Prophecy of Magic Read online

Shaking my head to clear it of any libido-destroying images of parental sex life, I think of Nero instead, which makes me wonder if I can still catch him on Gomorrah.

  Closing my eyes, I jump into Headspace in order to find out.

  Ignoring the default shapes in front of me, I start to focus on Nero’s essence, but then I stop myself.

  I don’t just need any vision about Nero. I specifically need a near-future one—else I might see him on his quest when he’s done with Gomorrah. That would be interesting in and of itself, but not my current goal.

  This makes me realize I have a huge gap when it comes to my seer power.

  I have no clue how to control how far into the future my visions reach.

  Wow.

  I can’t believe I never thought of this before.

  So far, my visions would show me events that ranged from a few days in the future to a few moments, but I’ve never had control over which.

  Nor have I ever seen further than a few days into the future.

  This is definitely something I’ll need to ask my father about, as there has to be a way. Off the top of my head, Darian saw what I must assume is a distant possible future where he and I became lovers—a future that never came to be.

  Remembering Darian casts a dark shadow on my current plans. He made a big deal about me “choosing Nero.” In fact, he made it clear that this choice will cost me my life.

  Could going to Gomorrah right now count as “choosing?”

  As if I needed another good reason to want to see far into my own future... Unless, of course, I haven’t seen far into my future for the simple reason that I don’t actually have one—being dead as Darian predicted.

  Well, that chain of thought escalated quickly.

  Maybe I should do my best to see a near-future vision with Nero, then poke around my own more distant future to see if I’m alive.

  “I want to see Nero a few minutes from now,” I tell myself, in case I’m lucky and the trick of when the vision takes place is this easy.

  Nothing happens.

  I then think of Nero’s essence in the usual way—and this works better. I get surrounded by extremely calm-seeming shapes.

  All right. At least no one is getting killed in these visions.

  That’s a welcome change—and seems to indicate I got Nero while he’s still on Gomorrah, as I’d hoped. Something tells me once he leaves, things will get more intense quickly. Otherwise, he wouldn’t need powerful allies.

  Excited by my success, I grab a shape and plunge into a vision.

  Chapter Twelve

  I’m bodiless—so there goes my secret hope I’d see myself talking to Nero in his club, or elsewhere on Gomorrah.

  Worse still, this isn’t Gomorrah.

  Around me is a beach surrounded by an ocean that spans to the horizon on all three sides. Above is a perfect blue sky with fluffy clouds. Deeper inland is an idyllic-looking small town that seems to have jumped straight out of ancient Greece.

  Continuing the theme of ancient Greece are the mouthwateringly good-looking men frolicking on the beach. They’re wearing the kind of skimpy outfits the Spartans wore in the movie 300—with lots of powerful legs, washboard abs, and bulging pecs on display.

  They also look familiar for some reason.

  I then notice that they’re all sporting a tan appropriate for the nice weather—all except for one guy, the one they all seem to be attacking.

  He looks so pale I suspect he needs serious vitamin D supplementation.

  Dodging a strike, the pale guy turns my way, and I recognize him.

  It’s Vlad—only I’ve never seen him dressed in so little clothing.

  It looks good on him. Or rather, not on him.

  What’s also odd is that Vlad doesn’t look as broody as I’d expect—no doubt thanks to the fierce concentration on his face.

  Another tan guy swings a fist at Vlad’s face, but the vampire jumps out of his reach, then punches the man in the gut.

  The next warrior attacks Vlad, then another and another.

  Hold on. How is this a vision about Nero?

  Then I see him.

  Nero is standing by the shore, away from the fighting, with Kit and Isis by his side.

  Vlad notices them too. He barks something in an unfamiliar language, and the fierce fighters halt their attacks.

  Which is when I recognize them.

  Or I think I do.

  The last time I checked on Vlad, he was training a group of boys to wield a sword.

