Page 22 of The Misfit Mage and His Darling Demon

My chest tightened with each failed lead; a heavy pressure like iron made of fear and guilt weighed heavy on me.

Raged seethed out in a maelstrom of black lightning, surging with a gust throughout the main living space. Electricity crackled, knocking kitchenware from the cupboards, and wind hurled furniture everywhere. My claws and tails slashed through everything in my path. None of it soothed my fury.

I stormed into Wally’s office, tearing at the fibers of energy in the room, searching for any trail. Still nothing.

Antoninus, the most irritating and worthless scorpion that ever existed, hissed.

“I don’t speak annoying fucking insect. But if you’re warning me not to disturb Walter’s belongings, I hate to break it to you”—I smashed a trinket meant to pass off to Mora for payment—“he’s already gone.”

Wait. Mora. She put me up to this. Risked Wally’s neck, and now I have no way to help him. But she knew something. She must have. This was her lead, after all, and she found the Fae Divinity performance where no one else could.

I quelled my essence and went to retrieve my telephone, ignoring the clatter of the scorpion’s claws and profane hisses. The tiny bug scuttled into the living room carrying the card used to steal Wally.

“You’re trying to tell me something?” I knelt in front of the creature, waiting for a response when he dropped the card, pointed feet walking over one symbol in particular. The insect walked over this one sign three times over. “You want me to say this?”

Antoninus didn’t respond. Of course not. Despite sharing knowledge from the wealth of Wally’s mind, this tiny, insignificant creature lacked proper civility.

I read the phrase. He stepped onto another set of symbols, and I followed suit by speaking them aloud until I reached the third one.

The scorpion stung me.

I growled. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Antoninus pointed his stinger at a collection of books, which I’d have to root through since the tiny fucker couldn’t flip to the necessary passage.

“If we don’t find Wally, I’m going to eat you,” I said, flipping pages. “After I boil you in chocolate cheese.”

We worked together, me doing all the heavy lifting of identifying what this bug wished me to read and translate next. Either I mispronounced something or skipped over something because he kept hissing.

“Unless you’re going to tell me how to properly say it, shut the fuck up.” I huffed. “Just click your claws or something when I say a word correctly.”

The scorpion hissed.

I squinted, desperately attempting to decode these symbols and rescue Wally.

7

Walter

I stood barefoot on a stone floor. Not stone. Clay with a stone-like texture and an oddly polished finish. I swallowed hard. Golem flooring. Not flooring crafted from golem Mythics, but actual floor made out of golem hides. The luster added to alter the color and add a shine was proof enough of Fae manipulation. Nothing was ever just right for the Fae, so much so that they needed to augment and alter everything to fit their perfect desires.

Perfection. The sentiment sent a shudder through me, reminding me of every Alden trait I’d never fulfilled due to my imperfections in a family that never faltered.

I shook it away, shook away the need to study the floor, shook away every curious inkling that crept inside me. What I needed to do was figure out where I was, how I’d gotten here, and how to contact Bez. No. Escape. Because I already knew where I was and how I’d gotten here. The Fae summoning pulled me through into Baron Novus’ villa. Somewhere tied to another plane, whereI literally spoke the chant voluntarily, offering myself and my mana.

Bars surrounded me from every side, forming a circular shape around the pentagram traced in chalk along the stone—correction, clay—ceiling. As if the tips of the pentagram weren’t far out of reach, they each extended far beyond the bars confining me. No chance I’d be able to knock off one of the altars silencing my magics. An archaic but completely effective way to diminish a mage’s connection to the Pentacles of Power.

At each tip of the pentagram sat a totem, each representing a connection to magic from the Pentacles of Power. I couldn’t believe how willingly I’d walked right into this trap. I should’ve caught on as I uttered the words. No, I should’ve known based on reading alone. I was so distracted translating, solving the puzzle, proving I knew what the fuck I was doing. I sighed. I had no idea what I was doing.

I couldn’t write or speak incantations to will the bars to heed my call. I couldn’t saturate the floor to strengthen my resolve. I couldn’t glamour myself in a desperate attempt to cloak my presence. I couldn’t summon elements to defend or destroy. Most of all, I couldn’t contact Tony or even feel my familiar’s presence.

Our link was as disjointed as my severed connection to Bez.

Bez.

He must be so worried.

I trembled, and the essence coursing through my body stirred. My veins blackened. I quelled the surge of Diabolic power radiating within me because there wasn’t enough to be wasteful. We hadn’t performed the offering in weeks, and if I burned through what remained, I’d be screwed. More screwed than I already was.

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