Rock Paper Sorcery Read online

  ROCK PAPER SORCERY

  Night Call Book Three

  L.J. Hayward

  ***

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2015 L.J. Hayward

  New Version January 2018

  ***

  Smashwords License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN 978-0-9925026-9-0

  Night Call Series

  Blood Work

  Demon Dei

  Here Be Dragons – A Night Call Story

  Rock Paper Sorcery

  Death and the Devil

  (M/M Romantic Suspense)

  Where Death Meets the Devil

  Available from Riptide Publishing February 26 2018

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Randy Devantier could count the number of times he’d been tossed into the trunk of a car on three fingers. One of those times had been a college prank. Of the remaining two, this one had the advantage of Dev actually being awake for it—and alone in the trunk. Contrary to the other two times, this also had the advantage of being Dev’s plan.

  Get seen by Friedrich’s goons, put up a show of resistance, but ultimately, get caught and, one way or another, be taken to Friedrich himself. Which, judging by how long Dev had been curled up in the trunk, would be any minute now. What happened then, well, that’d be anyone’s guess. Come hell or high water, though, one of them wouldn’t be walking away from this meeting.

  Sure enough, a minute or so later, the Lincoln town car slowed and made a turn. A prickling, uneasy sensation rolled through Dev’s stomach, a definite ‘you don’t belong here’ vibe. It faded as the car picked up speed again.

  They were past the keep-out wards on the outer edge of Friedrich’s property. Normally, it would have taken Dev weeks to get past the wards, wearing down the stones they were etched into, but this way, as something sort of like a guest, he was past them without too much hassle. Part one of the plan was done. Now he just had to survive part two.

  It was about as black as midnight in the trunk of the luxury car, but at least he wasn’t too cramped, even considering his six feet plus frame. He squirmed onto his belly, pressed his hands to the carpeted floor and pulled in a deep breath of stale air tainted with the scent of his sweat and hints of blood from his split lip and grazed knuckles. Dev held the breath for a slow ten count, then let it out over another ten count. The tight coil of anxiety and frustration and anger in his guts eased, expelled with the air.

  Calm, Dev reached for his sorcery. It came with that familiar, almost dreaded, tingle across the inside of his skull. He imagined it as sickly-green sparks lighting up in sequence inside his head, a complex network of synaptic pathways separate from the normal. It wouldn’t matter how long he practiced the Art, Dev would never get used to the sensation of the power creeping over his brain. Head already ringing from knocks that saw him overpowered and stuffed in the trunk, it took on another resonance, humming with potential power, waiting for it to be released in a trick by one of his commands.

  The car wound along the road. Dev didn’t have much time to get his thoughts together. He needed to get out of the car before they actually reached the gate to the main grounds. Allowing himself to be caught by Friedrich’s goons was only so he could get past the keep-out wards, not the entirety of his plan. He wasn’t about to be a prisoner. Not again.

  Sorcery waiting, Dev imagined the tyres of the car, those four, black rubber points of contact with the road. With that reference fixed in his mind, he triggered a trick.

  “Nitrogen kuvuta katika kufungia.”

  Like knocking over the first domino in a long line, the words set off a cascade of synaptic firings. Sparks tripped down well-worn pathways; ripples across the surface of his brain that expanded and collided, igniting and dampening, coalescing into a single impulse of energy that soared down nerves to Dev’s hands. It emerged as a faint, crystalline-green glow that highlighted the shape of his hands and the contours of the inside of the trunk.

  Nitrogen was drawn out of the atmosphere in a blinding rush and condensed around the tyres.

  The car lost traction, began to skid, rear end slewing out wildly. An instant later, the snap-frozen rubber shattered. With a sudden lurch, the car crashed down to its rims. Over the ear-piecing screech of metal on blacktop Dev heard the Goons shout in alarm. The car twisted and juddered, momentum carrying it forward and sideways, off the road and—

  Smash!

  Unprepared for the sudden stop, Dev hit the solid barrier between trunk and car interior with a bone jarring impact. Around him, the car shuddered, the engine still trying to drive it into whatever immovable object it had hit. Then, with a concussive shock, something in the engine snapped and it died, rumbling away to reveal a rushing silence.

  Dev had to keep going. He couldn’t be delayed now. Someone could have witnessed the crash, they could be coming to help, or they could be rushing off to warn Friedrich.

  Grimacing at the dull burn of pain in his back, he fumbled around until he found the latch on the lid of the trunk. Hands on either side, he repeated the trigger. This time, he froze the lock and, a sharp elbow later, smashed it to tiny pieces. The trunk popped open.

  Light sliced in through the thin crack. Dev scrunched his eyes shut. The pounding in his head intensified.

  But, he was free.

