Magicorum Box Set (Books 1-5)

3. Chapter Three

3

Chapter Three

Bryar Rose

Hundreds of pixies hover by my kitchen ceiling. A sense of menace pours off them in waves. Other things do as well. Their hummingbird-style wings drive a gentle breeze through the kitchen. Too bad it smells of bubblegum and dumpster juice. The scent makes my inner wolf go nuts.

“Bite bite bite!” She cries in my soul. “Me want bite!”

For the record, it’s never a good sign when my inner wolf starts talking like Cookie Monster.

I stand beside the Colonel now. “Do you still need power?”

“A little boost would be welcome.” The Colonel gets super polite at the oddest times. “That still fine with you?”

Instead of replying, I grasp his right palm. The moment our hands touch, the fairy energy inside my soul goes berserk. In my mind, I picture the quicksilver strands as they spin and flow about each other in an elaborate whirl. It reminds me of a ball of yarn, only alive and glowing.

“Thanks, sugar.” With those words, the spool of power unwinds inside me. As each thread becomes untangled, it disappears. No question where the power is going, either. A moment ago, only a thin layer of fairy dust surrounded the Colonel’s left hand. Now, that haze grows heavier. Within a few seconds, it’s impossible to see the Colonel’s arm at all.

“Y’all need to go home now,” announces the Colonel.

“No! We want Elle!” chant the pixies.

You have to give it to them. The pixies have a goal here.

“Last warning,” adds the Colonel.

The chants of Elle now turn deafening. Wincing, I set my left ear against my shoulder—since my left hand is still clasped with the Colonel’s—and press my right palm against my right ear. It helps a little but dang, those pixies can screech.

“Buh-bye,” says the Colonel. He sets loose his power from his left hand. The fairy dust congeals in mid-air, taking the shape of a massive net. It’s reminds me of the kind for catching butterflies—the net had a little round ‘o’ at its opening and a super-long sack behind. The big difference here? This butterfly net is big enough to catch an adult, is made of shiny silver fairy power, and now hovers around my kitchen ceiling.

Welcome to my world of weird.

The Colonel snaps his fingers. The net swoops across the kitchen ceiling, scooping up all the pixies as it goes.

The Colonel grins. “Not too bad, considering how crazy magic has been.” He turns to me. “Now, see those tiny sink doors that the pixies came though?”

“Hard to miss,” I reply.

“You just hold them open while I send this here net through. After that, we’ll be done with this entire business.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “And thanks for the extra energy.”

“No problem.” I release his hand and head toward the kitchen sink. I’m not two steps away from the Colonel when it happens. All the fairy mist around the Colonel vanishes.

The net falls apart.

Large swaths of silver fabric waft to the ground.

My breath catches with fear.

Uh-oh. The pixies are free.

Even worse, the little emerald monsters are angrier than ever. Their round green heads splotch red with anger. The pixies chatter away, mostly about how they still want to see Elle.

“Blast it all.” The Colonel wipes his forehead with a white handkerchief. “I must have needed your power more than I thought.”

What happens next takes seconds, but every fraction becomes embedded in my memory. Turning on his heel, the Colonel rushes to under the exit archway. Spinning around, he presses his hands against either side of the arch. His normally calm features wince with effort. Meanwhile, the pixies race toward the exit—and the Colonel—in a great blur of motion. I don’t see individual faces so much as flashes of pointed teeth and tiny claws.

On reflex, I race toward the Colonel. My heart pounds so hard, I feel my pulse in my neck. Hundreds of pixies slam into both Colonel Mallory and the barrier that’s keeping the little green buggers in the kitchen. The Colonel’s invisible barrier bows under the force of the pixie attack, but it still holds. After that, the pixies go after Colonel Mallory instead. They bite into his arms and scratch his face. Blood drips down the Colonel’s cheeks and seeps through the fabric of his white suit.

Rage corkscrews through my limbs. Colonel Mallory saved me. How dare they attack him? On reflex, I call upon my inner shifter power. Threads of golden light pulse through my soul. A haze of magic surrounds me.

After that, my wolf bursts out of my skin. The motion is instant and painless.

Before I know it, I’m all white fur and red fury. All conscious thought leaves my head, save for one idea.

Stop the pixies.

Leaping forward, I bite into pixie after pixie, flinging them off the Colonel. At the same time, my claws skewer even more of the little creatures and toss them away. In the process, I slam into cabinets and tear through the floor. Dishes crash from their shelves. Glasses shatter everywhere.

I’m having the time of my life.

In response to my attack, the pixies come up with a new plan.

They go after me instead.

Crap.

A heartbeat later, my fur is covered in tiny green pixies as they chomp into my skin, poke at my eyes, and generally hurt me all over. This isn’t working. In my mind, I picture the Colonel’s last spell—the magic net worked perfectly until it fell apart. Now, great sheets of enchanted fabric line the kitchen floor.

That just might be something I can work with.

Sure, I have no idea how to start up a fairy spell from scratch—that’s what school is for—but this particular spell has already been started. All I need to do is finish it up. Plus, it’s magic that was partly formed from my own energy.

