Maker

Chapter: 3-2

I’d figured out years ago that everyone wanted my pack, but not necessarily my life. I have five laboratories. When warlocks attack, they normally come in at night, ransack the place, tip over some furniture and hopefully trigger a trap or two.

This was one of the few times one attacked when I was actually there. I couldn’t say I approved of that turn of events. I was more than happy to walk in once a year and find bodies rather than having to make them myself.

For the time being, I had to find a safe place to hole up. Running into a single warlock is the same as running into a single ant.

Going home was out. I’d only lead whoever else was coming for me straight to my safest space. No warlocks know where I live, and I’d like to keep it that way. If there has to be a fight, I’d rather it be on my terms; in a setting of my choice. Some out of the way place. Somewhere no one who wasn’t directly involved would get hurt.

Chapel Hill was the next city over and after that was nothing but large tracts of open land, with thick forest in places. I decided to spend the night there, and hope that blonde troll-faced gunman was acting alone.

Two blocks over and I was on a busier road. Busy enough for me to wave down a cab at least. The driver was nice enough, although she turned a pair of wary green eyes to my strained face. Still, I was asking her to take me to Chapel Hill, which ought to make her night as far as paychecks go. She nodded once, and I crawled in the back. Cabbies are often talkative, but she didn’t say much. I was glad for the rest and a chance to think.

Most people think I’m insane and don’t speak to me anyway. I vocalize most of my thoughts as low muttering and everyone just assumes that anyone thinking out loud must be crazy. Anyone crazy must also be dangerous, and that pretty much sums up all my social interactions.

As we drove, I kept an eye on the traffic around us. I didn’t see any cars following us, though that meant little. We were already on I-40 heading north like a bat out of hell, and I wasn’t about to tell her to slow down.

I held my staff, felt it, and focused on it. It was more than half full. My staff didn’t help me focus magical energy or help me do something I wasn’t good at on my own, like most wizard’s staffs. It was actually the magical equivalent of a battery. While I slept, it siphoned off my magic to store, and it took me more than a month to fill it up completely. The stored-up magical energy was what allowed me to power any spell I chose.

“UUUUUND!!!” The sound was like a bass drum and a clap of thunder happening inside my skull. I managed not to scream, but just barely. I think my stifled grunts worried the taxi driver even more and had her reconsidering if the fare was worth it.

There are ancient beings in the universe. Some were there at the beginning of it, and I just-so-happened to have one in my head. Tema put it there, and I killed her for it. It was actually the backlash of all the power in the spell, but my anger always demanded the credit.

Tema Rion was not a nice person. If she were still alive today, I’d kill her again, and be doing the world a favor. I didn’t know anything about the spirit, beyond that it was some minor god of knowledge and wisdom. Like Athena with a lot less power.

Whatever its name was, I didn’t know it; I couldn’t interact with it at all. I surmised that it moved through time differently than I did. A day for me might be ten thousand years to it, or vice versa. Imagine a creature whose whole life lasted all of a half-second; no matter how fast you talked, you could never have any meaningful contact with it. So, I couldn’t speak to it and it couldn’t speak to me.

Despite the communication barrier, I had to wonder if it was the reason I was so gifted with magical theory. Sometimes a spell just comes to me, then I find that I don’t have the power to actually cast it. Normally that results in me constructing some tool to cast it for me that doesn’t work.

I cradled my ringing head, staring at my staff and wishing to god that it was full. I pulled out my phone. There were only about five numbers in it. Zora, Miles, and a couple places where I knew I could get a decent pizza. I only briefly considered calling for help. The only other wizard I knew in the area was Zora, but she was only slightly stronger than me, currently injured, and I didn’t know everything I was dealing with. The other wizards I knew could be contacted easily, but none of them would be able to get here today.

The Martinet had their hands full. The war with the vampires was on the upswing since vampire numbers were rising. They were also at war with the werewolves, the fae legions, and of course, evil wizards. “War” was a misnomer; it wasn’t like they ever got together for pitched battles or anything. It was just the most succinct way to say “we don’t like you and we’re going to exterminate you.” “The Genocides” would be a better appellation.

The Martinet in North America were particularly strained. Martinet Wizard Christian Gomez was on the West coast, and probably had more important matters than dealing with a warlock or two. Myer might still be up in Canada, but he would just as soon kill me right along with whoever was hunting me.

I was on my own, like always. It’d sure be nice to have a little help once in a while though. I started texting Zora.

