Gremlin Night by Dale Smith (top 10 non fiction books of all time txt) 📕

it couldn’t have been. The house brownie’s primal essence. Floating around all this time. “How did you find me?”

Was called here.

The fox was licking itself.

“You!”

The fox looked up. “You needed help, and you have a connection.”

“But—”

“If you are going to say it’s dangerous, this whole show is dangerous. Existence is dangerous.” It lowered its voice. “That’s what makes this so much fun.”

Well, I could use an ally, that was for sure. Especially right then.

“You’re a cursed pain, Rudy,” I muttered.

Gremlins ran through the yard, chortling, little purple clouds of concentrated mana hanging over their heads. Passengers fled the party train, heading for the road. Abyss be cursed, now there were ordinaries fleeing the scene.

“His name is Rudy Gott,” the fox said, and licked a paw.

“Rudy Gott.”

“I would have told you sooner, but was prevented from doing so.”

I grinned. “I’ve got your name, you wretch of a wizard,” I whispered.

“But how do I solve this?” I asked the fox.

“My borrowed time is up. Find a bridge to way the arcane.” It vanished.

That made no sense. Find a bridge to way the arcane?

I scrambled to my feet. I found a cloth in my jacket, and bound my bleeding left hand. I’d done a number on it battling Rudy Gott. This Gott jerk had left me holding the gremlin bag.

It was past high time to deal with this little army of pointy-headed nuisances. I was an agent of R.U.N.E. for crying out loud. I should have called for backup about five minutes ago. I pulled out my arcane phone. The phone was scorching hot. I gasped. My fingers recoiled from the heat and I dropped the phone.

My phone was a smoldering, stinking wreck. The screen was dark, and the metal had melted. Arcane phones were a combination of magic and tech, a very precarious thing indeed.

The chaos magic, the gremlins and the trickster, must have destroyed it.

I’d have to get back to the garage and use the communication relay there to reconnect with Tully.

But, first I really needed to clean up this mess. Somehow.

I was out of banish spells, and might manage another dispel. The gremlins had been screwing up my binding spells, but I could try.

Then, I glimpsed the tall, skeletal trickster in the frock coat and top hat, dancing on top of a freight train locomotive looking like a shabbier version of Gott, when Gott wasn’t magically cloaked.

The trickster held a silver flute, and played a beguiling tune. The gremlins froze, then turned and began prancing toward the locomotive. It was like watching an arcane version of the Pied Piper going to work.

The fox said he was a prisoner of Gott, and would be more a prisoner after a brief moment of apparently independent action. Tricksters come in many guises, so, now that my head cleared, it wasn’t surprising that there was more than one guise here of the same trickster. The fox had vanished, after all. Now Mister Trickster-in-a-top hat drew the gremlins to it, no doubt with something fiendishly chaotic in mind. How in Hades could I stop whatever it had planned?

I can help, the shadow slug said. I can see magic.

I raised an eyebrow. Of course.

The locomotive rumbled to life, and gremlins clambered on to the freight cars. There were dozens upon dozens of them now. Railroad signs forty yards away burst into pieces. The passenger train began sparking. Thank the heavens that the passengers had legged it out of here.

The freight train lurched backwards and began backing up, red lights blinking demonically. Its horn wailed like a drunk dragon. It had a section of tanker cars with lettering that said something about flammable and toxic. Gremlins danced on top of the freight cars. A particularly fat one sat on the roof of the locomotive, gesturing like a maniac. A purple cloud of mana hung over the train.

I ran to my Ducati, jumped on and started the bike up. I looked up in time to see the trickster jump from the locomotive, take off his hat, bow in my direction, then vanish.

The train began picking up speed as it moved upriver, toward St Johns. Cripes. If it got going really fast, it could derail.

I gunned the Ducati and the motorcycle roared after the train, bouncing along the gravel bed beside the tracks. I was no evoker. I wasn’t a summoner either. I needed magical help in order to stop that train. But how to get it? I revved the Ducati’s engine. The train roared past. It was going thirty, maybe forty miles an hour now.

A pair of gremlins hanging off the caboose glared at me. The perfect time for a mishap. I hadn’t thought of that when I charged off after the train like an idiot.

But I was a sorcerer-agent. Stopping the arcane from wreaking havoc was in the job description.

I just hadn’t planned on doing it solo.

“You said you could help,” I said to the shadow slug. “I need some supernatural muscle.”

I don’t have the power to stop that train. I’m not an ogre.

Okay, that I got, but still.

I thought furiously. There had to be a way to stop a runaway train.

I cringed as I pulled ahead of the train, waiting for the proverbial gremlin-caused foul up. It would be so easy, especially with the hurricane of mana surrounding the train, for my Ducati’s motor to stop. Or the brakes to fail. Or the wheel to come off.

Sweat trickled into my eyes and I blinked, the salt stinging me.

But the motorcycle stayed in one piece, and I kept riding it.

I glanced over my shoulder, and saw a golden tendril, the trace of another spell. It had to be another thing Rudy Gott had set up. Where had he got the super artifact that let him, an unknown wizard, do all this? It gnawed at me. It was like he’d created this sprawling web of magic.

Bingo.

It was like a web of magic because that’s exactly what it was.

Curses and blessings.

The tendril followed the line of the rails.

He wanted