Vengeance (The Sorcerers' Scourge Series Book 3)

  Vengeance

  The Sorcerers’ Scourge: Book Three

  By Michael Arches

  Copyright by Pyrenees Publishing 2017

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  70316

  Chapter 1

  Wednesday, March 27th

  Sullivan’s Animal Hospital, Boulder, Colorado

  I STOOD IN A treatment room and studied a Sheltie poisoned with beer. His owner, a fraternity brother, thought the dog was hilarious while it staggered around—until the poor pooch began slobbering and vomited all over himself and the fraternity’s sofa.

  Fortunately, his owner rushed him to our emergency room. Nothing stinks worse than beer barf, but I ignored the stench as I wrapped my arms around the dog and called upon the power of the Great Mystery Spirit. Wakonda performed his latest miracle and saved the dog’s life. And, as usual during my healings, my chest warmed, and the scent of catnip filled the room. Healing magic worked in mysterious ways I still didn’t understand.

  Frat Boy was thrilled that I’d saved his dog, but he wasn’t as happy when I picked up the phone and called 911 to report a blatant case of animal cruelty.

  Sure enough, an animal control officer hurried to the hospital and issued a citation to Frat Boy. Then the cop impounded the Sheltie for its own safety.

  I was still writing up my case notes when I got a call from Kathy, the hospital’s receptionist. “Ian, there’s a police detective here who wants to talk to you.”

  What was there to detect? The facts surrounding the Sheltie’s poisoning seemed obvious, and Frat Boy had admitted his stupidity.

  Unfortunately, since moving to Colorado, my contacts with the law enforcement community hadn’t gone well. The worst example was the local judge who kept trying to extradite me back to Oklahoma to face a trumped-up charge as a cop killer. My lawyers were still sorting out that nightmare.

  I offered a quick prayer to Brigid, a Celtic goddess, to help me avoid another legal problem. “I’ll be right there, Kathy.”

  The detective waiting for me, a tall and stocky brunette, wore a navy blazer and dark gray slacks. With a grim look, she asked, “Are you Ian O’Rourke?”

  “Yes.”

  She flashed a badge from the Boulder PD. “My name is Peters, Detective Elizabeth Peters. May I speak with you in private?”

  I motioned for her to follow me to an empty treatment room.

  When I closed the door behind us, she said, “I’m investigating the murder of Sidney Hudson.”

  “Murder!” I blurted out before I caught myself. That asshole had been the leader of the sorcerers around Boulder and then blew himself up with a car bomb, almost killing me, too.

  “What do you mean, murder?” I asked. “The lunatic tried to kill us both.”

  She shook her head. “We now doubt that it was a murder-suicide attempt. We’ve discovered that the bomb was exploded by someone in the vicinity. He or she called a cell phone connected to the bomb’s detonator, triggering the explosion.”

  Like any good citizen, I wanted to help her figure this crime out, but I’d learned better than to tell the unvarnished truth. So, I stayed silent.

  “Mr. O’Rourke, I know from our considerable file on Hudson that he didn’t get along with the local witches. I need to understand the details of those disputes. How’d you first meet—”

  I held up my hand to stop her. “Nope, not happening. Give me your card. I’ll speak with you as soon as one of my lawyers is available.”

  She glared at me. “You’re not a suspect, sir, and this should only take a few minutes. Then I’ll get out of your hair. You have no need to worry about self-incrimination.”

  Not on the murder rap, but I’d been involved in lots of other unfortunate events that could make any conversations with cops awkward. I needed a land shark at my side.

  With a strong and firm voice, I said, “Absolutely not. I refuse to talk without one of my attorneys being present. I will call you as soon as he or she’s available and arrange a meeting.”

  Peters handed me her card and strode out of the treatment room. I headed back to my office and called Diana, the head of our clan.

  After I filled her in, she said, “Extraordinary. Let me see when we can get time with Nicky or Felicity.”

  She hung up, and I pondered this new complication to my life. The only thing I found obvious was that I didn’t need any more trouble from either sorcerers or the police. Not that they cared about what I wanted or needed, but my life was plenty full already.

  While I was waiting for further word from Diana, I walked to a nearby fast food joint and ordered a half-dozen fish tacos. Twenty-five bucks! In the People’s Republic of Boulder, everything was overpriced.

  I was still wolfing down my lunch when Diana called me back.

  “Nicky’s available,” she said. “Can I meet you there in twenty minutes?”

  “Sure.” I finished off the fish tacos and drove over to the law office. Diana was waiting for me in the underground parking garage.

  On the way up the stairs, the matronly high priestess said, “Nicky’s now a Privy Level Witch in Erbater. Don’t forget to congratulate him.”

  That was one of the many guilds for witches, Erbater being the order that specialized in improving personal relationships.

  I stifled a groan. She wasn’t my mom. “Will do.”

  She said, “He sounded a little frazzled, but what else is new?”

  Both lawyers worked insane hours. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother him with this? I had nothing to do with getting Hudson killed.”

  Diana’s smile was pitiless. “Let me ask you a question. Who had a greater incentive than you to exterminate him?”

