Mage in Motion

By Eric Baysinger

Walid Hassan is a powerful wizard, but he's living under an implacable curse. Liam Healy is a world-famous boxer whose heritage Walid accidentally reveals on national television. Now they're both on the run from government agents, bounty hunters, and supernatural creatures. They're falling in love, but their days are numbered: once they reach the Canadian border, they'll either have to find a way to cross it or die in the attempt!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781665505451

Eric Baysinger

Eric Baysinger is an Iowan transplanted to Pittsburgh. He is the author of five previous novels: “Nine Attempts” (2007), “brother-out-law” (2018), “Beck & Caul” (2019), “Your Middle Finger’s Sense of I” (March 2020), and “Mage in Motion” (October 2020). This is his first novella.

Book preview

1

06:50. Walid waited. The sky outside the Mage Mobile became slightly brighter. Light gradually illuminated the tops of the trees to his right and the Cannabis Coast Weed Dispensary sign to his left. No migraine.

He shut off the engine and rose from the driver’s seat. Sputnik meowed from the passenger seat, got a rub on her orange and white head, then eagerly followed Walid to the miniature kitchen where he pulled a 3 lb. bag of cat food out of an overhead cabinet. She bobbed her head and fixed her eyes on his hand with a more impatient meow. He opened the bag, put about a cup into the slow-feeder affixed to the floor, and watched her for a while as she worked to pull individual nuggets out of the holes around the sides. He stretched, knelt, and faced east, which was the back of the van. For eight years he’d said his prayers in this customized Mercedes Benz Sprinter. It was his home, vehicle, restaurant, workplace, and mosque. Friday. September 13th. Forks, Washington. Twenty-six days to go.

When he was done with them and a magical phrase, he tossed his t-shirt and Thursday’s blue briefs onto one of the van’s two narrow cots, then stepped into the toilet/sink/shower compartment. The water heated up quickly, but he was as sparing with it as if it were cold: just enough to soak his thick, black hair and make every nook and cranny of his body wet enough to lather up. Body wash/shampoo, then a thorough rinse and a furious shaking of his head. It all went down the drain between his feet or out the vent above his head. He reached outside for towel #3, the maroon one, and dried off, then got Friday’s red briefs out of the single drawer at the foot of his bed. Laundry in Port Angeles tomorrow.

He checked his phone for the day’s weather. Overcast. High of 21 Celsius. 9 right now. He pulled on a black, long-sleeve kaftan style top with some gold embroidery, his only pair of jeans, and a pair of ankle socks, then put his dirty underwear into the hemp bag his father had bought way back in Miami. He stripped his bed of its fitted sheet and blanket before turning it back into a couch on one side of his dining table/bed platform. From a niche to his left he pulled out his laptop, logged onto YouTube and began uploading the day’s randomly selected video. New Orleans, as it turned out. He watched fifteen tightly edited minutes of the city’s streetcars, ‘shotgun’ houses, flora, Bourbon Street, balconies, musicians, funerals, voodoo shops, beignets, and men. Someone new had signed up to be one of his Patreon donors, at the $10 a month level. He or she -TigerzEyez55- would get a personal thank-you video later today. His YouTube following had grown to 102,478 subscribers, up 209 over the past week. New Orleans would be a popular post, no doubt: a beautiful and romantic city, lots of local color, plus a personal romance. The last he’d had.

He watched his eighteenth birthday, five years past, and remembered much he hadn’t filmed. It was the day his brother’s year of chaperoning him had ended. They’d embraced at the airport and Arif had pressed a small, ornately wrapped gift box into his hand: condoms. Walid had blushed. Arif had laughed, given him the Mage Mobile’s keys, and then turned toward his flight home to Cedar Rapids.

Walid had partied hard, thanks to a magically altered driver’s license that stated with confidence that he was twenty-one. He’d never had alcohol before and had mostly stayed away from it since. While inebriated on Brandy Milk Punch and Vieux Carré, he lost his virginity to Antoine, a street performer and Jamaican-born resident of the Big Easy who told him over and over he was the most beautiful man Morocco by way of France had ever produced. Their night together was literally magical: several conjurations were included in the video. It ended with an overhead shot of Walid lying on Antoine’s pillow, bearing more baby fat and less grooming, but beaming with unfettered joy in the light of dawn. Only the last two seconds of the video showed the onset of the unbearable migraine which had struck him then. He’d screamed and terrified Antoine out of his sleep, then dressed as he ran at top speed out of the apartment, down three flights of stairs and over uncountable streets back to the Mage Mobile. He’d continued screaming until he’d reached Gretna and blessed relief from his pain.

The upload finished. Another episode of ‘Mage in Motion’ was available for consumption. It might turn into his most viewed ever, beating out Los Angeles, but now he had to turn back to the present. Back to Forks.

