Alpha warlock academy, p.1
Alpha Warlock Academy, page 1
Alpha Warlock Academy
Noah Layton
Copyright 2022 Noah Layton
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Friday night, early September, gig number two, and as per usual I was late.
I sprinted behind a cab switching lanes as I raced up the busy New York street. Maybe I deserved a honk for good measure, but considering how much experience I had dodging traffic, the driver probably didn’t even see me.
I veered left sharply, intending to slip along the gutter where a generous gap resided between some parked cars and the sidewalk.
The passenger side door right in front of me suddenly swung open. I tried to dodge but hit the edge, spinning out and landing hard on my front.
‘Jeez!’ The lady getting out shouted, ‘are you okay?’
‘Totally fine,’ I groaned, pushing up from the ground and brushing myself off as I arced around to the sidewalk. ‘Sorry!’
The city had a talent for throwing wrenches my way, but I was getting better at dodging them – at least that’s what I told myself.
A hundred miles south-west where I had grown up, things had been a whole lot quieter. For the longest time back then it had just been me and my grandpa, but when he passed a little while after I turned eighteen, the cozy old house where I had grown up suddenly didn’t feel like home anymore.
He had left the dilapidated old place to me; it didn’t sell for much, but it was enough to get me on my feet somewhere new.
That was three years ago. Day to day I was managing to keep my head above water in the big city, with plenty keeping me busy; I was working two gigs, taking night classes at the community college and trying not to get on the wrong side of my geriatric landlord, who had plenty of strong feelings about rent stabilization.
But all of that was peripheral; I was twenty-one and living in one of the busiest places on Earth. I couldn’t complain.
I weaved between pedestrians as I hurried up the street. Ahead they suddenly cleared, a familiar voice muttered ‘oh, shit’, and a dozen oranges rolled along the sidewalk and knocked against my feet.
I gathered up as many oranges as I could in my arms and found Jason, the owner of the voice.
‘Need a hand?’ I asked.
‘You showed up at just the right time.’
Jason and his dad ran Sweet Earth Haven, a family-run fruit merchants that had been around for generations. We met two years ago when I first started at my gig at the coffee shop one block over and fresh fruit for our vast range of artisan tea was in short supply.
‘Doesn’t your shift start at 6pm?’ He asked me. ‘You should get going.’
‘Yeah, but I did almost just kill you. It’s the least I can do.’
I grabbed a pallet, briefly catching a hint of my reflection in the storefront window. Whatever effort I had made to look presentable before leaving my tiny apartment had gone askew thanks to my sweat-induced trip here; my dark fringe was matted to my forehead, almost touching my equally dark eyes. Fortunately I was clean-shaven enough to compensate.
I looked past my mirror image into the store. Jason’s old man was talking with a big guy at the counter. I knew the type; beefy, tank top, debatably legitimate watch, gold tooth and sharp twitches to top off the coke-addled look that he was apparently aiming for.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the tone seemed heated.
‘Who is that guy?’ I asked Jason. ‘Doesn’t look like your usual clientele.’
‘Clark, just some asshole,’ Jason replied, heaving a pallet scattered with unsold lemons into the alley. ‘He’s had a tab with us for a while, and it just keeps getting bigger and bigger. My dad had to talk to him sooner or later.’
‘How much?’
‘A little over $800.’
‘What?!’
I damn near dropped the pallet from my hands.
‘Yep,’ Jason frowned. ‘He claims it ain’t half that much. But I know my dad’s bookkeeping.’
‘So do I,’ I said, setting aside the pallet as the voices inside grew louder. ‘He wouldn’t miss a cent. How does somebody even rack up an $800 tab on fruit?’
‘He’s got tabs up and down the old shops around here. Been building them for years. Doesn’t matter what it is, he just takes whatever he can.’
‘I ain’t paying you shit!’ Clark suddenly shouted from inside.
Jason and I both paused, exchanged a glance, then looked to the door.
‘Give your head a shake,’ Clark shouted back into the shop as he headed to the sidewalk.
I set the last pallet down in the alley. Clark looked around and set his eyes on me. I stared back at him flatly as I wiped my hands clean of wood shavings.
‘The fuck are you looking at?’ Clark spat, glancing me up and down.
‘You,’ I said dryly.
‘You trying to be funny?’
‘In what possible way would that be funny?’ I asked genuinely. ‘What other answer did you want? Or did you expect me to be intimidated by you and look away or something?’
‘Whatever,’ he scoffed. ‘I’m out of here.’
‘No, you’re not,’ I said. ‘You might think it’s perfectly fine in your fucked-up head to intimidate old people, but I sure as hell don’t. Show some respect, with your mouth and your wallet. This isn’t a library.’
Jason froze up like a statue and glanced between me and Clark.
Remember what I said about my busy schedule keeping me out of trouble?
