Night Tricks (Midnight Magic Book 1), page 1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Also by Richard Amos
About the Author
Copyright © 2022 Richard Amos
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover by Vanesa Garkova
One
Damn this night.
Take it, scrunch it up, throw it in the fire. Let it burn away and never bother me again.
Wishful thinking—you had to love it.
I tore through the wet residential streets, running from a pack of hateful witches, never letting my speed drop. Rain came down on my head in a pesky drizzle, the October evening air a bitter bite in my chest. All I wanted to do was take a breath, find a nice bench to rest my aching feet.
To stop meant pain, and I really wasn’t in the mood for having ten tons of merry hell kicked out of me tonight.
The group of arsewipes in pursuit hurled some abuse from back there. The usual warlock hate, along with the prejudice directed at a homeless guy like me. They really had no reason to assume I was homeless, even if it was true. But that was arsewipes for you, right?
Just another week in the life of Clay Christmas.
I took a sharp left down an alleyway between two houses, leaping over a terrified cat, then a pile of sick. What was this, an obstacle course? Would there be crumbling tiles and a net wall to climb next before a boulder crushed me?
Don’t get squished! Mind those traps!
Erm, this wasn’t an Indiana Jones movie.
Not yet, at least.
At the end of the alley, I crossed another quiet residential street, grateful for no moving cars to take me down, and carried on down another alleyway. This one sloped slightly at the end in a grassy bank with a metal fence telling me to stop right there. A guard between me and a railway line.
I don’t think so.
I grabbed at the three-spiked metal fence, clambered up as quickly as I could. Avoiding slicing my hands on the top pointy bits. Getting a decent grip, about to get my boot on the top, do my vaulting thing. About to spring for freedom.
A train roared past and drew a mighty yelp from my throat.
“Shit!” I added for good measure as the locomotive thundered past. I lost my grip and tumbled backward. Landed on the wet grass, getting myself a soggy backside.
I instantly checked my portable cassette player in my pocket, making sure it wasn’t damaged. My old-school pride and joy. Yep. All good. Safe and intact.
Thank goodness.
They always say you can never hear a train coming. So true. It doesn’t matter how big and loud they are. They seem to have an amazing stealth mode to sneak up on dickheads trespassing on the railway lines. Like me, many a night running from mean witches (a.k.a. haters) or taking a shortcut. Idiotic, really. Dangerous. But then that was life on the streets, right? Fraught with the deadly.
Like these arsewipes closing in.
“There he is!” one of them yelled. The apparent head witch of my haters who’d been the most vocal outside West Hamstead Station when they’d kicked off.
Wow. Perceptive of him. He knew how to point out the obvious.
Witches loathed warlocks—people whose magic usage didn’t cut the mustard like the skills of a witch. No mega spells, no great power for warlocks. We were all about party tricks and little fizzles. Useless. The runts of the magical litter. Some would say a species in need of wiping out. Those with that particular attitude deserved a billion slaps for their bigotry.
Witches ran things. They were in charge, the top dogs of society. From our governing royalty to city councils, every single position of power was controlled by witches.
It hadn’t always been that way. Once upon a better time, witches and warlocks both held the power of Arcana equally. The magic of the earth. Pure magic. A magic from ancient times now lost, not seen for two hundred years. Without any explanation to this day, Arcana vanished, leaving behind a magical source called Trace.
Trace was diluted magic, the only natural essence left across the word. All magic users can draw upon the weak energy, but witches weren’t content with that. They didn’t want to be powerless and saw an opportunity to become a dominant race. So they made Synth, an unnatural and powerful magical energy geared toward witch blood, not warlock. We couldn’t use it, no matter how hard we tried. And most warlocks had tried at one point in their lives—to see if the tables were ready to turn. Even me. Nope. Definitely a witch thing and super powerful. Hence the top dog label.
Power like that created many, many arsewipes. Like this group of rich kids on my tail, stinking of daddy’s money and rotten attitudes.
I sprung to my feet, ready to tackle the fence again. My already low magic wouldn’t help me. Not enough to fuel my shimmer trick to hide me—my best move. I really needed Trace Fall to come. A shame it was scheduled for tomorrow night.
That’s why warlocks got picked on more by the mega bigots the nights before Trace Fall. It was often when warlocks were at their weakest. Perfect. Yes, hurting us was illegal like any hunting and killing of people, but that didn’t stop the warlock hate crimes from rising not just here in London but across the globe.
As soon as my fingers curled around the metal, magic fixed itself on me, pinning my arms to my sides, gluing my boots to the wet grass.
Oh, bollocks.
I was spun against my will to meet my doom.