  She paused for a moment, but when I didn’t reply, she said, “Only me. He’s been trying to destroy the clan for years. Logically, I should’ve eliminated him long ago.”

  That made sense. “But you’re too nice?”

  She snorted. “Until you came along, Hudson and I managed to stay out of each other’s way. And although I’m innocent of his murder, we both know someone else who had an excellent reason for blowing up Hudson. Do you want to be the prime witness against Oran Byrne?”

  “No!” Damn, this magical world was so complicated. In the days before Hudson died, he’d been pressuring Oran to attack me. We eventually did square off, and now the idiot was my slave. “I’d hate to lose him.”

  Diana smiled. “The Boulder cops are going to want to know about Oran’s relationship with Hudson, and when they hear about their friction, they’ll hone in on Oran as the prime suspect.”

  When I’d defeated him, I’d turned him over to my illustrious mentor, Gillian Carmichael. The man was an amazing witch, but now over a century old. He just needed a little extra help on day-to-day things, and according to Gill
, Oran was working out nicely.

  Diana and I sat in the reception room until Nicholas Delacourt greeted us and took us back to his office. The man did look frazzled, but his trademark smile blazed anyway. The short and stocky lawyer’s wavy black hair flowed down to his shoulders. Instead of wearing a suit, he walked around in a tattered jogging outfit and sockless loafers.

  Dozens of photographs of Nicky standing with many happy clients, including me, covered the walls behind his desk.

  “I was wondering when I’d see the magical fighting phenomenon again.” He grinned at his own joke. “No lightning bolts coming out of your head today, eh?”

  “I’m trying to keep things low-key for a while,” I replied. “Imitating Zeus draws too much attention. Congrats on your promotion in Erbater, by the way.”

  He waved away my compliment. “Fat chance that you can keep anything low-key.”

  Tall, thin Felicity Laurent opened his office door and walked in. Her long, blonde hair needed a good combing, and her eyes were sunken in her skull.

  “Fooling around again, Nicky?” she asked. “You’re supposed to be reviewing my opening statement.”

  Without waiting for a response, she walked over to my chair and gave me a hug. “In trouble again, Ian? By the way, I’m the one who talked the appellate court into granting a stay on your extradition, not Nicky.”

  I beamed at her. “Thanks! Even so, I keep expecting a SWAT team to arrive at any minute to haul me away.”

  “We should get plenty of warning before that happens. The appellate court is expediting the oral argument. It’s next week, but you don’t need to attend.”

  “Felicity,” Nicky said, “Ian has been dragged into a murder investigation related to Hudson, of all people. This interruption will take less than an hour, I promise. I’ll get you my comments on your opening statement shortly afterwards.”

  “Sure, whenever,” she said. “Be forewarned, though, I will be lying down for a nap until you make good on your promise.”

  “The trial doesn’t start until tomorrow,” Nicky said. “Lots of time to dawdle.” Felicity waved goodbye and left.

  Nicky sighed. “Let’s start with the basics. I thought Hudson blew himself up after you beat him.”

  I told Nicky all I could remember about Hudson’s ambush, our subsequent fight, and the big bang at the end. Then we discussed strategy in dealing with Peters until Nicky’s secretary interrupted. “Excuse me, but I thought you’d like to know. No trial tomorrow. Hollander just called and accepted your latest offer.”

  Nicky beamed. “Excellent. Tell Felicity she can sleep at home tonight for a change. And call Detective Peters to arrange an interview with Ian at her office tomorrow morning.”

  -o-o-o-

  Thursday, March 28th

  Boulder Police Headquarters, Boulder, Colorado

  AT NINE IN THE morning, Nicky and I sat on rickety metal chairs waiting to meet Peters. Today, he wore one of his fancy lawyer suits. He whispered to me, “Remember the two most important rules. Let me do most of the talking, and follow my lead, no matter how crazy I seem.”

  “Of course.” I wasn’t about to second-guess him. Even with him by my side, though, my stomach was queasy. Nothing good ever came from talking to cops.

  Peters came out to the police reception area and frowned at my legal eagle.

  “Why couldn’t Felicity come?” she said, looking at Nicky. “She isn’t nearly as rude.”

  He grinned like she’d just praised him to the skies. “What joy to see you again, detective!”

  “Your client hasn’t done anything wrong,” she said. “Why does he need to waste his money on an overpriced shyster like you?”

  “Ian and I are quite fond of each other, and I’m philosophically opposed to police harassment. Accordingly, I thought I’d tag along to protect him from whatever crazy theories you’ve developed lately. Shall we joust in your office, or do you prefer to entertain everyone in the waiting room?”

  We proceeded to Detective Peters’ office. After we squeezed into the small room filled with boxes, we sat in two more rickety chairs while Peters sat behind her desk.

  Nicky asked, “How can we help the police department find Hudson’s killer? No doubt, you’ll want to pin a medal on that person for performing such a meritorious public service.”

  The detective ignored Nicky and looked straight at me. “How did you and Hudson. first become acquainted?”