There were occasional exceptions to that rule.
Me and my big mouth.
Clark glanced me up and down. I knew the look; he was literally sizing me up.
‘You should show a little more respect to your patrons,’ Clark said, stepping up to me.
‘I don’t work here, moron,’ I said flatly.
‘No, you work around the corner at that coffee joint. The shitty one.’
I didn’t particularly care what he thought of the quality of our brews, but I did care about him knowing where I worked.
The gift of anonymity had just slipped from my grasp.
‘Look,’ I continued, holding my tongue for as long as I could, ‘I’m just telling you to stop treating the staff like shit. They’re good people, not your personal assistants. You don’t get to keep taking their stuff and not paying them for it.’
‘Why don’t you mind your own business?’
‘Why don’t you go fuck yourself?’
The words spilled out of my mouth like a chemical reaction.
Add the right element, and the outcome was inevitable.
‘The fuck did you just say to me, bitch?’
‘Shit,’ I sighed, clenching my eyes shut. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘That’s what I thought, bitch.’
Just go.
I picked up my bag and made to leave. Clark suddenly shoved me in the back, sending me flailing into the nearby wall.
I quickly caught myself and stood up straight, briefly clenching my eyes shut.
‘Are you serious right now?’ I said, turning around to face Clark.
‘The fuck is it to you?’
‘Listen,’ I said calmly. ‘If you really came here to fight, do me one favor.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Throw the first punch.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that way I won’t run the risk of you pressing charges against me.’
‘Heh,’ he gloated. ‘You gonna go running to the freaking pigs?’
‘Nope,’ I said dryly, ‘I’d rather keep this between you and me. So either settle your tab, or get on with whatever this is.’
The guy scoffed and turned away.
I didn’t expect that.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then found myself cut short by the glimmer of the early evening light as he subtly pulled something from his pocket and slid it onto his fingers.
Knuckledusters.
Fucking knuckledusters.
Is this guy serious?
Shit.
Clark spun around and launched his closed fist straight at my face.
I dodged the punch with a rapid jolt to the side.
A part of me wanted to walk, but I knew this guy was going to keep coming back for more.
I drew my arm back and slammed my fist straight into his cheek. His head snapped sharply to the side, and he dropped to the sidewalk like a ragdoll.
A sharp pain rippled through my knuckles then descended into a harsh ache.
Several passers-by looked our way, then returned to their business as quickly as they had found ours.
‘Nice shot, man,’ Jason said in disbelief. ‘Where did you learn to throw a punch like that?’
‘A lifetime of dealing with jerkoffs like this,’ I said, shaking my hand out and turning Clark over to the recovery position. ‘Sorry for dropping this guy outside your dad’s place.’
‘Street’s always been a damned rat’s nest. If anything this’ll put a few others off. In the meantime, get the hell out of here while I wake this dude up.’
‘That any way to talk to an old friend?’ I smiled.
‘It’s the way I talk to a guy who’s late for work.’
I checked my watch.
6:08.
‘Shit. I’ll catch you later, man.’
‘Later!’
I hurried up the street, darting left into an alleyway. I weaved past dumpsters and steam grates, emerged onto the street and veered right.
The neon sign of the Ivory Brew Bistro beckoned up ahead, and after quickly wiping the sweat from my brow and straightening up my clothes, I ducked inside.
On Fridays rush hour existed both on the streets and in here. Swathes of young professionals from the downtown offices were lined up for one last shot of caffeine before a stop-off at home for a round of pregaming.
I was ten minutes late, but fortunately for me there was no tyrannical manager ready to reign hellfire down upon me.
Her name was Bev, and she was the kind of person that seemed like she had been formed in a lab to be the most terrible person on Earth.
But tonight Bev wasn’t on-shift; Callie was.
How to sum Callie up? Well, let’s just say the name Bitch Bev hadn’t arrived on our premises by way of a stork.
She was cool, tattooed and hardy as all hell, with a kickass penchant for piercings and hands faster than a western gunslinger, a trait that came in mighty handy when I was as late as I was. Her hair was dyed blood-red this week, tied back in a messy ponytail as she dashed back and forth behind the counter.
‘Sorry,’ I said, pulling off my bag and coat and hurling them into the store room.
‘What’s a sorry?’ Callie winked at me smoothly with her piercingly dark eyes as a smile spread across her subtly pretty face. ‘Can I put it in a frappé? No? Then grab an order ticket and get started.’
I rushed to the counter and started at the left, trying to forget about the dozen others that awaited.
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Callie said, sliding across the floor towards me and spinning me around in her hands. ‘Apron.’
She tied me up in a tough bow before patting me on the back and sending me on my way.
Considering the fact that I had probably just broken a guy’s nose and loosened several of his teeth not five minutes ago, I managed to hold my act together pretty well.
