Chapter One: Sorrel

The call came in at midnight on a Saturday. When Sorrel dared answer, his alley hookup—a precious little djinn with a taste for chubby cock—snarled in dissatisfaction and disappeared in a pillar of flame. Sorrel leaped back before the heat could singe his balls and winced when the acrid scent of burnt hair said he'd almost been too slow.

"This better be good," Sorrel snarled into his phone as he zipped up. It wasn't everyday he could attract a fellow paranormal instead of a magic-blind human. If his boss said anything other than the words vortex, nexus, or calamity, he was going to kill the bastard for ruining his night.

"The police—"

Sorrel hung up. He made it to his truck and collapsed into the driver's seat before his boss called back.

"Vortex," Mallow said. Sorrel grunted for him to continue. "It's a big one and, listen to this, they have three wizards, two magi, and a circle of witches already on site who haven't been able to do shit."

"Why didn't they call us first?" he asked.

"It's a crime scene, so cops had to pull mages from the city payroll first. Don't you dare hang up," he warned, probably sensing Sorrel's desire to do just that. He hated cops. They were arrogant and smarmy and full of more pride than sense. Things always got messy when he had to deal with them.

"It's a big job, kid," Marrow reminded him. "I know you're dying for a real challenge."

"I suppose it could be fun," he allowed.

"Alabaster is one of the wizards—"

"Text me the address." Sorrel hung up and started the truck.

Less than ten minutes later, he pulled onto Third Street. Flashing police lights illuminated the entire block of apartment buildings. A growing wall of onlookers slowed traffic to a standstill. Sorrel ignored the yells of startled jaywalkers as he gunned his truck into the first parking spot he could see.

From what he could tell, police were already trying to push back the perimeter to help with crowd control, but Sorrel doubted it would work. A vortex was like a waterspout in the middle of a desert. No self-respecting paranormal would miss the show, no matter how dangerous it might be.

He had to shut it down before it killed someone.

Hoping to bypass the red tape, Sorrel wrapped his power around him. Unlike the magi version of the same trick, it didn't turn him invisible. Instead, it multiplied his aura, making him seem bigger and more dangerous. Jaywalkers and pedestrians actually noticed when he stepped out of his vehicle. A few backtracked to avoid him while others simply froze as he strolled by.

Sorrel always found the reactions laughable, even if it was effective. He was a short man who would have to stand on his toes to look most of them in their eyes, yet the crowd willingly parted to let him through.

It was one of the perks of having a troll for a mother.

"Sir, you can't come through here." A wall of blue uniformed men stood on the other side of the yellow tape. Sorrel was surprised they stopped him. It was rare for anyone to have the courage to stand in his way while he was cloaked in magic.

"You guys called for a warlock," he stated. The leader of the blue wall, the beefcake with a goatee, jerked his head back in disbelief. Other men adopted sneers. A larger portion quickly looked away, scanning the crowd to hide their need to laugh at his atypical stature. Or maybe it was just his wardrobe they were laughing at, since no self-respecting mage would be seen wearing jeans and a t-shirt like a mere human.

Sorrel rolled his eyes and continued. "Yes, yes, get it out of your systems. I'm not tall, skinny, and pretty like all your darlings wizards. I don't care. I'm just here to save your collective asses once you get out of my way so I can do it."

The leader tilted his head like Sorrel was an enigma, but quickly shook it off and looked at the sneering, uniformed man next to him. He slapped his buddy on his chest to get his attention and tossed his head toward whatever collective was gathered behind them. The minion cop grumbled under his breath, but obeyed the silent command to fetch someone with authority.

"A warlock!" The sound of Alabaster's screech made Sorrel close his eyes, breathe deeply, and savor the moment. When he opened his eyes again, he found the blue wall had parted around a particularly lithesome wizard with platinum hair and dark purple robes.

"Hello, Ala-bastard," he said and took savage pleasure in the way Alabaster's face mottled at the intentional slurring of his name.

Then something happened that had never happened before. Alabaster collapsed in on himself. He waved for the wall of cops to let Sorrel through and even nodded in a greeting. "Thank you for coming, Warlock Grum." Alabaster's voice sounded like he was swallowing glass, but the words came out polite and proper.

Sorrel goggled. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Alabaster clasped his hands together in front of him, his fingers going white as he restrained himself. "It's too big. We were about to call the nearest Host to come deal with it." Sorrel really wanted to roll his eyes again. Calling angels to come deal with a tiny vortex was like using a sledgehammer to open a jar of pickles. Magic within a mile radius would be warped and unusable for months.

Rather than reply to such stupidity, Sorrel ducked under the yellow tape, shoved past the great blue wall, and strode purposefully toward the area where a circle of nine witches were currently chanting and sweeping their brooms to keep it from growing any bigger. Unfortunately, they were gathered around a mirage instead of the source. He could understand the confusion. The vortex was pouring out so much power, flares and magical sunspots were forming.

