other divisions in detail.
Yes, you should be taking notes now, and, yes, this will be on the test.
First, we have the spirits of the dead, or ghosts. These are the spiritual remains of mortals that persist after death.
Second, the nature spirits. Just as ghosts retain some humanity, nature spirits can be expected to act like the beasts and plants they appear to be or protect. Always respect them, they can be quite powerful and quick to take offense. And they do not respond like humans. Witches will specialize here.
Third, elemental spirits. These are totally inhuman spirits. We have no frame of reference for how they think or feel. Some seem to be quite intelligent, though. Sorcerers, these are your focus.
Last, and strongest, are place and object spirits, bound to, well, places and items. They are reserved for advanced classes.
Books out, summarize chapters one and two in pairs, and record at least four questions for each chapter.
-Robin Tyerman, Professor of Necromancy, The Sablebridge Institute
There have been tales of the First Families for almost as long as magical beings have existed. All of the peoples, whether magician, abaa’ya, shifter, or gargoyle tell stories of the first of their kind. Presumably, even the shadows do the same.
The existence of a progenitor of each people is undisputed. There had to be a first genetic mutation or adaptation at some point, an origin of the specific genetic code. It may have happened over millennia or all at once; with magical forces involved, determining which is all but impossible, either is possible. However, from a modern perspective, knowing the names of our respective ancient, possibly prehistoric, ancestors seems rather unlikely. Even more so the idea that these progenitors sired or bore undiluted children whose ancestors still walk among us in hiding today.
It seems infinitely more likely that our first ancestors mated with normal humans, which produced the second or third generation. From time to time, of course, we now know, an infusion of normal human genetic material helps prevent inbreeding and the death of magical peoples. The possible exception in both cases, of course, being the abaa’ya whose first ancestor may, theoretically, still walk the world and who may be able to alter their genes enough to prevent the problems of long term inbreeding.
In short, we find the stories surrounding the Firsts to be nothing but myth and legend shrouded in superstition.
-excerpt from “A Genetic History of the Magical Community”