Magic's Little Helper: Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire, #11

By J.S. Morin

Leaving an apprentice unsupervised has never been a good idea.

With Esper neglecting her duties as magical teacher, Tiffany takes her education into her own hands. Struggling with self-esteem and credibility with the universe, she resorts to trying a magical performance-enhancing drug.

Of course, Esper has problems of her own. Unbeknownst to her, a crack squad of assassins is hot on her trail, and this time they're bringing twice the number of wizard-hunters along. It would be a great time for a fully-trained and capable apprentice to have her back.

Wouldn't it?

Magic's Little Helper is the eleventh mission of Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire. Set in the Black Ocean Universe, it continues the saga of the galaxy's sweetest bounty hunter and her loyal sidekick (who is NOT a dog!) and introduces a colorful cast for new and returning readers alike. Fans of vigilante justice and heroes who exemplify the word will love this series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
• Release date: Mar 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643550930

J.S. Morin

I am a creator of worlds and a destroyer of words. As a fantasy writer, my works range from traditional epics to futuristic fantasy with starships. I have worked as an unpaid Little League pitcher, a cashier, a student library aide, a factory grunt, a cubicle drone, and an engineer--there is some overlap in the last two. Through it all, though, I was always a storyteller. Eventually I started writing books based on the stray stories in my head, and people kept telling me to write more of them. Now, that's all I do for a living. I enjoy strategy, worldbuilding, and the fantasy author's privilege to make up words. I am a gamer, a joker, and a thinker of sideways thoughts. But I don't dance, can't sing, and my best artistic efforts fall short of your average notebook doodle. When you read my books, you are seeing me at my best. My ultimate goal is to be both clever and right at the same time. I have it on good authority that I have yet to achieve it. Visit me at jsmorin.com

Book preview

Magic’s Little Helper

MAGIC’S LITTLE HELPER

MISSION 11

BLACK OCEAN: MERCY FOR HIRE

J.S. MORIN

MAGICAL SCRIVENER PRESS

Copyright © 2020 J.S. Morin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

Magical Scrivener Press

www.magicalscrivener.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

J.S. Morin — First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-64355-093-0

Printed in the United States of America

MAGIC’S LITTLE HELPER

MISSION 11

Live violin music echoed from a vaulted marble ceiling, part of a string quartet. Chandeliers floated on repulsors, glittering, casting a shimmer of class over the tawdry affair taking place below. Despite the tuxedos and evening gowns in evidence across the ballroom, there wasn’t a blueblood among the guests. A few minor celebrities mingled. Politicians mixed carefully, pointedly present yet stiff and ill at ease. Even the caterers looked unsettled as they bustled among the partygoers.

This was a gangland shindig.

Esper had been to her share of socialite parades, and this calamity of gaudy poor taste was nothing but. See. Be seen. Drink. Get someone drunk. Jostle and shoulder your way up the society register rankings. Tonight, she was merely keeping a glass of champagne company as she smiled and made mindless small talk that could have fit on any planet, any organization, any occasion.

Tonight, Esper was playing the role of arm candy.

Her jade-green hair and matching lip tint drew the eyes of guests away from the more mundane features of her face. The cut of her tight black dress kept most viewers from even noticing the color.

Locked arm in arm with her was Moses Bray, local private lender and sports-wagering facilitator. In other words, he was a loan shark and a bookie on a world that looked down on both.

Merak V was known fondly as the Bear Den for its long inclusion in the Earth-viewable constellation Ursa Major. The 10 billion residents liked to think of their planet as a core world despite walking the fence between the core and border space. The list of illegal activities verged on Phabian-esque, with laws against everything from overcrowding a passenger vehicle to allowing a fruit tree to go unharvested. Most forms of procreation required co-signed waivers. Any ingestible alteration to brain chemistry required a prescription.

Moses steered Esper over to the craps table.

Time to make me some money, he declared to the crowd gathered to watch and gamble as they passed the night together. Esper sportingly blew on the loan shark’s dice and gave them a quick nudge as he rolled a 7.

The crowd cheered. Bets paid off.

Amid the merriment, Esper checked the room.

