Journals of Natta Magus: Journals of Natta Magus, #5

By Rob Steiner

Remington Blakes, a magus from an alternate 21st century where magic powers the world, has a big problem. His former mentor, William Pingree Ford, stranded him in ancient Rome without a memory as to how or why. Well a guy has to eat, so he takes on the name "Natta Magus", which means something like "Artisanal Wizard" in Latin, and ekes out a living as a magus-for-hire among Rome's plebeians.

 

As Rome's only practicing magus, Natta's adventures take him from the Eternal City's brutal arenas to the wilds of Germania to a diminished Carthage. All the while he searches for a way back home to the 21st century.

 

Now you can get all four volumes in the complete Journals of Natta Magus series (CITIZEN MAGUS, SHADOW MAGUS, WOUNDED MAGUS, and NATTA MAGUS) in one low-priced ebook.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quarkfolio Books
• Release date: May 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393250043

Rob Steiner

Rob Steiner lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with his wife, daughter, and a rascal cat. He is the author of the Journals of Natta Magus series, about a wizard from an alternate twenty-first century who is stranded in Augustan Rome. Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show featured two stories about Natta Magus: "The Oath-Breaker's Daemon" and "The Cloaca Maxima." He also wrote the alt-history/space opera Codex Antonius series (Muses of Roma, Muses of Terra, and Muses of the Republic) about a Roman Empire that spawns an interstellar civilization. Be among the first to hear about Rob's new releases by signing up for his "New Release Mailing List" on his web site below. He won't share your info with anyone, and he'll only email you when a new book or story comes out.

Book preview

Journals of Natta Magus

Citizen Magus

Shadow Magus

Wounded Magus

Natta Magus

Rob Steiner

Quarkfolio Books

Citizen Magus

Journals of Natta Magus | Book 1

Rob Steiner

Quarkfolio Books

Copyright © 2015 by Rob Steiner.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Rob Steiner.

October 2015. Published by Quarkfolio Books.

Cover illustration by Tom Edwards (https://tomedwardsdesign.com/).

***

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For Sarah and Amelia, always.

ONE

My name is Remington Blakes, but people in 6 B.C. Rome call me Natta Magus.

Why?

For starters, I am a fully trained, licensed, and insured magus from twenty-first century Detroit in the American Union. Second, I needed to feed myself somehow after I got stranded in ancient Rome, so I set up my own magus shop on the Aventine Hill. What Roman would hire Remington when they could hire (cue epic echo) Natta Magus. It means something like artisanal wizard in Latin, so I guess you could call it a marketing decision.

But there were times like now, running through Rome's crowded streets on my way to stop a magical murder, that I wondered if there were safer ways to earn money. Like joining the legions.

Gaius Aurelius Vitulus, my Praetorian friend—perhaps my only friend in Rome—stopped ahead and gave me an impatient frown. I once saw him make a corrupt quaestor spill his guts with just that frown. He was a few inches shorter than my six-foot two-inch frame, but he had the intimidating build of a twenty-something man who spent the last ten years in the legions. When I caught up to him, he said, The sun is setting, and we're still a mile from the temple.

I'm going as fast as I can, I growled. These damned sandals are killing me. Eighteen months in Rome and I still longed for the rubber-soled sneakers I wore back home.

"Your dawdling will kill Celsus Maximus," Vitulus grunted, and began weaving his way again through the crowds and labyrinthine Roman alleys.

Vitulus was dressed like any other citizen of the equestrian social rank—a white woolen tunica with two narrow, vertical red stripes down the sides—but his bearing and the well-used, pearl-handled gladius on his belt made the crowds part for him. The gladius was a gift from his father upon his ascension to manhood on his fourteenth birthday. I once asked Vitulus why he didn't brush the stains off the pearl handle, and he said that the stains remind him the gladius was a tool and not a bauble. I tried not to think of how many men he'd killed with it during his days in the legions.

I'd known Vitulus for about a year, and all I can tell you is that by contemporary Roman standards, he's a huge Boy Scout. He values honor above all other virtues, always keeps his promises, will fight to protect the innocent, but won't hesitate to kill his enemies. A year ago I had helped Vitulus and his boss, Praetorian Prefect Salvius Aper, with a delicate matter involving supernatural forces. They'd come to me ever since with more delicate matters that gods-fearing Romans didn't want to believe in.

Take the case of Celsus Maximus, the famous gladiator whose murder we were racing to prevent. Now I abhor slavery like anyone from my time, so when Vitulus came to me for help in finding Celsus, I turned him down. I had hoped that Celsus had escaped the bloody gladiatorial games that Romans loved. But then Vitulus told me that a clay tablet had been left in Celsus's empty quarters. It said that Celsus would be killed unless Remington Blakes, the one you call Natta Magus, shows up alone at the Temple of Sterquilinus outside the Porta Ostiensis by sundown. It warned of dire consequences if I brought anybody with me.

Well that piqued my interest. Only two people in ancient Rome knew my real name. Vitulus was one. The other was the all around bastard who abandoned me in ancient Rome in the first place, my former friend and mentor from the twenty-first century, William Pingree Ford. He'd been using his magus powers in Rome over the last eighteen months to try and change history, and I'd done my best to clean up his messes. But he always stayed a few moves ahead of me. I had to catch him, so I could not only stop him but make him send me home.

Was it a trap? Maybe. He'd passive aggressively tried to kill me last year by sicking daemons on me, though I think that was more to distract me from his real plot to kill Caesar Augustus. I stopped him, but that's another story.

No, this was the best lead I'd had on him in months, and I couldn't ignore it.

Which is what worried me.

I don't understand how Celsus could be captured, Vitulus said as I came even with him again. He's a cunning warrior.

I dodged a flock of sheep heading to the Forum and blinked the sweat out of my eyes. My Detroit Wolverines baseball cap, which helped me focus my magic, was soaked in sweat from my jog through Rome's stifling and close streets.

