Wand: A Fantasy of Witches, Wizards, and Wands
Chapter Thirty-Eight

Nick dropped his arms and stepped out of the Circle, exhausted. His physical sight returned. He sagged against a shelf containing numerous seeing stones.

There was one path for him, and it had been set before he was even born. Nick considered going back to the Mirror, looking further back in time, to the moment he was conceived in that lab, but he’d heard enough for now—and the troll horde was almost through; he could feel them breeching the ward, hear them clamoring and growling just outside the property line.

It was time to meet his maker. He had just one more thing to do before leaving this life behind forever, and that was to finish the W.A.N.D. With a wand in hand, Nick might actually possess magic unfamiliar to the Mythmage, and the power to kill the man who had destined him for a life of solitude.

What had mom meant, that Nick would be gone after succeeding with the Project?

Movement to his right whipped him out of this reverie. Agravaine was stirring.

Nick jumped over the sorcerer, latched onto Lint’s slimy green hair, and yanked out a lock.

“Youch!” Lint shrieked. “Bitseach, díul mó bhad, you slimy spellslinger!”

Nick stuffed the hair into a pouch on his belt.

On Nick’s way back across the room, heading toward the traveling mirror, Agravaine’s arm shot out and grabbed him by the ankle. Nick fell in a heap.

They tussled on the floor. Being much larger and stronger—though his strength was still somewhat dampened by the alchemical concoction—Agravaine swiftly stole the advantage and subdued Nick. But the boy was more agile and, unhampered by an energy dampening elixir he recovered and pounced on the sorcerer’s back when the man turned to face the Black Mirror.

Together they slammed to the floor, landing in a tangle of limbs and testosterone.

Magical abilities notwithstanding, this was a knock down free for all street brawl, and only the one who wanted it most would win. Agravaine slammed his palm against Nick’s forehead. Hypnosis and mystical paralysis would be next, Nick knew. Dazedly he slapped the hand away. His own went for his blade, forgetting it was no longer there. The sorcerer socked Nick in the shoulder; before the boy could recover, Agravaine, using both hands, began to throttle him.

They were in this unfortunate position when a pulse burst through the house. The sorcerer released Nick and clutched his own head.

Nick, gasping for breath, said, “The ward?”

Agravaine nodded. “They’ve broken through. Quick, help me lock the house down.” He turned to the leprechauns, who’d been surveying the scene from behind an EZ chair, probably hoping Nick would kill their master and thereby liberate them. “Bring me the efrit. Now!” he added when they hesitated.

Nick followed the sorcerer out into the open kitchen/living room area. The witch Endor, lounging on the couch, grinned up at Agravaine. “Looks like your time is just about up.”

Agravaine pointed at the front door and yelled at Nick, “There’s a thick wooden cross bar standing in the closet. Use it on the doors.”

While Nick ran to obey, he could just make out Endor’s voice over the sound of the trolls charging onto the property. “You’re a fool, Aggy,” she was saying, “if you think that’ll do anything. Nothing will hold off trolls for long. Stop fighting it and take your impending death like a man. This day has been a long time coming.”

Nick dropped the wooden bar into its metal supports on either side of the door and ran back to lock another set of doors. Endor was right; he and Agravaine had brought this on themselves. While Nick was being held captive in the sorcerer’s paddock, he’d struck a deal with the troll king, agreeing to let Aggerwon go if the troll agreed to not pursue vengeance.

He should’ve known better than to trust the word of a mythic.

The leprechauns burst into the room, attempting to both restrain and guide a gagged and blindfolded efrit. One leprechaun each had wrapped itself around the efrits legs. Another two were being tossed around on their leader chains as they tried to guide the much larger mythic. Agravaine came charging over to them, fury written all over his wrinkled visage.

“Bring it over here, by the altar.”

In an attempt to avoid the tumbling mythics, Nick backed away until he was almost to the couch where Endor lay nursing a cocktail.

Efrit and all four leprechauns crashed to the floor. The house shook.

“Close enough,” Agravaine said. He poured a potion over the struggling efrits’ noggin. Steam hissed as the liquid hit the tattooed flesh. One hand on the efrit, the other clasping a smoking ceremonial censer, Agravaine commenced with a ritual Nick had never witnessed and was fairly certain he would regret witnessing now.

The efrit’s screams were muffled by the gag.

“What is he doing?” Nick asked as a pounding erupted at the front door.

“He’s siphoning the efrits bioplasma to use as fuel to craft a ward around this area of the house,” Endor said in a rather unconcerned voice. She laughed and hiccupped.