Dressed in a tuxedo, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, Tiffany made a circuit of the room carrying a silver platter of hors d’oeuvres. The man hovering across from her, ignoring the selection process, had the look of a swimwear model with tan-tinted skin and hair that didn’t budge when he moved his head. The blush in Tiffany’s cheeks told Esper all she needed to know about their conversation.

It took three more tosses of the dice before Esper caught her apprentice’s eye and got the sly, flirty wink to signal everything was OK.

Wesley was easy to find. All she had to do was follow the sound of the strings.

Details had been hard to come by as to how and why the 150-kilo behemoth had learned to play the double bass. Nonetheless, there he stood, instrument seamlessly blending in with the rest of the string quartet as if he wasn’t a last-minute substitute. The band’s regular bassist had come down with a severe case of stun-blaster flu.

When the actor noticed her looking, he cracked his neck without missing a note.

Everyone was ready.

Keeping a close watch on her mark, Esper rubbed against him to keep Moses Bray from upgrading to more demonstrative company. It was the sort of hold-your-nose dirty work that the do-gooder shied from, wouldn’t put her heart into, and risked jeopardizing the mission every time these situations arose.

When Moses doubled his chips, he grabbed and kissed her amid the cheering gamblers. More importantly, she made him believe she enjoyed it.

The grin she shot him afterward was wicked, mischievous—easily mistaken for conspiratorial or even suggestive. But kissing with her eyes open, Esper had caught the time on the antique grandfather clock on the far wall.

10:59 p.m.

Time was almost up.

This Cinderella wasn’t waiting until midnight to turn back into a wicked witch.

FREEZE! Earth Interstellar!

While the local police were a well-meaning bunch, they had families to look after. Husbands and wives with jobs whose policies didn’t allow packing a blaster. Kids who took hoverbuses to and from school. They weren’t going to bust into Bray’s gangland soiree and start slapping mag-cuffs on people.

Earth Interstellar didn’t care. They were going to do the job. These gangsters would be in cells on another planet by next week.

Once, presumably, these cops managed to arrest them.

The room erupted in blaster fire. Bursts of lethal red plasma from the gangsters who didn’t care about casualties. Withering volleys of blue stun blasts from the law officers.

In an act of chivalry that caught her off guard, Moses threw Esper down behind the cover of the craps table before drawing his blaster and joining her.

Click. Click.

She almost felt bad for him when his attempts to fire back in defense of the hideout met with technological failure. His perplexity shifted orbits when Esper locked an arm around his neck, securing the sleeper hold with her free hand.

You’re… you’re… he gasped as he flailed, clawing at her forearms.

I know, Esper cooed into his ear. And for what it’s worth, you didn’t seem all that bad.

Thud.

Then again, I never owed you money, she told the limp gangster.

Staying low, she hustled for the kitchen, slipping out of her high heels on the way. Blaster fire lanced overhead in both directions. The cops, at least, knew Esper’s team was there. Bray’s associates probably didn’t care about her either way but would have recognized her from the evening’s shared leisure. None of that meant she couldn’t catch a stray blast if she strutted through the room unaided by magic.

For now, she was happy letting the cops and gangsters play cowboy shootout.

The kitchen was chaos. Tiffany and Wesley were there, the big man blocking the exit with the bow from his bass, swatting anyone who approached.

Scanning uniforms, she dismissed the black-clad sous-chefs and found the one man wearing white.

You!

The chef in the double-breasted jacket and tall white toque blanched. Me?

Esper marched up and put an arm around the man’s neck, drawing him conspiratorially close. There are fifty Earth Interstellar agents out there. The man whimpered. You’ve got two choices. He twitched a hasty nod. Put your hands up, walk out there, and do your time for aiding a known criminal outfit. A few years in a lockup for non-violent, and you might find yourself a good gig in the next hideout that hires you.

The other? he asked, trembling.

Say you’re with me. Part of my crew. Cops’ll let you walk right out of here with me and mine.

The man blinked. What?

You hear me? Esper asked, turning him so he looked right at her—if not in the eye. Come cook for us in exchange for a ticket out of here?

Tiffany put a hand on Esper’s shoulder. What are you doing? I thought we were here for the… you know.

