Sorceress Super Hero Read online

  The snake and I struggled against each other, each of us pushing mightily, vying for supremacy. I couldn’t cast a spell. The Wave was as important as the Will and the Word. If I freed up one of my hands to perform the Wave, the snake would pump me full of venom.

  The snake’s gaping head was so big, it could’ve swallowed me whole. No longer airborne, the gargoyle’s wings beat against me. It was like being whipped by a massive leather belt. I almost lost my grip. A drop of venom the size of a baseball dripped from a fang. It barely missed my leg and hit the stage. The venom sizzled against the wooden stage like water dropped on a hot skillet.

  The snake’s forked tongue lashed my face. It was rough, wet, and disgusting, smelling like two-week-old fish that had been left out in the sun. Fortunately, it did not seem to be coated in venom.

  The snake was winning our reverse tug of war. Its head crept closer and closer.

  Desperate, I changed tactics.

  Instead of merely pushing against the snake’s mouth, I started pulling it apart too, like opening the jaws of a bear trap.

  Almost imperceptibly at first, then more and more obviously, the snake’s mouth got wider and wider. Staring into its fleshy, bluish-black mouth felt like staring into the pits of Hell.

  I felt, then heard, the snake’s jaw begin to pop and crack.

  The snake struggled against me, but in the opposite way than before. The tables had turned. I had gained the upper hand, and now the snake was trying to get away from me. Obviously panicked, the rest of the snake’s body whipped at and thrashed against me as the snake tried to escape.

  With a sound that was like the world’s biggest crab cracking open, the snake’s lower jaw ripped away from the rest of its body.

  Instantly, the snake transformed into stone. Its coils froze in place. They looked like an elaborate slide the Addams Family might have kept in their backyard.

  I dropped the snake’s lower jaw, which was now as stony as the rest of its body. It landed on my bare foot. I yelped in pain and cursed my carelessness. I was strong, but sometimes stupid.

  Panting like a locomotive that had just chugged up a steep incline, I climbed out from within the stone coils of the immobile gargoyle. My adrenaline was draining away, making me feel like an emptied glass. Exhausted and in pain, I stumbled to the front of the stage.

  A bunch of people had not made it out of the building. Some lay on the ground, either not moving at all or writhing in pain from injuries. Now that the gargoyles were gone, Good Samaritans started to tend to the injured. Others were looking up at me with their mouths agape, astounded by what they had just seen and experienced. A couple of guys pulled out their smartphones and pointed them at me, no doubt recording videos.

  It was then that I remembered I was as naked as a jaybird. Plus, I had used magic in front of a bunch of mundanes. I was exposed in every sense of the word.

  Suddenly self-conscious, I covered my crotch with a hand and my chest with an arm. Alas, covering my chest was all too easy to do. A woman as busty as Willow never would have been able to do it. Darn her bodacious body. Okay, I guess I was jealous of both her money and her boobs. If I had to choose between the two, I’d pick the former. With the former, I could buy the latter.

  An adorable little girl who could not have been more than seven approached the stage. She wore a denim overall dress over a shirt with the Hero Omega’s silver logo on it. Omega had become very famous very quickly, and his shirts were all the rage these days. The child was alone. I wondered where her parents were, and hoped they weren’t lying on the atrium floor. I got a mental image, as vivid as if it had happened ten seconds instead of ten years ago, of my father lying dead on a different floor, his body twisted, part of his head missing. He had shot himself in the head to save me when I was sixteen.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. With an effort, I pulled my mind out of the past and back to the present. I wiped away my tears with the hand that wasn’t shielding my so-called chest.

  The girl in the denim dress stared at me with brown eyes as big as saucers. She looked up to me like I had hung the moon in the sky.

  “Are you a superhero?” she asked with wonder in her voice.

  I hesitated for a second. Aw heck, after all she had just seen, what would it hurt to tell her the truth? Besides, if she repeated it, who would believe a little kid?

  I got on one knee so I was close to the girl.