Magic beats might every time, my friend, I said. If William is behind this, then Celsus may not have had a chance. We need to—

I stubbed my open toe on a stray rock and unleashed a string of modern curses. Vitulus eyed me with amusement.

Is that how you curse in 'Anglish'? he asked.

English, I said, limping next to him. Latin curses don't feel as good. And I hope I'm not here long enough for them to do so. As I was saying, we need to figure out why William would kidnap Celsus of all people and use him to lure me to this temple.

If your former mentor wants to kill someone famous, Vitulus said, barely breathing hard, he couldn't have found anyone more famous than Princeps Augustus himself. Celsus has over a hundred kills in the arena in just the last year alone. He rarely ever gets wounded, and he's refused the wooden sword of freedom four times. He's the most remarkable gladiator in over a generation.

Listening to Vitulus rattle off Celsus's kills reminded me how I'd rattle off the stats of my favorite Wolverine ball players. It was kind of disgusting and once again illustrated the huge cultural gulf between my friend and I.

Yeah, well, a good sword arm is no match against a well-formed sleeper spell, I said.

We rounded the corner and almost ran into a wedding party. The bride's father, dressed in a brilliant white toga, led the procession. Female slaves marched behind him and in front of the bride, throwing multi-colored flower petals at her feet. A deep-yellow veil covered her head, and she wore a white robe bound at the waist with a woolen belt. Her attendants and family marched behind her, likely on their way to the groom's house and the next stage of their ceremony.

These processions were common in Roman streets, and my heart cracked a little each time I saw one. I had missed my own wedding in the twenty-first century two months ago. I'm trying, Brianna, I thought. All my will and focus is bent on getting home to you. I missed her so much that I saw her reflection in every pool of water I passed. Her long brown hair always pulled back in a pony-tail; her circular, wire-framed spectacles perched on the end of her nose; sparkling green eyes; mischievous grin; the goose flesh on her soft skin when I touched—

Focus, I had to focus. Daydreaming about Brianna had almost killed me during my recent jobs with Vitulus.

We passed the procession and stepped onto the brick-layered Via Ostiensis, where I felt like I could breathe again. For an empire renowned for its efficient roads and imperial administration, the Mother City was a maze of meandering, claustrophobic alleys and haphazardly built wood and brick tenements. Even native Romans got lost if they tried navigating the unlit streets at night.

Have you given more thought to my invitation? Vitulus asked as we continued jogging.

I winced, expecting this after passing the wedding. Still thinking about it.

What's there to think about? It's my wedding. I'm meeting Claudia's family tomorrow to negotiate guests, so I want to add your name to that list. I don't know about your Detroit, but here in Rome it's considered an insult to refuse a wedding invitation, especially from a friend.

Oh, it's insulting in my time, too, I thought. But how could I explain to him that passing a stranger's wedding procession made me want to sit in my shop all day writing sad poetry and sighing. Watching a friend get married would be a figurative gladius shoved into my heart.

I know, and you deserve an answer, I said. I licked my lips. I have to decline. You know I can't make any oaths that would tie me to this century or it'll be all the more difficult for me to get back home. Accepting a wedding invitation is an implied oath that I will be at a certain place at a certain time. What happens if I discover a way to get home tomorrow?

Vitulus gave an exasperated laugh. Then I'll release you from your 'oath'!

Yes, but what if you're not around to do that? I can't take that chance. I'm sorry.

Vitulus continued jogging in silence, his teeth clenched.

Accepting a wedding invitation wasn't considered an Oath with a capital O in any magus class I'd ever passed. Only strong Oaths, like marriage vows might keep me here longer than I wanted. I'd even turned down Salvius Aper's clientela offer, essentially giving me a full-time job in the Praetorian Guard, because I'd have to swear oaths to serve him that might conflict with my Oaths. Swearing an Oath is like putting a tattoo on your soul. It's there for life. Sure there are ways to remove it without fulfilling it, but they hurt like hell. So if you even think you might not follow through with an Oath, it was best not to swear it in the first place. If I went back to the twenty-first century without fulfilling it, my aura would be forever tarnished, and then good luck finding a job or making another friend again.

So even I knew my excuse was lame.

We exited the Porta Ostiensis on the south side of Rome and jogged another half-mile before stopping. Vitulus pointed to a hilltop with a small circular building on top. It was a few hundred yards away and surrounded by plowed grain fields. The building had a red-tiled roof and square windows that ran along the entire circumference. It looked more like a tool shed than a temple.

The Temple of Sterquilinus, he said, the god of fertilization. Most people go to the Temple of Ceres these days, so it's fallen into disrepair.

So he's the god of manure?

Vitulus shrugged, and then said, I still think it's foolish for you to go alone.

Probably, I said. I mentally checked the enchantments that held my ball cap to my head and my components belt around my waist were set. The familiar tingle in my hairline and my hips said they were. "But the letter said he'd kill Celsus if I didn't come alone. And William couldn't have chosen a better spot to ensure my loneliness."

Vitulus's hand tightened on the pearl hilt of his sheathed gladius as he studied the temple. If you think this is a trap, then why are you going? Why risk your life for a gladiator you've never met?

Because this is the best lead I've had on William in months. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned his eyes back to me. And I want to go home.

He nodded reluctantly.

Besides, I said, William has had plenty of chances to kill me over the last year and a half. If he wanted me dead, I'd be dead. He wants something else from me.

Then may Fortuna walk with you, Vitulus said.

I nodded to him, turned my black Wolverines ball cap around so the bill was pointed backwards, and started toward the temple. This prepared my body to cast a spell at a moment's notice.

The Temple of Sterquilinus may have been forgotten, but the manure he represented sure wasn't. It was planting season, so the stench and crunch of desiccated dung beneath my sandaled feet made my nervous walk toward the temple all the more unpleasant. When I arrived at the base of the temple hill, I noticed the walking path that I could've taken from the Via Ostiensis to the temple door.

