Heart of Gold: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Clans of Shadow Book 1) Read online

  “Frank, watch out!” the Doc shouted, and I could just barely make out her gesturing to my left. I turned my head just in time to see a fizzy ball of golden doom explode. The blast threw me backward in a hail of agony, fire, and blood. Darkness encroached upon my vision so quickly that by the time my head thumped wetly onto the tile, I didn’t even feel it.

  2

  It should be obvious I didn’t bite the big one, but when I woke up, I sure wished I had.

  There were some sketchy memories of a hospital or an infirmary, scary flashbacks to my Army days, and people in white hovering over me. Oh, and lots of blood, like slasher movie levels. Jason Vorhees would have approved of my ability to bleed.

  My eyes snapped open, and I nearly went blind from the bright light overhead. Agony slashed right through my chest. I could feel every vein, artery, and capillary bursting with the crazy icy feeling you get when they put that juice in your veins for x-raying.

  Still, I was a bad ass with an awesome chin, so I did my best to brush off the pain with an annoyed grunt, while mentally giving Murphy and his stupid law the finger. Is that all you got?

  I forced myself up on my elbows, and as I surveyed the room, I realized I wasn’t in any kind of hospital I’d ever seen. This room was more like a hotel room or a fancy guest room at some rich guy’s house. The bed was soft, the dresser and nightstand were wood instead of shitty hospital plastic, and there was even a washbasin, some toiletries, and a mirror on the far side of the wall. Yep, way too nice for a hospital. So where was I?

  My surroundings were nice, but since there were no windows, I didn’t have any idea as to where I was nor what time it was. That was when I noticed something else. The door leading into the room had no handle. Whoever had locked me in this cage didn’t want me to leave. Granted, judging by the open archway to my left, it was a nice cage, but it was a cage, nonetheless. Still, as I stared at the porcelain throne, white and majestic in the room beyond the archway, I realized something else. I really had to take a piss.

  As I slowly got to my feet, three things were immediately apparent. One, I really did need to stop Taco Tuesdays. Two, I was dressed only in some soft, green cotton scrubs. Three, I had an ugly-looking, stitched-up wound right over my heart. I mean, I wasn’t a surgeon or anything, but I was pretty sure an epileptic monkey could have done a better job.

  I touched the wound with one finger. It sure hurt enough to be real. Shit, I should have been dead. Maybe I was dead. Then again, this room was way too nice to be Hell.

  So if I wasn’t dead, where was I? Was I dreaming? I must have fallen asleep. As soon as I woke up, I’d find The Princess Bride playing in the truck. I mean, okay, I’d only taken a nap in my truck a couple times before, so this had to be a nightmare brought on by too many fantasy movies, too much spicy beef, and too much good old-fashioned California heat. I’ll admit, it was something of a stretch, but it made more sense than cowmen, magic shields, and fireballs.

  I screwed my eyes shut, took a deep breath, counted back from ten.

  “One,” I said, dramatically hopping off the bed. Reality would be my reward for taking the time to think and clear my head, right?

  Nope. The only things that greeted me when I opened my eyes were the screams of complaint from my weak knees and a closer look at the clean, white walls. Neither of which were particularly helpful.

  “Fuck!” I grumbled to no one in particular.

  “Denial is the first stage most mundanes go through when faced with true magic.” The voice of an aloof man echoed behind me, and as I turned toward the source, it continued. “Your reaction is understandable, Mr. Butcher, but do try to progress through it quickly. We haven’t much time.”

  A translucent figure stood on the opposite side of the bed, reminding me of those freaky hologram singers. I wasn’t sure what the fuck he was, but I knew it wasn’t normal. Oh my God, I had gone insane and was seeing dead people just like Haley Joel Osment. Fuck.

  White robes draped around the older man’s body as he watched me with a grin slowly creeping across his face. He looked like he was at least in his fifties with a trace of silver stubble on his chin, and even though he shimmered like Obi-Wan Kenobi after Darth Vader had cut him down, he seemed nothing like the creatures who had assaulted the clinic.

