Arcane Ops Read online

  Arcane Ops

  Federal Agents of Magic™ Book Seven

  TR Cameron

  Martha Carr

  Michael Anderle

  This book is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 TR Cameron, Martha Carr and Michael Anderle

  Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design

  http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, August 2019

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-428-9

  Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-429-6

  The Oriceran Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright © 2017-19 by Martha Carr and LMBPN Publishing.

  Arcane Ops - Team

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Jeff Goode

  Daniel Weigert

  Misty Roa

  Dave Hicks

  Diane L. Smith

  Shari Regan

  Larry Omans

  If we’ve missed anyone, please let us know!

  Editor

  The Skyhunter Editing Team

  Dedications

  For Dylan

  — TR Cameron

  To everyone who still believes in magic

  and all the possibilities that holds.

  To all the readers who make this

  entire ride so much fun.

  And to my son, Louie and so many wonderful friends who remind me all the time of what

  really matters and how wonderful

  life can be in any given moment.

  — Martha

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  To Live The Life We Are

  Called.

  — Michael

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Connect with TR Cameron

  Author Notes - TR Cameron

  Author Notes - Martha Carr

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Other series in the Oriceran Universe:

  Books by Michael Anderle

  Chapter One

  Ice shards hurtled at Diana from all directions, her attacker’s abilities sufficiently impressive to threaten her from every angle. She responded with a raised-arm spin that created a shell of frozen power around her and drew energy from the matching magic when the icicles struck and failed to penetrate. She smiled through the barrier at the distorted view of her teacher, whose head looked to be about twice its normal size thanks to the fun-house-mirror effect of the ice. Don’t laugh. Seriously. Don’t laugh. Her internal self materialized in a corner of her mind and nodded agreement, equally aware that to laugh at the Dark Elf was to court one’s own destruction.

  But as her adversary moved and her head appeared to increase in size even more, the mirth escaped her control. The scowl it generated was three times worse than normal, as was the flaming wave she hurled at her student. Diana conjured her own fire sphere to intercept it but couldn’t find a way out of the relentless assault to counter it. Apparently, the lesson for today is how to maintain a defensive bubble. At least it’s less tiring than usual. In the next moment, the attack vanished and she banished her defense, ready for the next.

  When the tentacles erupted all around her opponent, she panicked for an instant. Her dislike of shadow was manageable but the tentacle version of the magic reached into her soul and suffused her with dread. She’d spent too much time dealing with the things—or trapped by them—to respond with the kind of rational detachment she needed to combat them.

  Force blades materialized in her hands, and she slashed at the approaching appendages, not quite wildly but definitely not as calmly and deliberately as she might have preferred. Her teacher fired shadow orbs at her, and she swung the magical swords faster to intercept them while she fended off the grasping limbs. She managed to hold her own effectively, which gave her a second of pride that lasted only until the moment when Nylotte snuck a shadowy orb in at her feet and she missed the block.

  The impact knocked her legs out from under her, and she managed to flop to her side as she fell with a solid thump. She staggered upright, ready to defend herself, but the Drow stood with her arms folded and stared at her.

  The agent frowned. “What?”

  Nylotte’s voice was entirely matter of fact. “You need to be better.”

  “I’m well aware that I don’t live up to your expectations, oh most honored master of the magical arts.”

  The other woman snorted. She looked extra prissy today, clad in a tight red dress that buttoned up the left side from the top of her knee-high black boots to her neck. Her snowy hair was slicked back, and her dark skin shone in the flickering light of the basement. As always, Diana was underdressed in tactical pants, boots, and a concert t-shirt. Adam Ant’s face stared from today’s selection. Her own hair had been chopped to an inch to match the chunk that had been burned away in battle. When her teacher spoke again, it was still without judgment. “Your enemies grow stronger and increase in number. If you don’t reach your full potential, they may defeat you.”

  “I’m sure you’d cry for days.”

  The Dark Elf raised an elegant eyebrow. “I have invested a great deal of time and energy on your behalf and opened myself to possible risk as well. Do not forget, your enemies attacked me directly.”

  Diana shook her head. “I believe they were your enemies, too. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Dreven seemed rather interested in you.”

  The other woman laughed. “Indeed so. Arranged marriages are such a bother. He was deeply offended when I chose not to agree to the practice.”

