The Mage: Liminality, #3

By M.R. Graham

In the midst of a building magical war, Kim Reed thought she had found a bit of peace, a silver lining. Lenny, the friend she lost years ago, is safe, the monster who kidnapped him is dead, and this war cannot last long with so much raw power ranged against the enemy.

But Lenny is not the man he was. There is something dark in him, something growing stronger by the day. Something that has caught the attention of the Shadows that live between the worlds.

She knows she cannot fight her many battles alone, but allies are few and far between. Jadwiga, the mora, remains secretive and aloof, and Kim's old friend Daniel has a bloodier past than she had ever dreamed.

And it is possible, just possible, that worse is coming than war. As Shadows close in, and the Veil between worlds grows tangled and thick, Death has gone missing, and soon, ghosts will crowd the living from the face of the earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: qui est in literis
• Release date: Apr 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386944720

Book preview

The Mage

The Liminality Series

by

M.R. Graham

THE MAGE

Copyright © 2016 MR Graham

http://quiestinliteris.com

COVER PHOTO BY

PublicDomainPictures

https://pixabay.com/en/users/PublicDomainPictures-14/

COVER TEXTURES BY

DivsM-Stock

http://divsm-stock.deviantart.com/

This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form, without written permission from the author.

Also by M.R. Graham

The Liminality Series

The Medium

The Mora

The Mage

The Martyr (coming soon)

In the Shadow of the Mountains

The Wailing

Stand-Alones

The Siren

Poetry

Versos, or The Things a Woman Learns on the Banks of the Great River:

A Poetic Ethnography of el Valle del Río Grande

Papalotes: Songs of Texas

The Adventures of Morrigan Holmes

No Cage for a Crow

Table of Contents

Liminality

The End

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

The End

liminality:

Liminality: (From the Latin līmen, a threshold) The intermediate point of transition between two states or classes. An object or individual in the liminal state may be considered to belong to both classes simultaneously, or to neither. A prolonged liminal state may result in disorientation, alienation, and later inability to integrate into another state or class.

Betweenness.

the end

Sometimes, she thinks back on earlier days with nostalgia, as though her life had ever been simple. It never was, but at least young people can pretend that they are immortal, that even though things go wrong and go wrong and go wrong, it will all be okay, in the end. Young people can believe that there is truth in fairy tales, that simple goodness is enough to ensure a happy ending, that kisses really can break curses. Young people can believe that someone will always be there to take care of them. When things go wrong, someone bigger and stronger will save me. Someone older and wiser will hold my hand when I don’t know what to do.

If magic is real, how can anyone ever be afraid?

The darkness is disorienting, and she can feel those old illusions slipping away into the night.

They are watching her, waiting for a word, for a command.

Only moments ago, they were safe. They were protected. Now, here in the dark, beneath a clouded sky, the entire world has canted sideways.

What is she fighting for, anyway? Perhaps some creatures are too terrible to live. Perhaps she is one of them. Perhaps they all are.

She remembers lying on a beach, once. She spread a blanket on the sand and stretched out beneath the sun and closed her eyes. It was safe, warm and bright. She woke with the waves rising over her, and in the delirious place between sleep and wakefulness, she was certain she was going to die.

She was asleep in the sun, and now the water is rising over her head, and this time, it’s too deep for her to find the surface. There must still be a sun somewhere above the chaos. Someone wiser to take charge. A hand to hold tight to hers and drag her coughing onto dry ground.

Perhaps some creatures are too terrible to live.

Perhaps she is one of them.

Perhaps they all are.

one

San Antonio, Texas

1985

The teenager in the Mazda's passenger seat kept her arms tightly folded and the headphones of her Walkman clamped down immovably over her ears. Her mother should have known better, really. You can't force a fifteen-year-old to move away from all of her friends and expect her to be happy about it.