Son of a... I muttered, and then kicked the manure and dirt off my sandals and bare feet. Only a bath later would get them clean. William would just have to deal with my smells.

I walked to the top of the hill, glancing to the west as I did so. A sliver of orange sun still shone above the hilly horizon. I had made it here before sundown. I hoped I wasn't too late for Celsus.

The entry into the temple had no door and was dark. Nothing like an abandoned, spooky temple to raise the hairs on your neck. My Wolverines baseball cap would block my presence from any lurking spirits that might try to feed on my magic, so I wasn't worried about them. It was the living that concerned me, and William in particular. What I said earlier about my belief that he didn't bring me here to kill me was well reasoned...until my lizard brain threw spark grenades at that logic.

Maybe he's tired of you stopping his plots and wants to kill you now in the middle of a manure-sown field. Maybe he's finally lost what's left of his mind. He admitted in our last meeting months ago that he wanted to erase the knowledge of magic from twenty-first century humanity. In my future, magic was ubiquitous and powered the world; erasing it would plunge the world into a dark age that I couldn't imagine. For someone who wanted to do that, murdering a former student wasn't too far-fetched.

Well I wouldn't get any answers by standing outside soaking up manure reek. I marched through the open entry and into the dark temple.

The meager light from the windows and a second open entry across from me helped me see a dozen wood benches surrounding a stone altar in the middle. A large man with a shaved head wearing a brown tunica stood before the altar with his back to me. That was not William, unless he'd grown three inches and put on fifty pounds since I last saw him.

Celsus Maximus? I asked, my eyes scanning the rest of the empty room.

A throaty chuckle came from the large man. I shifted my eyes to him and every cell in my body seemed to ice over. There was something terribly wrong with him.

That is not my name, the man said in a Germanic accent. The Romans gave me that name when they enslaved me.

He turned around. I first noticed the small body he held in his massive arms. It was a dark-haired girl, no more than thirteen. Her face looked serene, but the left side of her neck was a jagged mess of dark red flesh, muscle, and exposed white bone. A second girl lay near the man's feet. She was younger than the first and her eyes were closed, but I saw no wounds and she was still breathing.

My eyes fled from the two girls to the man's face. His entire mouth and chin were bright red, and his teeth were impossibly large, gray, and jagged.

My name is Octric, he said, and I no longer kill for the pleasure of a Roman mob. Blood oozed from between his teeth when he grinned. Now I kill for my own pleasure.

TWO

I'd never seen a vampire before, since they'd gone extinct eighty years before I was born. The Aether in my time line had ensured their extinction, among a host of other Dark-conjured monsters.

If you're reading this journal and you're not from my home time, the Aether was a magical gas that the victorious Allies pumped into the world's atmosphere after the Dark Wars in the early twentieth century. Without going into the nitty-gritty, the Aether stopped Dark curses from materializing; they just turn into gray vapor as soon as a Dark magus casts them. Oh, my home had plenty of rebellious teens and wannabes who pretended to be Dark, dabbling in minor curses that put boils on your nose. But the Aether prevented anyone from casting horrors like the true Dark magi that had almost destroyed my world.

Vampires shouldn't exist in ancient Rome either. They wouldn't evolve until after the Great Awakening three hundred years from now. But the fact that one stood before me with fresh victims proved me wrong. This was William's work, and his depravity had hit a new low.

Okay...Octric, I said, let's talk about this.

The Germanic gladiator stared at me with black eyes, still as a marble statue. Unnaturally still.

You hate Romans, I said. I get that. But killing their daughters won't make them listen to you.

I walked slowly to his right, keeping a wooden bench between him and me. I couldn't tell if his all-black eyes followed me. Hell, I could barely see anything in the temple anymore.

He didn't move as I arrived behind the bench. I moved my right hand down to my components belt.

How did you turn into...this? Did you have—?

"William says salve," Octric said.

Yeah. I figured he would.

Octric cocked his head like a predator who heard the scurrying of small prey. He grinned. I would love to feed on you too, magus. But my master's orders were clear. He is calling me home.

Octric threw the dead girl's body at me as if it were a sack of grain. I brought my hands up and caught the girl, but I fell backward over another bench and onto my back, the girl's body on top of me. My head slammed on the stone floor, producing starbursts before my eyes. The breath was knocked out of me, but I kept Octric in my sight while I gasped for air.

He blurred like shimmering metal on a hot day. I felt magical energies gather—a deep rattling in my teeth along with that ache you get when eating something cold—and then his body began to shrink. His outstretched arms grew feathers, as did his shaved head, face, and neck. His eyes grew wider, and his mouth turned into a beak. His body disappeared into his crumpled tunica on the ground. Then a huge owl with gray and black feathers burst from the tunica with a cringe-inducing screech. It grabbed the second dark-haired girl's leg in its talons and somehow lifted her into the air with powerful flapping wings. As she hung upside down, a small pendant fell from her neck to the floor. With supernatural strength, the owl flew her out the temple's second entry and into the night sky.

My Dark ecology courses had taught me that vampires could turn into bats or wolves or mist. The owl was new to me, which made me wonder if I was dealing with a vampire after all.

The dead teenaged girl still lay over me from where I fell. I gently put her body on a bench and sat down next to her. She was so frail and light. Because he drained all her blood, I thought with growing anger.

When I worked up the courage to inspect her wound, I saw indeed that no blood oozed from it. Her skin was alabaster pale, and her clothing, bejeweled necklaces, and bracelets indicated she came from a wealthy family.

The sound of horses came through the entry behind me. I tried to stand, but vertigo from my head injury made me stagger forward, placing my hands on the bench to keep from falling onto the girl. I guess I hit my head harder than I thought. A knot throbbed and swelled on the back of my head.

I was still leaning over the girl when men with torches appeared in the entry.

I need help, I said. She's—

What in Jupiter's name have you done? snarled the leader with a gravelly voice.

I looked down at the dead girl and then back at the men.

Ah, crap.

