Dread Night (The Legacy Series)

A Story of

The Legacy Series

By Ryan Attard

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2013
Ryan Attard

Cover art by Viola
Estrella,
www.EstrellaCoverArt.com

Published by AEC Stellar Publishing, Inc.

ISBN-10: 1-940-82001-4

ISBN-13:
978-1-940820-01-9

Halloween.

I fucking hate that holiday. Scratch that – I hate the entire week.

In my line of work, most of your potential clients are either superstitious scar
edy-cats or a couple of douche-bags looking for a laugh. On Halloween week, those guys quadruplicate. All of a sudden, every ghost in town is out to get them, and everyone makes shit up to try and prove just how big a fraud I am.

So
, after two bust jobs in the span of three days, I was incredibly tempted to hang the ‘closed’ sign and tell everyone to go fuck straight off. It took the combined efforts of my cat and my empty bank account to make me rethink my strategy. The cat suggested a money-up-front policy, which makes a lot of sense once you think about it.

The damn cat is smarter than me.

I’m Erik Ashendale; wizard, monster hunter, solver of weird conundrums. Basically, when someone’s got a problem that modern science can’t explain or solve, they turn to me.

I run a little office in Eureka, California in a small
, isolated district called La Fortunata.

I know – I get the irony.

But it’s a nice place to be if you like small and cozy. I honestly have no idea how people find me. My guess would be word of mouth. It’s not like I advertize in the book or anything. I heard one guy in Chicago does that, although he’s probably just some poser.

Most of my income comes from the police
, since I know a detective who hires me when something goes bump in the night. But occasionally, I do get a genuine client knocking on my front door. This case is one of those times.

*****

Amaymon, my demonic cat-slash-familiar, had busted up the doorbell in an act of mindless violence, so the guy behind the door was left standing outside, knocking furiously and glancing upwards at grey clouds which threatened rainfall.

I opened the door and let him in.

He was about fifteen or sixteen, with ginger hair and freckles. He wore a sweater vest and crisp blue jeans with a pair of polished brown shoes. And to top it all off, he had a pair of large, black spectacles on.

In short, the kid looked like the stereotypical nerd to the stars.

He walked in and met my eyes.

“Hello,” he said curtly. He lifted his right arm and pulled back his sleeve. On the top of his forearm was a black symbol which looked self-drawn. It looked too smudgy and une
ven to have been properly tattooed on. The symbol itself looked like a triangle made with three interlocking loops:  a Triquerta. It was associated with old nature magic or something, although I had no idea why the kid was flashing me the ink. He looked at me like he expected me to do something.

“
Erm. Hi,” I said stupidly.

The kid’s eyes narrowed from behind his thick glasses.

“You’re supposed to show me your mark,” he said irritably.

That earned him a blank stare
. “What mark? I don’t have a mark. I don’t even have a magic marker.”

The kid frowned at me. “I was told that you were . . . one of us.”

What the hell is this, a zombie movie?

It was my turn to become irritated. “Look
, kid, I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’re tryin’ to pull something, there’s the door.”

My little outburst caused him to back away. “I’m sorry
, Sir. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He pushed back his glasses. “Are you the wizard who helps people?”

Finally
, a question I could answer.

“Yes, I am,” I replied.

“Then, I am in the right place,” said the kid. He sighed, and I could almost hear him steel himself mentally.

“My name is Isaac,” he said as he extended his arm.

I blinked at him. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“People tend to say their full name when introducing themselves,” I explained. “The fact that you didn’t means your mind is too preoccupied thinking up a fake name and trying to hide something.”

I got closer to him
− my five, nine height towering over him. “So, let’s try this again, shall we? Who, and what, are you?”

The kid’s eyes fell to my shoes. “Any person using the magical arts knows what an enemy might do with their full name,” he replied.

So, this guy was at least a practitioner of magic – most likely the bookish kind. Him and a couple of friends hanging out at the library or surfing the net, until they stumble across some occult page. Flip through enough bullshit, and you’ll eventually find a genuine spell. Then, they’ll use more and more magic until their Core is activated, giving them access to actual power.

Or, at least, that’s how it usually happens unless you are born a wizard, like
me.

And he was right to be cautious
. There are tons of thaumaturgy practices that can mess you up with just a name or some DNA. But I’m not the voodoo type of guy. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d just throw a fireball in your face.

That generally does the trick.

I looked at the kid and chuckled. I held my hand up, and a dazzling ball of fire sprang to life: flames burning azure, violet, red, yellow and green.

Usually
, I can’t use magic. I was born with a curse that traps all my power inside my body, and if I want to use it actively, I need a channel – some sort of weapon or device to push my power through. But about a couple of years ago, I found a way to bypass that by installing a series of crystals inside my office walls. They allowed me free use of magic within my office.

And that, boys and girl
s, is how I could light up a dazzling kaleidoscope of fire in the palm of my hand.

The kid was clearly impressed, judging by the way his mouth hung open.

“As you can see,” I said, “if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t need your name.”

I put out the fire spell with an elaborate flourish. “So
, how about a proper introduction?”

It took a while for him to get back online. “Francis
Halowitz.”

I grabbed his still extended hand. “Erik Ashendale. What can I help you with?”

Francis took a deep breath. “I am the leader of a druid sect based in this town. We discovered the sacred arts by accident and pursued it.”

“Druids?” I asked.

