Legacy First Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3 of the Legacy Series Read online

  And as I fell to my knees and onto the ground, I thought, Did that giant gecko just chuckle at me?

  I did not die.

  Yeah, I fell face forwards in a pool of my own blood—but I did not die.

  Call it a curse or whatever, but I guess my special condition has got its advantages at times. You see, I'm not exactly what you might call a generic wizard. My sister and I were born under a curse. I don't really get most of it, but here's the gist. She got the brains of a genius but lacks the raw magical power to do much. She can still kick some ass, but that's my major. I got raw energy, tons of it. Problem is, it's too much for me to handle.

  So, yeah, I'm a wizard who can't use magic. Pretty useless, right?

  Well, that's not completely true. I can use magic if I channel it through something, like a gun or a sword. Otherwise, there's a chance my own powers could disintegrate me. Not a pretty picture.

  There is, however, one very sweet upside to my condition.

  "Hey, ugly," I rasped. Both guns were in my hands and I found the strength to get up and aim.

  The lizardman spun, poised to attack. I squeezed both triggers at an inhuman pace, forcing the guns to spit magically enhanced lead at a rate that no human could ever achieve. The shrapnel tore the lizardman's body to shreds. I looked down and hoped that I wouldn't see a gaping hole in my chest. I felt my magic converge around the wound and heal it almost instantly.

  Detective March burst into the room seconds later, flooding it with SWAT officers.

  "Nice job, er… holy shit," Roland exclaimed as he pointed at my guns.

  The barrels had completely melted and molten steel was dripping down like water.

  "How the hell?" I remarked as I emptied any bullets from the guns and tentatively pulled their triggers to check the mechanism.

  As I did so, both pistols simply exploded into a million pieces, leaving me standing there with nothing but a pair of very useless grips. I felt like a cartoon character after a bomb goes off in their face.

  Police officers shook their heads in disbelief and murmured between themselves. I glanced at the nearest police officer, a blonde female with an intense look.

  "I'm too hot to handle," I said, waving the actual pistol handles around. "Get it?"

  She gave me a look as if I was a fly she had found in her salad.

  It was Roland's turn to shake his head. "Don't bother. Every single cop in this town has heard stories about you," he said, condescendingly patting me on the back.

  Oh great, now the guy gets to patronize me.

  "All good stories, I hope."

  "Good stories, yes. Mostly funny ones. You never look good in any of them," he said, no longer trying to hide his amusement.

  I sighed. "Then they're probably true."

  Chapter 3

  "Ugh, what a day."

  I slumped on my couch and cracked my stiff neck. It was hot as hell this time of the year. Maybe I should invest in an air conditioner, not that I could afford one. All I had was a ceiling fan lazily spinning around, but it felt more like a blowdryer. I looked at the remains of my guns, slumped carelessly on the coffee table and sighed.

  Nope, no air conditioner for Erik.

  Maybe I could sell something, though I doubt I'd find anyone with my interests. Both sides of the room were littered with cabinets and wardrobes full of occult ornaments and artifacts, some of them gimmicks to sell an image, others the real thing.

  There was a cheap, wooden desk at the far end of one wall. It looked like an antique. I got it at a pawn shop for a hundred. Not that I had any real use for it.

  Most of its surface was littered with Chinese takeout cartons and empty soda cans. There were some metallic parts on one side. Those belonged to the jukebox. The ancient music player had been left here when I'd gotten the place, and I loved that thing. It had a collection of records that I never got tired of listening to. Anything from sixties jazz, to Elvis albums, and even a few MC Hammer vinyls.

  Maybe I should put something on and doze off. I had found that naps were a good cure for dealing with the trauma of having a giant lizard impale you.

  Even thinking about it made me uneasy; an evolved lizardman. How the hell was that possible? Someone was messing with the natural order of things. Lizardmen don't just appear and terrorize schools. Someone surely must have used magic to mutate that monster, someone that I would probably encounter again and would have to stop.

