The sun gave way to the blackness of night, falling to hide beneath the landscape of the small plane I called home. The TV buzzed with information streaming through my house, but I ignored it. I was focused on the small portrait that had fallen from its regular position above my doorway. The image of a maiden painting the sky into existence seemed to twist before my eyes; writhing out of its place into something hideous. The serene skyline darkened until one singular colour streaked endlessly across the sky throwing violent shadows across the quiet countryside.

“Daniel, are you listening to me!?” Bellowed my boss from the other side of the phone, “This is important!”

I started, almost dropping my cell phone, “Yes, Mark. I’m listening.” I hastily replied, wiping the perspiration from my forehead, “What were you talking about?”

My editor muttered a string of foul language. I could almost feel him slamming his meaty fist against his ancient mahogany desk. Mark is not one to deal well with delays; he’s infamous among the writers for his totalitarian approach to deadlines. He must have finished his fit as his deep voice boomed back across the line.

“You’ve got to get your head out of the clouds. You’re killing me, kid.” He growled before his rage subsided, “I was saying I think you need to get your feet wet with a bit more field work. You’ve got to get out of that little hut of yours.”

“Don’t call me kid, I’m a decade older than half the people you employ.” I muttered, still trying to put my head back together, “I don’t need to wet my feet.”

“Yeah, but they’ve all been doing this four times as long as you have.” Roared Mark, slamming his fist upon his desk once more, “They could write circles around you with a bag over their heads while doped up on whatever new drug the kids are into these days.”

I turned my gaze to my monitor; I had knocked it over when the picture had fallen. I righted it to give myself the time to find a response. Mark’s heavy breathing told me he was eagerly waiting for my response which I was polite enough to supply.

“True, but I’ve got more talent than all of them put together.” I hissed venomously, regretting it instantly, but I was unable to pull back now, “I’m the source of credibility that’s keeping this whole company afloat. I’ve seen some of the other writers struggling with the simplest of cantrips. Even you only have an undergrad.”

It was cruel, but true. I’d once been at the very top of the world. I was teaching evocation in one of the planes’ most prestigious universities of magic. Then IT had happened. Now I spent my days writing for some obscure magic magazine. The pay kept food on the table, but it was slowly sucking my soul away. Mark ground his canine teeth together hard enough for me to hear the scrapping through my ear. I sighed and tried to apologize, but the man cut me off.

“If that’s really what you think, then prove it.” He stated, “I know you’ve got talent. That’s why I’m putting you on the case.”

“What is this case you refer to?”

I heard a thud indicating something heavy had been dropped on Mark’s desk, then rapid page turning before stillness returned on the other end. The orc was most likely reading up on the facts of the story he was presenting me with.

“It’s on some outer plane, Bezzai is what the locals call it I think. Modern technology, but primitive arts.” He spoke stiffly, clearly reading his lines out of his journal, “They say some kids have been practicing the dark arts there. You know; spooky house, demonic rituals, summonings, the whole like. I want you to investigate the place and write me two pages on it for the next issue.”

“What? That’s crap!” I cried in disgrace, “I’ve heard of the place, they don’t even know magic’s real! It’s all made up! A total fluff story!”

“Maybe, but the Occult Explorer and Midnite Magic have already printed stories on it.” Stated Mark, “They sold a lot of papers.”

I shook my head furiously, “They’re nothing but stories of questionable quality. They probably didn’t even go to the plane! They’ve got less credibility than a roll of toilet paper.” I exclaimed my voice rising with each protest, “At least the paper knows it’s full of shit!”

Mark let out an earthshaking snort, I knew I was fighting a losing battle. It was true I’d only performed fieldwork once or twice. They’d put me in charge of replying to letters from our readers after the last writer disappeared under mysterious circumstances. I held on to that fact as my last card, perhaps I could use it to get out of this whole deal.

“Besides how am I supposed to write the Letters from the Mages if I’m not at home to receive the letters?” I demanded, “Surely there’s someone else who can go?”

“I’m not sending anyone else; I’m sending you, WhiteWood.” Laid out Mark, “I’ll send the letters to you-or, if that proves impossible we can have a guest responder. People seem to enjoy a change every once in a while.” He grunted showing his thoughts for the taste of our customers the same opinion I too often expressed, “If this proves to be baloney-then fine, write that! Tell the world how full of shit our competitors are. Powers know I wouldn’t mind!”

I gave in. I knew for sure that I wasn’t going to get anything through Mark’s thick green skull. I waved my hands, muttering a few words to start packing my bag. I just had to go over the details then head out. Maybe I could get this over with quickly and return here before anything had changed.