***
The next three hours raced by like they always did when the place was busy. Things cooled off around 10PM, leaving only the patrons forgoing a night out after a long shift stopping by for their decafs.
Now that the rush was well and truly over, my normal thought process could return, and with it came the fear of revenge.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Clark wasn’t the kind of guy to let something like this go.
He was the kind of guy to wait around for hours outside my place of work so that he could sucker punch me.
Or worse.
My mind wandered as I scrubbed down the nozzle of the cappuccino machine, determined to get a stubborn stain out of its ironically stainless steel.
‘You’re giving that nozzle a real shiner,’ Callie said from behind me. ‘Any harder and I’d think you were trying to… Well, you know?’
‘Do I look symbolic right now?’ I asked, glancing over my shoulder at her as I rubbed the nozzle harder than ever with my tensed arm.
‘Maybe,’ she smiled.
Callie had never been the kind of woman I could see myself with, but our platonic banter was as close to that of a long-time married couple as two unmarried twenty-somethings who weren’t each other’s type could be.
‘You’re studying Classics, right?’ I asked. ‘If I were a passage in a literary novel, what would I be symbolic of?’
‘That depends entirely on the work itself,’ she smiled, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear as it slipped loose from her ponytail. ‘If you were a Shakespearean sonnet, you might be trying to work hard for that love in your life. Although I think I prefer my interpretation.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked, continuing my scrubbing and taking a sip of coffee.
‘That you’re jerking off the cappuccino machine.’
I spluttered a mouthful of coffee over the machine. Callie laughed hysterically.
‘Awesome,’ I said sarcastically, wiping my chin and smiling. ‘And would you mind not referring to sex acts while we’ve still got customers in here? I can’t lose this job.’
‘Please, they can’t hear us,’ she said, looking to the couple by the window. ‘Hey, you can’t hear us, can you? See? All right, time to mop up and lock up.’
Callie was usually capable of doing a pretty fine job when it came to making me forget the trials of the real world beyond the bistro door.
Once the last of the night owls took off around 10:30pm I crossed to the door, flipped the sign and turned the lock.
I scanned the busy sidewalk from behind the venetian blinds for any sign of Clark.
‘So you just going to hang around here all night like a bad smell or what?’
I turned to see Callie sitting on the counter smiling over at me as she sipped on the last of a decaf latté.
‘No,’ I replied, looking back to the street. ‘I guess I’ve got to go home at some point.’
‘What, is there a ghost out there or something?’
‘No, it’s nothing.’
‘Come on, tell me.’
‘I just did something stupid. I got into a fight on the way here that I could have walked away from, but…’
‘But your temper got the better of you and you decided to lean into it ha-a-ard…’
‘It was not my temper,’ I laughed. ‘I don’t have a temper. I just…’
‘Have an appetite for dealing with people in the wrong?’
‘I guess that’s a good way to put it. Anyway, this guy is the kind of guy that I shouldn’t have gotten on the wrong side of, the kind of guy that’ll want petty revenge.’
‘So you dealt with him,’ Callie smirked. ‘Impressive. Gotta say, when I first met you, I never would have had you pinned as the violent type.’
‘Only when I have to be.’
‘So you think he’s waiting around to kick your ass?’
‘Or something much stupider.’
‘So we call the police. There are laws against this kind of thing, you know? It doesn’t make you any less of a man.’
‘I know,’ I laughed. ‘It’s just another thing on the list. Night classes, two jobs, scraping together enough money to, you know… Eat, and everything. I’m neglecting both my work and my studies so that one can feed the other.’
‘How poetic,’ Callie laughed.
‘I’m glad my struggles are amusing to you,’ I smiled, taking another look up and down the street.
‘Oh, lighten up, bozo. Hey, I tell you what, why don’t you crash at my place tonight?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Why not?’ She shrugged. ‘We’re both adults, we both have our own places. We can do what we want. Plus it’s across the park, far from the potential asshole currently hounding you.’
‘You’d do that for me?’
‘I mean it’s a shoebox over on 121st so it’s a walk, but I’ve got a comfy couch.’
Five minutes later we turned off the last of the lights and headed out the side-door to the street. We walked a few blocks and reached the edge of Central Park.
‘I’ve always been told never to walk through the Park at night,’ I said.
‘It’s fine,’ Callie said, batting her hand at the air. ‘There’s some kind of art display thing on tonight. Plenty of lights and less needles.’
‘That’s comforting,’ I smiled. ‘What is it exactly?’
‘Not sure. Feel like a detour?’
‘Sure.’
We wandered beneath lampposts towards Bethesda Terrace and the fountain. The whole place was lit up with low orange lights that flickered dramatically. Scattered tourists looked to a strange plinth nearby, while figures in blue cloaks and hoods moved about like specters.