  “Okay, pal, start talking,” I said while trying to look more in command of the situation than I felt. Admittedly, that wasn’t super hard since I felt like reality was slipping through my fingers. “I want answers, and I want ‘em yesterday. Pronto, chop–”

  “I’d be happy to explain everything, Frank. I’ll do my absolute best to ensure everything is crystal clear,” Obi-Wan said, interrupting me with his condescending “shut the fuck up, Anakin” voice. “I suggest you sit down on the bed though. Dr. Perez has informed me that the procedure she used to save your life took a lot out of you. Moving is not advisable.” He gestured at the bed, inviting me to sit. “Even the best magic can’t work miracles.”

  “Whatever you say, Gandalf, as long as you start with where the Doc is and who the hell those fantasy fair rejects were,” I said, ignoring his comment about the Doc saving my life as I settled my patented Snake Pliskin glare on him before seating myself on the edge of the bed. As soon as I did, I realized I still needed to piss, but I wasn’t about to ask for a potty break now. I had appearances to keep up after all.

  The man put his hands behind his back and nodded. “I am Roland Lambert, head magus of the Western United States branch of the White Alliance. Dr. Perez is one of our members. She is resting in on-site quarters after completing your surgery.” Roland shrugged in a way that made me think he was already bored with me. “I’m told she performed admirably during the twenty hour procedure. Still, despite the doctor’s skills and dedication, it was very touch and go. You, sir, are very lucky to be alive.”

  Was he really saying I’d undergone surgery? How had that been possible? I didn’t remember any of it, and even though I’d never gone under the knife before, I was pretty sure I’d remember some of it. Still, I did have a crazy scar running down my chest. What else could it be from?

  Even though I could see through the guy, I decided to take him at his word. Why? Well, I didn’t exactly have a second opinion handy. Still, you better believe I’d be looking for confirmation from the Doc after she woke up from her nap. That said, what he said sounded crazy. I’d been healed with magic? Seriously? Then again, I had seen fireballs and Claymation monsters. If those were real, surely magical healing could exist too, right?

  “I’ll make sure I buy the Doc some flowers, and maybe treat her to dinner and a movie,” I said, shrugging back at him. “But that doesn’t tell me what happened back there, now does it?”

  “You are correct,” he said, fixing his steely, translucent eyes on me. “The group of individuals who attacked the clinic are members of a cult of extremists in our magical community.” The way he spoke made me think he had a real hate on for those cultists. It seeped into his controlled voice like venom. “They call themselves the End Society.”

  “Clever name,” I said, smirking because if I didn’t, I might get scared, and I didn’t get scared in public. “Let me guess, they either think the world is ending or they are trying to end the world?”

  “That’s two guesses, Mr. Butcher,” he replied, waving off my response with his hand. “And neither are correct. Their name is in line with their goals to end the existence of magic in our world. As you saw, they have little regard for the safety of the innocent bystanders and–”

  “Yeah, about that, Merlin.” Lambert looked a bit annoyed at my interruption. “Now, I’ve been around the block a time or two. Seen some shit all around the world. You know, U. S. Army? Travel to exciting new countries, meet exotic people, and kill them?”

  “While an interesting outlook, what does that–”

  “I sure as hell have never seen any magic shit before. Why do you think that is?” I cleaned my pinky nail with a tooth for effect. “Basicall
y, why I should believe you or any of this?”

  Mr. Wizard might have been riled at the very thought of his End buddies, but my special brand of annoying didn’t seem to ruffle his feathers any.

  “Mr. Butcher, I have been told you have a fondness for cinema. Surely it doesn’t take much imagination on your part to realize how a group of wizards, witches, and sorcerers could keep themselves concealed from detection? Not that it will be necessary for much longer, hopefully.” The smile he gave me was so condescending, I was pretty sure it belonged only on rich douchebags at country clubs.

  “What?” I said, trying to make sure I’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean it won’t be necessary much longer?”

  “We in the society of magic are not selfish people, Mr. Butcher. We wish to bestow the wonders of magic on everyone. Imagine, Frank, how much better life in our fragile world would be if magic where freely available!” As he spoke, I realized the truth behind his words. Rollie was a true believer, and unless we’re talking about fans of Stan Lee, true believers tended to be really fucking dangerous. I’d have to play it cool until I got a better handle on things.