I didn't do this! I cried. There was another man— Er, not a man, but he—

All four men drew their swords and advanced toward me.

Get away from her, the leader ordered.

I backed away from the bench where I had placed the girl. "I did not do this! She was dead when I found her!"

A teen with terrible acne stepped forward and raised his torch high. Gods, he breathed, staring at the girl's ruined neck. You ripped Lucia's throat out!

No! I protested again. I don't even know who she is!

The leader joined Acne Boy. He was in his fifties with about a quarter-inch of gray-black scruff on his mostly bald head. The abject anguish on his bristly face made me wonder if Lucia was his daughter.

You damn well know who she is, the man whispered, staring at the girl. Otherwise you wouldn't have kidnapped her.

I swear, I don't know—

She's the first daughter of Senator Numicius Priscus! the man suddenly yelled in my face. Where's Aula?

If you mean the younger girl, then the man who killed Lucia took her.

Where did he take her? he asked through clenched teeth. The pain on the leader's face had turned to rage, and I knew I was in real trouble. There would be no arrest or trial for me. Only torture and execution, right here and now.

A voice from the entry startled the men. Vitulus's shadow blocked the door, and he cut an imposing figure—stocky, back straight, one hand on the pearl gladius hilt at his belt. His tone was commanding, without a hint of the fear that was turning my knees to jelly.

I'm a centurion in the Praetorian Guard, he said. What's happening here?

Fine timing, centurion, the leader said, his eyes never leaving mine. You're about to witness some justice.

Stay your hand, sir, Vitulus said, as if soothing a dog crouched to attack. And you men put away your weapons. I would know what happened.

Vitulus, this is William's doing, I said past the angry man. He turned Celsus Maximus into a...a monster that killed the girl. He escaped with another little girl just before these guys showed up.

The gladiator? Acne Boy said. No one left as we approached. What did he do, fly away with Aula?

Yes! I said.

Wait, growled the leader. His eyes shifted between Vitulus and me. You two know each other?

Vitulus's lips thinned, which usually indicated his annoyance with me.

Damnation, I just blew his attempt to bluff these guys.

Vitulus turned to the leader again using the same soothing tone. I want to find out what happened, so we can bring the murderer to justice. What is your name, sir?

Duilius Strabo, he said. "I guard the Senator's kids. And I don't give one cac spot whether you're a Praetorian or not. He pointed his gladius at Vitulus. You both will answer for this."

Vitulus drew his gladius and assumed a defensive stance: his body perpendicular to the men, left leg advanced, his gladius held near his side and pointed at Strabo. Strabo's three comrades raised their swords, looking from Vitulus to their leader, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Which meant everyone ignored me.

I took a bag from my belt and opened the cinched top. As everyone stared at each other, I tossed the dust from the bag into the air above Strabo and his men. The sleeper dust sparkled as I pushed my cell magic into it—a rush of ice and heat that burst from my body's cells—and I yelled in my arcane, bastardized Dutch,Niet bewegen!

They had time to look at me but not enough to do anything about it before the dust settled on them. All four men collapsed to the stone floor, their swords clanging loudly in the small temple.

I hurried to the altar where I'd seen the pendant fall off Aula's neck and tucked it into one of my component bags. I'd need it later if I ever hoped to find her again.

I ran past Vitulus toward the entry. We need to leave before they awaken.

Vitulus grabbed my arm in an iron grip before I could get outside. What. Happened.

I put them to sleep. They'll have a headache when they wake up, but they'll be fine.

No. He turned his eyes to Lucia's body and then fixed me with a cold stare.

Vitulus, I said, I did not do this. It was Celsus.

The kid was right, Vitulus said, nodding to the unconscious Acne Boy. His grip on my arm had not loosened. Nobody walked out of this temple.

"I'm telling you, Celsus turned into an owl and flew out the back door with Aula. If you were really watching the temple, you would've seen it!"

There was more acid in my voice than I had intended, but the fact that Vitulus seemed to suspect me of ripping out this girl's throat was the topping on an already awful night.

His eyes narrowed as he thought for a few seconds. I didn't see that, but it was getting dark...and I did hear an owl screech. I thought it came from the trees near the road.

Vitulus. You know I could never do this. After all the things we've seen, is it so hard to believe me now?

Over the last year, Vitulus had watched me use my magic to find items or people who were lost for good; we'd fought crypt daemons and even a sewer basilisk. He'd seen things he never believed in before meeting me. I watched him think about those things, and then he released my arm.

This was your mentor's doing?

Yeah. I looked at the dead girl again but then had to turn away. His crimes are growing more vile. He lured me out here to frame me for Lucia's murder and Aula's kidnapping. He has to be stopped, and we have to find Aula.

Why would he do this?

I glanced nervously at the sleeping men. Do we really have to talk about this now?

Vitulus frowned at Strabo and his men. Senator Numicius leads the Princeps' faction in the Senate, he said. He's powerful and can have you tried and executed within a day. He must not know we were here.

Vitulus raised his gladius above the sleeping Strabo's heart.

Wait! I yelled and grabbed his sword arm. What are you doing?

He gave me an incredulous look. Saving your life, fool. When these men wake up, they'll track you down and kill you.

I never told them my name.

He snorted. "How many real magi are there in Rome? Your reputation has grown. It won't take them long to find you."

But you can't just kill them!

Why?

Because...you can't!

He stared at me as if I'd just said the sun was green. I can. It's easy.

Well it shouldn't be, I said. Besides I used my magic to subdue them. If you kill them, I'll be an accomplice to murder and in violation of the Oaths I took to never use my magic to harm a human being.

Strabo grunted and began to stir. Even his sleep mumbling sounded dangerous.

Let's go. I tried pulling Vitulus toward the door, but it was like pulling a tree.

He pulled his muscled arm from my grip. You would let these men live, even though they will hunt you down and kill you once they find you?

Yes. There's another way.

What other way?