Somehow, though, that seemed to be exactly what her mother was expecting. She chattered away at the unresponsive girl. "And we'll be able to go hang out on the Riverwalk, she was saying, as though the San Antonio Riverwalk was the be-all, end-all reason for moving anywhere. And we'll be so much closer to your Aunt Cecilia, and there's the Alamo, and the culture is just so unique... Kim, are you listening?"

Kim was not listening. She was rolling her thumb across the Walkman's volume knob so she wouldn't have to listen.

They followed the big moving truck around Loop 1604 and off into the wilds of San Antonio. It was virtually frontier land, Kim thought. It was tiny for something called a city. It would never hold a candle to Houston.

The truck snaked through a tangle of residential streets, beneath a similar tangle of dark, old live oaks. The ground was thick with their powdery, yellow-brown pollen. It lay on sidewalks and rooftops and completely coated any car that had been sitting still too long. It coated the square, gray house that waited where they pulled up, and the unkempt lantanas by the door. It was a ridiculously ugly house, and Kim was pretty sure that opinion had nothing to do with her desire to live somewhere else. It was legitimately awful. Other than small, regular windows, its face was completely featureless. It looked like a prison. Maybe that opinion wasn't entirely unbiased.

Two big men and a bent-over old one slid out of the cab of the truck and began to unload, with the two muscly ones lifting and carrying and the old one directing. Kim found the room that was meant to be hers and stayed out of the way by sitting on the floor of the closet with her music and a book. It wasn't even a good book, but it was the only one that had escaped the packing boxes. It was also a library book, and the odds were that Kim was never going to have a chance to return it, now. She had never not returned a library book, before. One more small misery to add to the growing list.

When the men were gone, Kim and her mother unpacked a few boxes, just until they found a pot and two bowls with which to serve their improvised dinner of macaroni and lunch meat.

Two towels and a rolled-up sweatshirt served for blankets and pillows until the bedding could be found.

Some neighbors arrived the next day. One elderly couple brought a blueberry cobbler as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood present. They exchanged phone numbers with Kim's mom and obtained a detailed description of the family car, including license plate number, so that they could be on guard against trespassers. A young couple brought a bowl of black-eyed peas and a green bean casserole. They repeated the ritual. Lasagna arrived later in the day, borne by a middle-aged couple that seemed to fall almost exactly between the old and the young. Kim was bright and cheerful until everyone was gone, because she didn't want anyone to think her a morose teenager, even if she actually was one.

When the unpacking was finished, Kim's mom went to work, and Kim stayed behind with piles and piles of books. She saw to her own homeschooling, which wasn't exactly legal, but what the authorities didn't know wouldn't hurt them. It was only for the end of the school year, anyway. She'd be back in high school come fall.

Besides, a young wizard's education is a uniquely personal affair.

Math and science and history had their places on her shelves, but memorizing facts and formulas was easy for Kim. Magic was a lot more time consuming. The conventional wisdom was that only so much of it could be taught, and the rest had to be discovered in order to stick, and so Kim huddled in her room with a bag of chips and discovered.

The conventional wisdom, in Kim's opinion, was crap. Her mom would have absolutely turned inside out if anyone had suggested teaching a teenager to drive by sticking her behind the wheel of a car and telling her to have at it, and if there was one thing that had been drilled into her head since birth, it was that there was absolutely nothing more dangerous than magic. It was like teaching a teenager to drive by sticking her in the cockpit of the Space Shuttle. Her cousins all got more guidance than she did, she was certain. But then, none of her cousins had mothers all set and lined up to take over North America's most powerful Circle as soon as the patriarch decided he'd had enough.

Her cousins all had dads, too.

They had been in San Antonio about two weeks when the next-door neighbor got back to town. Kim was helping unload groceries from the trunk when a dark green Lincoln Continental coasted up into the next driveway. Its driver climbed out and ducked into the back seat to retrieve a battered brown suitcase. Then he straightened, shooting upward like a stalk of bamboo, tall and thin and wiry.