  I looked at Nicky, and he stood and stared out the window, apparently bored out of his mind already.

  “Objection, pure conjecture,” he said without turning to face the cop. “Look, we’ll all have a much more pleasant time here if you stick to asking about facts instead of making them up.”

  She hissed and then asked, “Did you know Hudson, Mr. O’Rourke?”

  I looked at Nicky who nodded.

  “Never met him or communicated with him before the day he ambushed me,” I said.

  “Not friendly rivals, I guess,” she said. “Okay, let’s cut to the chase. Given the many years of animosity between sorcerers and witches in this town, it seems very likely that a witch killed him. You’re the only one who I’m sure didn’t do it. That means you’re the best source to tell me who did.”

  Nicky was about to respond, but I held up my hand to stop the sniping. “To be perfectly honest,” I said, “I don’t think any witch killed him. None of us is smart enough to make a car bomb without blowing ourselves up in the process. Plus, we don’t deal with the kind of people who do make bombs. Hudson had to have trusted whoever called that cell phone attached to the bomb. How else would the caller know the right phone number to dial? In short, I think you’re looking for one of Hudson’s closest confidants.”

  Nicky nodded at me as though impressed by my reasoning.

  Peters simply shrugged. “Maybe. Tell me what you knew about Hudson before you met him.”

  “Shortly after I first came to Boulder, I began hearing rumors that he ran the group of sorcerers here in town. After the attacks against me started, I heard from the sorcerers I’d beaten that Hudson had sent them to fight me. Then, on his last day alive, he faked a health problem with a child’s pet pony to convince me to make a house call. I was gullible—drove right into the trap. He busted out the car window next to my head, and the fight was on.”

  “As you can see,” Nicky said, “Ian was the victim of Hudson’s nefarious attentions.”

  She glared at him. “Shut up and let him speak for himself! He’s doing fine.”

  Nicky put a protective hand on my shoulder. “He’s naturally shy and trusting. Before sorcerers murdered his family, he’d never received as much as a parking ticket. Since he came to Colorado, however, he’s learned how law enforcement can easily target an innocent man. And then, yesterday, you pounced on him like a wolf on a fawn. In other words, don’t tell me how to do my job. Instead, pay more attention to how you do yours.”

  Detective Peters’ brow furrowed as she glared at my mouthpiece. I thought she’d blast back at him, but instead, she stretched out her hands to me, palms up. “Ian, who, besides the witches, had an incentive to kill Hudson?”

  I didn’t want to touch that one for fear of implicating Oran. I’d tried to contact Gill to get the truth, but a terrible storm in Brittany had knocked out communications. I hadn’t gotten a reply to my encrypted message on the witches’ network.

  “As I told you,” Nicky said, “Ian doesn’t know who blew up Hudson. We assume you know the sorcerer was a degenerate drug dealer, an illegal fight promoter, and a pitiless bookie. Ian is far too angelic to engage in any of those activities. Perhaps you should focus your investigatory talents on the degenerates who shared Hudson’s illicit tastes?”

  The detective looked more frustrated than ever, but she held her temper. “Byrne is an Irish name, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  Nicky froze for a second. “Well now, the mayor’s name happens to be Byrne, doesn’t it? W
hy don’t you annoy him with your questions? Oh! You’ve realized he’ll take your head off.”

  Our mayor, Zack Byrne, was very fond of his nephew, and part of the reason I’d sent him to Gill instead of putting Oran to manual labor was that I’d wanted to stay on Zack’s good side. Peters was about to get herself into a hell of a lot of trouble.

  Peters stared straight at me, “Was Oran Byrne angry enough at Hudson to kill him?”

  “Jesus!” I said without thinking. She did suspect that Oran had made the deadly call.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Nicky asked. “Any formal allegation will produce a huge blowback from the mayor onto your entire department. You’re not using Ian to put a frivolous case together against Oran. You may be suicidal, but we’re not.”

  “Just answer my question, Ian,” she said, “or you’ll be forcing me to call you before the grand jury. No defense attorneys in that process.”

  The bottom line remained that Oran had been a certified prick before I beat him, but I couldn’t believe he was a murderer.

  “I know the mayor’s nephew well now,” I said carefully, “but I didn’t while Hudson was alive. Lately, Oran has become an upstanding citizen. He’s renounced sorcery and given away most of his wealth. I don’t believe he’s the killer you’re looking for. Not cold-blooded enough.”

  “But you didn’t know him earlier?” she asked. “He might’ve been different then.”

  “I really doubt it,” I replied. “I still think Hudson must’ve told the killer that critical cell phone number. Oran didn’t know Hudson long enough to instill that kind of trust.”

  She rubbed her temples. “Oran Byrne isn’t the choirboy you think he is. I know he was present one night at a bar where another man was killed.” The detective whipped a photograph out of a folder and pushed it across her desk. It showed a dead man’s bald head. His eyes were swollen, and one cheek had been pounded to a bloody pulp. On his neck, he wore a tattoo with two men fighting hand-to-hand. He was obviously a gladiator.