  “Okay, Rollie, keep it in your pants now.” I raised my hands and made a time out gesture. I wasn’t sure how I felt about every Tom, Dick, and Harry being able to throw fireballs around, but clearly this guy thought it was the bee’s knees. “I’m grateful I lived through that little slice of the Battle of Helm’s Deep, and I’m really happy you guys decided to save my life, but I really need to get on out of here.” I started counting off on my fingers. “I have a job to get back to, an ornery mother to take care of, and rent to pay. So if you would just, well, you know, bippity-boppity-boo me out of here?”

  Roland’s watery blue eyes hardened. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Frank. You aren’t well enough to travel.”

  “Bullshit!” I hopped to my feet and did a few jumping jacks. I somehow managed not to collapse into a heap in the process, but it was a near thing. “See? Fit as a goddamned fiddle.”

  “You are going to have to trust me, Frank. Regardless of your *ahem* fitness, both the nature of the operation required to save your life, and the enchantments involved require you to recover here.” There was a note of finality in the wizard’s voice. “There can be no negotiation on this. Sorry.”

  I stabbed my fingers in the projection’s direction. “Now listen up, Miracle Max, I am a one-hundred percent whole-blooded American citizen. You’ve got no right to keep me here against my will! That’s kidnapping, asshole!”

  “Funny, I didn’t think you were still a child,” Roland said, eyes twinkling as I stalked up to him. Admittedly, it was hard to look intimidating when I could barely walk, but there was no way I was taking lip from a hologram. “Either way, you are not leaving. Keeping you here is for your own good. You should be more grateful, Frank. You have no idea what we’ve sacrificed to help you.”

  I made to poke Roland in the chest. Sure, he probably wouldn’t feel it, being a freaky magic ghost, but it would make me feel better. “I don’t give two shits because this was your fault in the first place.”

  I think we were both equally surprised when my fingers stabbed into his glowing form. Not because my hand passed through, no. It was because Roland’s spectral body melted under my touch.

  He didn’t panic though. Instead, he watched his own liquidation with a certain eager interest. Me, I was freaking out. I had no clue as to what the fuck was going on. Still, I’d be damned if I was going to let him see that.

  Instead, I let out a cocky whoop and stuck my middle finger in the air. They had to be watching me somehow. “There’s more where that came from, Rollie! Just you wait and see!”

  There was no response, just a complete stillness. As I turned in a slow circle and admired my pretty cage, the joy of having the last word vanished faster than a diet at an ice-cream shop.

  “Goddammit,” I grumbled, rubbing my face with my hand.

  Well, there was only one thing to do. Find out what else these jackasses had done to me. If they’d messed up my face, I was going to be pissed. I hitched up my scrubs and sauntered through the archway.

  The full-length mirror taking up the left wall of the tiny room was real high-quality. It was framed in sweet teakwood and probably an antique. I realized I was avoiding actually focusing on my reflection and finally manned up. How bad could it be?

  It was both better and worse than I expected.

  My eyes were instantly drawn to the craggy wound in my chest. I had seen enough bad shit to know a shrapnel wound when I saw one, and this was a bad one. Still, now that I wasn’t freaked out over having been Frankenstein'd up after an explosion, I had to admit the stitch job was pretty good. As I touched the wound, tracing my index finger along the stitches, I realized there was a bizarre golden tint hugging the edges of my wound.

  Hell, it wasn’t just that. There was a hint of gold color to every inch of my skin. I screwed my eyes shut. Maybe the light in here was off. For all I knew, this was shitty magical light. Maybe I had a major league concussion, and it was screwing with my eyes. Again, taking a deep breath, I opened my baby blues back up to look in the mirror again.

  My tousled black hair was as good as ever, even though the grey was on a major attack right now. There were a few cuts and scrapes and… fuck.

  The scabs were more red-gold than red. Thank God my eyes were still the same color even if they were a bit bloodshot. Wait, no, not bloodshot… goldshot? What the fuck was going on?

