Hey it’s Chris,
Are you ready for a magical season?
The lights are on the tree, and the wreath is on the door.
It’s time to usher in the most magic of seasons.
What would you ask the jolly old elf to bring you this year?
What’s on your wish list?
Peace on earth, of course.
That always tops the “Santa, can you bring me…”
Good will, good hearts and good drink?
Yep, that’s up there too.
What have you got to add?
Let’s practice some giving.
Check out chapter one to the next MARSHAL OF MAGIC novel, PIXIE PROBLEMS.
I’m trying to wrap up MYTH UNDERSTOOD too and get them both out by the end of the year.
Until then, check out chapter one below.
I ducked behind a blue Buick just before the roof exploded.
It showered the street with bits of shrapnel and molten metal that I avoided by tossing up a shield dome.
Just in time.
The metal dripped and sizzled like lava as it drizzled down the narrow invisible field a few inches from my face.
“Come out, Marshal!” the witch cackled.
Evil witches cackle a lot.
Maybe they go to class for it or learn it in a book.
I don’t know what good witches do.
They tend to avoid me because if the Marshal of Magic shows up, then someone has been up to no good.
The cackler sent another bolt of magic into the building behind me.
Chunks of concrete dusted the shield, turning the molten metal into steaming mud.
If I didn’t stop her, she was going to turn this corner of downtown Memphis into a trash heap.
“You have the right to remain Magic,” I shouted over the din. “Any spell you use can be used against you.”
The witch was Ruth Goldman, an unassuming teacher in her mid-thirties with a Starbucks habit and a bookshelf full of cozy mysteries.
No one would have pegged her as an evil sorcerous hell bent on ritual destruction.
But then again, you just can never tell.
Ruth added a shriek to the cackle.
It made the short hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Then she grunted and the Buick I was hiding behind lifted off the ground.
Ruth had a plan.
She was either going to shift the car out of the way to get a clean shot.
Or she was going to drop the one and a half tons of metal on me.
I was not squish proof.
Stop it for a few seconds, sure. Slow it down long enough and roll away to safety?
But Ruth was good.
She’d use my distraction to nail me.
The thing about clever witches in is how enamored they get with being smarter than everyone else.
Clever is good.
Know what’s better than clever?
And a fast draw.
My two magical super powers, if you can call it that.
Luck, speed and a little bit of pre-cog.
I couldn’t see into the future, just feel out the next few seconds, which gave me a slight edge over most situations.
Add in the long standing reputation of the Marshals of Magic as world class bad asses and you get a dangerous combo.
There’s a reason there are only fourteen of us in the world.
Magical strength comes from willpower and belief.
Everybody believed that Marshals were the best and that faith made it true.
Even Ruth, as much as she wanted to smash, mash or blast me, still believed.
And that made me dangerous.
I rolled instead of crawled and came up into a crouch, hand extended.
I didn’t need to do that part, but there are certain elements that come with being a Marshal.
Dramatic gestures that made us look extra was one.
I did what I said and used her spell against her.
Ruth shot up like the Buick and I twisted her around like she was a spinning top.
It’s hard to concentrate when the world whirling makes you agog.
Her lost concentration smashed the Buick to the ground.
Tires popped in tiny explosions as I stood up and wrapped Ruth in magical constraints.
Even her mouth so she couldn’t utter a spell.
“Ruth Goldman,” I drawled. “You’re coming with me.”
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Rather Read It? CREDIBLE THREAT — a Shadowboxer File
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