“That’s . . . he can do that?”

Endor shrugged, spilled some of her drink. “He’s a sorcerer.”

The pounding grew louder, tremulous. Nick looked across the room at the door, now shaking violently against the stout wooden bar he’d placed over the metal supports.

Leprechauns crawled away as the efrit stopped screaming, stopped moving, died.

A deep booming, as of thunder, rumbled through the house. Distinctly bluish waves of energy pulsed through the rooms. Nick felt it briefly as a kiss of warm air as it passed straight through him.

For ten seconds the pounding stopped and all was silent. Then the trolls renewed their banging, as if the haphazard ward had been no more troublesome for them than a deadbolt.

Repulsed by the wanton murder of the mythic, desperate to leave this hell, Nick ran.

He ran back into the sanctum while Agravaine commenced another sorcerous act and while Endor cackled hysterically, mocking the sorcerer’s attempts.

Back inside the sanctum, panting, casting glances behind every few seconds, Nick snatched up his pack which had fallen during their tussle, and faced the Black Mirror. It had revealed so much, and could undoubtedly reveal much more, but he knew that if he took it, and if by some miracle (or rather, tragedy) Agravaine survived, the sorcerer would stop at nothing to hunt Nick down and retake his long-sought scrying device.

Nick swore, and ran over to the traveling mirror. He closed his eyes, calmed his mind. Then he activated the device.

The mirror turned on.

An explosion. The horde had breached the front doors and was barreling into the house. Somewhere nearby the sorcerer bellowed and the air itself seemed to shutter; oxygen was being siphoned out it. Nick stepped through the swirling non-surface of the traveling mirror, and faced the cold nothing of transdimensional space.

The mirror on the other end of the wormhole spat him out, spilling him onto the leaf-carpeted ground before hardening back into reflective glass. Nick crawled away until his back was up tight against a tree trunk.

For several moments he stood cringing against that trunk, hugging his knees as rigid bark jabbed into his pack. Somewhere on this Preserve, perhaps hundreds of miles away, a lone sorcerer was facing off against a horde of trolls, possibly being led by the troll king Aggerwon.

The odds did not seem particularly in Agravaine’s favor. Then again, Nick had never met anyone as frighteningly capable as that sunglasses-wearing, bald-headed dickwad.

Just in case . . .

Nick dug out a rock that had been protruding from the ground, and whipped it at the mirror. The glass shattered into hundreds of shards.

“The way is shut,” Nick said, trying to lighten the mood by quoting The Lord of the Rings.

He peeked out into the night. It was full dark out. Heavy clouds permitted neither starlight nor moonlight. Wraiths could be waiting for him. Agravaine’s man could be lurking. He ducked back into the alcove of tightly knit trees, set his pack down and dug through it. The only sounds were the hoots of a nearby owl—a good sign—and his own heavy breathing.

“Aha,” Nick said on finding the gobstone.

He was already weakened from mirror travel and vision questing with the Black Mirror, so imbuing this gobstone with a portion of his own energy was risky. But trying to stumble back to the school in the dark was borderline suicidal.

Nick clutched the stone and closed his eyes, sending a fraction of his bioplasma into the gobstone until it shimmered with a comforting azure glow.

Cinching the backpack around his shoulder and clutching the stone, Nick wandered out into the night. The hooting owl startled him a number of times; more than once he jerked the gobstone upward to expose the hooter to its light. Eventually though he made it back to the northeastern gate and safely traversed it into the Institute’s grounds. Other than for a jackrabbit booting its way across his path near the gnome gardens, Nick reached the stone sidewalk uneventfully.

Lost in thought, he was nearly up to the front door steps before he realized someone was sitting there. He froze, felt his heart skip a few beats. With the gobstone held out before him, he observed the blue-lit individual out of the gloom.

His heart plummeted.

“Delrisa,” Nick said, snuffing the stone and stuffing it back into his bag.

“Manfac,” Delrisa said.

“Been on any good eavesdropping missions lately?”

Delrisa stood from the step she’d been sitting on and faced him from it, most likely deliberately, as it allowed her to look down her nose at him. “As a matter of fact I have.” She paused to cast him a curious look. “You’re all bruised up. Hair’s a mess. Where’ve you been?” When Nick refused to answer, she asked a different question. “Who was that man you were with, earlier tonight, in the forest?”

Nick shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“A wraith attacked you. You clearly survived, as you always seem to.” This declaration did not seem to fill the girl with any sort of gladness, judging by her expression. “Is that man dead?”