  “No honey,” I whispered confidentially. “I’m a sorceress.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Oscar Hightower, a Halfling and the founder and owner of Capstone Security Consultants, drummed his thick fingers on top of his desk. He stared at me, his big head as silent and blocky as the stone heads of Easter Island. He wore a tieless gray suit that probably cost more than everything I owned, and I owned some expensive stuff thanks to my spendthrift habits. As for me, I was dressed in dark jeans, a short-sleeved dark green blouse, a ruched sleeve collarless yellow jacket, and black loafers with no socks. Sorceress casual elegance.

  It was two days after the attack of the gargoyles. Attack of the Gargoyles sounded like a 1950s B movie. While it had held my interest, I’d have to give it two thumbs down.

  Oscar most definitely gave my part in the show two thumbs down. I did my best to look contrite as he stared at me. It was a look I was unaccustomed to, so I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right.

  I waited patiently for Oscar to resume berating me again. When I’d been summoned to Oscar’s office, I had taken a few fortifying belts from the flask of Elven wine hidden in my desk. The wine had bolstered my patience immensely. You could patiently await a trip to the guillotine with Elven wine coursing through your veins.

  I knew Oscar wasn’t finished; he was merely taking a break from ripping me a new one. Not literally of course, though Oscar was fully capable of doing so since he was half Orc. His father was the human one, which proved that human men would screw anything that would hold still long enough. Orc women were so ugly that their portraits hung themselves.

  Oscar loomed over me like a mountain thanks to his Halfling heritage. He wasn’t as big as a full-blooded orc, but he was far larger than the average human. He looked like a retired professional wrestler who had taken too many steroids back in the day. Other than his size and the fact he was hairier than normal, you would never guess he was half Otherkin. He had gotten his tusks filed down and his pointy ears bobbed years ago so he could pass as a mundane. He kept his gray hair closely cropped because otherwise it looked like a bird’s nest. He avoided staying out in the sun for too long. Oscar didn’t tan; his skin turned as green as the Hulk’s.

  If he wanted to, Oscar could tear someone in half without breaking stride. Everybody in the company was afraid of him, myself included. I just hid it better than most. I think that’s why he liked me—I didn’t walk on eggshells around him. He respected that. I also hid from him the fact I was attracted to him. Oscar was an older male authority figure. That meant he was right up my alley. I was not terribly self-aware, but even I knew I had daddy issues.

  I was being dressed down in the Fishbowl. We employees called Oscar’s office that because its walls were a clear, thick glass like an aquarium’s. They allowed Oscar to keep an eye on the rows of desks, including mine, arrayed outside his plush office. It was the middle of the workday, and all the agents who weren’t in the field were at their desks. About half of the employees were Gifteds, and the other half were Otherkin. The Otherkin who could pass as human worked on this floor, which presented the public face of Capstone. Those who could not pass as human, such as the gnomes in the research division, were under the building, in Capstone’s underground annex. The twelve-story tall building housing Capstone was in D.C.’s Golden Triangle district, just a few blocks from the White House.

  Oscar’s hairy fingers continued their staccato beat on the desktop. Office scuttlebutt claimed the light-colored desk was made of the laurel tree the nymph Daphne was turned into to help her escape molestation by the lesse
r god Apollo, but I wasn’t sure I believed the rumor. I did not believe everything I heard, especially when the imp who worked in the sales department was doing the telling. Imps were notorious liars.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Oscar finally asked. His voice sounded like the rumble of an earthquake. His eyes were so dark, they were almost black.

  “Give me a raise?” I suggested hopefully. I had stitches in my back, so I was careful to not lean back in Oscar’s chair. Fortunately, I hadn’t broken any bones in the hand I had punched the dog gargoyle with. It still ached though, as did the foot I dropped the snake’s stone jaw on. The Elven wine helped with that too. Was there any problem Elven wine could not solve? I wondered if the North and South Koreans knew of it.

  Oscar’s thick fingered drumbeat continued. On the antique wood desk, it sounded like galloping horses approaching. The Elven wine made me desperate to cry Hi-Yo Silver! Away! Self-preservation made me not do it. And people said I had no self-control. Ha!

