Creation Mage 6 by Dante King (detective books to read txt) 📕

“Whoa, whoa,” I said, putting out a pointless hand to stop Barry before he could start doing whatever jiggery-pokery he had in mind, “I just remembered something—the girls are in the kitchen having coffee and talking about gowns and shoes and balls.”

Barry looked puzzled at the mention of balls but then said, “Never fear, sir, I informed my dear relative and her two companions that we would shortly be raising anchor. They were quite happy to finish their hot beverages outside. I set them up a hasty fire in the brazier under the pagoda, sir. They’ll be snug enough until they decide to make for their home port. They told me to bid you farewell again.”

I gave the poltergeist an impressed look. “Barry, you’re the man. I don’t know what we did without you.”

“From what I gather, sir, it sounds like you were rowing with only one oar in the water.”

“You’re probably not too far off the mark there,” I granted. “All right then, do your thing.”

Barry turned, raised his spindly arms above his head, and closed his eyes.

A green radiance flowed from his hands. Twin rivers of phantasmal light wrapped themselves around the fraternity house, twining about it like coiling supernatural ribbons. They grew, twisting around the entire building faster and faster until the entire structure was cocooned in green light. Then, after glowing three times, the luminosity faded.

“Locked,” Barry said happily. “Nothin’ will be gettin’ into your parents’ old place while we’re away, sir. Or out.”

“Right, you horrible lot!” Reginald Chaosbane yelled. “As adorable as a herd of turtles might be, I think that we’ve been acting like one long enough. Let’s go!”

With that verbal prodding, Enwyn and I took our place alongside the four Chaosbanes, Idman, Barry, and Mallory Entwistle.

I sat next to Mallory. Dressed in her habitual flowing white robe and a wintery thick white coat, she looked like a statue carved from snow. Pressed together as we were though, I was quite aware of the heat emanating from her.

I swallowed and tried to keep my mind away from what getting intimate with her holy of holies might be like. It was hard, due to the squashy proximity of cramming that many people into a single sleigh.

“We haven’t forgotten anyone?” Reginald yelled over his shoulder. Against the whirling snow, he cut a damn dashing figure.

“Negative,” Mort replied.

“Not even Igor?” Reginald said.

“Negative,” Mort said.

“Pity,” Reginald said, not quite under his breath.

“I bloody heard that!” called Igor from near the back.

Chapter 2

The sleigh shot into the air, going from zero to a hundred in less time than it took to say it. The legs of the six bulls that pulled the thing were a blur, though the creatures themselves appeared about as calm and relaxed as if they had just been hanging out in a field and chewing the cud. Their great heads glanced occasionally from side to side, as me and the rest of the sleigh’s passengers were pressed back into our uncomfortable wooden bench seats.

“I’m going to have piles after this,” I heard Igor moan from the back, his voice barely audible over the rush of the wind.

“It was my understanding, cousin,” the feared bounty hunter, Mortimer, said in his polite, slightly apologetic voice, “that you already had piles.”

“Yeah, I thought you were telling me the other day how you had even named a few of your faves, Igor,” Leah cut in.

“Ah, shut up, you know what I bleeding well mean, you maniacs,” Igor yelled back.

With some difficulty, I leaned forward and managed to tug at the hem of Reginald Chaosbane’s flapping coat. I wasn’t sure how he was doing it, but the mage was still standing with one booted foot casually up on the front rail while he occasionally flicked the reins at the bulls. Feeling the pull on his coat, the Headmaster of the Mazirian Academy turned to face me.

“Headmaster,” I said loudly, “how the hell does this sleigh work?”

“Why’s that, Mr. Mauler?” Reginald asked me in return.

“Well, you know, we’re punching along at what must be about one hundred and fifty miles per hour at a height of…”

“About four thousand feet,” Reginald supplied.

“Right, and I was just interested in knowing the basic force that is keeping us from going into the very real and solid landscape below like a fuck—Like a dart, sir,” I said.

Reginald nodded understandingly. He leaned down so that I could not miss his whisky, rum, gin, and Irish cream laced words.

“This sleigh is powered by no other power than metaphor,” he said.

My face must have been a study of blankness.

“Headmaster?” I asked. “Metaphor?”

“Yes, my dear fellow! Metaphor!” Reginald said, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across his dial. He flung out a hand and pointed at the half a dozen enormous beasts pulling us along.

“This sleigh is powered by nothing more than bullshit!” The man, who many considered to be the greatest living mage, crowed at the top of his voice and slapped his thigh.

I sat back in my seat.

I’d read somewhere that no truly great mind ever existed without a touch of madness.

I repeated that sentiment to myself as the sleigh climbed higher into the swirling maelstrom of snowy clouds and me and the rest of my fellow passengers huddled closer together.

Luckily, I was wearing the incredible morphing cloak that Igor had given me as part of his sponsorship deal. With a single thought, the black jacket I had been wearing changed into a long, thick woolen cloak with a hood I could pull snuggly up around my head.

I had just stuffed my hands under my armpits when someone slid down onto my other side, between me and the hard wood of the side of the sleigh.

“Budge up, budge up, ladybird-butt,” Leah said, slipping into the tight