  And most likely not get paid for it.

  I closed my eyes.

  My nap lasted exactly five seconds.

  I felt a ball of fur settle on my chest. I snapped wide awake and swung off the couch, hitting my leg on the coffee table and falling face forward onto the rug beneath.

  "Ow," I heard myself moan pathetically. Not one of my finest moments.

  Amaymon sat on the coffee table, chuckling. The black American shorthair cat flicked its tail, clearly enjoying watching the clumsy human trip over him.

  "Dammit, Amaymon," I said as I nursed a bump on my head. "I told you to stop doing that."

  "And I told you I will not stop as long as you keep reacting like a frightened eight-year-old girl."

  Amaymon talks.

  He's a talking cat. A very annoying talking cat.

  Don't be fooled, he's not all cuddles. Amaymon is a demon, and a very unique one at that. He belongs to a very old branch of demons, those that existed in Hell way before the first humans learned to rub two sticks together for fire. He was also an elemental, governing anything to do with earth.

  A few centuries ago he was the second in command in Hell, right under the Emperor. He led demon armies and waged war like a Viking on a mission.

  Right until he rubbed my family off the wrong way. They captured him, turned him into a cat, locked away all of his powers into an amulet and eventually made him into a little, kitty-shaped paperweight.

  Now, he spends his time doing cat-like things such as sleeping all day, licking himself and giving me disapproving looks.

  Except his looks come with a commentary.

  "And you broke your guns again I see. That's the second time this month, isn't it?" He played around with the parts, rubbing his claws against them.

  I made it to the kitchen and grabbed a soda can from the fridge.

  "Oh God, not another lecture from the damn cat," I moaned as I pressed the soda can against my forehead.

  "Stop using regular junk as channels. Breaking stuff is not in your best interest. You're already behind on your bills," Amaymon continued, completely ignoring my complaint.

  "It was a critical situation," I replied weakly.

  "Critical, my tail."

  "Amaymon, you're an immortal demon trapped in a cat's body. Are you really gonna bitch about money?"

  "Yes," he replied promptly. "If you starve to death no one can buy my food. I mean, I could always eat you after you're dead but, bleh. I doubt you'd have any nutritional value. Not to mention a complete lack of taste." He chuckled at his own pun.

  "I'm so glad you draw the line at cannibalism," I said.

  "Dude, you gotta be of the same species for it to be cannibalism."

  It's always a relief to know you're taken care of after you pass away.

  "By the way, the mechanic called," he said. "Your car in still in the shop. He's gonna need a few more days to fix that kind of damage."

  "Oh, great," I said sarcastically. I popped the can open and gulped the cool drink inside.

  Amaymon hopped on my lap. "You're having one of those I hate my life moments, aren't you?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Hey, I can start munching on you right now if you want," he offered. "Get an early start."

  I frowned at the cat and put my soda can down. Lifting the cat by its collar, I dragged him all the way to a corner in the office where a bowl was filled with catnip.

  "Munch on that," I said, dropping him.

  He began to savagely devour the contents of the bowl, when his ears twitched. "Someone's comi
ng.”

  Amaymon was probably the most reliable home security system, if you were willing to put up with sarcasm. I hadn't even put the open sign up yet. Was the monster population in Eureka that bad? I'm almost certain people don't show up at my doorstep because of my charming personality.

  Amaymon hissed. That was generally a bad sign.

  "Let's see what the universe is plaguing me with now," I said, smiling at my own wit.

  I opened the door and was greeted by a short, young girl dressed in an olive-green, Victorian-style suit complete with an ascot and cloak. Her platinum-blonde hair gleamed in the afternoon sun and her skin seemed to glisten. Penetrating green eyes matched my own color, but hers burned with an intensity that seemed to weigh your soul and then judge accordingly.