  I clenched my fists, and as I did, I realized the ice-cold feeling in my veins hadn’t stopped. No, how could that be? I needed to find out. No, scratch that. I needed to calm the fuck down. If I didn’t, I’d never figure out what they’d done to me. Besides, I wasn’t going to give Rollie the pleasure of seeing me run around screaming like an idiot, even though I really, REALLY, wanted to. No, no, I was going to take a few deep breaths and resume my examination in as calm a fashion as I could…

  … which turned out to be not very calm at all. I scooped up the ceramic washbasin and smashed it on the floor. Water and pottery scattered everywhere. I knew those jerks would be coming double-time, so I snatched up a sharp-looking piece and dragged it across my open palm.

  It bled gold.

  What the fuck did they do to me?

  Needless to say, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Yeah, I probably should have punched a guy or two when more white-robed asshats came in, being all “you need to rest” and “calm down, Mr. Butcher,” but I didn’t have it in me. I let them take the shard away, lay me back down on the bed, and stitch up my hand.

  I don’t know how much time passed before someone brought me a tray of food. I wasn’t sure how he opened the door because it slid open silently for him. When he entered and when he exited. He didn’t even have the sense to say a magic word like “open sesame,” the jerk.

  Fortunately, the food snapped me out of my existential crisis. Mr. Orderly didn’t have much to say, but he didn’t have to. It didn’t take a genius to notice I’d been given finger food. There wasn’t a utensil or possible weapon in sight.

  They had me blue, screwed, and tattooed (more than I already was) and I had no idea what to do about it. Maybe they were right. Maybe Roland was keeping me here for my own good. I sure as hell wasn’t supposed to have gold blood in my veins, was I? Still, how was that possible?

  I’d have to find out, but to do that, I’d need to recover, and to do that, I’d need fuel. Hoping they weren’t trying to drug me with my food, I tore into what they’d given me. Chicken fingers, baby carrots, and tater tots weren’t my particular bag, but I was as hungry as a herd of horses. Of course, I saved the cup of chocolate pudding for last. Apparently even the alliance of douchebag wizards used the same food service joints as everyone else.

  I had just torn open the pudding’s top and driven my finger into the velvety yum to scoop some out when the door opened, revealing big surprise number, hell, I had lost count. A harri
ed Gabriela ducked through the door, looking like she had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. You know, if the bed was on fire, she was on fire, and it wasn’t a bed because she was in Hell.

  “Frank, come with me–”

  “–if you want to live?” I smirked at my own joke as I shoved a fingerful of pudding into my mouth.

  “Actually, yes, that’s exactly why you should come with me!” She glanced back into the hallway furtively. “Quickly. We haven’t much time!”

  Shit. I looked down at my pudding and my bare feet. “Can I bring my pudding?”

  3

  I tossed the empty pudding cup out the window of Doc’s blue-grey Ford Taurus and watched it bounce down the road behind us. “Well, that was easy. I don’t know why your panties were in a twist about it.”

  It really was easy to get out of the White’s hidey hole, mainly because it seemed like a normal condo building once the Doc let me out of the room. We walked completely unaccosted through a few normal-looking rooms, down a flight of stairs, before crossing an empty hallway to the garage. It was so normal, I was already starting to wonder if the gold blood thing and Mr. Ghost had all been hallucinations. If they were, I definitely wanted some more of whatever I’d been on. You know, for research.

  Gabriela didn’t favor me with a glance, eyes alternating between the road and the rear-view mirror as she drove with steadfast determination. “That’s because all you had to do was walk and stay quiet. You did one well and the other, well, you’re you.” She wiped some beading sweat from her brow. “I had to cloak us and weaving that sort of spell is not one of my strong suits.”

  “Riiight,” I said, drumming my fingers on the center console in an effort to keep from scratching my chest. The wound was aching in the good itchy pain way that meant it was healing. “I’m still not really sure about this whole ‘magic’ thing. I mean, some weird shit has gone down, but your wizard shtick could all be some freaky, bleeding-edge science shit.”