A Wizard of the White Council by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online

should call ourselves guardian angels.”
    Regent snorted and climbed to his feet. “Don’t make me hit you.” 

Chapter 4 - A Demon In A Van

    Anno Domini 2012

    Arran stood on the corner and watched the traffic, the leg he had broken in the Desert of Scorpions aching. 
    Two massive black roads, with eight lanes each, crossed before him. More of the glowing lights hung from posts over the road, cycling through red, yellow, and green. The flow of jeeps had increased as the sun had climbed higher in the sky, until a never-ending river of multi-colored jeeps sped past him. Did every last peasant on this world own a jeep? 
    Across the street stood a small building beneath an enormous round sign. Rows of blocky metal racks waited in the building’s courtyard. Arran watched as jeeps pulled up to the racks. The drivers climbed out, detached a hose from the racks, and plugged it into the sides of their jeeps. Perhaps this place sold the fire water needed to power the jeeps? 
    A red jeep shot past, music blaring from its back seat. He found the music of Earth bizarre, filled with screaming voices and thundering drums and stranger noises. And he had seen stranger things yet in his few hours walking.
    But he had yet to see anyone carrying a gun. 
    A stone bench stood on the corner, beneath a blue sign marked with odd symbols. Arran paced to the bench, sat down, and tried to think. Where had Lord Marugon gotten the guns? Arran had known the guns came from Earth, but had never given it any more thought. Perhaps the rulers of the United States had sold Marugon his guns, or perhaps the local nobility of Cicero and Chicago. But that didn’t make any sense. Plainly the people of Chicago had a taboo against carrying weapons in public, or perhaps the rulers had forbidden the people from purchasing guns. But if that was true, why had they sold guns to Marugon? Or maybe some local merchants had sold guns to Marugon, without the permission of the rulers of the United States. 
    And just how was he supposed to find Alastarius? 
    Perhaps Arran should hunt down these gun-merchants, whoever they were, and kill them. They had sold Marugon guns. They had caused horror and torment and carnage on his world. They deserved death.
    No. Arran could do nothing yet. This world, this city, was a mystery to him. He did not know enough of its customs to make his way. Arran needed a guide. 
    As he thought, a pair of young women stopped near his bench. Like many of the other women he had seen, they wore clothes that left their arms and most of their legs bare. They did not seem so different from the young women that had once populated the royal court of Carlisan. Except the women of Carlisan had worn more clothing, of course. An old man wearing a striped shirt stood near the women, followed by a boy in a red shirt and trousers of blue material. What were they waiting for?
    A large, boxy jeep pulled up to the bench, smoke belching from a pipe on its roof. It looked large enough to hold forty or fifty people. A pair of doors on the side of the jeep opened with a loud hiss. The people piled inside, putting coins into a machine near the drivers’ seat. The boy glanced at the bus, shrugged, and sat beside Arran on the bench. He produced a curious rectangle of glass and metal and began to press it, images flickering over the glass. The boxy jeep’s door hissed shut and it roared away with a cloud of smoke. Arran watched it go, intrigued. 
    He turned his head. “Boy. My pardon, but could I ask a question of you?”
    The boy glanced up from his glass rectangle. “Yeah, sure.” He looked about eleven or twelve, sunburned with blue eyes. “Dude, nice cape. Are you supposed to be Batman or something?”
    Arran glanced at his cloak. It had acquired tears, threadbare patches, and even quite a few bullet holes. “It has seen better days, I’ll warrant.” 
    “It’s only September 29th. Halloween’s not for another month.” 
    “What is Halloween?”