A Wolf at the Door

Finally, I leaned against the wall, careful not to get my long hair anywhere near the flickering torches. “Why is the Order a secret, even within the church?”

Cameron finally looked up from his fiddling. “Why doesn’t Marty want to talk to you anymore?” I frowned, and he nodded. “Because some people, even those in the church, just can’t handle that reality.” He turned his gaze back down to his work, examining everything on a microscopic level, it seemed. “Those who can handle it…they get recruited, either as knights or as support staff.”

“Like Reverend Ricky.”

“Yeah, like Ricky.” Cam smiled a little. “We went to seminary together, actually. He’s a good man.”

“So why’s he not a knight?”

“He was.” With a few minor adjustments, Cam seemed satisfied with his toys. “You can’t tell, but he’s blind in his left eye now. They pulled him out of circulation.” He stood up straight, stretching a little, then motioned to me. “Bring me the sword first, we’ll start with that.”

Pulled him out of circulation. A retirement plan. I had to wonder how many of Ivan’s champions had ever retired. Ivan no longer fought, that I knew of, but the rest of us…our life expectancy wasn’t good. Retirement meant just one thing, and it had nothing to do with long afternoons spent fishing.

I laid the new sword on the altar where Cam directed, and stepped back. The priest took another moment to just look over the wonder that was my blade. “This is the kind of sword that ought to have a name.”

“He called it The Way.”

“The etchings…that’s the same as your tattoos, right?”

“Yeah.” I was still touched that Marty had gone to such amazing effort, all for me. For a guy he didn’t even really like anymore. “Get this moving, it’s freezing down here.”

“Step back a little more.” I did, and Cameron closed his eyes, placing one palm on the hilt, the other on the tip of the blade.

His lips moved silently for a few moments. That was one thing I’d noticed, Cameron’s magic required words. Mira’s didn’t. I found the differences fascinating. Mira would have cast a circle, a barrier of her own will. Cam scrubbed down like a brain surgeon. My wife’s implements usually involved a scrying bowl and various herbs. I spotted salt on Cam’s altar, alongside saltpeter, wine, and a tiny bottle of magnetized iron shavings. A cross, of course, in addition to the one already hanging overhead.

The priest mouthed something, in Latin I think, and the thick scent of cloves wafted out of nowhere. My skin tingled again, like pins and needles, and I couldn’t help but rub my fingertips together, like I could almost grab it if I just knew how.

To my left, one of the lightbulbs shattered with a pop and a fizzle. I flinched just in time to avoid being peppered with glass fragments, and brushed the sparks off my shoulder before it could catch my hair on fire. Two more bulbs across the room followed suit, eliminating three of the four electric lights. The torches kept flickering merrily, but the place looked even more like a dungeon than it had before.

In the dimmer lighting, I could make out the faintest of glows around Cameron’s hands as he prayed, and it spread slowly from his fingers to the metal of my sword, oozing along the blade like syrup. It met in the middle, gained in intensity for just a moment, then sank into the weapon and vanished. His hand trembling, the priest dipped his fingers into a small bowl of water and spattered it across my sword. The water sizzled when it touched the metal, apparently to his satisfaction. Cameron took a shaky breath and leaned hard on the altar.

“You all right?” Magic—all magic, no matter what Cam wanted to believe—was fed from the life force of the user. The bigger the effect, the greater the price. It was entirely possible to cast yourself to death, just pouring out your own life until there was nothing left.

Luckily, things like wards and protections were fairly minor on the magical spectrum. Defensive spells had minor costs. Not like the big flashy stuff. That’s why even those champions who had magic didn’t use it in combat. No great wand duels or fireballs. That’d kill a champion faster than any demon.

“I’m fine. Just gotta catch my breath between, you know?” Cam gave me a small grin that faded when he remembered we weren’t quite friends. “Let’s get the armor next.”

I traded out my newly blessed sword for my pile of tarnished mail armor and padding, Cam clearing more space on his altar for the heap of metal. As he reset some of his supplies, he casually asked, “So, why is Mira not doing this for you?”

“She just isn’t.” It was none of his damn business.

He gave me a flat look. “I heard Bridget talking to her on the phone.” Crap. “If she is pregnant, you’re right to keep her from casting any spells.”

“I know that.” I’m not stupid, I swear.

“Are you excited?”