  If you took those boys and waited twenty years, this is probably what they would grow up to look like. But that makes no sense—unless these dudes are the fathers of the boys?

  With the fight over, Vlad’s face turns broody again. He walks over to Nero and looks his fellow Council members up and down. “Nero. Kit.” He pointedly ignores Isis.

  “Time flows much too fast here on Atlantis, so I’m going to make this as quick as I can,” Nero growls. “I’m here to give you a chance to repay the favor you owe me. I’m gathering an army to reclaim my birthright. I won’t sugarcoat this; the mission will be extremely dangerous. It will—”

  “I’m in,” Vlad says without hesitation.

  “Good,” Nero says. “How long do you need to get ready?”

  “Hold on,” Kit says and turns herself into the most fit of the warriors Vlad fought a moment ago. “Those scrumptious opponents of yours don’t seem human.” She turns into another one. “What are they?”

  “Strongmen,” Vlad says. “They claim to be descendants of Hercules himself, but I guess most of their kind do.”

  Wait a moment.

  Ariel said she’s a descendant of Hercules. Does that mean these 300 guys are the same type of Cognizant as Ariel? If so, whose bright idea was it to call them strongmen? Shouldn’t it be something like strongpeople?

  “That was a good display of skill,” Nero says and gives Ariel’s kin an approving look.

  I study them also and wonder if amazing looks are part of the package, along with super speed and strength.

  “Sometimes they’re too good,” Vlad says proudly and displays his hand.

  Wow.

  He’s missing the tip of his right pinky finger. He must’ve lost it in a sword fight with these guys, and I guess even with all his vampire-healing ability, he couldn’t regrow that.

  The weird thing is that he’s not pissed about it in the slightest.

  “Impressive,” Nero says, looking at what’s left of the finger.

  He then looks at Isis, but she shakes her head. “I can’t heal his kind—nor can I regrow appendages.”

  Vlad drops his arm, as if he hates the idea of re-growing that finger. “I’ve trained this lot since they were pups,” he says. “Like many of their kind, they’re mercenaries, as are most others in the village. If you were to mention gold and glory, you could easily persuade them to join your—”

  I find myself back in the cab, so I jump right back into Headspace.

  I was right. The men Vlad was fighting/training are the same boys I saw earlier. But how? Do the so-called strongmen age faster than normal?

  That doesn’t seem to be the case for Ariel.

  Then I recall Nero mentioning that time flows fast on that world. Is that what happened? Has it been something like twenty years for Vlad since the last time I saw him? That would explain why he seems a little healthier, less grief-stricken.

  Yes, that makes sense. It might even have been his plan—escape to Atlantis to recover without anyone on Earth really noticing his absence. No doubt he did it because he takes his Enforcer duties seriously, yet was in no condition to perform them after the funeral.

  In any case, if I survive “choosing Nero,” I’m going to need to learn a route to this Atlantis place and take a deserved vacation during which no one would even notice that I’m gone.

  Maybe I’ll take Nero with me and have him dress up like Vlad and his students. I’ll even—

  Never mind. Right now, I ne
ed to get myself a vision of something that happens to Nero before this Vlad-gathering expedition.

  Except, how?

  Maybe I can ask another seer to help out?

  I try to reach Rasputin.

  No luck. He clearly hasn’t recovered yet.

  I seek the bannik next, but he isn’t reachable either.

  I could reach out to Nostradamus in this way, but given the company he keeps, I don’t think I should.

  Maybe I could make this work Peter Pan style, by wishing really hard?

  So I do that. I wish to see a vision of Nero before he leaves Gomorrah. Wish it with all my being—with the same intensity as I wished for a pony for my seventh birthday.

  Quickly, before the power of the wishing dissipates, I focus on Nero’s essence.

  Another bunch of safe-sounding vision-shapes surrounds me.

  I touch one, wishing for good measure that it’s the one I need.

  I’m bodiless and not on Gomorrah again.