I have some ideas. First, I need to stop at my shop, then we need a safe place to hide. Suggestions?

He looked from me to the wakening Strabo. I hoped that my question would get him thinking of something other than killing defenseless men. For a moment I thought he'd do it anyway. But he cursed once and followed me out the door.

Yes, Vitulus said as we hurried into the night, but he won't be happy when he hears our story.

THREE

Rome's overcrowded and winding alleys made it almost impossible to get anywhere during daylight hours. In an effort to relieve the congestion, Augustus recently made it illegal for wagons to deliver their goods within the city between sunup and sundown. So now when the sun sets, the crowds virtually disappear...but then wagons and carts of all sizes clog the streets. Combine that with no system of street torches to light our various detours, and it was midnight by the time Vitulus and I reached my shop on Rome's Aventine Hill.

My shop was in an old garden-level flat that had been a perfume boutique before I moved in. We descended the five stone steps to the plain wood door. I flicked a bit of cell magic at the door to release its wards and then opened it to let Vitulus in. I didn't want to waste time fumbling for a candle, so I cast a spark globe, tuned the glow to a dull red, and let it hang in the air in the center of the shop. Flowery and musky scents from the former boutique permeated the walls, which I doubted would ever dissipate.

Kind of like my house spirit, Lares, who greeted me as soon as I shut the door and reignited its wards.

My fig cake has returned to me! cried a disembodied female voice. On the small table to my right, an ethereal white glow surrounded a six-inch statue of a cherubic young woman. The bowl in front of it still had a few drops of wine left from my offering yesterday, along with some shriveled green olives. I was so worried, my sweet! The hours have been absolute torture awaiting your return! Did you find the man who took you away from me for so long?

Yeah, we found him, I said, and I was only gone a few hours.

Excuse me? Vitulus said.

Sorry, Lares asked me about Celsus.

Vitulus nodded. He was used to me talking to thin air by now. He couldn't hear Lares due to his lack of magical talents, nor could he see the white glow around her statue. So he stationed himself at the door and watched through the cracks as wagons rumbled by on the street. We were taking a huge risk coming here, but if I was going into hiding, I wanted to make sure I had plenty of spell components with me.

What took you so long, my pudding?

There were complications, I said. I pulled Aula's pendant from my component belt and set it on the table. It was an old, worn coin attached to a simple leather strap with the two ends tied in a not. Unlike the fancy jewelry that most patricians wore, the coin looked more like a family heirloom generations old. It had meaning.

Which would make it easier for me to find her.

What complications, sweet? Lares asked. Did he hurt you? Her statue flickered between orange and yellow. Say the word and I shall go to the house spirit of where he lives. He shall have pustules all over his manhood by morning!

William turned the man into something really bad. It killed one girl and kidnapped another. I'm going to cast a finder spell now, so I need to concentrate.

Absolutely, darling, she said, though the moments without your voice will feel like centuries.

I'm competent in all the major schools of magic, but finder spells are my specialty. I was working on my Finder Arcanum doctorate at Detroit's Wayne State University before William abandoned me in ancient Rome. Finder jobs had been my bread and butter since I arrived, though they were hardly glamorous: I've located drunk husbands, cheating wives, murder victims, and even Salvius Aper's stolen breastplate. Of course I'd also found missing children, which always made the icky jobs worth it. I was basically doing the same things here that I would've been doing had I completed my doctorate back in Detroit. Albeit under far more primitive and life threatening conditions.

I turned my ball cap around so the bill faced backward. I took the coin in my right hand and cupped my left hand over it. I gathered the cell magic that resided in every cell of my body, let its icy heat rise to the top of my skin, and then I released it with the words: "Vinden Aula."

Faces, emotions, and locations exploded before my mind's eye. The coin's previous owners had left their own unique spiritual imprints. This was common when casting a finder on an heirloom, but my experience helped me navigate the imprints and locate Aula's. Her imprint was the brightest since she was currently the coin's undisputed owner. It also meant Aula was still alive. I gave an internal sigh of relief. If she were dead, her imprint would've been a weak shadow like all the others.

But I noticed something curious about her imprint: yellow and purple aural colors sparked around it like fireflies. Whoa, I thought, she has magical talent. Very few people in the ancient world could wield magic before the Great Awakening. Was Aula one of them?

Whether she could or not didn't matter at the moment. She was a child in terrible danger and I had to find her. I focused on her imprint and said once again:

Vinden Aula.

Finder spells don't give you an object or person's exact location, but they do give you a general distance and bearing. Like the old warmer-colder game we all played as children (if you're from the twenty-first century, that is). If I turned in different directions, the spell would give me the feeling of you're getting warmer, only a hundred feet away.

In this case, the spell told me Aula was already dozens of miles away heading north at great speed.

I blinked away the spell, but stored the finder link as a small thought in my mind that I could access whenever I wanted. At least as long as Aula lived. I returned her coin pendant to the pouch on my belt.

I went to the back of my shop, took a satchel from under the cot that I called a bed, and then searched my shelves of carefully arranged components lining the walls. All the components that I'd gathered for the last year and a half were on these shelves, displayed in alphabetical order by their Latin names. Clay vials filled with powders and oils; little bowls containing feathers and animal bones; long sprigs of drying herbs. My fastidious organization came from long summers working in my parents' apothecary shop on Woodward Avenue.

I found my prized possession, a square of linen with a silvery smear about three inches long. The cloth had once held a small ingot of aurichalcum metal, which I'd used to fight off a daemon last year. The ingot helped me cast an ice storm that enveloped the entire Aventine and put out the fires that the daemon started. Pretty powerful stuff; I was lucky it didn't neuter the magic out of me. Even that little bit of residue on the linen might come in handy if I had to fight the monster that took Aula.

Lares, I said, packing more components into my belt pouches, do you know any spells that can transform someone into a creature with really long teeth and enable them to turn into an owl?