  Opening his eyes by degrees, he slowly clambered out of the trunk, careful to make sure his legs supported him and that his head didn’t flake out. Dev looked around.

  Southern California in winter. Dry, dusty and currently being blasted by the Santa Ana winds. Not a lot to recommend it, really. The sun was setting in spectacular fashion—as one would expect from California, though its glorious arc of fiery orange and vibrant yellow was only possible thanks to the gross levels of smoke in the atmosphere. Fires in the hills whipped into a frenzy by the Santa Ana’s. The air was parched and gritty,
thick with the smell of smoke and dust.

  The car had crashed off the side of the road and into a tall, sturdy stone wall. A sign just above the crumpled hood proclaimed that beyond the wall was private property and if you trespassed, you would be prosecuted, if you survived the dogs. A couple hundred yards down the road was the entrance to the property, secured by a tall, wrought iron gate, complete with coils of barbed wire across the top.

  “You’re a sorry fool, Friedrich, if you think some barbed wire is goin’ to keep me out.”

  In fact, the wrought iron itself wasn’t much of a challenge. Any half-trained weather sorcerer would be through it within moments.

  A gurgling cough drew Dev’s attention to the front of the car. He sidled up to the passenger side door and peered through the shattered window.

  The Goons were a bit worse for wear. Face planted on the dash, the driver was dead. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt and, when the car impacted, had been thrown up over the wheel. The windshield showed where his head had connected with it, splatters of blood congealing in slow dribbles down the broken glass. Beside him, Goon #2 slumped back in his seat, nose broken and bleeding, eyes swollen shut, the dash caved in over his legs, trapping him.

  “Help,” he gasped, knowing someone was there, but unable to see them.

  Dev leaned down, knocked out the remaining window glass and checked the man’s pulse. Weak and hesitant. He was bleeding somewhere, whether internally or externally it didn’t matter. There was little Dev could have done. If he’d wanted to do anything, that was.

  They were Friedrich’s men. Hired thugs with no ability to hatch an original thought between them. Muscles given purpose by Friedrich’s will alone. Within the business, they were well known to be kidnappers, enforcers and murderers. This wasn’t the first time Dev had crossed paths with them but it would be the last.

  There were things Dev could have done to hasten Goon #2’s passing. He could have ensorcelled the oxygen away from his face, left him gasping nothing but carbon dioxide. He could have done that if he hadn’t just incanted his way out of the trunk the bastard had thrown him in. At the same time, he could have put his hand over the man’s mouth and nose and achieved the same results, but he didn’t do that either.

  Instead he walked to the front of the car and climbed up on the crumpled hood. There wasn’t much left of it. A lot of the engine was probably sitting in Goon #2’s lap right about now. The top of the wall was still beyond his reach by a dozen or so feet.

  Dev kicked off his boots, then hauled his socks off and stuffed them into the shoes. One at a time, he tossed them over the top of the wall and heard them thump into thick grass on the far side. Running his hands over the wall, he found many small cracks and uneven surfaces. He reached up as high as he could, found handholds and lifted his foot. Questing toes found a small purchase, dug in and he lifted his other foot.

  Friedrich’s property was suitably isolated, tucked into a heavily wooded pocket in the hills north-east of Los Angeles. The chances of being seen were pretty slim, but he didn’t want to linger, all the same.

  Dev grunted as he hauled himself up the wall. He’d put up a pretty good show of resisting the Goons, as his ribs attested, but he was here at last, past the wards and on his way to finishing this, once and for all. Teeth gritted, he stretched for the next handhold, fingers scrabbling for purchase. In the car, Goon #2 gave a final, wet gurgle and sagged back. Dev spared him a glance and refused to acknowledge the spurt of guilt. The world was a better place without him, without both of them. And soon, it would be even better without Friedrich as well.

  Dev kept climbing, pushing aside memories of his last encounter with Friedrich. It hadn’t ended well. Dev still had the scars, would have them for life. But this time, it was different. The Council had given the go-ahead. Friedrich had finally crossed one too many lines and Dev had had to call in several favours to get the contract.

  Of course, getting the contract had been the least of his troubles. Just because the Council had pronounced open season on Friedrich, didn’t mean the plug-ugly bastard was easy to get at.

  Dev’s fingers found the edge of the top of the wall. Digging his toes into a gap between two stones, he pushed up and got his other arm over the top. With one last heave, he was lying on his belly on top of the narrow wall. Sweat pooled between his shoulder-blades, stinging slightly, prickling the remains of the skin grafts. Panting, Dev sat up, straddling the wall. Only three months out of hospital and several skipped physical therapy sessions hadn’t left him in great shape, but nothing was going to keep him from finding Friedrich and making him pay.

