Mage Against the Machine - Hardcover

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Shaun Barger is a Los Angeles-based novelist who detests cold weather, idiot plotting, and fascism. He splits his days between writing, resisting the siren’s call of Hollywood’s eternally mild summer climes, and appeasing a tyrannical three-pound Chihuahua with peanut butter and apple slices. Mage Against the Machine is his first novel. Find him on Twitter and Instagram @ShaunBarger.

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Mage Against the Machine

I.

AMERICAN WIZARD

A mage in black followed a trail of footprints through the darkness of a thickly wooded forest, unseen.

The trail had been left by a dead man who’d been speaking to his revolver, last the mage had seen him. Anxiously eyeing the shadows between the trees, he wondered if the rune-etched firearm had responded.

The mage was young—barely out of training—with dark, carefully tousled hair and a slight frown that might have seemed permanent to those who didn’t know him well. His replica high-top sneakers squelched wetly in the sodden moss as he tracked the dead man’s steps, which shimmered with a golden light through Nikolai’s enchanted spectacles.

Nikolai Strauss was being stupid. He knew that he was being stupid. His first actual assignment and he’d already lied to his team—to his friends. Already defied his orders to: Observe. Do not engage. Report immediately should the buyer be spotted.

Technically, Nikolai wasn’t really even on this case. He’d been a cadet until a few months ago. The Edge Guard insignia on the breast of his uniform was so freshly made that the enchantments still tickled when he brushed his fingers across the slick enamel surface.

This was supposed to be some simple field experience for training—a low-risk opportunity for Nikolai to observe more experienced Edge Guard agents working the field as they staked out an illegal artifact exchange. They probably wouldn’t have even brought him with them all the way from the capital if the buy hadn’t been going down in Marblewood, Nikolai’s hometown.

The captain had suggested that Nikolai’s relationships with the citizens of Marblewood might come in handy should they find themselves short on leads.

Though Nikolai hadn’t kept in touch with anybody from his hometown (and would have preferred to keep it that way) the intel implicating the Eaglesmith family had smothered his protests.

He was indifferent to the family as a whole. His scorn was reserved for his former classmate, Joseph Eaglesmith, rich-kid golden-boy athlete and longtime boyfriend of Nikolai’s estranged childhood sweetheart.

Nikolai hated the prick. And now, for his pettiness, here he was. Alone. In the dark. Following a possibly demented Battle Mage with a magic gun.

Sure, Nik was also a Battle Mage, well versed in the magical arts of violence. He was a member of the Edge Guard, a powerful government order charged with the defense and maintenance of magical domed Veils that hid the magi from the ruined human world, which had been reduced to lifeless, magically radioactive wastelands a century prior, in 2020.

The Edge Guard also investigated crimes that fell under the jurisdiction of multiple Veils.

But mostly, Nikolai got coffee.

Nikolai was happy to just get coffee for his senior teammates, leaving them to handle the dull responsibilities of the stakeout. To nod and say “Yessir” at all the right moments, occasionally jotting a note into the margin of whatever novel he currently had his nose buried in.

The problem was, Nikolai was now pretty sure that their entire reason for being there was bullshit. That there’d never been any artifact smugglers—that the intel was just a ruse. Bait, specifically set to draw Nikolai back to his hometown, away from the watchful eyes of the capitol. The Eaglesmith family’s involvement was a juicy worm wriggling at the end of a hook.

Nikolai hadn’t said much about his life back in Marblewood to his fellow Edge Guards. From what little he’d let slip, however, his thinly veiled grudge against the rising flyball star had featured prominently. After a couple of drinks, at least.

The mage who’d set the bait had once been Nikolai’s mentor. His friend, even. And Nikolai knew that if his superiors got to him first, he’d never have a chance to speak to Hazeal alone. Never have a chance to ask without supervision why his former mentor had gone to such lengths to contact Nikolai. Or how the hell he wasn’t dead.

His old mentor had first made contact when Nikolai was on his way back from a cafe half a block from the stakeout earlier that day, three boiling hot coffees floating precariously before him on a tray of hardened air that looked like frosted glass.

“I have a message from your mother,” came a voice so quietly that Nikolai might have imagined it.

He spun around, searching, scanning the bustling pedestrian crowd until he found a swarthy, middle-aged mage (whom Nikolai had almost certainly never seen before) staring at him from across the street, under the awning of a butcher shop.

Everything about the mage was forgettable. He was neither ugly nor attractive, wearing a plain charcoal topcoat over a suit that might be found in the closet of any clerical mage with a middling desk job. The only noteworthy thing about him was his conical, wide-brimmed hat, which was normally only worn with formal robes.

Still, there was something about the mage that put Nikolai on alert. His hand, hovering twitchy and trembling at his hip. His eyes, wild and tight with pain.

The stranger pinched the rim of his hat and the illusory disguise pulled away in neatly angular folds of colorful light to reveal a mage that Nikolai knew quite well.

His name was Hazeal. Lieutenant Armand Hazeal. The kindest of Nikolai’s teachers during cadet boot camp in the capitol, who’d always gone out of his way to make sure that Nikolai, more than any of his other students, was managing well both as an Edge Guard trainee and a young, small-town mage adjusting to life in the big city.

Killed just six months prior, in a scuffle with a pair of corrupt Watchmen.

So they’d been told. There’d even been a funeral.

Underneath his disguise, Hazeal was sweating, filthy, and appeared to have aged ten years since Nikolai had seen him last. A strange revolver hung holstered at his hip, surface etched with runes that pulsed as Hazeal pushed aside his topcoat to grip the pommel.

Nik had been so dumbfounded at the appearance of his old teacher that he momentarily neglected maintaining the spell he’d used to create a tray for the coffees.

“Sh-shit—akro!” He’d cast too late, whipping out a half-formed blob of the glassy substance in a fruitless attempt to catch all three drinks. One of the boiling brews poured harmlessly down the defensive enchantments of Nikolai’s Edge Guard jumpsuit uniform, but reflexively he yelped and dropped the rest as he danced back.

When Nikolai looked back up, Hazeal seemed to be engaged in a furious hissed debate with the revolver. Noticing Nikolai’s gaze, Hazeal angrily tugged his coat back over the holstered weapon and released his pinched fingers from the brim of his hat—the illusory folds of his disguise snapping back into place.

“Find me where she used to hurt you,” he said, once again barely audible from across the busy street. Then, with a strange smile, he tipped his hat at Nikolai and darted away into the crowds.

Though reeling from the words and the flood of traumatic memories that came with them, Nikolai managed to fire a tracer enchantment onto the back of Hazeal’s coat before completely losing sight of him. Then, struggling to maintain some semblance of calm, the young mage took off sprinting toward the building...