Lares' statue turned from orange and yellow to a flowery pink. I could almost hear her take an ethereal breath before releasing her panicked answer. Oh my love, oh my sweet, what have you gotten yourself into? You're like a toddling child in this city. You don't know the dangers you face or the proper ways to defend yourself—

That's why the gods blessed me with you, Lares. Just tell me what I'm dealing with.

"No, no, my dear, the gods have blessed me with you. Before you came along, I had not spoken with another person in over two centuries. Do you know what torture it is to live among the people in this building and never talk with them? To watch them put on mismatched clothing, or make dinners that I wouldn't feed a dog, or make love in boring positions—"

Lares, please! What do you know about the creature? The house spirit was a treasure trove of Roman arcane knowledge, but she got easily sidetracked.

"Oh, yes, the owl creature. Your mentor has created something terrible, my doll, my sweet. It's called a strix and it's something that I recommend you stay far away from."

Why, beyond the obvious reasons? I'd finished stuffing my belt pouches with what I thought I'd need. As expected, it took longer to get answers from Lares than it did to pack.

Because, darling, it has the strength of ten men and can drain all the blood from your body in moments. If that's not bad enough, they play with their prey and torture them to induce fear and anger before killing them. It makes the blood all the more sweeter, apparently. By Minerva, if that should happen to you, my soul shall become an empty husk for all eternity!

Sounds like a vampire, then, I murmured as I cinched the top of my satchel and put it over my shoulder.

Oh, I can see this 'vampire' in your mind, but it's not a vampire, sweet, Lares said. A person who turns into a strix is still alive, but not quite. The curse also removes any empathy or positive feelings they may have once had. Helps them become more efficient killers, I suppose. Plus they cannot pass their curse on to their victims like this vampire from your time. Only powerful magic can create a strix.

I figured that was Lares' longwinded way of saying the strix was an undead creature. My Oaths to do no harm with my magic were developed decades after the Dark Wars when vampires went extinct. Did they still apply to undead people? I hoped not.

Can the curse be removed? I asked. Vitulus eyed me impatiently. I held up one finger to give me another moment.

Oh I'm sure a dashing young magus such as yourself would have no trouble banishing a mean creature like that from this fair city.

Yes, but how? Lares, we're kind of in a hurry...

It gives me no greater pleasure than to give you pleasure, but alas that knowledge does not exist among the honored dead. As far as I know, a strix stays a strix for the rest of its life.

I swallowed once. Can it be killed?

Anything can be killed, dumpling, but that knowledge is also unknown among the dead.

Natta? Vitulus said with a frown.

I nodded to him and asked, Lares, is there anything else you can tell me?

I'd love to recite Catullus poems to you, my adorable kitten, but I sense that's not what you mean. Hmm...oh, a strix cannot lie.

"So it's an honest evil monster. Got it. Anything else?"

That's all I know.

Well, as always, you're a sweetheart. Thank you for the information.

The statue turned red like a blush. Oh, Natta Magus, your presence in this house is enough thanks for me.

Yeah, about that, I said. I may be gone for a while.

Lares was quiet a few seconds. How long is 'a while'? A green tint came over the statue. You're not off to dally with some other woman, are you?

No, I soothed, you know my policy on relationships. Besides, I just told you that I need to find the girl that the strix kidnapped. I'll make sure to double your offering bowl when I get back.

Darling, I don't love you for your offerings! Quite frankly, I'm insulted. She paused. Although a sweet Pompeii vintage would be nice...

I'll try, I said. Can you keep the door wards burning while I'm gone?

None shall pass, my honey fig.

FOUR

Delivery wagons still clogged the streets, so Vitulus found a merchant willing to sell us one of his lit torches. We figured the danger of tripping over debris or sleeping beggars while navigating the Aventine's shadowy streets outweighed the danger of Strabo following us.

Your conversations with that spirit unnerve me, Vitulus said as he waved the torch into dark alleys to check for lurking bandits. Is it really in love with you?

I shrugged. I think she's just happy to have someone to talk to. She gets lonely watching people, but never speaking to them.

It's just not natural, Vitulus muttered.

Oh, come on. You have shrines in your home to your ancestral spirits, right?

Every decent Roman dwelling does, he said. "But my ancestors protect my family. They don't talk to us."

"Maybe you should talk to them. I'm sure they'd appreciate it."

He eyed me incredulously. Talk to them? Why would I talk to them if I cannot hear them?

They can hear you. If you treat them like family and not a religious duty, then maybe they might help you in ways you can't imagine.

He grunted. I'd look like a fool talking to the room.

Like me?

He eyed me with a pained expression. I did not mean offense—

I'm playing with you again, I said, grinning. Romans are so eager to avoid offending people.

"And you Anglish are eager to give offense. You must watch yourself, my friend. I know you come from another time, but my fellow citizens do not know that. What you see as a stray jest may impugn the honor of an entire gens and earn you a knife in the gut."

Vitulus had smoothed over many of my stray jests over the past year, which is probably why I'm still around to record these journals.

We reached Salvius Aper's home on the Caelius Hill a few hours past midnight. Like most patrician homes, Aper's was walled off and only accessible through a heavy wooden door at the front. Vitulus tapped on the door with his foot. When no one came, he frowned and tried the more obnoxious—to Romans—knocking with his knuckles. A small shutter in the center of the door opened, and a middle-aged man's face peered at us.

"Salve?" he said. I recognized him as Aper's lead slave, Nicia.

It's Vitulus and Natta Magus, Vitulus said. We need to speak to the prefect.

"Yes, dominus."

Nicia closed the shutter, and I heard bars rise from the door on the other side. The heavy door creaked inward a crack to let us through. When we stepped inside, Nicia closed the door again and barred it. He then took a torch from the wall sconce next to the door and led us through the courtyard into Aper's home. We stopped in an atrium about five times the size of my one-room shop. Ornately carved, painted columns encircled a small garden set in stone planters. In the center of the garden was an impluvium pool that was meant to gather the rainwater from the circular opening in the ceiling above, through which I saw stars in the night sky. Cushioned chairs and couches were arranged around the atrium. Nicia asked us to wait there while he fetched Aper.