I can fix it.

Absolutely.

Possibly.

Actually, I have no idea what my powers can do, but I’m getting chomped on my hundreds of little pixies, and those green monsters want to go after my best friend. I’m giving this all I’ve got.

In my heart, I call out to the strands of magic.

Reform the spell. Send the pixies back to the Fairy Lands.

Nothing happens. Except that I keep scraping off pixies from my fur, only to have them reattach a second later. Dang, these things are persistent.

Time to try another tactic. I call out to the magic inside me once more.

We have to do this. For Elle. These pixies want to hurt her.

For whatever reason, using Elle’s name when calling upon my fairy magic gets a big response and fast. Instantly, a thick cloud of silver fairy dust appears around my fur. The pixies that were biting into me? They all cough and sputter under the new haze. After that, the little green creeps fall to the floor, gasping for breath.

Once my fur is cleared off, the silver haze leaves my body, turning into a compact orb of fae power. That fairy energy speeds over to the broken sheets of netting that lie in a neat pile on the kitchen floor. The ball of magic slams into the broken sheets, sending a great pouf of silver cloud rising up from the kitchen floor. A second later, all the useless scraps reweave together, forming the mother of all butterfly nets.

Perfect.

Calling to my soul, I give another order to the fairy magic.

Round them up. Send them back.

The magic net now moves with lightning speed, scooping up pixies as it goes. The tiny creatures howl and bite, but it’s no use. Soon the entire kitchen is pixie-free again. Next the net slams straight through the doors under the kitchen sink, shattering them into a hundred little pieces. There’s a flash of silver light as the net-o-pixies vanishes as well. Now that’s what I call good magic.

I prance across the ruined kitchen floor, feeling mighty pleased with my wolfie self.

The Colonel straightens his wide-brimmed hat. The rest of him needs a lot more work to be back to normal, though. The Colonel’s face is still all scratched up. Plus, his suit is all raggedy with tiny bite marks and blood. I scan my fur. I’ve got my own share of scratches as well, but I’m too happy to care.

“That’s my first time casting a fairy spell while in my wolf form.” It’s always a little tougher to talk in my wolf form, what with my extra teeth and all.

“Well done,” says the Colonel.

My chest swells with pride and I celebrate by mincing about in another circle. “Thank you.”

“Since you did the hard work with the pixies, how about I clean up?” The Colonel doesn’t wait for my reply. Lifting his arms, the Colonel summons a fresh cloud of fairy dust to appear around his palms. While twiddling his fingers, he issues a fresh command: “Make this better.”

In response, the fairy dust zooms out from the Colonel’s hands and fills the room. For a moment, it’s as if there’s a silver snowfall in my kitchen. The Colonel claps his hands, and the fairy snow disappears. The cleaning up spell is over, and it certainly worked. My kitchen looks good as new. There are no broken glass or shattered cabinets to be seen. Plus, the Colonel has returned to his normal state as well. His white suit is pristine once more. I can’t see my fur, but I’m guessing whatever marks the pixies left on me have disappeared too.

My inner wolf lets out a loud yawn. “I’m ready for a nap,” she says.

“That’s fine,” I reply in my mind. “You’ve earned it.”

Focusing on my shifter power, I will myself to return to human shape. This time, the change takes a little longer. Turns out, there’s nothing like homicidal pixies to inspire you to turn into a wolf. The magic hears my call. My bones realign. Claws and fangs disappear. Skin replaces fur. Overall, the experience doesn’t hurt so much as tickle. Soon I’m back to my regular human form, including my black pants, heavy boots and cropped T.

The Colonel eyes me from head to toe. “I can see why you like that fairy get-up. Unshreddable. I’ll have to get me a suit like that.” He shakes his head. “Nothing worse than shifting into a dragon, changing back, and having all your private business out there for the world to see.”

“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly how I felt.” Most shifters are super-comfortable with nudity. I’m glad that the Colonel and I are both firm members of Camp Clothing.

“Where did you get that outfit anyway?” asks the Colonel.

“Queen Nyxa. She runs a secret store for fairies in Manhattan.”

“Nyxa, huh?” The Colonel settles himself back onto a stool by our high top. “I’ll have to pay her a visit. That one owes me a favor or two.”

“She does?” There’s no mistaking the shock in my voice.

“Everybody owes me something, sugar. That’s why I’m me.” The Colonel tears into an unopened box of food and smacks his lips. “Now, do you mind if I feast on this here cashew chicken?”

“Help yourself.”

Using his chopsticks, the Colonel points to the open space across from him at the table. “Why don’t you come set a spell with me? We need to talk.” The set a spell thing is Colonel Mallory talk for please sit down.

Now, it may be that I just fought off hundreds of evil pixies in my own kitchen, but the way the Colonel says those words—we need to talk—it makes me feel like I’m heading into battle once more.

I slide onto the stool across from the Colonel and wait. My appetite is still firmly at zero. No matter. Whatever is coming up, I have a feeling it’s not dinner conversation anyway.