“Well, well, well,” the leader of the pack announced. Ribbons of red Synth energy danced around his fingers as he wove his spell.
A preppy guy with short blond hair, expensive clothes, and a smirk spreading across his rosy complexion, he had the meanest green eyes I’d ever seen. Kind of serial-killer like.
“Thought you could run away after that, huh?” he added.
There were five of them, including him. All of the same preppy variety, all smirking, all thinking they owned the city.
Whenever I came in contact with haters, I sucked it up, tried to keep my head high, and not react to their crap. Yeah, well, it wasn’t always as easy as that.
Being a warlock and homeless granted me the double whammy of abuse. I’d been pissed on, almost kidnapped, beaten up several times, treated like I was in the stocks in some medieval village. I cannot begin to count the amount of food thrown at me over the years—rotten food, good food. Just to prove some point that I couldn’t see myself. Well, that wasn’t true. I could see the point. I just didn’t understand the hate. What had we done to witches over the years, to society at large, other than exist?
You could say that about anyone on the receiving end of bigotry. Made no sense. At all. Especially when warlocks were often hired to perform at parties, our magical tricks also enjoyed in street performances—my bread and butter.
People are so strange.
The leader approached me, exuding smug pride. The cat who got the cream.
An insult to cats.
Fizz would be furious I’d likened her to this man. If only she were here to scratch his face off. She’d certainly try her best.
“Do you think,” Leader spoke, “that it is big and clever to say that to me?”
I didn’t answer. His magic held my jaw shut.
“I don’t think it is,” he said. “I think it is disrespectful to call me an elephant testicle.”
I don’t even know why I said it. I had no idea what an elephant’s testicle looked like. He’d just pissed me off so much, it’d come bubbling up to the front of the queue and exploded out of my mouth.
“What do you think?” Leader asked the rest of his gang.
They all agreed.
They would, the honking idiots. Laughing earlier as Leader mocked me and my little stall outside the station. Touching my props, stopping me from working. There’d been a father and daughter waiting for me to perform a card trick seeing as I didn’t have Fizz to pull out of my hat, and I was trying to save my low magic.
Yes, I should’ve packed up as soon as the sun started to set. It was cold and wet and miserable, but money hadn’t been flowing today. I was desperate, ready to go a full twenty-four hours of performing card tricks to bank myself some cash. That dad and daughter’s tip could have got me some soup, maybe even a bread roll to go with it from the café near the station.
But no. Along came the elephant testicle and his minions.
I laughed on the i
“Disgusting creature,” he said, his beer-laced breath washing over me.
Back the fuck off!
“I think you need to be taught a lesson. What do you think, guys?”
The gang agreed.
Leader lifted a finger, pointing it at me. “What to do with a dirty warlock.” He sniffed the air. “Smelly fucker.” The arsewipe tapped the center of my forehead where my warlock mark sat—a glowing symbol of a white, incomplete circle with a tiny star at the center. Witches carried a mark, too—a red triangle with a star at the center.
A slimy sensation crawled over my skin from his touch. Worse than any grime, twisting my stomach into wretched knots.
“He’s quite good-looking,” a dark-haired woman from the gang said. Tanned golden from either some expensive tanning salon, an expensive holiday, or both. She lit a cigarette, releasing smoke rings after her first drag with indifferent ease.
“He is,” Leader agreed.
The woman draped herself over Leader. “Not like you, though.”
Another train thundered past as they kissed. Thank God their lip-smacking got drowned out by the noise.
Parallel to the fence were houses backing onto the grassy bank, their lights glowing against the October night. There was no one at their windows or in their back gardens from what I could see. Would they even move to help me if they were?
Bollocks to this!
“His teeth,” the woman said, sending more smoke rings into the air. “Take a few out. Slowly.”
“Only a few?” Leader asked. “Wouldn’t the better lesson be in changing that handsome face? Make him understand what it is to fuck with us?”
You fucked with me.
“Maybe a bit harsh to take them all,” she said.
What? This witch had a conscience?
“Taking a few sets as an example.”
That would be a no.
Leader nodded, looking me up and down. “What about poison? Let him puke and shit here for a few hours, minus a few teeth.”
She giggled. “I like that. Can I keep the teeth?”
“Of course, my love.”
Unfortunately, no train saved me from their gross kissing sounds. She placed her cigarette to his lips, he dragged on it, no smoke rings from him.
When they were done sucking face and smelly sticks, the woman looked down at my crotch.
“What is that?” she asked.
“What, my love?” Leader asked, groping her breasts.
She giggled, pointing. “There’s something dangling from his pocket.”
Leader got a look. “An earphone?”
He reached for me, fishing my Walkman from my pocket.