I slumped onto a couch and fought to keep my eyes open. Since Vitulus had come to my shop that afternoon regarding Celsus, we'd practically ran three miles down the Aventine to the Temple of Sterquilinus, then back to my shop on the Aventine, and then down the Aventine and up the Caelius to Aper's home. I was exhausted.

Vitulus, however, paced the floor with nervous energy. I supposed a life of walking everywhere, and ten years in the legions, gave him more stamina than my life of riding bullet trolleys and lab study. I'd lost over twenty pounds since I arrived, but I still couldn't hope to match Vitulus's endurance.

Aper strode into the atrium. He still wore a sleep tunic and his gray-flecked black hair was disheveled, but his eyes were alert. He seemed to hum with the same energy as Vitulus, and all without coffee to wake him up.

I can command the energies that make up the universe, but sometimes I'd give it all away for one espresso.

Forgive our late appearance, sir, Vitulus said, standing at attention, but the situation with Celsus Maximus has grown more challenging.

What happened? Aper asked.

Vitulus went over the events of the last six hours with the efficiency and detail that would've earned him a place on any twenty-first century detective squad. He left nothing out, from me entering the temple alone, to finding Celsus holding the poor dead Lucia Numicius, to his eventual escape as an owl with Aula. Aper had hired me several times over the past year, so he didn't even flinch at the story's magical aspects.

However, his face grew annoyed when we got to Duilius Strabo. Aper sat in an atrium chair and rubbed his forehead. So you're saying that Strabo has by this time awakened from Natta Magus's spell and is likely telling Senator Numicius that one of his daughters is dead, another has been kidnapped, and that you two are responsible? The same Senator Numicius who is one of the Princeps' most powerful allies in the Senate?

Vitulus continued standing attention. Yes, sir. The monster that did this could be used for another assassination attempt against the Princeps by the magus William.

The same man that tried to assassinate Augustus three months ago? Aper asked.

Yes, sir.

I won't go into the details, but William's plot involved a basilisk, a sewer, and a stink that I'm still trying to wash off my skin. But considering Aula was still heading north at incredible speed, I didn't think William had spawned the strix to keep it in Rome.

Vitulus, I said, where was Celsus born?

He paused to mentally review his gladiator stats. I believe he was captured from a rebellious village near the border of Gaul and Germania Superior. He was brought to Rome when he was twelve.

I did a mental conversion to the titles used in my time: the border of France and the German Confederation. There were monuments to the Great Awakening there that I had visited while in primary school.

I think that's where he's headed, I said.

What makes you so sure? Aper asked.

I told him about the finder spell that I had cast back in my shop on Aula's pendant. "Also, something he said to me before turning into an owl: 'My master is calling me home.' Lares told me that strix can't lie, so wherever Celsus is heading, it's a place he thinks of as home. And I assume William is his master."

Perhaps he meant the gladiatorial barracks? Aper said, with all the naiveté of a patrician who thought foreign slaves felt better off in civilized Rome than their barbaric homelands.

No, I think he literally meant his home village. And he told me his name was 'Octric' and that he was done killing for Roman mobs. He was going to kill for himself now. When Aper raised an eyebrow, I said, "Those were his words."

If he wants to kill Romans, Vitulus said, then why go back to his home village? That region has been pacified for over ten years. Trade between Roman merchants and the local Germanic tribes is booming.

I shrugged. Maybe he wants to kick the Romans out of the area. Maybe William is using him to ransom Aula.

This is all important, I grant you, Aper said, "but our immediate concern is Senator Numicius. Now I'm assuming that you two did not accidentally kill Lucia."

Of course not, I said.

No, sir, Vitulus replied firmly.

"Good. So I know this, and you know this, but how can we prove it to Numicius? Your innocence must be proven in court with evidence. Do you have such evidence?"

Vitulus and I glanced at each other. Roman law was nominally innocent until proven guilty, but the burden of proof for Roman prosecutors was considerably less of a burden than in Detroit. Vitulus and I could be crucified based on the testimonies of Strabo and his men alone. Aper was right; we needed something irrefutable to prove we didn't do it.

And the longer I thought, the more frustrated I got. There was nothing we could do to prove our innocence for either crime. The witnesses would honestly testify that I was standing over Lucia's body. I even had the poor girl's blood on my hands and tunica! And Vitulus was guilty by his association with me. William had planned this well.

Vitulus finally said, I'm sorry, sir, I can't think of anything.

Aper turned to me, and I shook my head.

The prefect stood, his back straight and his voice commanding. You can stay here for a few hours to rest, but then you will go to my villa in Ostia while I sort this out with Numicius. My villa is remote and secure, and you should be safe there as long as you stay within its walls.

What about Aula? I asked. That thing still has her and is heading north as fast as an owl can fly.

Aper exhaled and said, "Is there anything you can do for her now?"

I'd been trying to think up a spell since I saw her hanging upside down in the strix's talons, but I had nothing. I slowly shook my head. All I can do now is track her.

Aper nodded. Rest here a few hours and then go to Ostia. I will gather a cohort of men that I trust and send them to you in two days. Once they arrive, Natta Magus, you will use your talents to track Aula. Vitulus, you will lead the cohort to rescue Aula once Natta Magus finds her. Let's hope the gods will be merciful and keep her alive until you catch up. He then spoke over his shoulder, Nicia, make up some beds for our guests.

The slave stepped from the shadows, startling me. "Already done, dominus."

Thank you, sir, Vitulus said, suddenly looking as tired as I felt.

Yes, I mumbled, thanks for the beds and your villa. It was all I could mange. Even the thought of a quiet patch of hard ground was enough to make my eyes droop.

Aper put a hand on our shoulders. We will figure this out, gentlemen. And you will save that child.

There were no guarantees in life, but his confidence gave my confidence a much-needed boost.