  Oscar said, “I’m far more likely to fire you than to give you a raise.”

  “My vote is for door number two.”

  “You don’t get a vote.”

  “Um, have you heard of a little thing called the Nineteenth Amendment?”

  Oscar’s finger drumming stopped for a second, then resumed. “Do you really think this is a good time to be sassing me?”

  “No sir,” I said, my eyes downcast. I aimed for demure this time since contrite hadn’t worked out so well.

  Oscar wasn’t fooled. “Knock it off with the sirs. You only sir me when you're kissing my ass.” I winced slightly at the curse word. In honor of my clean-mouthed father who had been as close to a saint as you could find on this side of the afterlife, I didn’t curse, at least not out loud. I didn’t like even hearing it if I could help it. Oscar knew I didn’t like cursing, though he didn’t know why. I suspected his use of the vulgar word had been deliberate. All part of the taking Sage to the woodshed experience.

  Oscar sighed. It sounded like the rumbling of a volcano. “Since you obviously need a reminder, what’s the First Rule of Magic say?”

  “The First Rule of Magic is you don’t talk about Fight Club.” The Elven wine had perhaps been a mistake. I was awfully lippy for someone a brownie’s hair away from losing her job.

  Oscar’s finger drumming stopped again. “What did I tell you about sassing me?”

  “You didn’t come right out and say don’t do it, but you strongly implied it.”

  “Exactly. I’m stupefied you were listening. It’s an unexpected change of pace.” More finger drumming. “As you well know, the First Rule of Magic says, ‘There is no magic.’ Meaning, you don’t expose mundanes to the hidden magical world. We can’t let it be widely known that magical creatures and magicians walk among the mundanes. Every psychological study the Conclave has commissioned and every diviner they’ve consulted have concluded that knowledge of the magical world would trigger oppression of magical folk the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Salem Witch Trials. And the oppression would be far worse now than it was then because the mundanes have Metahumans to back them up.”

  Oscar paused, then let out a sigh that sounded like the whistle of a steam engine. “When I started this firm . . .”

  Oh boy, here we go, I thought. I had heard this story many times before.

  “I was the only employee, and I skipped countless meals to pay the bills.”

  I had to walk fifteen miles to school, I thought.

  “I operated out of my rat-infested apartment in the projects of southeast D.C.”

  In the snow.

  “I had to go through people’s garbage to get cans and bottles to take to the recycling center to help make ends meet.”

  Barefoot.

  “Rejected by orcs because of my mixed-race heritage, everyone else was uncomfortable around me because of my size.”

  Uphill.

  “The business almost failed more times than I can remember.”

  Both ways! I added silently.

  “From those humble beginnings, I scratched and clawed my way to where I am now—the owner of one of the preeminent security providers in the country, and the preeminent provider of magic-based security. Orc women who teased me when I was struggling would now give their eyefangs to be with me. I employ hundreds of people. The company is worth millions. Our office space here on K Street is some of the most expensive commercial real estate in the city. We provide security for heads of state, captains of industry, movie stars, Otherkin royalty . . . I could go on.”

  I felt a yawn coming. I admired Oscar, but sometimes he got too caught up in his own Horatio Alger story. I held the yawn back. The Elven wine hadn’t dulled my wits so much that I was stupid enough to let it out.

  “And in a single day, you’ve jeopardized everything I’ve worked decades to build. You assaulted our Otherkin client you were supposed to protect, who also happens to be one of the most famous women in the world.”

  “She deserved it,” I blurted. Oscar’s face darkened like a storm cloud, making me regret my words. I needed to muzzle myself.

  “Or I should say our former client. She’s terminated Capstone’s contract. A sizable contract, I should add. She’s threatening to sue you. More importantly, she’s threatening to sue me and Capstone.”