He scanned Craigslist, looking for a day’s work. In the jobs category, wedged between legal/paralegal and manufacturing was magical. He found nothing. Among the résumés was the same ad for The Witch of Wichita that he’d seen across the nation. She actually lived in Salina and he’d met her when he passed through there. She didn’t have nearly as much innate power as Walid, but she earned a tidy income, mostly creating love charms or casting spells of dubious precognition. She also made out-of-this-world cinnamon buns. Walid decided to wait until the weed shop opened and see whether anyone had a job for him. It was probably a good idea to offer the shop’s owner something in exchange for letting him park there all day. Maybe a charm of growing.

At ten the shop opened and Walid wandered in. The guy behind the counter smelled of his products, but was very professional. Brad didn’t think a grow charm was necessary, but a security spell would be just the ticket. Walid haggled him up to $50 plus a day of free parking and then gathered some items from the Mage Mobile. Sputnik had used the litter box. Walid scooped up the feces and threw it into brush just beyond the parking lot, then waited around for Brad’s business partner, Jim, who took him very circuitously to the greenhouse where they grew the bulk of their pot. In Walid’s backpack was a small blanket, but Jim had followed directions and brought one of his own. Walid said lots of gibberish into it at the corners and along each edge, then added mumbled English, French, and Arabic versions of ‘security blanket’.

When he was done, Jim helped him stretch the blanket from one outside corner of the greenhouse down two sides to the opposite corner, where Walid tied the now impossibly long blanket into a knot. He kissed it, mumbled more gibberish into it, and waved his hands over it. Jim was dutifully impressed.

How long will it last? he asked.

Walid shrugged. As long as the blanket. It is old, but worn not completely out. You must keep it pushed out of the way and so dry as possible.

This is Forks, man. We don’t do dry.

You may get a month out of it if you cover it with a plastic.

Cool. You got other jobs for the day?

Not yet, Walid felt only a little depleted. Do you know of some?

Nah, but if you’re hangin’ out, come to the high school tonight. Big boxing match in honor of the Forever Twilight Festival. Should be fun.

Walid had never been a fan of the ‘sweet science’, but after a hike in the woods on the other side of Highway 101, a visit through John’s Beachcombing Museum, a Twilight Tour, and supper at Sully’s Burgers, he ended up at the high school. He got one of the last parking spots and went inside.

The gymnasium had been outfitted with a boxing ring, multiple banners, lights, and many more cameras than Walid had expected. ESPN was there, as were crews from local channels. This was a bigger event than even Jim had predicted and when he waved to Walid, there was barely room for the two men in the bleachers. Just about every one of the 3,832 people living in Forks seemed to have crowded into the space. Walid thought it was a very good idea that Brad and Jim had paid for magical security since the town outside the gym had to be mostly unguarded right now.

Boxing, it is popular here?

Not really, but that there is Liam ‘The Lightning’ Healy, middleweight champion. He pointed out a banner bearing the photo of a remarkably handsome redhead who didn’t seem to bear any of the common boxer’s disfigurements such as cauliflower ears or a smashed-up nose.

I do not know him.

Quick fucker and filthy rich. This is his tour, promotin’ boxing all around the country. He’s got a team of young guys he travels with, couple girls too, and they do matches with local boxers to build them up and encourage others. They make donations to local sports programs, so Forks is gonna rake in good money from this. Healy’s fight is the last of the night, of course.

I see.

Jim leaned in close even though the noise around them made eavesdropping difficult. He’s queer, but I sure as hell wouldn’t wanna face him in the ring! He guffawed and jostled Walid.

The show was late. Lots of cameramen and reporters scrambled around. The big screen that showed Healy and his opponent of the evening, one ‘Fast’ Federico Suárez, went blank and then made a small font announcement: Would any magic users please come backstage at this time.

Hey! Jim said. That’s you!

Walid wasn’t at all sure he wanted to volunteer, but Jim jumped up, signaled a referee, and pointed at him. Hey! Over here! He’s a mage! Over here!

He pushed Walid off the end of the bleacher and then several men gathered around to escort him into the locker room. Questions came from all sides. You for real? Done a fight before? Got any references? How much you charge? There were doctors, reporters, coaches, assistants, referees, and men who were probably representatives of one boxing association or another. Walid gave his name, scanned and signed a contract, then picked up the hundred bucks he was getting paid.

Just a simple reveal spell or whatever, some burly man with a towel around his neck was saying to him, Just to show we’re all on the up and up. You can do that, right?

