Strange Magic: A Yancy Lazarus Novel by James Hunter Page A
Authors: James Hunter
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, dark fantasy, Paranormal & Urban, Metaphysical & Visionary, mage, warlock, paranormal and urban fantasy, s Adventure Fiction, Fantasy Action and Adventure, Thrillers and Suspense Supernatural Witches and Wizards, Mystery Supernatural Witches and Wizards, Men&apos
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I asked. “I’m gonna need my gear—and also being cut loose would be pretty handy.”
He nodded.
At a quarter to seven, I found myself standing in a room which hardly resembled the one I’d woken up in—a room made ready for war. Couches and tables had been up-ended with sandbag barriers erected in front of each, a maze of potential covered shooting positions. Thick boards secured over the windows, the back door reinforced with thick gauge steel, while the front door stood wide-open, save for the thin screen. An open challenge if I’d ever seen one. Morse and his crew didn’t intend to merely fend off their territory, they meant to kill whatever walked into this home.
The bikers had likewise undergone a similar metamorphosis as they prepared for the fight. All had donned para-military gear over their leathers: thick, beige flak jackets—sporting SAPI plates , no less—drop pouches, and about a million magazines each. And there were guns. Lots of guns. SAW M249 light machine guns. A refurbished M240. Couple of AA12 machine shotties—shotguns featuring a 32-shell drum and a fire rate of 300 rounds per minute. And a whole slew of customized, military-grade M-4s.
The fifteen men arrayed themselves in a staggered semi-circle, laying out unrestricted lanes of fire, ensuring that the only thing in line for a bullet was whatever came through the door. Or me. I was the front line defense, positioned squarely in the middle of the room, with the door to my front and all of those heavy-duty armaments fanning out behind me.
If this friggin’ demon stood us up, these guys would riddle me full of bullets like a target at a firing range, and I’d be hard pressed to stop them. The drugs had worn off, sure, so I had access to the Vis again and I even had all of my gear. But this room was a friggin’ death trap. Deflecting handgun rounds from a few shooters is one thing. Stopping a hailstorm of high-caliber bullets, fired from multiple positions, is another thing entirely.
Dying light trickled in around the curtains. Only a few scant minutes till the lights went down and the curtain came up on the evening monster movie. I could feel the tension growing in the room, mounting ever higher as the sun traced its course for the horizon. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on all the half-formed constructs I had waiting for the party guest. In the hour Morse had given me to prepare, I’d cooked up some real doozies: all big hitters that’d land like a super-charged punch from Mike Tyson.
I was tired of getting ambushed—pushed around, kicked in the teeth, and generally made to look like an imbecile. Yraeta’s guys had caught me unaware in the Big Easy, the Rakshasa had ninja sneak-attacked me in Las Cruces, and Morse had caught me with my pants down at The Full House. It was my turn now, someone or something was about to have a helluva bad night, which made me smile a little bit, a feral grin.
All that was left to do now was wait—wait and hold all of my ungainly constructs in place—but it wouldn’t be long. There was power in the night and I wasn’t the only one who felt it either. A quick glance around the room showed me necks and arms tensing, fingers easing toward triggers.
The energy building and rippling through the ethereal plane signaled the ritual was under way, approaching like some kind of fast, yet unseen, tsunami. The Conjurer was close—maybe within a hundred mile radius of this location—an important piece of the puzzle, which I filed away for later examination. There was no time for thinking now though. No time for fear or anxiety, or room for speculation and self-doubt. I was present , a knife being drawn from the sheath, a trigger squeezed tight just before the point of firing.
A dark energy seeped through the ceiling, an invisible mass of vile power, composed of thin strands of fire, wrapped in thick cables of earth and air, tied and bound with pillars of will, and immersed throughout with the
He nodded.
At a quarter to seven, I found myself standing in a room which hardly resembled the one I’d woken up in—a room made ready for war. Couches and tables had been up-ended with sandbag barriers erected in front of each, a maze of potential covered shooting positions. Thick boards secured over the windows, the back door reinforced with thick gauge steel, while the front door stood wide-open, save for the thin screen. An open challenge if I’d ever seen one. Morse and his crew didn’t intend to merely fend off their territory, they meant to kill whatever walked into this home.
The bikers had likewise undergone a similar metamorphosis as they prepared for the fight. All had donned para-military gear over their leathers: thick, beige flak jackets—sporting SAPI plates , no less—drop pouches, and about a million magazines each. And there were guns. Lots of guns. SAW M249 light machine guns. A refurbished M240. Couple of AA12 machine shotties—shotguns featuring a 32-shell drum and a fire rate of 300 rounds per minute. And a whole slew of customized, military-grade M-4s.
The fifteen men arrayed themselves in a staggered semi-circle, laying out unrestricted lanes of fire, ensuring that the only thing in line for a bullet was whatever came through the door. Or me. I was the front line defense, positioned squarely in the middle of the room, with the door to my front and all of those heavy-duty armaments fanning out behind me.
If this friggin’ demon stood us up, these guys would riddle me full of bullets like a target at a firing range, and I’d be hard pressed to stop them. The drugs had worn off, sure, so I had access to the Vis again and I even had all of my gear. But this room was a friggin’ death trap. Deflecting handgun rounds from a few shooters is one thing. Stopping a hailstorm of high-caliber bullets, fired from multiple positions, is another thing entirely.
Dying light trickled in around the curtains. Only a few scant minutes till the lights went down and the curtain came up on the evening monster movie. I could feel the tension growing in the room, mounting ever higher as the sun traced its course for the horizon. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on all the half-formed constructs I had waiting for the party guest. In the hour Morse had given me to prepare, I’d cooked up some real doozies: all big hitters that’d land like a super-charged punch from Mike Tyson.
I was tired of getting ambushed—pushed around, kicked in the teeth, and generally made to look like an imbecile. Yraeta’s guys had caught me unaware in the Big Easy, the Rakshasa had ninja sneak-attacked me in Las Cruces, and Morse had caught me with my pants down at The Full House. It was my turn now, someone or something was about to have a helluva bad night, which made me smile a little bit, a feral grin.
All that was left to do now was wait—wait and hold all of my ungainly constructs in place—but it wouldn’t be long. There was power in the night and I wasn’t the only one who felt it either. A quick glance around the room showed me necks and arms tensing, fingers easing toward triggers.
The energy building and rippling through the ethereal plane signaled the ritual was under way, approaching like some kind of fast, yet unseen, tsunami. The Conjurer was close—maybe within a hundred mile radius of this location—an important piece of the puzzle, which I filed away for later examination. There was no time for thinking now though. No time for fear or anxiety, or room for speculation and self-doubt. I was present , a knife being drawn from the sheath, a trigger squeezed tight just before the point of firing.
A dark energy seeped through the ceiling, an invisible mass of vile power, composed of thin strands of fire, wrapped in thick cables of earth and air, tied and bound with pillars of will, and immersed throughout with the