Kim gaped. He had to be six and a half feet tall, with his brown fedora pushing him toward seven. The afternoon light fragmented against the sharp angles of his narrow face, almost startlingly white beneath dark hair majestically winged with gray. Piercing, frost-pale eyes regarded her and her scrutiny with mild affront from behind wire-rimmed spectacles. A muscle twitched in his jaw, like a failed attempt at a smile.

He was spectacular. Spectacularly frightening. Sort of like her grandfather, Kim reflected.

Good afternoon, he said crisply, raising incredibly long, white fingertips to the brim of his hat. Ma'am, Miss.

English, Kim thought, or something like it. The 'r' was missing from 'afternoon', and 'ma'am' lengthened into 'maahm'.

Afternoon, said Kim's mom. Her fingers dug painfully into Kim's upper arm and squeezed, pushing her toward the house.

Kim stumbled a step away and stopped. Her mother nudged her again, and she pushed back in irritation.

Hi, Kim said brightly. I'm Kim, and this is my mom, Cindy. We just moved in while you were away.

Cynthia Reed, her mom clarified. She gave Kim another discreet prod.

The man nodded, staring hard at Cynthia. Daniel Leland, he replied. It's a pleasure. His sharp gaze traveled to Kim. I think your mother wants you to go inside, Miss. It is usually best to do as your mother wants.

Kim felt Cynthia stiffen beside her.

Daniel Leland's thin lips twitched into an expression a little too sardonic to be called a smile. He locked his car and strode up the sidewalk to his front door, disappearing inside.

Cynthia seized the last remaining grocery bags, shut the trunk, herded her daughter inside, and locked the door.

"Holy beans, Mom, Kim griped. What the heck was that? I'm supposed to be polite, but you get to be a complete jerk to that man?"

Cynthia pressed her flat palm to the door and whispered a single word. Kim could feel the power that surged through the house's walls, its windows, its roof, down into the foundation and the surrounding soil. It felt like caulk, something that was meant to stop up holes.

That's not a man, Cynthia muttered. Our neighbor is a vampire.

The vampire, Kim found out by listening to her mother's furious phone calls. He had a reputation. There was one vampire in San Antonio, Texas, and his name was Daniel Leland. Skeeters were almost universally territorial, but this one took the cake. Other bloodsuckers dumb enough to pass through his turf rarely made it out the other side. Whereas most vampires belonged to bureaucratic organizations known as Houses, this one submitted to no authority. The descriptors that came up were things like 'wild card' and 'loose cannon'. They had sent agents to kill him, before. Tony and Edith, the undead overlords of North America, had come in person to destroy him, but he disappeared into thin air and reappeared when the coast was clear, and it had only taken them a few tries before they decided that one city wasn't worth so much trouble, and they let him have it.

Kim was not allowed to go outside by herself anymore. She was provided with books that cautioned her strongly not to give anyone a spoken invitation into her house, not to look anyone directly in the eye, and to avoid listening to anyone speak, if at all possible. Daylight was no guarantee of safety, and that stupid movie myth was responsible for any number of deaths. Stranger danger acquired a whole new meaning when the stranger in question could hypnotize you with a glance and a soft word.

She stayed in her room with her books and her fat gray cat, Bud, but she wasn't really sure that the panic was warranted. Just because the guy was a bogeyman to other skeeters didn't mean he had anything against wizards. In fact, a vampire that kept other vampires away sounded like a good thing to have around. Sort of like a watchdog. And he had to know that chewing on wizards was illegal. If he hurt her or her mother, a hundred of their sorcerous family members would descend from every corner of the continent and set him on fire. Her books told her that a vampire's highest priority was self-preservation, so it made sense that he wouldn't do anything that was sure to get him executed.

Not that she wanted to invite him over for a movie night, or anything. But the ability to go outside again would have been nice.