The idiot laughed. “A cassette player. Seriously?”
“What’s a cassette?” one of the haters asked.
Really?!
“Interesting,” the woman said. “You listen to tapes, warlock? How quirky. How terribly vintage.”
Cassettes had actually made a bit of a comeback five years ago in a wave of nostalgia, so they were kind of vintage, kind of not.
“I suppose you can’t afford to stream in your circumstances.” The woman flipped her dark hair, watching her lover unwrap the earphone wire I’d wrapped around the body of the yellow device.
Leader pressed the eject button, the tape rattling as it opened. He removed my precious treasure. Well, one of them.
“Kylie Minogue?” Leader questioned.
“I know her,” a hater said.
Leader’s face contorted in disgust. “Torturous. I couldn’t think of anything worse.”
I so wanted to have his nuts meet my knee for such heresy.
Kylie was a goddess. My saving grace. My ultimate joy. Her music got me through the days and nights, the bad and the good times. She was the soundtrack of my existence.
Leader tossed the cassette away, inspecting the Walkman.
I strained against the magic like a feather against a tornado. Nothing happened, but I tried anyway.
Touch my Kylie tapes and die!
“Think I’ll keep this,” Leader said of my player. “It’ll get a good laugh at the club.”
Everyone chuckled at the possibilities.
Coward. Holding me like this. Why couldn’t he face me fist to fist? I’d probably lose, sure, but I’d give it my best shot to break his nose.
Damn this night so hard. My stuff back at my stall was probably gone now, too. If it wasn’t nailed down or guarded, goodbye things.
“Okay, then,” Leader said. “How shall we do this? Take them with magic?” He snorted. “Of course. Why would we have a pair of pliers to hand?”
Was that supposed to be hilarious? His gang laughed a little too hard for that non-cracker.
Oh, laugh at me because I have so much money to buy your ‘friendship.’
Dick.
The sight of him pawing at my Walkman stirred a bloodthirsty monster inside me. It wanted out, pounding on the doors of my being, demanding to be set free upon these scumbags.
Leader moved fast, his fist coming at me. He’d flipped from his kissy-faced aura to a violent one. He drove his fist into my stomach. Due to the magic holding me down, I didn’t curl over or make a sound. But I felt it. Man, did I feel it. Sharp and aggressive pain roaring in my belly.
Gosh.
The monster stirred, wanting revenge. I was seriously pissed off with this injustice.
Footsteps. Heels clip-clopping. I spotted the female figure slowly walking down the alley. Her hips swaying, taking her time under the anemic light of the streetlights hunched above.
White eyes blazed in her dark brown face, igniting the red of her lipstick. A glamourous woman in a strapless red dress with a split up the side, jewelry sparkling at her ears, neck, and wrists. She should’ve been at some swanky party in Central London, now down here with us.
“Demon,” Leader hissed as he turned to face her.
All demons had the same white eyes. Most demons disguised them to avoid getting caught. This one did not.
“A demon,” the new addition to the alley spoke in husky tones. “That would be correct.” She stopped, the rest of the gang inching away from her and closer to me. “What are you doing down here?”
“None of your business,” the dark-haired woman snapped back. “Now fuck off.”
Brave of her to speak to a demon like that. Especially one who seemed to not be intimidated by five witches and a warlock.
At least it wasn’t the button-eyed demon currently filling up the nightmares of London’s residents.
“Business?” the demon said, stroking her left arm with her right hand. “Oh. I didn’t think of business.”
“Get out of here,” Leader warned.
“Business,” the demon intoned, ignoring him. “Business, business, business. What is this business of witches with a warlock trapped in a spell? Horrible business. Bullying. I loathe bullies.”
Her white eyes narrowed, menace passing across her face in waves. Lips curling in a snarl.
Demons weren’t stronger than witches. Nothing was. But they were scary creatures that plagued our world, and they did have the upper hand with immortality. The only thing that could kill them was Arcana, and that was long gone. Only banishment worked with the use of talismans—and you had to be a member of the Anti-Demon Unit (ADU) and trained in using the powerful objects that could blow your face off with one false move.
Demons were from a realm attached to this one. A doorway had opened between our worlds, the demons kicking off a war to get themselves some Earthly land. To spread their power. Witches and warlocks smacked them down with Arcana. When the magic was lost, witches continued to keep them in check, never letting them take over.
I worried one day they’d take over. Everyone did. They’d find a way to overthrow the power of the witches and be on top. Kick off a new war. We all knew they hid among us, always watching, pretending to be part of society. It freaked me out. The witches in charge were the much lesser of two evils, even if they did need to be taken down a peg or two. Well, witches like these dicks, at least.