"That's the wrong way," Alabaster squawked as Sorrel turned sharply and headed for the front door of the neighboring apartment building.

He stopped without entering. Here, the door itself, was the event horizon, which meant the building's security barriers were probably restraining the bulk of the vortex. He could sense the magic swirling and thrashing within the walls.

"Oh." Alabaster breathing became harsh and almost reverent once he recognized the door for what it was. Sorrel had to reach out to stop him from being lured any closer. It was going to be hard enough to save anyone already trapped inside.

Alabaster eventually regained control of himself and called out to his fellow mages, hopefully to tell everyone to relocate their ignorant asses to the correct location. Sorrel dismissed their movements from his mind as meaningless nonsense and levered himself down to sit on the sidewalk.

Sorrel focused his mind on the vortex in front of him and planned his attack. The vortex was spinning clockwise and the pressure wasn't growing nearly as quickly as he expected. Both clues told him it'd been created by a mage rather than nature. The next clue was the magical scent permeating the area. It wasn't death, herb, ozone, sulfur, sunshine, saltwater, or sweat. That still left a lot of options, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was musky like shifters but even earthier like golems.

"Maybe gargoyles," he muttered to himself. The identification told him the vortex would have an Old World construction and, once he knew that little detail, it was almost too easy to disassemble. Gargoyles used primitive magic that didn't rely on sigils and incantations. He simply had to send a ribbon of his power across the threshold in search of the physical focus.

Power shifted at alarming speed to stop his intrusion—he rather enjoyed Alabaster's squeak of terror when that happened—but Sorrel's magic flew strong and true. He pierced the heart of the vortex and a little twist shattered the focus. His magic sent the image of a cracked emerald teardrop hanging from the neck of a gargoyle maiden.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to pass that little tidbit off to the growing crowd of cops around him. The vortex's event horizon bubbled and roiled, threatening to explode in a torrent of wild magic that could level the entire block.

"I have it from here," Alabaster said as he began weaving a net of magic around the entire building to isolate and barricade it from the rest of the world.

That pissed Sorrel off.

He knew, if left isolated for long enough, the wild power would settle into a placid reservoir. With the amount of power being barricaded in front of him, Alabaster would become the overnight golden boy of his Assembly, but the price was that everyone still trapped inside the vortex would remain trapped until the power grew tame enough to manipulate. It might take months or years before everyone was freed, which Alabaster apparently didn't care about.

Stupid, selfish, power-hungry wizard. Sorrel had never been so grateful he wasn't one. It meant he could use the connection he still had with the vortex—one he could use as a bridge—despite Alabaster's implied order to withdrawal.

Sending out a second ribbon of power, he searched for the closest leyline and found one almost immediately. The invisible stream of magic was a thin, delicate rivulet suffering from repeated drainage, which wasn't too surprising considering the neighborhood was full of low-income, paranormal housing. With so many gathered in such a small area and no local mage chapters dedicated to its maintenance, the leyline was close to transforming into a shade vein that would attract vampires and ghouls and all sort of undesirables.

As he filed the knowledge away for later perusal, an unfamiliar power brushed against him in search of a signature. It touched and tasted, submitting willingly as Sorrel read his signature in return and discovered the owner was a solitary sorcerer living down the street. Communication passed wordlessly between them and Sorrel got the sense the sorcerer was more than willing to manage the leyline for the neighborhood if someone could give it a jumpstart. At the moment, there wasn't enough power for the sorcerer to work with.

What was the saying? He needed magic to make magic.

Sorrel felt gleeful as he sank into the leyline became a bridge between it and the vortex. He gritted his teeth as lightning poured through his veins. The power in the vortex bucked and swirled as it funneled through him. The wild power scrapped and burned his channels raw. Spots formed in front of his eyes, but it was worth it.

The entire neighborhood—the buildings, the scrub grass, and the anorexic trees—seemed to sigh in relief as the leyline began to fill. A real sigh passed through the crowd as the leyline grew strong enough to affect the local paranormal population. Sorrel was too busying keeping the bridge from collapsing, killing him in the process, but he knew what they were experiencing.

They were basking in sunlight after living in a tomb.

The drab vegetation flanking the sidewalks grew vibrant and green, even in the dark of night. Dingy old brick transformed into rich chocolate and ruby ingots. The people themselves started to glow from within, shedding years of stress and exhaustion in seconds.

Alabaster howled in rage as the vortex's magic drained away. Sorrel sensed the wizard moving to interfere, but he stopped just as suddenly. Sorrel didn't ask why or how long his hesitation would last. He simply made the bridge a little bigger to speed up the transfer of power from vortex to leyline.

The door to the apartment building suddenly flew open and people escaped outside in a panic, almost tripping over him in the process. After the second time it happened, someone moved in front of him to direct the flow of residents over to waiting ambulances so they could be processed by medical staff.