  Behind her stood a very tall and lanky man dressed in a traditional butler's suit. His long wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail, held firm with a midnight-blue ribbon. His most striking features were his eyes. They matched Amaymon’s: golden orbs with black slits. He grinned, revealing a set of pointed, serrated teeth, the kind you would expect to see on a shark. Behind them, a pair of bodyguards stood still, like statues. They wore the typical Men in Black outfits, complete with the iconic dark shades.

  My sister broke the increasingly awkward silence. "Hello, brother."

  I looked up towards the clear blue sky and sighed.

  "Good one, universe."

  Chapter 4

  She didn't reply. Or nod, or glare or show any reaction that a normal human being would for that matter.

  Instead, my fraternal twin sister simply strode in past me and into my office, as if she owned the damn place. Guess it's hard to be considerate of other people when you've lived like a queen your entire life.

  I shut the door and put on my best fake smile.

  "Hi, Gil. It's been too long. How are you doing? Can I get you anything? Perhaps something to go."

  They say siblings fight, but whoever they were have clearly never been a part of my family. To say Gil and I have a strained relationship was like saying Hitler may have disliked Jews.

  After our psychotic father tried to kill us, she decided to continue the family tradition of obscure magic, capturing monsters and experimenting with some very dark stuff. I guess that's what Warlocks did. Our entire family was born to a line of Warlocks and I guessed Gil wanted to carry on the family tradition.

  We had an argument about that.

  It did not go well.

  I ended up going my own separate way and renouncing my Warlock heritage, reverting back to the status of a wizard.

  That way I slept better at night.

  Gil sat on the couch next to the cat. Like royalty, her poise and posture were impeccable—the way she crossed her hands in her lap and sat upright, advertising her aristocratic upbringing.

  She sighed and her lip trembled. Whatever she was here for made her uncomfortable, much to my pleasure.

  "I have a big problem, Erik."

  "That's next door. We're small-to-medium problems here."

  Amaymon let out a soft chuckle. Gil wasn't impressed. Sometimes I think I was the one who got all the sense of humor in the family.

  "The mansion's creatures have escaped," she said seriously.

  I blinked a couple of times.

  "Escaped?" I asked, all notion of humor gone from my voice.

  "Yes. All gone."

  "That's not good."

  "Glad you’re finally catching on," she replied.

  Magic users are divided in one of three categories. First, you had the practitioners or adepts, the guys who could pull a spell or two, but were usually the textbook magicians.

  Then you had wizards. Those guys had major power and could use every spell out there, as long as they practiced enough and had enough juice to back it up.

  Finally, the Specialists. Those guys were nuclear-powered in comparison to the others, but could only use one category of magic. Warlocks fell under this category.

  My family have always been Warlocks. We even had a creepy mansion in the middle of the forest, which was very appropriate considering Warlocks were the black sheep of the magical community. Beneath the Ashendale manor was a sub-basement which housed some of our… experiments.

  Yeah, it creeps me out too.

  The only thing worse than having those things down there imprisoned was having them running free. There were some horrors which could easily destroy life as we know it; a Crocatoan virus which may or may not have been the real cause of the Black Plague, an ancient forest spirit that could render a city as large as New York into a giant, uninhabitable forest, and a particularly ambitious Skinwalker who had the bright idea to kill a president and impersonate him. Only flaw was that the president had already been reported dead in the media.

  But you get the idea. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if Cthulhu and Lord Voldemort were locked up down there.

  "How did they escape?" I asked.

  Gil took a moment before answering. "It's unlikely that any of the monsters down there managed to open the gates themselves. Our security systems were breached by someone who is intimately familiar with them. Whoever it was simply picked the locks open and disabled all the security, magical or otherwise, before simply walking out the front door. They even managed to hack into two of our bank accounts. Luckily, I keep sixteen open at all times and in different locations. But I digress."

  She bore her green eyes into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

  "It seems we have a traitor in our midst," she said, her voice quivering slightly with carefully controlled rage. My sister didn't take losing all that well.