“Are there any accommodations set up for me?” I asked as I pulled my spare spell book into my pocket dimension.

“You think I’m going to deal with these primitives?” Stated Mark firmly, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“Okay I’m gone.” I told my editor as I gathered the last of my spell components. I didn’t think I’d need them, but I didn’t like to take risks. Better safe than sorry as people have argued throughout eternity.

“Remember Daniel, ready by next issue. That means two weeks, no longer.”

The phone clicked off leaving me alone in my small single story house. I turned the TV off and made my way to the front door. I supposed there was no time to waste if I wanted to get back as soon as possible. I swung the door shut behind me as I stepped out onto the stone path that disappeared into the darkness beyond the outskirts of my yard.

I walked the pathway for several minutes before turning to the left three times, ending up in a small flattened clearing. I gauged the position of the stars and sighed in regret. I didn’t know a portal to the plane so I was going to have to do it the expensive way.

I reached through the dimensional hole I’d cast on the entrance to my coat pocket and produced a small ruby coin carefully inscribed with intricate arcane symbols. I studied the pattern for a second before humming the appropriate phrase and tossing it into the air. The gem hovered three feet in the air for six seconds before emitting a blinding red flash, returning to my hand instantly. I waited for a few minutes before the hum of an engine told me my transportation had arrived.

A bright yellow taxi cab appeared out of the ether, coming to a stop in front of me. The cab driver-a black man wearing an old blue baseball cap-motioned for me to enter. I obliged opening the back door and sitting down on the back left seat. The driver glanced at me through the rear view mirror before asking in a strong inner plane accent.

“Where are you heading?”

“Bezzai, please.” I told the man. He head out his arm and opened his fingers. I placed my coin in his outstretched palm.

I was cursing inwardly. The coin cost a fortune, not to mention the effort I had to put in to personalize it. I only had five more of them, each one was precious. I told myself it didn’t matter; I would take account of it in the expenses. In the end there was nothing else I could do about it, I needed to get to Bezzai and this was the only way. I settled back in my seat and watched the ether drift past as we drove through the planes to my destination.

The lights of the small town shone through the night alerting me that I had reached my destination. The cab shuddered as its wheels touched down upon the smooth pavement of the city’s main street.

The town was small by the planes’ standard. Only twenty thousand people lived there. The inhabitants called it a city, but I begged to differ. Even on its own plane the claim was questionable. The streets were deserted in the dead of night, leaving the ethereal taxi to drift alone through the streets. I tapped my finger against the window impatient to begin my assignment. I knew I’d have to sleep, but that barely registered in my mind.

The cab stopped on the curb, the taxi driver turned his head to address me, “We’re here, I’ve stopping in front of a motel so you should be able to rest for the night.”

I thanked the man and tipped him a gold coin, cursing the expense. I stepped onto the curb and studied the inn, it would do just fine. It was a simple construction, meant to serve a purpose not dazzle the eyes. My estimation lowered slightly when I noticed the aged walls and stained windows, but it wasn’t like I had the time to find somewhere else this late at night. I strode through the front sliding doors which opened with a cheery chime I was not in the mood for.

An elderly lady stood behind a desk off to one side. I walked over to purchase a room for my duration. She examined me critically over her red glasses. I wore my usual outfit, jeans, a white t shirt and an old teal spring jacket I really liked. Apparently she didn’t approve of my fashion sense as she sniffed and turned her nose up at my approach.

“I’d like to rent a room, please.” I told the lady.

“How long?” She asked in a dull by the numbers voice. “Just one?” She added a moment later in the same resigned, slightly conceited voice.

“Two weeks and yes.” Was all I replied. If she wasn’t going to care about articulating herself than neither was I.

The lady nodded distractedly and punched the information into her old battered computer. I waited while the thing chugged and wheezed on the numbers it was trying to process. It finally stopped dying for long enough to provide her with what she needed.

“That’ll be five hundred sixty three dollars and nineteen cents.” She told me, holding her wiry hand out to receive my hard earned revenue.

I hesitated; in my rush to leave I had forgotten to bring any money for the plane I was heading to. If I remembered correctly they used a weird amalgamation of paper and coinage. I found myself entirely lacking of any such currency. I cursed my foolishness before smiling awkwardly in the face of the woman’s cynical glare.

“Do you accept gold coins?” I asked.

“What?”

I retrieve my coin purse and produced twenty thick gold pieces. I placed each on the counter under her suspicious observation. She didn’t seem to believe I was actually doing what her eyes told her I was. She picked up a coin with her gnarled fingers and bit it before setting it back on the countertop. She eyed me viciously.