Walid nodded. He’d seen such spells at sporting events before. Like drug tests, sex verifications, and weigh ins, they were meant to show that none of the competitors had an unfair advantage. Hidden luck charms were the usual culprit, but sometimes a football or soccer player had been seen by a shaman and gotten a blessing or a gymnast had received a leprechaun’s visit. Maybe a javelin thrower had kissed an enchanted frog. All those things could be revealed by a skilled magic user. The trick was to make sure not too much was revealed, like a person’s thoughts or childhood traumas, and that only the person being examined felt the effect of the spell. Bystanders didn’t take kindly to any ‘overspill’. Sometimes they sued.

As headlining act and tour promoter, Liam ‘The Lightning’ Healy led the way. ‘Fast Federico’ joined him. They faced the cameras that Walid had his back to. He rubbed his hands together, took a moment to collect his thoughts, mumbled some magic language mixed with French and Arabic, then said ‘Reveal’ aloud and cast the spell from his hands into the two men’s faces.

There was a bluish-white light haloing Suárez, but the light around Healy blinked bright red. It contained an image anybody in the room or watching on television would recognize as one of the many supernatural creatures inhabiting the world.

¡Oye! Suárez pointed one glove at the red light and yelled into the stunned silence of the entire locker room, He’s a motherfuckin’ TROLL!

2

Liam ducked away from the bright red light over his head, but it followed him as he stumbled backwards. What the fuck?

‘Fast Federico’, always known for his quick temper, threw a gloved right hand at Liam’s jaw, but Liam wasn’t nicknamed ‘The Lighting’ for alliteration’s sake; he dodged the glove and gave back a punch that landed squarely on the Puerto Rican’s chin. He hadn’t put much power in his punch since he’d been falling backward into his own teammate, Marcos da Silva, but Federico took great offense at the blow and charged. Liam could’ve stepped out of reach easily enough, but then Marcos would’ve taken the punch, so Liam tensed up and took it instead. It landed well south of the waistband of his trunks and another followed suit before Federico’s coach and teammates began to pull him away.

Ey? They’re not pullin’ him away. They’re joinin’ in! The fuckin’ bastards.

Liam fended off several punches from several men. He kept in mind that he was a professional boxer worth many millions of dollars and managed to get out of everyone’s way without hitting back. Lawsuits, the few he’d been involved in, were expensive even if he won them. He hoped the many cameras rolling and broadcasting would provide evidence that he hadn’t hurt anyone. There was a tremendous amount of noise echoing off the cement block walls and metal lockers. Fights seemed to be breaking out everywhere. Even reporters were wailing on each other. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an exit and made for it.

When he reached it, the fuckin’ magician who’d started this whole brouhaha was there as well. He’d taken a punch to the mouth and blood spilled out of his upper lip. Does him right. Liam pushed open an emergency exit and thereby set off the fire alarm. The magician followed close behind and quickly pulled some sort of wristband over his hand. It was just a thin circle of string, but he looped it over the door handles, said something incomprehensible, and then no one from the other side could open the doors despite lots of yelling and pushing.

They looked at each other in the weak light of the parking lot and breathed hard from fighting. The mage’s face was intermittently doused with red light. Liam peeked up and saw the ‘TROLL’ alarm was still working, just like the fire alarm. Oi! Get rid o’ this, will ya?

The guy, not bad lookin’, waved his hand, said something else incomprehensible, and made the light disappear. Now there was even less light in the parking lot. Liam wasn’t sure what to do. Going back inside to face the cameras or continue ducking punches didn’t seem like a good idea. Taking refuge in the team’s bus didn’t seem any better. He was tempted to just run, maybe take a jog along the edge of the Pacific Ocean, but he was pretty sure they were too far from that. The magician or wizard or whatever began to walk away.

Hold on, what’s yer name and where be to? He fell in beside the guy.

My name is Walid. I am going to my car.

Wally?

"Walid."

Where’s yer car then? Liam wished he had a jacket or even a t-shirt on.

At the end of that row. Walid turned and Liam followed.

The big black minibus?

Yes. Goodbye. Good luck.

There were now many voices outside the high school. Many loud voices. Walid picked up his pace.

Hold on, you. Liam also began to hurry. Gi’ us a lift.

No. I cannot. He pulled a key fob out of his pocket and the tall black van flashed orange a couple times.

"Oi, you got me into this. You need to get me out."

I am not Uber. I did the job which I was hired and I am now leaving.

They reached the vehicle. Walid went round to the driver’s side. Liam opened the passenger door and hopped in before Walid had sat down.

No. You must get out.

Liam felt like slugging him. One jab to the jaw, throw ‘im in the back, then drive off. Instead, he summoned the little patience he possessed and said, Be a mate and get me outta here so I can fuckin’ have a think about all this and decide what to do. Just for a little while, ey?

Walid frowned and peered far past Liam. Get down!

You what? Liam turned to look out his window. Many angry people were fanning