Page 18 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

Walter

Bez listened. Why’d he listen? There was a trick to Diabolic binding I had no idea how to trigger. He was an instant from decapitating Ian, and my insides erupted. Bez’s essence ignited within me, every muscle of his body linked and connected with mine. A fiery primal urge resonated, and I wanted to feel every sensation his devil body possessed. Not the host body he’d crammed himself inside, but his actual true body which represented him in his entirety.

More than anything, though, I wanted him to stop. Willed it. His actions became my actions. My desires became his desires.

I sulked, lying on the floor of a cell. The room was small and bare aside from the lumpy mattress on a twin frame which was more uncomfortable than the smooth, cool floor. It’d be a lot easier to investigate this binding, the ins and outs, duration, longevity of commands, their extension, and how to activate them, if the Magus Estate hadn’t gone into complete lockdown mode once they detained Bez.

After explaining everything I knew, which was very limited, a vanguard unit checked me over. They said my wounds weren’t extreme—hence why they didn’t bother having an actual healer check my injuries—yet held skeptical gazes. I thought I’d die several times over tonight, and now everything moved like a blur. A thorough debrief, followed by the laziest of vital checks, and then the unit quickly ushered me to the Regiment Headquarters. They escorted me to a holding cell and sealed the door with a solid stone slab reinforced by incantations while they sorted through the evening’s events. What was there to sort? I’d told them about the Mythics who attacked and the mages they’d brought. When they examined the bodies, maybe they’d find leads. There was so much I needed to know, but no one answered my questions, and now I was alone staring at this stone door. Why such a delayed response? How’d they know Bez was a danger the moment they arrived? What were they going to do with me?

I gulped. Once they realized the very true threat my link to Beelzebub possessed, who could say how they’d react. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. My ears burned at the thought of lying. Even lying by omission. The vanguard needed all the information I had, the most accurate accounting. Even if my overly detailed rambles—yes, I understood that nothing I told them made complete sense—helped one person, it mattered. Lives were at stake, and one withheld word could kill someone. Someone else.

My stomach churned, thinking back to Carl’s anguished face. A man with a thousand hobbies and one step from retiring, sticking it out to ensure his kids had what they needed. And carefree Harley, who wanted to be anywhere with an adventure so she could explore the world, but she died with everyone else in the estate. Magus Remington, who only wanted to strengthen the bonds between the Mythic and mage communities to help all of us thrive in the human world. All dead. Everyone dead. Too many people I’d glossed over every day at work, refusing to give a second look because I had goals. Thoughts. Dreams. I was busy. Life was busy. I couldn’t be responsible for more death.

“Wally, are you okay?” Ian asked from behind the door.

I leapt to my feet and rushed to the door, wishing I could see him. Make sure he was okay. Even though Bez hadn’t slaughtered anyone, he’d slashed up all the vanguard and sentinels in his path, toying with them, taunting them with a cascade of blurring speed. That was what he liked—taking his time with kills because he was a fucking monster. A Diabolic. A devil accustomed to his own realm where he clearly ruled cruelly.

“Are you okay? I asked. “What’s happening out there?”

“I’m fine. The panacea regiment works wonders with their incantation. Just a few light scratches now.”

Our healers were the best of the best when it came to mixing magic and science, but even they couldn’t undo the death inside the Magus Estate.

“As far as what’s happening…” He paused, and his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. I couldn’t picture the carefree smirk he usually had when giving the double click. This was one hollow sound, practically instinctual, and something I thought he immediately regretted. “I’m not supposed to talk about it. Not with you.”

“What?” I pressed my fingertips against the stone door, wanting nothing more than to tear down the barrier constructed through elemental magic. “Why?”

“I can’t say.” His breathing hitched, voice faint, muttering perhaps.

I pressed my ear to the door, desperate for him to continue. It was selfish, rude, and entitled, but I needed to talk with someone. I was a goddamn Alden. That should’ve carried some weight. Should’ve afforded me some answers. Should’ve allowed someone to speak with me, for me. It didn’t. I was… I didn’t even know how to finish that thought.

“They’re worried about your Diabolic binding,” Ian said, his breath released so freely, I imagined the minty sigh he made every time I told him I had to go back to the archives. The smell didn’t cut through the stone stab between us; I considered it fortunate his voice did, but I still enjoyed the memory of his fresh breath. Strong cologne. Sweet smile. Kind words. Consideration. The same caring that brought him down here to check on me despite everything.

“It wasn’t intentional. I sort of screwed up trying to help.” A running gag in my life. “What happened with Bez—er, Beelzebub?”

Ian didn’t respond. His fingers strummed against something. Maybe a phone in his pocket? The hilt of a weapon? I wanted to see him, his reaction, his hesitation. It’d help all this paranoia and doubt and regret running through my mind.

“He’s detained,” Ian finally said. “Hasn’t moved, spoken, or resisted since being chained. But the vanguard are pretty adamant about reinforcing the chains and barriers surrounding his cell.”

“Makes sense.” Maybe my command kept him confined. Something told me the precautions and magics to detain him played little in locking him down. “Do you know how long they plan on keeping me here?”

“Very much above my station.”

“I suppose this does count as watching the door.” The light lilt of Sarai’s voice echoed in the hallway chamber outside. “Though I believe you were told not to interact until a full debrief could be accounted for.”

“S-sorry.” Ian’s voice trembled.

“Sorry, Sarai,” I added, drawing on everything we had once upon a time. Childhood memories. Friendship. A sordid awkward middle school romance. A horrible coming out rejection to avoid a sexual advance. Fake enthusiasm for her success. Regret I’d let it drive a wedge between us. Regret I’d let my failures wedge out a lot of people in my life. Of course, Sarai would be the first of the chancellors to arrive.

Light shimmered beneath the door, revealing and unraveling the barrier they’d put in place. I gulped as the stone door opened. Footsteps shuffled away before it opened, and given the silence in conversation, I gathered Ian had been shooed off to stand watch elsewhere. They really didn’t trust me.

I had no choice. I couldn’t keep the accidental Diabolic binding a secret, especially when disclosing it would help the Collective understand that it happened when I attempted to stop Bez’s release. And as awful as it turned out, I could assist in containing him before he harmed someone. Someone else. Thank the gods he hadn’t killed anyone…yet.

Sarai stepped inside the cell holding a duffle bag. Her long curls were draped around her round face, framing her features perfectly. Subtle makeup highlighted her big, brown eyes, thin eyebrows, and small, sloped nose. She wore a whitecoat with the winged heart emblem, nothing like the modern caduceus symbol most modern medicine had adapted into a sign of health. The caduceus, a staff with two entwined serpents and wings at the top had an old allure to it, yet only dated back to the early nineteenth century when the US military adopted it. Ironically, they chose a symbol from Greek mythology which had nothing to do with medicine but missed our very ancient healer symbol which the mages had used for centuries. Suppose it had to do with glamouring away truths from humanity. I shook my head. Here I was, detained and prioritizing obscure historical facts that wouldn’t help.

“You look well, despite all you’ve endured this night,” Sarai said, ever present cadence in her voice unwilling to harm anyone with a cross word or a withheld one.

She fell somewhere between a lack of honesty could hurt the soul and too much could break it. As the head of the panacea regiment, she meant to mend the injured emotionally, physically, and spiritually, not break them.

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