We are, Esper confirmed. Earth Interstellar could be pretty reasonable about letting a little evidence walk away in exchange for choice intel. "But this guy’s canapés are excellent. Imagine eating real food every meal. She popped one of the hors d’oeuvres in her mouth. So, what’ll it be? Work for me or do time with Bray’s gang?"

That was the moment Julien Marcombe joined the crew.

Tiffany grunted and leaned back, levering the plastic crate up and bracing it against her hip. Waddling five steps, she set it down atop two others just like it, topping off a stack of three on the back of the grav sled.

You know, you could get this done quicker by yourself, she snapped to Wesley, who passed by and perched a fourth crate atop hers.

He chuckled lightheartedly. Yeah, but Esper told you to help unload. Wouldn’t dream of interfering with wizardly training.

Tiffany huffed and worked her shoulders in circles to loosen tightening muscles. She kicked one of the bottommost crates. "Well, if this crate doesn’t recover, it’s going to be my share of the good food, she said. I don’t care how good this new guy is, I don’t want to eat unrefrigerated eggs."

The big lug strolled past her and scooped up a single crate when it would have been just as easy for him to lift three at once. Knowing he’d wait for her to carry one of her own before he’d so much as touch another, she scuffed her feet and headed back up the ramp of the shuttle.

You know, Wesley said, you could just try being better at magic.

She snorted. If only it were that easy. Yeah. Well, newsfeed, she’s hardly been teaching me anything lately. And let’s face it, I need individualized attention and mentoring. I’m not a self-starter like you.

Galaxy’s a puzzle, he commented as he painstakingly aligned the stacked crates—busywork as he killed time waiting for Tiffany to herniate a spleen carrying hers. Wouldn’t fit together if every piece was the same shape.

You are so going to make this up to me someday, Tiffany said in as threatening a tone as she could manage while hauling a 30-kilo crate of gourmet ingredients.

He laughed as he squeezed by on his way to picking up the last of the first grav-sled load. Once had a stuntman promise I’d make it up to him someday for all the crazy action takes I sat out. Not my fault the insurance didn’t cover stars having any of the fun.

How’d you pay him back? Tiffany asked as soon as her crate settled into place with a shove.

Wesley twirled his load on a fingertip before setting it down. Never had to.

You dodged him?

He didn’t hit the eject in time and spiked a hoverbike into Phan Mu Peak on Feanu III.

Tiffany had grabbed hold of the handle and was about to give the grav sled a tug to get underway when she stopped in her tracks. Ouch. That story turned grim in a hurry. I plan on sticking around long enough to get my due.

Sure thing, sport.

The doors to the hangar slid open. Esper marched through with Julien in tow. The chef had taken off his silly hat but otherwise remained dressed for catering work.

And here we are, back at the hangar, Esper announced. Don’t worry about the rest for now. You can explore the place on your own. Nothing here’s dangerous.

Julien caught sight of Tiffany and Wesley. His short-armed wave appeared nervous and self-conscious.

And what are you two still doing here? Esper demanded. Muscles and magic. It should have been a race to see who could finish their half first.

I eased off the pace, Wesley said with a grin.

Esper wasn’t buying. She stalked over and inspected the crates. A-tech marvels, they were each their own little, self-contained freezer unit, lights, readouts and all. Aha… you zorched one.

Tiffany launched into a spirited defense before Esper pushed the issue. "They’re super sensitive. I hardly magicked it at all. I think it might have been faulty to begin with."

Without quite taking her eyes off Tiffany, Esper cocked her head back toward the chef. Julien, were any of your prep crates defective?

He shook his head. No, ma’am.

Tiffany spread her hands, casting the chef a quick "guy, you’re killing me look before demanding, Who you gonna believe: me or the new guy?"

Folding her arms pointedly, Esper raised one eyebrow. The one who isn’t lying to me.

Hey! I’d be doing light-years better if you’d just take me you-know-where to speed up the studying. She didn’t know what the ground rules were and kept the name of Esperville off her tongue.

Esper glowered. No. Too many shortcuts. You need discipline, not coddling.

But—

Wesley, Esper called out. Kubu’s in the rec room, trying to narrow down 100 choices of holovids to watch. Mind helping him pick one out?

He cracked his knuckles. One of my top 20 areas of expertise. I’d be delighted. Tiff, just gimme a few and—

No need, Esper cut in. "Stay