“Are these stolen?”

“If they were I wouldn’t tell you.” I stated. I cut back in as I realized my mistake, “But, they of course aren’t.” I smiled weakly as she glared even harder at the top of my skull. I was surprised she didn’t bore two holes straight through me and the wall I stood in front of.

Before anything else could be said she scooped up the coins and turned her back on me. In a few minutes she produced an old key with a three digit number written on it in smudged marker. She gestured for me to leave, which I did. I didn’t feel like toiling under her oppressive presence any longer than I had to.

It took me a little while to find my room. After unlocking the door I stepped inside to observe my accommodations. I must admit they were something less than satisfactory. The wallpaper was beginning to peel. The carpet had been worn until holes almost poked through the threadbare fabric. A single rickety armchair and unstable desk furnished the room besides the bed which deserves its own complete description.

The tiny almost-but not quite-double bed looked like something pulled out of another time. Its sheets were pure black and coarse to the touch. I was afraid that something might be living inside it, but as it turned out the mattress was simply bumpier than the forbidding Tallon Mountains. The pillows looked like they had been beaten thoroughly and utterly to death; they hung limply regardless of my vain attempts to fluff them. When eventually I was forced to give into the demands of sleep deprivation and collapse upon the bed it released a choking cloud of dust and powers know what else.

In the end I decided to sleep on the floor.

The morning sun shining through the motel’s grimy window drew me out of my uncomfortable sleep. I rolled over banging my head into the side of the ancient armchair. I looked up in confusion before remembering where I was. I cursed my boss once more for good measure and pulled myself to my feet.

I looked over to the small desk and sighed in resignation. During the night my boss had sent a pile of papers to me. They rested on the right hand corner tied together with an old twine like piece of string. I regretfully walked over to investigate my new resources.

The top of the pile were letters from the magazine’s readers, there were about a dozen of them. I set them aside for later; I wasn’t in the mood to read whatever they had to say at the moment. It seemed Mark had spent some time researching the story as he had sent me information about a score of different kids rumored to be involved. I decided it was as good a start as any, so I picked up one or two of them at random and started reading.

I soon picked my first target; kid’s name was Anthony Bygens. He was supposed to live alone with his dad in the suburbs of the city. He was sixteen, struggling in school and he may have gotten himself involved with drugs. I was always curious how Mark managed to find these things out, he didn’t have any familiars I was aware of and some of this stuff was really personal. The kid’s dad had served in the army for years before coming home only to have his wife die of cancer before his eyes. Sucked to be him, but that was a promising warlock story for a young disenfranchised boy if ever I’ve heard one.

Not that I expected there to actually be anything mind you.

I spent the first few hours of the morning reinforcing my personal wards and developing a few glamours. I was decent at both illusion and abjuration although they were not my strongest points. I majored in evocation with a minor in conjuration, but the only two schools in which I found myself lacking were enchantment and-of course-divination.

I didn’t want to step anywhere even potentially dangerous without full confidence in my own protection. The glamours were to help me get additional information. Illegal? Yes. But it wasn’t like anyone was going to find out on this moss ball.

I finished my preparations and left the room behind. I damned the taxi driver’s name, I bet he had a deal with the old devil to bring traveler’s to the hell hole I had found myself in overnight. If I had any extra time I was going to find a hotel where sleeping didn’t involve killing my back. I waved good bye to Ms. She-Devil herself on my way past her domain, she just sniffed as I left the building. I stepped onto the concrete outside, making my way into the heart of the city.

I had to pick up a few things so that I could work in this new plane. I whispered to the small band I wore around my arm, it began pointing the way to the nearest pawn shop. I was only able to perform such a minor cantrip thanks to the magical item, otherwise I found myself completely unable to cast even the smallest of divination spells.

I walked several blocks before the amulet indicated I had arrived with a faint green glow. I looked at the shop I was about to enter. Faded paint proclaimed it to be Mat’s Merch. I shook my head sadly and stepped through the door to be greeted with another irritatingly cheery bell.

The shop catered to the more entertainmentally focused youth of the world. There were several shelves filled with video games, comic books and movies. I drifted my eyes down the blu-ray’s seeing if by any chance they had any of the titles I had been looking for. They didn’t, there was nothing outer plane crap that I had no interest in. Although I must admit Viking Biker’s from Hell seemed like an interesting title, but it was just a single episode of a show so I put it back. There were several other intriguing items inside; I stopped for a moment to examine a guitar I thought a bard I knew might find useful. Eventually I turned away from the Mat’s Merchandise and walked up to the counter.