As for Daniel Leland, Kim was pretty sure he had no idea what kind of chaos he had caused in the house next door. With nothing more interesting to do than spy on him, she saw him leave his house every morning around seven o'clock and get home every evening around six. He rarely looked in her direction, but on the few occasions his gaze did pass across her bedroom window, she didn't see any interest there at all. He looked vaguely annoyed whenever he saw Cynthia, but he didn't ever show the demonic, malice-filled eyes one might expect from a creature of death. He didn't seem afraid of the wizards next door. He didn't seem to loathe them. He didn't seem to be plotting their gory demise. He was going about his business completely unaware that the fact of his existence had trapped a fifteen-year-old girl in a prison of boredom. In fact, she realized, it was entirely possible that he didn't even know he had wizards next door. If that was the case, her mom's behavior probably looked pretty darn weird, not to mention pretty darn rude.

She brought up her observations over dinner one evening, and her mother's lips thinned dangerously.

He may not be looking for an opportunity, Cynthia said, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't take one if it presented itself.

Kim poked her cauliflower with one tine of her fork. Why don't we just move again?

Cynthia scowled. "No Reed will be driven out of her home by some blighted leech," she spat.

What about stuck miserably inside her home? Kim tried.

Cynthia brandished her fork. Don't you give me that lip, young lady. You do not get to complain that I won't let you put yourself in danger.

What if the house catches fire?

Eat your dinner, Kimberly Michelle.

It was specieism, pure and simple, Kim decided. If Cynthia had actually been afraid for their lives, they would have moved, or at the very least, she would have stopped leaving Kim at home alone. The fact that a vampire couldn't cross a threshold uninvited didn't prevent him from blocking the doors and setting fire to the house, or from shooting them through the living room window. If he wanted to hurt them, there were any number of non-vampirey things he could try. And he continued to go about his business, pretty much just ignoring them and certainly not making any attempts on their lives.

Creeping from room to room, peering out windows and comparing her observations to her books, Kim felt like she should be delivering some kind of running commentary in a British accent.

The mature North American nosferatu patrols the borders of his territory, ever wary of rivals.

He paused beside his mailbox and looked up with a frown, and Kim ducked down out of fear that, somehow, he had heard her. Their hearing couldn't possibly be that sharp, could it? But he turned away and raised a hand in greeting to the very, very old woman across the street. Mrs. Meers, Kim thought. Or maybe Meyers. Anyway, the woman smiled right back and pushed her walker down the sidewalk to strike up a conversation. The vampire met her halfway so she wouldn’t have to negotiate the street and bent low to speak into her ear. Kim could see the exaggerated movement of his mouth as he over-enunciated to cut through senile deafness. Mrs. Meers dug through the basket on the front of her walker and handed him a plastic bag full of leathery, dark orange strips of something Kim couldn’t identify. Dried fruit, maybe, though Kim wasn’t sure what kind of fruit dried to that color. Papaya, she decided. The old lady gave the vampire a plastic baggie full of dried papaya. Okay, then.

They kept talking a few minutes longer before saying their goodbyes and turning back to their own homes. Kim lost sight of him and moved away from the window, finally bored enough to start thinking about picking up a school book. She didn’t have to worry about pop quizzes, or anything, but it would mightily suck to start school next year and, somehow, find that she had fallen behind. Extremely unlikely, but mightily sucky, all the same.

She had just stuck a pan of Jiffy Pop onto the stove and scrounged up a can of ginger ale when the doorbell rang. She froze. The walls around her shivered... But no, that was just her spine. But it was definitely the bricks that broke out in goosebumps... or was it her skin? She shook herself and backed up against the counter, taking a moment to get a grip. She felt tight, like she was being squeezed, or like she was doing the squeezing, constricting so the infection couldn’t get in...

Ugh! she groaned, pressing the heels of her hands hard against her temples. All of her was cold and clammy, like the beginnings of a fever. "Holy beans!"

She knew what it had to be, of course, but that didn’t make it any less strange. Her mother had done something to the house, laid some kind of protection over it, a warning system, and in Cynthia’s absence, the spell did the next best thing and warned Kim, instead. There was danger outside.

She was pretty sure she knew what kind of danger, too, and it occurred to her that having a warning system that made you feel the need to puke was sort of counterproductive. Maybe that sort of thing worked better for the