  Either wishing isn’t the way to get what I want, or it’s simply impossible to catch Nero on Gomorrah because he already left it.

  Like Atlantis, this world lacks any sign of modern technological advancements.

  In fact, if the mud huts are anything to go by, this place is at an even earlier point of development.

  Then I realize something odd about the huts.

  They are immense.

  Nero looks like a small kid standing next to one, as do Isis and Kit.

  Vlad is with them, and so is the 300 squad, plus a number of people that look vaguely familiar. I think they might be from the New York Council, but I wouldn’t bet my life on that.

  Only one person isn’t dwarfed by the huts, and it’s a guy I’ve definitely seen during my encounters with the New York Council—the being who did the Rite and whom I guessed to be a giant.

  Except he’s wearing what looks like riot gear—as are, in fact, many of Nero’s allies.

  Looks like I might’ve been right. Giants must exist.

  Interestingly, for someone coming back to his homeland, this dude doesn’t look happy to be here.

  Extremely unhappy would be a more accurate description of the expression on that massive face.

  “I’m sorry, Colton,” Nero says, apparently also noticing the guy’s mood. “I know I’m asking a lot.”

  “But we’re even after this?” the giant—Colton—booms. “Even if he tells you to go to hell?”

  “Yes,” Nero says. “Introduce me, and we’re even.”

  Colton’s enormous shoulders sag; then he inhales a breath so big I half-expect him to huff and puff and bring one of the huts down.

  “Father!” he yells in a voice deep enough to drown in. “Your runt has returned.”

  The runt? How big are—

  I’m back in the cab, reeling.

  Sounds like whatever Nero is about to do, he’s calling in every favor and hiring some serious help.

  Also, I clearly suck at controlling the timing of my visions—Vlad was in this one, which means this was further in the future compared to the vision I saw right before.

  Maybe I try again?

  When I do, I get a vision that’s further still—as Nero’s crew here includes a plague (or maybe a horde) of giants.

  Wearing bronze armor, they’re armed to the teeth with an assortment of sharp and blunt weapons, and are indeed so big that they make Colton seem like the runt of the tribe.

  He might pass for a human with an overzealous pituitary gland, but his ten-foot-plus brethren would never be able to.

  The allies Nero recruits on this world look like centaurs—only their human head, arms, and torso look like those of juiced-up bodybuilders and the “horse” part is so powerfully built it resembles the body of an ox.

  When the vision ends, I attempt another.

  “What’s so special about this sorry lot?” Kit asks Nero, nodding at the malnourished-looking people toiling away in a village run by giant steam-powered machinery.

  Without replying, Nero walks over to a homeless-looking man, takes out a gold coin from his pocket, and says something.

  Taking off his dingy clothes, the guy walks over to a clearing and takes in a deep breath.

  With a flash of light, he changes from a hobo into something.

  My first guess is a dragon, like Nero himself, but a tiny one.

  But no. This thing’s body design is noticeably different. The tail is longer, the paws are more lizard-like, and the head looks like it belongs on a rooster.

  “A cockatrice?” Kit whispers in awed fascination. “I thought they were extinct.”

  “Some think the same of my kind,” Nero says. “Be careful. Their gaze kills.”

  A cockatrice? I think I killed one in one of Felix’s video games once.

  It’s official now.

  I’m no longer getting excited about new Cognizant types. After everything I’ve seen, it would take invisible pink unicorns that poop rainbows to get a rise out of me.

  The cockatrice changes back into a man, which must be Kit’s signal to turn herself into a cockatrice—

  The vision ends, and I find myself in the car again.

  I scratch my head in disappointment.

  No matter what I do, I can’t seem to catch Nero on Gomorrah.

  I guess it’s time to give up on that. I clearly have no clue how to control when the vision happens.

  Fine. At this point, I’m dying to see what Nero and his exotic army will actually do.