  "A traitor?" I echoed.

  "Why do you think she's traveling with extras from Men in Black and her watchdog following her around?" Amaymon interjected.

  The butler grinned. "I thought the cat got your tongue, brother."

  Meet Mephisto; butler, Gil's familiar and Amaymon's brother. He's an air elemental and, just to prove that demons have no sense of irony, his animal form was of a large, black dog.

  "Bite me, jackass," Amaymon replied with a hiss.

  Mephisto's form shimmered and a black canine the size of a small bear bared its fangs at the cat. "Gladly."

  "Enough, Mephistopheles," Gil ordered. "Behave yourself."

  The dog transformed again and the butler took a step back, sulking.

  "So, what's with the suits?" I asked Gil as I pointed at the two bodyguards. The more I looked at them, the more I realized something was off.

  For one thing, there was a faint emission of light from their skin. I concentrated harder, forcing my eyes to look beyond their physical bodies and at their magical forms. There was a minute explosion of light before my eyes started burning. I caught a faint glimpse of wings and pure white feathers.

  "Angels?"

  It wasn't a question so much as a statement of how dumb my sister could be at times. You do not mess around with angels, or demons for that matter. Sure, their dimensions of Heaven and Hell were of opposite sides of our own dimension, but we do not interfere, or even communicate for that matter.

  Those guys have been at war since the beginning of time. If that war moved to our reality, chances were all of us would end up as collateral damage.

  "Since when do you employ angels?" I snarled.

  "Calm down, Erik. There is an explanation," Gil replied.

  "Better be a damn good one. You know as well as I do that those things can't be controlled."

  Angels weren't exactly what they're cut out to be. I mean, sure, some lit up and brought joy to the kids, but they were ruthless soldiers, first and foremost. They smote whoever and whatever they considered impure.

  And former Warlocks with no qualms about toeing the line tended to be at the top of their hit lists.

  "Is there an apocalypse I should know about?" Amaymon asked.

  I wish he was kidding. When angels come over, it meant something big was about to happen.

  "These
angels are merely on loan from a higher power. I had to invoke some assistance in order to deal with another issue," Gil replied.

  I shrugged. "Whatever mess you got yourself into is not my problem." I jabbed an accusing finger at her. "And don't come whining to me when this comes back to bite you in the ass."

  "I will deal with my own problems. In the meantime, I have a job for you," she said as she rummaged in her coat. She pulled out a thick roll of bills and set it of the coffee table. "This is a down payment for the capture of a Behemoth-type demon. My resources are spread too thin and this monster will be troublesome. Do you accept?"

  I barely heard what she said. I was too busy drooling over the cash.

  "Yes," I heard myself say.

  "Behemoths tend to possess and mutate animals. Maybe you could check out the park or an animal shelter," Amaymon said.

  "Yeah."

  Gil rose. "You have your mission, brother: search and destroy. Get rid of that Behemoth demon."

  Her voice was stone cold and authoritative. I've always wanted a voice like that. Maybe if I had I could finally get the cat to stop scratching at every stick of furniture around here.

  Gil and her entourage left without another word.

  Amaymon was the first to break the silence after they left. "A traitor?" he scoffed. "Like that place needs any more drama and back-stabbing."

  I produced a fresh soda can, sat down next to him and drank heartily.

  I remembered visiting our zoo as part of my training when we were kids. Gil was right. This stank of foul play.

  You can't just walk up into the Ashendale mansion. The whole place was stronghold of magic. Dozens of barriers subconsciously repelled any hikers that showed up while a team of wizard mercenaries protected the mansion on a twenty-four hour watch. That place was more secure than Fort Knox and the Pentagon put together.

  The zoo was located in the basement, two floors below ground. Everyone visiting had to go through a series of checks where everyone, family members included, faced a retinal scan, hand-scanner, voice recognition scans, and squeezed a couple of blood droplets into a hole.