“No,” Nick said, honestly. Although, he did not bother telling her that the man had met a fate worse than death. One epoch-long minute passed by. Nick asked, “Were you waiting for me here? Because that’s a little creepy. I always thought I’d feel flattered to have my own personal stalker, but now—”

“I saw a vision of you.”

“Oh . . . um,” Nick stammered. “You had a vision of me . . . just now?”

Delrisa shook her head. Paced along the step. “Months ago, before I ever met you. The women in my family have always possessed the Sight. In my vision, I saw you working on the W.A.N.D. Project.”

“Whoa, you know about—”

“Shut up and let me finish, manfac,” Delrisa snapped. “I saw you succeed at making a wand. And then I saw you—” she caught herself up short, seemed to change her mind. “You were like a sorcerer out of Pitt’s Legends of Wizardkind. You committed terrible acts in my vision—and the Morgana Sight is never wrong.”

“Wait,” Nick said, putting two and two together. “So that explains why you hated me from the instant we met. It wasn’t anything I’d done. You treated me like crap because you assumed I was going to do something bad at some point.” He beamed. “So, I guess if you hadn’t had the vision, we might’ve hooked up.”

A burning sensation spread across Nick’s left cheek. He realized too late that he’d been bitch-slapped.

“Considering your pompous attitude and tendencies toward stupidity, I’d say no.” The girl was quiet for several moments. When she spoke again it was in a softer voice, almost to the point of reluctance. “Since we’ve met I’ve done everything I can to expose your deceit and love of the dark arts.”

“I don’t love the dark—”

“But—” she said over him, “I’m not going to try and stop you anymore. I realize now that you have to do what you are going to do.”

Nick crossed his arms, suddenly feeling haughty—in addition to his usual state of confusion around Delrisa Morgana. “Really? So what’s changed?”

Delrisa settled down onto the step again, clasping her hands over her knees. “I had another vision. After seeing that wraith attack, I ran back to my dorm, sought guidance from my ancestors. They showed me things. In my vision you were different somehow, more sure of yourself, I don’t know. It was pretty weird. And you were leading other people, warlocks I think, into battle. It was a terrible battle. You wielded a wand but I don’t think any of the others had one. People were dying. You were all fighting some kind of huge . . . I don’t even know. Maybe it was a giant mythic, something we’ve never seen before. It was on a rampage.”

She’s seen the Old One, Nick realized, astounded.

On seeing that Nick was too stunned to speak, Delrisa prodded him. “Forget all that for now. The first vision I had; why are you going to do . . . what you’re going to do?”

Nick shrugged. “Because he deserves to die. Once I have my answers, I’m going to—”

“Whoa!” Delrisa stood and grabbed his shoulder. “You’re going to kill someone?”

“Well, that’s the plan. Wait a minute, what exactly did you see in your vision?”

Under the torch light Delrisa’s eyes seemed almost to shimmer. “I saw . . . I don’t think I should tell you. It might change things and now I’m pretty sure you have to do it in order to be there to lead the others against that rampaging beast thing.” She paused, took a deep breath. “Who are you going to kill?”

“No one you know.”

“Tell me or I’m going to slap your stupid face again.”

Nick backed up, just in case the threat was genuine. “I’m going to kill the Mythmage.”

A silence fraught with emotions filled the air between them. Then Delrisa broke into hearty gales of laughter. Finally Nick had to shut her up. “Stop that! Why are you laughing?”

“You . . . you actually believe you can kill the Mythmage? What a douche!”

Nick wondered if Delrisa the laughing girl would follow him if he just walked away right now. “I think that once I have a wand in my possession, I’ll be able to kill him. Probably. Maybe. I mean, even he doesn’t know wand magic, right?”

Delrisa dried her eyes. “I guess.” She considered him for a long moment. “What kind of answers are you looking for, anyway?”

Nick crossed his arms. “It’s personal.”

“What are you two doing out here?” a harsh voice demanded.

Both Nick and Delrisa turned around whiplash fast as if caught doing something naughty and much more fun than talking. “Um, nothing?” Delrisa said.

“Get to your dorms, right this instant,” Amberly Lamborghini said.

It wasn’t until he was back in the Necromancy dorm that Nick realized this was most likely his last night in the Institute, probably ever. He nestled into bed. Richard and Bruno were already asleep, snoring away in the peaceful manner of those without guilty consciences. Bruno was probably dreaming about wardstones and picking on gnomes; Richard most likely was dreaming of . . . well, Nick wasn’t sure of what preacher boys dreamt. Nice things, probably.

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