  “Willow’s not going to sue anybody,” I scoffed. “She wouldn’t risk it becoming public that she tried to stop me from helping those people. She won’t do anything to tarnish her public image. Her entire career is based on it. Not to mention the fact the Conclave would never let her draw even more attention to the incident.”

  Oscar lifted an eyebrow. “So, you actually are capable of rational thought. It’s a shame you didn’t bring your brain to bear at the Institute of Peace.” Oscar drummed his fingers some more. He was likely to dig grooves into the desk’s surface. “I think you’re right about how Ms. Wilde is not going to sue. She’s just posturing. What she’s more likely to do is file a complaint against you with the Conclave. You did strike her, after all. Ms. Wilde is not a turn the other cheek kind of fairy.”

  My stomach turned cold. The Conclave’s Enforcement Bureau was no joke. Innocent until proven guilty was a mundane legal concept, not a magical one. The CEB was more a “you’re probably guilty, so let’s smite you with a spell first and send flowers to your descendants later if it turns out we were wrong” kind of organization.

  “And speaking of the Conclave,” Oscar continued, “there is the not so small matter of your violation of the First Rule. As your employer, I’m as much in the Conclave’s crosshairs as you are. The only exception to the no public use of magic rule is when you’re acting in self-defense or the defense of others.”

  “What do you think I was doing?” I demanded, starting to get irritated. “If I hadn’t done something, more people would have been killed or injured.” It turned out that only two people had died, one being the man who was bitten in half by the dog gargoyle. My only regret was that I had not acted quickly enough to save those two as well. About a dozen people had been injured, but none of the injuries were life-threatening.

  “The exception applies to the defense of Otherkin and Gifteds, not the defense of mundanes. As you well know,” Oscar snapped. “The Conclave thinks it’s the job of Heroes to protect the mundanes, not ours.” Then he paused. His voice softened slightly. “On the other hand, if I had been there, I don’t know if I could have stood idly by when a bunch of mundanes were being hurt either, First Rule or no First Rule. That is the only reason why you’re still sitting here instead of pounding the pavement, looking for another job. And with your checkered past, good luck in getting someone else to hire you.”

  I was so annoyed, I almost said I wished I were walking around in the fresh air and not cooped up here being lectured to. I swallowed the undiplomatic remark in the nick of time. You had to be careful what you wished for, because you might get it. I had lots of unpaid bills and debts, so I needed th
is job.

  Oscar sighed again. “Sage, you have a lot going for you. You’re tough, aggressive, fearless, you have a big heart, genuinely care about people, and you have more raw magical capacity than almost any other Gifted I’ve ever encountered. That magical capacity is why you’re so strong and have such quick reflexes. In ways, you’re the best field agent I have. Plus, as a sorceress, you’re as rare as hen’s teeth. I’ve landed a lot of high-profile, big-money clients by emphasizing the fact I have a sorceress on staff. It’s why I’ve cut you so much slack in the past.”

  I didn’t bother saying thanks for the kind words. I didn’t have to consult a diviner to know a but was coming.

  “But,” Oscar added, “you’re also impulsive and woefully lacking in self-control. You’re immature, stubborn, insecure about certain things, foolishly arrogant about other things, and too much of a smart-ass for your own good. And while aggression is a good trait for a bodyguard to have, sometimes you go overboard. You’re about as diplomatic as a wolf at a sheep convention. Also, you’re undisciplined and intellectually lazy. You’re a sorceress. You’re supposed to be good at all forms of magic. Especially at your age. You’re no spring chicken, yet you’re still uncertified. Most magicians have gotten their Conclave certifications long before they’re your age.”

  All Gifteds were born with an inherent knack for a certain magical specialty—alchemy, for example, or elemental magic, necromancy, divination, druidry, illusionism, voodoo, or any one of numerous others. All Gifteds, that is, except for those with the potential to be sorceresses and sorcerers. They were magical generalists. Jacks and Janes of all magical trades, but the masters of none. Gifteds were a tiny sliver of the human population. Sorceresses and sorcerers were in turn a tiny sliver of the Gifted population, so they were the rarest of the rare.