A Scripta

Grimaulkin raised his hands over his head, ignoring the dark sparks that erupted from his fingertips. He closed his grey eyes, focusing on keeping a woman’s image in his mind. The same woman was on a photograph at his feet. A black candle dripped methodically onto the picture. In his mind’s eye, he deconstructed the woman, making her lose her hair, then her eyesight, stooping her over, advancing her age.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the picture. The woman in the picture was now yellow, old, bent over with a look of pain. Grim took the picture from under the candle and held it over the flame. It went up in an instant.

Grim smiled, satisfied. He took the ancient dagger from the floor, and slashed over the circle drawn into the wood. Immediately he was assaulted by the heat of the summer, waiting for a cooling breeze from the sea at Nerva. He crossed the large studio and picked up a cell phone.

He dialed, glancing around the room. He focused on the door as it opened.

“Hello,” Grim said into the phone, and smiled and nodded at the person entering, “Mr. Caplin. Yes. Your ex-wife should be dead within two weeks. Yes, sir, very painful. No, sir, she won’t look like she did. Um hm. Yes. My methods are my own.”

The person who entered waited patiently, going over to Grim’s desk and looking at some of the flasks.

“I don’t think you need to know that. Just make sure that the money is in hand in two weeks. Of course. Pleasure. Good bye.” He flipped the phone closed and looked up at the red-haired man. “Of course, if he fails, he faces a worse fate than the one he paid me for.”

The man turned beautiful green eyes to Grim and grinned at him. “I was here earlier. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“That’s okay. I can multi task.”

The man chuckled, kissed Grim’s forehead. “Not with magic.”

“Or other things,” Grim commented, patting the man’s rear.

“Hm. Don’t get me started. What were you planning on doing today?”

Grim sighed. “I’m still practicing on my offensive magic. But something’s blocking me here.”

“In the house? I felt no spirits.”

“No, in Nerva.” He walked over to the desk. “It’s like there’s not enough power here.”

“There are a lot of magic users here. There’s Thorns just to the north. They steal magic where ever they can get it.”

“That’s what it feels like. Like there’s a river and too many people are siphoning from it. It feels dry, weak.” Grim held open his hand, and a small awkward-looking sphere appeared in it. “I can’t even hold a form.”

The man leaned back against the desk. “Then maybe we need to go somewhere else.”

“I’m not going to Cap au Diable, too crowded. And Port Oakes is full of untrained wanna-be’s running around.” Grim started ticking off on his fingers. “Sharkhead is sterile, Grandville is possessed by Recluse and his cronies, and St. Martial is full of too much emotion to wade through. Where else can we go?”

The man smiled. “Paragon City.”

“Paragon?”

“How many powerful dark mages are there? They don’t touch dark magic because it’s not” He made air quotes, “’pretty’.”

“Hmph, but using magic to save people. Been there, did that, got the lectures.”

“You also got me.”

“Well, yeah, that was a bonus.”

The man moved away from the desk and went over to a book case. “You know, Paragon isn’t all that beautiful on the inside. Underneath all the pretty parks and heroes in spandex…” He gave Grim a suggestive wink, “is a lot of corruption and decay. Not all heroes are perfect. They all need someone to knock them down a few pegs, and what better way to do it than from the inside?”

Grim stroked his goatee, as he did when he was thinking. “You might be right, Dysio. Paragon needs to know how imperfect it really is.”

“Mmhm. And besides, they have bigger buildings.”

“True.”

“I kinda miss Steel Canyon. And the university. And all those football players.”

“Did you do them all?” Grim asked slyly.

“Even the coaches.”

“Nice…” Grim came up behind him. “Were they tasty?”

“Not as good as you,” Dysio replied, and embraced him. “So what do you think? Go back to Paragon?”

“I think I might. I’ve made a name for myself here, but I think they’re catching on to me.”

“That’s the problem with dark magic, it leaves residue no matter what you do.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t help with that.”

“But you’ve given me spells and abilities that these stupid Thorns can’t even fathom. They can’t trace some of the work I’ve done. They know it’s dark magic, but they don’t know it’s me, and that’s a plus.”

“But they know you’re a dark mage. You’ve made no secret about that.”

Grim glared. “I won’t make a secret about that, nor will I make a secret about my choice in sex partners.”

Dysio knew he pressed a soft spot with Grim’s pride. He liked to see Grim mad sometimes. It brought a new dimension to their coupling. Dysio bent down and kissed Grim gently on the lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Hm.” Grim couldn’t stay mad for long, especially in the arms of his lover. He rested against Dysio’s broad chest, silver chains scratching his cheek. “Maybe I will go back.”

“Good,” Dysio said with a wicked smile. “Very, very good.”