  With a deep breath, I jump into Headspace to find out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nero is standing naked on a large hill in a familiar world. The silver Grand Canyon-like mountain ridge in the distance, the alien star formations in the sky, the seven differently shaded moons, and the magnificent aurora borealis all belong to the place Nero depicted in a painting hanging in his office.

  The world where he comes from.

  Dragon world.

  As if to prove me right, a powerful dragon roar shakes the hill Nero is standing on.

  He narrows his eyes and looks into the distance.

  Yep.

  Two dragons are flying his way.

  He looks at the hub where his army is streaming out of the gate, then back at the dragons.

  “Don’t you dare have fun without me,” Kit yells from the bottom of the hill as she makes her clothes disappear.

  “You can join me if you insist,” Nero retorts. “Just watch out for dragon fire.”

  Kit waves dismissively, and a moment later, a giant dragon shows up where she was standing—a green beast with scales the size of dinner plates.

  Taking Kit’s transformation as his call to action, Nero assumes his own dragon form in a flash of energy and leaps into the air.

  The roar of the distant dragons is angrier now.

  Like before, there seem to be words embedded in the roar, but they’re hard to make out.

  Kit leaps into the air, and my viewpoint follows her and Nero as if my absent body also managed to sprout wings.

  From this height, I see an army in the distance, marching in the direction of the hub. It looks to be made up of regular people, but for all I know, they could all be dragons in human form.

  And speaking of dragons, the two nearby must be performing reconnaissance. Another bunch—called a flight—of dragons are hovering protectively over the army.

  Nero and Kit roar, then dive toward the two spies with the speed of fighter jets.

  The larger enemy dragon claws at Nero’s head, but misses and pays with a limb that Nero bites clean off.

  The smaller one leaps up and swoops down toward Kit, but she dodges expertly, then rakes her talons on her opponent’s back—which is when I realize her talons are painted with pink nail polish.

  Go Kit. I imagine it must be harder for her to fight like that compared to a naturally born dragon.

  The larger dragon strikes with his tail and wraps it around Nero’s wrist. Nero’s snout takes on
a facsimile of a smile, and he spews fire in his opponent’s face.

  Dragon scales, bones, and muscles melt, killing the beast instantly.

  However, Nero’s action must’ve given Kit’s opponent the idea to do the same, so he inhales deep and aims.

  I recall what Nero said to her about avoiding dragon breath.

  Crap.

  She won’t have time.

  Nero zooms in front of her, and the fire hits his broad back instead.

  As I learned the last time I watched dragons fight, Nero is resilient to dragon breath.

  Even after that blast, he looks no worse for the wear—but the same can’t be said of their remaining opponent. Kit slices into his belly like a hawk ripping into a fluffy bunny.

  Seconds later, Kit and Nero victoriously fly toward the hub—

  Finding myself back in the car, I leap into Headspace again.

  I need to see how big Nero’s army is, and what happens when they meet the flight of dragons and their ground troops.

  Most importantly, I need to make sure Nero is going to be okay.

  Two armies face each other on a dry plateau at the foot of the hill Nero stood on earlier.

  Two huge armies that bring to mind scenes from Lord of the Rings.

  Thanks to the giants and the centaurs, I know which side is Nero’s—and there’s noticeably fewer of them, about one to five by my estimate.

  A naked Nero and an equally nude man I don’t know are standing between the two armies.

  The hate radiating from them would register on a Geiger counter.

  As usual, when lacking clothes, Nero looks mouthwateringly hot—an impressive feat on his part given that I don’t even have a mouth right now. Relatedly, is it wrong that I want Nero to wrestle this guy? Maybe oil up first, to make—

  “I don’t have the authority to give you Claudia,” growls the unfamiliar guy. “But even if I did, I wouldn’t. My forces outnumber yours, and you’re just one dragon against us all.” He waves at the dragon-filled sky.

  “Then you will die.” Nero’s face is ice cold. “Same goes for everyone else who stands between me and the usurper.”