Meeting with a Mage at Midnight

[valfather]

The storm started brewing just as night was beginning to fall. It promised to be a real tempest of a storm. Frigid wind howled in from the north, wailing like a hundred damned souls through the old Catholic church on the street corner. The temperature dropped steadily, until frost began to form in the sparse grass. The scent of pure, clean rain and distant ancient pines overpowered the rank smells of the city, blown in on the ill omened wind. For a moment, as the bells in the church tolled midnight, all was silent, and then the heavens opened up and rain pounded down in frigid sheets that stung the skin and left a sheen of ice on the street. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and the clouds descended like a giant's fist. Thunder roared, and the tornado retreated back into the clouds before it could touch ground. In the middle of a street, had anyone been able to see that far, clouds gathered at street level and flashed with lightning. The end of a rainbow touched the rising icy slush in the street. Another crack of thunder, the loudest yet, and then hoof beats could be heard over the raging storm.

The horse stood steady on the very end of the rainbow, eight hooves a good foot off the ground. Its eyes flashed red, its flanks were gray as death, and when it opened its mouth to shriek a challenge to the raging storm, its teeth were covered in runes. Its rider wore a long, blue-black cloak that covered him from neck to ankles. A wide-brimmed hat was pulled low over his left eye. His one-eyed gaze swept the street. He nodded to himself, as if satisfied, and dismounted. He gave the horse a sharp slap, and it galloped out of sight into the cloud. Wind, rain, and even the thunder disappeared at the same moment the rider's cloak and hat did, and he stood in the middle of the street, ankle-deep in melting slush. Long, blond hair hung wetly, and he swept it impatiently from his one good eye. His tee shirt and jeans were worn, the boots had seen better days. When nothing stirred on the street, not even a breath of wind, the rider nodded to himself again and headed to the only lit storefront on the street, a bookshop called Dark Horse Books.

I felt the magic as soon as I entered the shop. It hummed in my bones and warmed me like a reunion with a dear friend. The scent of death was not abhorrent, but comforting, a reminder of times past, ale shared, and stories swapped with the dead. I passed the front without a second glance. The magic was not among the stacks of Twilight and Harry Potter. Its pull was strongest in the back room. There, the scent of death and old parchment surrounded me and I sighed contentedly and sat in an overstuffed armchair to read. Shadows flitted around the room, shadows with no visible source. Shadows that whispered quietly among themselves. I raised an eyebrow and watched them disappear up the stairs to the rooms above.

Flip. The ancient parchment in my hand was old and brittle, but I was well aware of the fragility of such texts and was careful. Flip. It was written in Old English. I remembered the language, distantly, and what was written made me laugh out loud. What possessed the shopkeeper to translate such a ludicrous text? The rituals in here were bloody, the experiments misguided, and the conclusions dangerous and tantalizing for anyone wishing power. I shook my head sadly. This book was a waste of time. The shopkeeper would be better off translating the next book in the stack. It hit its mark far better.

"I don't recall inviting you back here." The voice was oh so proper. British. And sounded more than a little peeved. I turned and looked towards the doorway, where the shopkeeper stood with his arms crossed. He looked as if he were struggling not to wrinkle his nose at me. I glanced at my jeans and tee shirt and up at the shopkeeper's khakis. I was obviously not welcome. Tsk tsk. Hadn't he learned not to judge a book by...oh, wait. I looked down at the book in my hands. The cover was nice, but it was filled with rubbish about curing vampirism, liberally mixed with Christianity of course. I squinted my good eye. Interesting! If I turned my head just so, that one vampire on page forty-five looked just like me. It was uncanny, really. "You aren't welcome in there." The shopkeeper's voice cut into my reverie.

There was a push of power, that same death magic I knew so well, and I glanced up sharply. Yes, there above the door, where I was a fool not to have seen them. Anglo-Saxon runes were carved deep into the wood, stained crimson with what looked like paint but felt in my bones like human blood. Nothing else resonated so clearly with its own life force. A band of steel wrapped around my chest and I could hardly breathe. I chanted quietly under my breath the spell that would protect me, and the horrible tightness loosened. I laughed. "Very good. You are very gifted, for a novice pupil of a way of life long dead." I set the book aside and gestured for him to join me. "You did invite me. My name is Einar Borsson, we spoke over the phone." I deliberately exaggerated my accent, though I've been speaking English for a very long time. I reached behind me for the wine bottle and two glasses sitting there on a table. "I hope you don't mind. It was a difficult flight." I sipped at the glass and gave the shopkeeper a grin. "So. I believe you had paperwork for me to sign."

The shopkeeper still stared, as if I were a puzzle he hadn't quite figured out. He snapped out of the trance only when winked my one good eye at him. "Yes, of course. The realtor dropped the papers off this morning." He rummaged around in his desk and handed me a folder. "All the marked lines, and the bottom copy is yours." I reached for the folder, and he kept a tight grip on it. His eyes narrowed, and he sniffed the air as if he were a hound. "How did you break that spell? It would have killed anything mortal." He looked confused for a moment, and then he visibly paled. His hand clutched at a hammer-shaped talisman around his neck.

I laughed and started signing the many lines. "Like I said. Very good for a novice."