He nodded. “Our practices include nature gatherings, prayers, and blessing of forest creatures. Every month we organize a retreat into Trinity Forest or Redwood Park and camp there for a weekend in order to become one with nature.”

Just as I thought
− rituals and a whole lot of rain dancing. Nothing which had an actual harmful effect.

“How many are in your group?” I asked.

“Thirteen, of course,” he replied. Of course – meaning that I should have known that most beginners think thirteen is the magic number. Which, by the way, is complete and utter horseshit.

“We all mark ourselves with the
Triquerta,” continued Francis. “It represents life, death and rebirth; the cycle of nature. We were a merry bunch – until he joined.”

“And by ‘he’ you mean?”

The kid pulled out a student ID and handed it to me. The boy in the picture had a beak nose, oily, black hair and a smile that suggested he will hack into your World of Warcraft account and wreak havoc.

“Tobias
Fartham,” I read aloud. “Are you serious?”

“Do you know him?”

“I don’t, but are you seriously telling me his actual name has ‘fart’ in it? How does he not get beat up every ten seconds?”

Francis gave me a dark look. “He does. We all do.”

Ouch. Douche-bag move, Erik.

“Sorry,” I said.

He held his hand up. “It’s fine. I do not apologize for the way I look or my tastes. I have come to accept reality as it is and not let anyone bother me about it.”

“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “That’s quite the mature stand.”

“Being an outcast does that to you.”

Tell me about it, kid. At least this guy seemed to have made his peace with it. Something inside my head kept telling me to fight and struggle.

Francis was still speaking.

“Our whole group is composed of outcasts and people rejected by the mainstream society of our school. Tobias was no different. He joined nearly a year ago and we welcomed him with open arms. At first
, he was happy to participate in our rituals, but after a while he got bored. Slowly, he began experimenting with darker aspects of the sacred art, nurturing both the positive and negative. He was also one of the two who could use the art freely, without rituals or gatherings.”

“Who is the other one?”

Francis smiled. “You are looking at him. Although, it would be unfathomable for me to conjure a flame like you did earlier. Recently, Tobias’s actions have been roguish at best. He would encourage others to follow his example, although none would. He got darker and darker until he was no longer a positive force. He had become driven by his lust for power, as well as his lust for another member of our group. She rejected him, and he assaulted her with power.

Luckily, my best friend and second in command, Jeremy
Irwing, intervened and managed to drive Tobias away. I, myself, confronted him later and ordered him to apologize and leave our group. He refused, and I thought the matter ended there.”

“I still don’t see how this involves me,” I said.

“Mr. Ashendale, attacking using the sacred art is forbidden. Not only that, but he used fear as his weapon, delving into the minds of his opponents. By the time I confronted him, he had become delusional and egotistical.”

I held my hand up. “Sounds to me like you want me to stop this Tobias guy for you.”

“Yes,” he replied eagerly.

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

I sighed. “Kid, I handle monsters, not some rejected kid with a maniacal streak. Call his parents or the cops if he’s bothering you. This is a problem within your circle.”

Francis’s eyes hardened. Clearly he wasn’t giving up yet. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a smartphone.

“Maybe this will change your mind,” he said as he handed me the phone.

It was a news article: a fifteen year old, Jeremy Irwing, was found comatose in the park together with his two cousins, Stephen and Marie-Lou, aged nine and seven. They were immediately hospitalized.

Cause unknown.

I looked up and met Francis’s eyes. There was nothing weak about them. For a second I was looking at a potential wizard, a mass of yet untapped power reined in by sheer principle and control.

“Jeremy loved his little cousins. He would babysit every Saturday and take them to the park. Sometimes I went along
, too. They were great kids and Jeremy is the best friend one could hope for. Tobias is ruthless – he sent Yasmine, the girl who rejected him, a threatening email. He comes after you and your loved ones. So, please, Mr. Ashendale. This monster put my best friend in the hospital and is this close to destroying all I have built and hold dear. I am powerless to stop him unless I give in to the dark side myself. Please, Mr. Ashendale.”

He was nearly in tears now.

He bowed deeply. “Please, help me.”

*****

Once the begging and waterworks had stopped and I realized that Tobias Fartham was a volatile bomb ready to go off, I took the case.

Doing the right thing for the sake of doing the right thing
− that was my mentor’s mantra. That was his last order as he died in my arms.

Oh, believe me, I know all about homicidal psych
opaths killing your loved ones.

“Did you get all that?” I asked the empty room, once the kid had left.

“Every juicy detail,” came a voice from behind me.

A black American shorthair cat padded from the kitchen.
Enter Amaymon, demon, earth elemental, and currently my familiar in the shape of a cat.

“Looks like these kids stumbled on
to some real power,” he said. “Especially that Tobias guy.”

“I need you to go check him out,” I said.

“I’m not sure he’s my type, Erik. I prefer them with breasts and indoor plumbing. You remember females don’t you, Erik?”

“Oh
, shut up.”

“I’m just saying. I
t’s been quite a long time since you brought one home.”

“Shut up
, Amaymon,” I said, a little louder. “I need you to figure out where this Tobias guy is and what he’s up to.”

The cat cocked his head. “You really think he would do serious damage?”

“He put three kids in a hospital.”

“So,” he replied nonchalantly. “That’s considered a slow weekend where I’m from.”

“This ain’t the demon realm, Amaymon,” I shot back.