Sitrep: A lock hit me at the lab and I’m heading north in a cab to hide out. Think she was alone but I’m gonna spend the night in the woods to make sure. If you haven’t heard from me by tomorrow night feel free to go hunting.

It only took a moment before the response came:

Ackd

I reached into my backpack to grab a potion. I hadn’t slept well the past few nights, and I was already feeling the fight with Blondie. I muttered “Wakey wakey” under my breath to avoid spooking the cabbie any further. I downed the blue liquid in one gulp, dropped the bottle in my cargo pocket, and sat back to let it take effect. It was my Wake-up Special. I sold these too, though not as often. This was like five shots of espresso, two Adderall and a full night’s sleep. If someone sawed off my leg I would barely notice.

The formula was flawed. It woke me up, but it also wouldn’t let me sleep. After a few days with no sleep and constant activity, the human body goes into revolt. I had to heavily dilute every batch, which is no easy feat for potions. The benefit was that I could throw spells a little longer before it caught up to me. I would pay for it in the morning.

We were past Chapel Hill, heading west on I-40 when a semi sped past and jack knifed right in front of us, blocking three of the four lanes. Luckily, the cabbie had the reflexes of a cat and swerved to avoid it. Not so luckily, the taxi spun out, and we slammed into the ditch going eighty miles per hour. We slid to a stop before hitting anything more significant.

I had the seat in a death grip as the smell of overheating brakes and burnt rubber wafted into the car. I slowed my breathing down and shook my head. I must’ve hit it on something because I was a bit foggy. The adrenaline locked me up, and it took a few breaths to release my death grip on the seat and regain control of my faculties.

I fumbled with the seat belt, finally got it to release and stumbled out of the car. My head was still foggy and I was and dizzy. The crash had taken us past the truck. The driver and I were mostly unharmed, if somewhat shaken, but the car was trashed. I could tell when she tried to restart it.

I ducked back in, collected my pack, tossed a fifty on the front seat and climbed out again, leaving the cabbie to her frustrated muttering. It was bizarrely quiet and dark on the road. No traffic was making it past the wrecked rig. I sniffed the air; nothing smelled dangerous, and I didn’t hear anything that sounded like I should be running from it. I walked cautiously up the embankment, towards the truck. Shaking my head in a vain effort to clear it.

A small crowd was already gathering; a number of cars had pulled off to the shoulder or simply stopped in the middle of the road, and people were milling around. I hung back, wanting to have some idea what the situation was before deciding to get involved or not. I saw a couple people with cell phones to their ears, but couldn’t make out any of the conversation.

I looked further back up the road. There were a handful of vehicles parked in a row across the freeway at the exit we’d just passed. All of them had their hazard lights flashing. The drivers seemed to be directing oncoming traffic to the off-ramp. My attention wandered back to the people closer to me, but something was bothering me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something wasn’t right about this.

I checked my phone. I’d obviously hit my head and blacked out in the cab, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes. How had everyone reacted so fast?

My eyes flicked back to the people on the off-ramp. It was more than a little strange for innocuous bystanders to be this… organized. Not to mention, calm, and so soon after such a big accident. Even stranger—I didn’t hear a single siren, and the only flashing lights I could see were ordinary car blinkers. For this stretch of highway not to have a single emergency responder within five miles yet was simply unheard of.

I frowned. My head was clearing and my suspicions sharpening. Was this an accident or a poorly executed ambush?

A warlock just tried to kill me, so it was entirely possible I was just paranoid. Then again, it would only be paranoia if I was wrong. I started to back away from the milling crowd, trying to look inconspicuous. Glancing around, I took stock of my options and decided to head for the woods on the far side of the freeway.

Beyond the semi-truck, the freeway was dark and quiet. It was easy enough to slink over the median unnoticed once I’d put some distance between myself and the wrecked rig. The eastbound side of the freeway was a different story; traffic had slowed due to the rubberneckers, and no one was paying attention to the road. I nearly got hit twice, and it seemed like it took an eternity, but I finally got across. Shaken, but unscathed.

My little game of Frogger was accompanied by car horns and screamed curses. The noise surely alerted any interested parties in the crowd at the accident to both my location and my intended destination, so I didn’t dawdle.

I snapped my staff, sharply extending it to its full six-foot length as I dashed across the shoulder and stepped into the forest beyond. I could already hear the bastards behind me.