Eventually, the leyline was fat and full, while the power left in the vortex tapered off to a safe, non-explosive level. It was enough. Sorrel shut down the bridge, sagging a little as he salved his burnt channels in healing energy. He gently disconnected from the leyline, pulling the ribbon of magic back into himself, though he left his connection to the vortex intact. There was still one last thing he had left to do.

He sharpened his magic into blade and tore through Alabaster's magical barrier with a single mental flick.

Alabaster howled again, this time in dismay, as the remaining vortex energy burst out, hitting him in the face with all the strength of a summer breeze, then evaporated into the natural web of magic in the area. No doubt it would eventually dribble into the leyline where it belonged, like rain into a river.

Sorrel pulled the last ribbon of power back into himself and took a deep breath. His magical task was done. He awkwardly climbed to his feet, then turned toward Alabaster. He intended to gloat a little, but four very large, very angry bikers in full leathers had surrounded the wizard. The tiny conical horns on their foreheads were the only features marking them as paranormals.

"What did you do now?" Sorrel asked, though he didn't really expect the wizard to answer. The bastard never accepted responsibility for anything.

A short, scrawny man with long, pale green hair and an earful of piercings stepped out of the biker gang to offer Sorrel a bow in greeting. "I'm Ogre Viraz, Shaman of the Maple Clan."

Sorrel let out a small "oh" of understanding. Shamans, regardless of race, possessed the magical strength to see what Alabaster had tried to do.

Since the Shaman had already offered his name, it would have been a social faux pas to not offer his own in exchange. "Warlock Sorrel Grum." He skipped the bow. Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, he retrieved a card and offered it to the little man.

Shaman Viraz giggled with delight as he read it. "You work for Mage-Me-Tidy? You're a cleaner!"

"Yup," he said with a grin. It was so rare to find someone who appreciated his work. "How did I do?"

"Oh, you were amazing," he replied. "This magic is so shiny now and there's no trace a vortex was ever here. I wouldn't be surprised if property values skyrocket tomorrow."

Sorrel nodded in agreement and surreptitiously looked over his shoulder in search of the miscreant who'd caused the magical mess. Thankfully, police had already arrested the gargoyle and was escorting her into a heavy-duty prisoner transport. It was overkill in his opinion. Without an intact focus, her powers were almost null. Likely, that was the reason the vortex had formed in the first place—the focus had granted her access to more power than she could control.

He wondered where she'd gotten it.

"Daddy!" A little toddler raced past him, cuddling a stuffed pig against her chest. One of the ogres surrounding Alabaster dropped down to one knee and held out his arms in welcome.

Alabaster paled as father and daughter reunited. Sorrel found the wizard's dread to be hilarious and Viraz must have shared his opinion. He chuckled darkly and said, "Yes, that greedy little wizard is in deep shit. Not only was he willing to hold a ogre's stepdaughter in stasis, but our Chief was in there, too. But no matter. They're free now and it's all thanks to you. I'm honor bound to ask if there's anything we may do to repay you."

Sorrel waved away the thought. "Repayment is between the City Council and Mage-Me-Tidy."

"Don't try to play me, Warlock," Shaman Viraz growled. "You're an independent contractor who single-highhandedly shut down a vortex, restored the local ley network, and stopped a wizard from illegally detaining members of my clan with his power-grubbing ways. So I ask again. How may we repay you?"

Sorrel scratched his head and ruffled his short hair in thought. He didn't like to take advantage of people, but Viraz had offered, so it wasn't like he was overstepping or unwelcome. And he really didn't want to spend another night sleeping in his truck.

"How about dinner and a bed for the night?" Sorrel asked, trying to keep his demand reasonable.

Viraz looked startled for a moment, then thoughtful. His tone gentled as he asked, "Are you homeless, young warlock?"

Sorrel shrugged. "The usual. My landlord found out I'm a warlock and evicted me. It's an ongoing problem. Legally, they're not supposed to be able to do that, but every law has a loophole."

Viraz murmured in sympathy, but it was someone else who replied.

"I welcome you to share my home and hearth for as long as you desire."

Sorrel froze. Instinctual terror lock his joints and turned his muscles into quivering gelatin. An all-consuming sense of danger sent a shiver down his spine and raised the hairs on his neck. The source took a step closer and Sorrel could feel pure, primal power thrumming at his back. It communicated on a molecular level that the giant thing behind him had great age, strength, and the ability to squash him like a bug.

Whomever it was might as well have worn a sign saying "Mortals beware: here be Alpha." Sorrel dared not breathe as it leaned down over him, sniffing his hair, then his ear, the back of his neck, and his shoulder.

The Alpha growled softly at whatever he scented, making Sorrel shudder against his will. Warm breath puffed against his face a moment before he found himself being nuzzled by something soft and hairy. He was too afraid to look and identify it. His mind refused to accept more than "Alpha, Alpha, here be Alpha."

"Mine," the Alpha snarled in satisfaction. It was too much. Sorrel fainted dead away.