  Her jaw dropped but she gathered herself and decided there were some things she really didn’t need to know. “So, how do I improve? It feels like I’ve come about as far as I can with fire, ice, lightning, and force. My telekinesis is fine. That leaves shadow, and we are both well aware that I’m hopeless at that.”

  “True.” The Drow nodded. “More practice will enhance your existing skills, of course, but you are correct that the largest gains have already been accomplished. There are only two mor
e paths for growth, and really, they are the same. A Rhazdon artifact, or Fury.”

  The idea of having one of the slimy, invasive artifacts—she was sure they would be slimy and simply knew it in her bones—working its way under her skin was a concept that made her nauseous whenever it occurred to her. She swallowed hard and replied, “The sword, then.”

  “The sword. Yes.” Nylotte shrugged. “Well, we are done here for today. I will let you know when I have a new idea on where to pursue the final piece of Rhazdon’s Vengeance.”

  She stepped into the portal her teacher created to send her home and noticed as she crossed over that the Drow wore a fierce scowl. Damn. I hope that’s not my fault.

  When the gentle but insistent request for connection had pressed against her mind, Nylotte had been both shocked and suspicious. She lowered her defenses only enough to receive the message, which allowed her to know the source and the content but permitted no further invasion. It was a sophisticated use of mental magic on her part, but decades of practice had made her an expert at protecting her consciousness from others. Her first thought in response involved a great deal of colorful language, and her second had been to get rid of her student as quickly as possible.

  What on Earth and Oriceran would Iressa want to discuss with me? She and the other witch had never gotten along and even less so once the woman had entered the radius of Dreven’s influence. The Drow had assumed, after the battle in the kemana, that all the supposedly secret members of the Remembrance circle had declared themselves her enemies. To have one seek her out so soon after that event was not an expected occurrence, to say the least.

  She spoke the commands and made the required gestures to lock her shop and activate the defenses set throughout. After the building’s unfortunate service as a battleground, she had updated everything and had brought craftspeople in to repair what had been broken. There were now more surprises awaiting an invader than there had been before, and she had ensured that the outer wards were as strong as she could make them.

  She summoned a cushion and sat in the lotus position within her ward rings, inside the outermost but outside the innermost to limit the area where the other woman’s magic would function. There was little doubt that Iressa would make similar arrangements or already had. She closed her eyes and stilled her mind before she locked onto the trace of energy the witch had left behind. She wove her own power into it and released it along the path to the other woman. The witch’s image appeared in the center of the wards, also seated on a pillow She was dressed entirely in clinging black, as was her wont, and wore her typical smug expression.

  Nylotte inclined her head and the witch spoke. “Thank you for accepting my request to speak.”

  “Of course. We are sisters, are we not?” Witches, long forced to defend themselves against the attempts of wizards to subordinate them, respected the connection their magic and the unified purpose of protecting their own power from others who would take it gave them. That history wouldn’t be enough to keep her from killing the other woman, if necessary, but she’d think about it for a moment first. Doubtless, she feels the same.

  The thin smile Iressa bestowed upon her confirmed it. Her pale skin was a stark contrast to her dress, but she had a little color in the cheeks as if she was energized by something. And if it’s good for her, it is likely not good for me, or Diana, or both. Her voice was smooth and seductive, as always. “Nylotte, I wished to give you an opportunity to distance yourself from all this.” She waved a negligent hand. “It is not your fight and there is no need for you to be involved in it.”

  “Dreven seemed to disagree.”

  A true smile broke out across the witch’s features. “He did. But now, he is dead and those of us who knew him celebrate his end.”

  “Are you sure? He’s cheated the reaper before.”

  Iressa showed her teeth in an even wider grin. “I was there. I saw the knife pierce his heart and can assure you he is gone. He probably deserved a more torturous farewell, but one cannot have it all, I suppose.”

  Nylotte nodded. “Very good. However, it is not up to you to determine what is, or is not, my fight.”

  The positive expression vanished as if it had never been, instantly replaced by a scowl. “What do you have to gain? The appreciation of the humans you surround yourself with? Have you truly forgotten yourself so much?”