The cashier was a large sweaty redhead with a massive face concealing beard who seemed to be on the brink of a heart attack our entire conversation. He slapped his sweaty hands on the counter and looked me over with beady green eyes while he adjusted the stretched flannel shirt draped across his frame.

“How can I help you, sir?” He panted from somewhere in the depths of his facial hair.

“You buy stuff as well?” I asked, fishing around in my interdimensional pocket for what I wanted to exchange.

“Depends on what you have.” He told me, leaning over the counter to get a better look at what I produced, “We no longer accept H.I. cards if that’s what you were wondering.”

I had no idea what the man was talking about so I ignored the comment. I produced a coin purse which he eyed confusedly until I dumped its contents out onto the counter. A hundred coins scattered across the countertop to his immense surprise. He shoveled them all into a pile before they could be knocked off by an errant gesture.

“I was wondering if you bought gold.”

He blathered meaninglessly for a minute before he was able to regain what little composure he had ever had. His beard shook as he cleared his thick throat and counted out the number of coins I had spread before him.

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I have enough money here for all of this.” He stammered as he finished counting the last coin, “Where did you get all of those? You’ve got a fortune worth of them right here.”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I demanded in frustration. I knew why of course, but it didn’t make it any less annoying. “Look, if you can’t afford them all then I’ll take what I can get for a few of them. I find myself short on traditional money at the moment.”

His head waggled up and down like a bobble head for a minute before he snapped out of his foolishness and began counting out money. “I’ll give you six hundred dollars for twenty of them right now. It’s all I can do on such short notice, with forewarning I could have purchased the lot of them. If you want to come back later then-,”

I shook my head, “No, it’s fine. I’ll take that.”

I brushed my shoulder length black hair out of my eyes, pushing it back behind my ears as he withdrew the funds from his cash register. He looked at my face in apprehension; I returned the look bluntly to him. I had no idea what the fool was staring at.

“Are-are your ears pointed?” He asked hesitantly, pointing towards my left earlobe, “Because they look like they’re pointed.”

I laughed off the comment while condemning my own idiocy, “Of course they’re not.” I mused, “You’re just seeing things.”

I quickly covered the offending appendage up and we returned to the business at hand. I may have forgotten to mention it-but I’m a half-elf. My mother hailed from those verdant forests of the south as my father loved to say. I never met the lady, but I’m sure she would have been lovely. Had to have been to garner that prude’s attention. But, really with a name like Daniel Whitewood it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.

The cashier counted out the money and we finalized the deal. I left the pawnshop and traveled around the city hitting several more pawnshops on my trip. By the end I had gather three thousand four hundred dollars for the coins. I promised myself my boss would be paying for this as I pocketed the last of the money. I hoped the amount I’d picked up would last through the investigation, but nothing ever did seem to go right for me.

I eventually left the shopping district and picked up my cell phone. I’d purchased the full package so if they tried to give me roaming charges again I was going to throw a fit. I flicked it on and called for a cab to take me to the outskirts of the city. The ride was much less eventful than the planar traversing one, it doesn’t bear repeating. The man dropped me off a hundred feet from the Bygens’s house and drove off.

I strode up the front walkway of the house, activating my glamour before I knocked firmly on the wood paneled door. After a few minutes Anthony’s dad answered the door. He wore a tight turtleneck that showed off his still physically impressive form. At forty three years of age he looked like he could snap me like a twig. His blond hair was cut army short and his scarred face held two piercing brown eyes.

“Mr. Bygens, I’m here to talk with you about your son.” I told the man who frowned, but nodded, “May I come inside?”

He stood aside to let me into the house. I walked inside and was led to a cramped sitting room with a small white couch, a cheap coffee table and several scattered armchairs. Anthony’s father-I struggled to recall his name-Michael gestured for me to take a seat before pulling a chair across from me. He sat down with a serious expression on his face.

“What has he done this time, officer?” He asked.

I hesitated, while I couldn’t have really expected any other reaction to the glamour I had created of a police officer, I hadn’t anticipated it taking this form. Instead of being upset or angry the man was resigned with whatever trouble his son had caused. This had to have happened before. I could see it, the proud veteran devastated to find his own son beyond his help.

“Nothing as of this moment,” I assured Michael, “But, I think we need to talk about some things. First of all, where is he right now?”

“Oh, he’s off somewhere,” Muttered Michael, “I never can keep track of the boy regardless of what I try.”

The two of us began to speak of Anthony’s antics over the past few months.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2