The Horologist's Pocket Watch by A. B. Bradley

Author:A. B. Bradley [Bradley, A. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skull & Crosppens Press
Published: 2015-02-12T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Reunited

Quinn stepped into the train station, and for the first time since they came there, misfits and magicians and many talented races filled the cavernous room. A few turned and clapped at Quinn’s entrance. Others scowled. Some simply ignored him.

The trolls escorted him and Porter down the long aisle until they came to a familiar cushioned bench with a familiar warlock named Weaver reclining on it. He sipped on a glass of wine and wore the smuggest, most satisfied smile Quinn had ever seen. “Welcome back, Quinn. Glad to see that you survived these harrowing trials with your friend Porter.”

“You tricked us, used us for your own amusement.” Quinn’s face contorted in a snarl. His fingers danced in a powerful spell that cooled the air.

Weaver shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Might not want to freeze me until you have your friends back.” He waved his hand like he could care less blue ice particles surrounded Quinn’s hands in a glow of beautiful geometry.

“Besides,” he continued, “I thought you wanted to learn where the elves are?”

Quinn halted his casting. The ice and snow dissipated around his knuckles, and he lowered his arms. “Let Heidi and Billy go. Now.”

Weaver’s smile transformed from smug to bemused. He traced a little symbol with his index finger, and the spell flared bright green. Behind him, a door appeared. It slowly parted, and Billy and Heidi emerged from the growing opening.

Quinn ran for the door. “You’re both okay!”

Heidi and Billy ran out. Quinn picked up Heidi and spun her around while she giggled like a little girl on her first spring break. He set her down and slapped Billy on the back. “Bet it killed you being stuck in there while me and Porter had all the fun.”

He smirked and looked toward the floor. “Maybe so.”

Quinn turned to Weaver. The warlock watched them from his perch, his finger swirling in lazy circles over the lip of his wine glass. “You magicians are so cute to watch. Always so idealistic.”

“I think you owe me an explanation,” Quinn said. “Why would you do something like that?”

Weaver placed his glass upon the small table beside him. “Your fear of your power was what made your power fearful. It became a deadly, downward spiral for you. The only way you would ever cast a spell again was if you faced that fear and realized the lamb was a lion of your own design.

“At first I thought simply scaring the snot out of you would do the job. When even having that rabid little gargoyle clawing at your face didn’t work, I realized I’d have to be a bit more creative with your opponents.”

“It makes sense,” Porter said. “The banshee’s the one that did it to you in the first place.”

Weaver flashed his brows and interlocked his fingers. “Indeed. Plus, I wanted to see how powerful the supposed Misfit King really was. Quinn did not disappoint. I admit I was a little worried there toward the end, but luckily that banshee was a little spunkier than she first seemed.

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