  Her reply was cold but level. “I’m not sure you’re one to speak ill of my compatriots, Iressa. Your ‘circle’ was laughable, and your connection to the witch in the city above is beneath you. She is damaged goods, at the least, and more likely broken and insane.”

  The woman shrugged and her hair fell perfectly with the motion. Iressa is always perfect. “Regardless. You are at a moment of choice, Drow. You can choose to disengage from those I name my enemies and live your life free of my involvement. Or you can count yourself among them and face the consequences of that decision. Truly, I cannot imagine why you would consider doing the latter.”

  The Dark Elf smiled. “And yet, that is my choice. If it is between you and the people I have met here, there is no comparison. You are, at best, a clinging sycophant who mistakes the desire of powerful men to get into your pants for their respect for your power. You deserve the fate you have courted.”

  Iressa shook her head and a sad smile curved her lips. “Having been born unattractive, it’s logical that you might not understand this, but what I have is both—their desire and their respect. The more powerful the witch or wizard, the more attracted they are to what I offer, and the more I can use them to further my ends. But plainly, you come up short on both measures—power and desirability. It must be so very difficult being you. Perhaps that is why you live underground as an outcast.”

  Nylotte grinned. “I look forward to watching you fall, Iressa—you and whatever master you serve now that Dreven is no more.”

  Her laughter was seductive, even with the Drow’s very real dislike to temper it. “I never served Dreven, regardless of what I might have led him to believe. There were always plans behind plans, and more hidden behind those. He served his purpose and now, we will destroy you and your friends in flaming ruin. The game, until now, was simply to test and discern the edges of the battlefield.” The witch shook her head. “From here on, I’m afraid, you will experience the result of your choices. And I do not expect you will like them.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Since they’ve required me to talk to you, I already dislike them. Vehemently.” She canceled the connection and the woman’s image evaporated before she could respond. The Dark Elf sighed, rose smoothly to her feet, and sent the cushion toward its resting place with a minor expenditure of magic. I will need to warn Diana that we’ve poked the enemy sufficiently to anger them. She snorted. We’re two of a kind, it seems, when it comes to our ability to irritate others.

  Chapter Two

  Cara shifted down a gear as she whipped around the curve. The motorcycle leaned beneath her as the engine wailed. Thanks to the newly installed version of Quinn in her helmet, she could have taken the roads faster if she’d chosen to rely on a little computer coaching. But riding isn’t about optimization, it’s about exhilaration. A corner of her display showed a view of the area surrounding her from above—about a fifth of a mile in each direction, courtesy of one of Kayleigh’s drones. The tech had given Quinn the authority to access the watchers at will and the agent certainly didn’t mind the potential warning of oncoming trouble.

  Like the idiots in the train yard. She shook her head. May all our enemies prove to be so incompetent.

  Unfortunately, the likelihood of that wish coming true was about equal to the possibility that if she leapt off the motorcycle, she would suddenly be able to fly. Dispatching Marcus had been necessary and even distantly rewarding, but she didn’t fool herself that it was the end of the Remembrance threat. If anything, it would likely become more pronounced now that they had been wounded. The bike bucked and she corrected the skid and downshifted again
to bring the vehicle under control.

  Her ride shuddered once more and without warning, she hurtled over the handlebars toward the pavement. She tucked her limbs and rolled as she impacted and skidded along the road. The loud crash from behind was easily attributed to her ride meeting the guardrail at high speed. She transitioned from hard surface to dirt as she slowed and crossed the threshold of the tree line at the edge of the small clearing with only a little momentum remaining.

  Quinn’s voice was urgent in her ears. “Don’t move, puddin’. Scan underway.”

  She choked on the blood in her mouth and spat it to the side. “I’m not sure I could move if I wanted to.” Parts of the left side of her body felt broken and she scrabbled for the healing potion at her hip. The cross-draw with her functioning arm proved to be a challenge but doable. She raised it to her lips as the AI informed her of the damage, some of which was quite severe, and braced for the rush of repair and the pain that would accompany it. Her mind lost its hold on consciousness during the process but when it was over, Quinn yelled at her until she regained her senses. The climb to her feet was shaky and involved a stagger or two but eventually, she was able to look around her with some semblance of clear thought. Her Arch KRGT-1 was a twisted mess and the waiting list to replace it was daunting. She snorted. John Wick better get busy with his side gig.