Nicia led us to a small room on the other side of the atrium where two single-sized beds were made up with woolen blankets and cylindrical pillows. Vitulus unstrapped his leather belt and pearl-handled gladius and placed it on the floor within his reach. He kicked off his sandals, climbed beneath the blankets still dressed in his tunica, and was snoring within seconds. I marveled at his soldier's ability to sleep at a moment's notice.

I, on the other hand, was exhausted beyond words, yet my eyes would not close. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling somewhere above me in the pitch-blackness. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucia Numicius with half her neck gone, and then Octric with his huge bloody teeth and black eyes leering at me. I saw him carry the poor unconscious Aula upside down by one leg out the temple door. William had further plans for this creature and Aula, and I needed to find out what they were before Aula suffered her sister's fate.

Because it was partially my fault that William was in ancient Rome. I didn't know how, because my memories of him stranding me here were somehow blocked. But I could feel it in my soul: something I had done had set all this in motion.

I closed my eyes again and began meditating to relax my brain. It eventually worked, because I did fall asleep.

Too bad it didn't last.

FIVE

Iwalked through the hall in the Pingree Building of Wayne State University, trying not to spill the steaming coffee filled to the brim of the open cup in my left hand. Bright sunlight filtered through the skylights above me, illuminating the stained wood walls that held elegant portraits of long-dead masters interspersed with printed announcements for end-of-term exams and the Valentine's Day Ball at the Student Forum. I got to the closed door of room 307, the lab where I worked. I went to open the door handle with my right hand—

You sure you want to go in there, Remington?

Octric the strix stood next to me, his right shoulder leaning against the wall, his arms folded. His eyes were black, his sharp teeth too big for his mouth, and his face and chest were covered in bright red blood.

Before I could say anything, another voice came from behind me. Natta, wake up!

I turned around, but nobody was there. Who the hell is Natta? I wondered.

I turned back to Octric, but he was gone.

The same voice came again. Strabo's here!

Strabo. That name worried me for some reason.

Strabo.

My eyes snapped open. Vitulus stood over me, watching the door to the atrium. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding in my ears. Are they inside?

No, the courtyard, he said. Aper's talking to them, but he can't delay them for long. We need to leave.

I jumped up, strapped on my sandals, and fastened my component belt around my waist. I put on my Wolverines ball cap and was ready to go. Vitulus hurried into the atrium and I followed.

Nicia stepped from out of a nearby doorway, and I almost emptied my bladder. He thrust a satchel at each of us.

There's food and water in both bags. It should be enough to get you to Ostia. Come, I will show you the way out.

The house was still dark, but we made our way by the light of the moon descending through the open-roofed atriums. Nicia led us without a candle into the kitchen where he stopped in front of a wooden shelf built into a stucco alcove. He reached behind several clay jars on a middle shelf, and I heard a click. The items on the shelf rattled as the entire unit popped outward a few inches. Nicia pulled the shelf forward so the opening was wide enough for Vitulus and I to slip through. He grabbed a torch from just inside the dark passage, hurried to a hearth in the corner where a small fire still crackled, and lit the torch. He handed it to Vitulus.

This passage will take you to the Cloaca Maxima. When you get to it, go right and then take the next left. It will take you to the Tiber.

I groaned inwardly. The sewers again. There were many places in ancient Rome with trapped angry spirits, and the Cloaca Maxima was one of them. The Cloaca Maxima not only kept Rome from flooding, but it was also a convenient dumping ground for murder victims, suicides, and the forgotten. People without magical talent could sense the spirits with a vague unease. But for me, they saw my magic and wanted to suck it out of me, for magic filled the emptiness that an unjust death had inflicted on them. I'd strengthened the wards on my baseball cap since my last adventure in the sewers, so the spirits shouldn't be able to detect me this time. I just made sure the enchantments that kept my cap on my head were set.

Vitulus turned to Nicia. How will we get into Aper's villa?

There is a ring of keys in your satchel.

Vitulus nodded. Thank Aper for us, he said, and then entered the passage.

I stopped before Nicia. "And thank you for helping us."

Nicia nodded, his eyes never meeting mine. Most Romans treated their slaves a tick better than their horses, so I always tried to thank slaves when they did something for me. But I usually just made them uncomfortable.

I followed Vitulus into the crudely cut stone passage that sloped down at a steep angle. As soon as I entered, I heard the shelf door behind us grind shut.

Do all patricians have secret passages? I asked.

Just the ones who've survived, Vitulus said. You never know when your gens may fall on the wrong side of those in power. Aper's gens likely built this during Sulla's proscriptions.

The passage was dank and musty, and I could already smell the stench of rotting organic matter in the Cloaca Maxima ahead. The ceiling was so short that I had to run practically bent over to keep up with Vitulus, who also had to bend over a bit. The passage ran straight for about fifty paces until it emptied into an offshoot of the Cloaca Maxima. The offshoot was more a storm drain than an actual sewer, but still stank to the heavens. We exited onto a slimy stone ledge above the water channel two feet below. Rome had had a couple of rainy days that week, so there was still water flowing in a slow current to the right. We went along the ledge as Nicia had directed, taking care not to slip on the mildew-covered stone.

I saw the first spirit after we'd walked a dozen paces. It looked like a young woman's face reflected in the torch-lit water to my left. I blinked my eyes once and it was gone. I didn't sense any malevolence from it, but it served as a warning that I needed to get out of this sewer soon.

The leftward passage came, but it was on the other side of the channel. Which meant we had to get wet. Vitulus jumped down into the waist-deep water, holding the torch high. I steeled myself, then jumped into the chilly water without complaint just as he had and pushed through after him. When he got to the other end, he handed the torch to me and then climbed onto the ledge. I gave him back the torch and then climbed up after him.

I tried not to think of what was in that water.

As we made our way through the sewer, I suddenly remembered Vitulus's important meeting today.

"I'm sorry you're going to miss your negotiations with Claudia's