  The view from the top of the wall didn’t reveal much. A thick screen of trees stood between him and the main house, but hints of the Baroque mansion’s straight lines could be seen in the distance. A gap in the trees further up showed the path of the drive, leading from the gate to the house. There didn’t seem to be any activity around the house or along the drive. The crash appeared to have gone unnoticed, and if anyone was expecting the Goons, they weren’t worried as yet.

  Swinging his leg over, Dev took several deep breaths, then pushed off. The drop wasn’t far, but he still wasn’t fully recovered. He hit the ground and rolled, back sparking with pain. Coming up into a crouch, he checked the immediate area, finding it empty. Still, he murmured another incantation—“Upepo kuvuta katika,”—and the air around him shifted. For several seconds, he was buffeted with mild wind from all directions. He sniffed the incoming air deeply, several times, parsing the scents as they passed over his hyper-sensitive membranes—a modification he’d managed to wrangle out of Lana, his earth sorcerer sister.

  All he found, though, was the same dry, dusty stink that had been permeating every corner of Southern California for weeks now. No hint of any human or animal scents.

  The incantation died, taking the wind with it, letting it settle back into its natural patterns. Dev found his boots and sat down to put them back on. The grass was thick, but dry and brittle, crackling with every movement he made. Wishing he had the time to conjure up some moisture to dampen his path, Dev stood and resigned himself to the noise. At least there was no one around to hear it.

  He set out, moving into the trees, ignoring the dull ache in his head and the slowly growing itch in his scars. His heart raced from more than the exertion. The last time he’d been here, he’d barely got out with his life. All of his memories of Friedrich’s mansion were of pain and terror and gut-numbing anger. Now he was back, the anger was building, but it had to compete with the fear.

  “Fear’s just the other man’s stick,” Monty used to say. “If you let him, he’ll beat you with it every time. Trick is, son, get a bigger stick.”

  His mentor’s words ringing in his ears, Dev stalked forward, convinced the Council’s backing, and his own need for vengeance, made a big enough stick. With the contract, he didn’t have to hold back, not this time. The Goons were just the supporting act.

  What he could see of the grounds remained clear as he approached the mansion. Part way through the trees, he could make out several cars on the drive in front of the house. Large, dark coloured SUVs and a white, stretch limo. Friedrich’s usual cavalcade. Was he going somewhere? Had he postponed leaving because he was waiting for Dev to be dragged before him, beaten and submissive?

  Or had he heard about the Council contract and was preparing to disappear?

  Friedrich was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. If he was trying to stay under the radar, he wouldn’t be running in his most noticeable car. Perhaps the limo was a distraction and Friedrich was sneaking out the back.

  There was a helicopter pad behind the mansion, but Dev hadn’t seen a chopper the last time he was here. Granted, he hadn’t seen much of the place at all. Just the dark torture room in the basement, and Friedrich’s bedroom.

  Tossing those memories on the bonfire of his anger, Dev changed direction, heading toward the back of the big house.

  There was no movement
around the house. No patrolling sentries, no gardeners, no servants sneaking a quick cigarette before heading back in to fail at upholding Friedrich’s impossible standards. Dev stopped and crouched down, peering through the trees at the mansion.

  It wasn’t right. Day or night, the place was always guarded. He studied the rows of square windows lining the side of the house. It was dark beyond the glass, he couldn’t see much, but thought there was no movement inside, either. The doors on one of the second storey balconies were open, gossamer curtains billowing out.

  Dread settled into his guts like a rattler in waiting.

  If Friedrich was already gone, it’d be a sorry time he’d have tracking him down. The Council had a list of his properties all around the world, but that’d be about as useful as a trapdoor on a canoe.

  A rustle of parched leaves heralded a blast of Santa Ana winds, the hot air like a fevered slap to his face. It passed and as the rattle of the trees died down, Dev heard a new noise.

  A faint crunch. Brittle grass crushed under a heavy tread. It came from behind him. Keeping perfectly still, Dev listened hard, wishing he’d bothered Lana enough to enhance his hearing as well. He’d been meaning too, but there had never been enough time. Well, it was too late for regrets now.

  Another step, getting closer. Then more, from another direction. Both, however, were upwind of him. He pulled in a deep breath. Nothing. Just the dry heat. Whoever, whatever, they were, they had no scent, and that couldn’t be good.

  Or, they did have a scent and he just couldn’t tell it apart from the wind.

  Cursing silently, Dev sprang to his feet and spun around.

  There were two of them, stalking up behind him, coming in from different directions. At first, they were just brilliant blazes of orange light flitting between the tree trunks. Then they sensed his attention and as one, bounded toward him, howls rising through the quiet afternoon.

  Right then was when Dev remembered the sign on the gate.

  Trespassers will be prosecuted, if you survive the dogs.