Creation Mage 6 by Dante King (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📗

of Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock, the oldest Chaosbane clapped the lanky assassin on the shoulder and said, “I’ve been following your work in the monthly periodicals, lad. Bounty Hunter Monthly thinks you're the dog’s bollocks, don’t they?”

Mort mumbled something and moved aside to make room for Igor, who was jostling behind him, no doubt eager to get at Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock’s cellar.

Grandaddy Chaosbane didn’t say anything for a while. He just ran his eyes over the delinquent-looking Igor.

“Why d’you smell of hotdog water, Igor?” the old man asked eventually.

Igor put a companionable hand on Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock’s shoulder. “Why indeed?” he said. “I think that’s one of many pertinent subjects we must touch upon this evening, Grandaddy. However, what say you to doing it over something cold and corrosive, hm?”

Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock snorted and jerked his thumb at the ranch. “I’ll be in to join you in a moment, you young reprobate,” he said, and there was a definite note of pride in his voice.

After the family had said their how-do-you-dos, Reginald introduced the rest of us to the old man.

Barry, Enwyn, and Mallory were let through with impartial grunts of welcome. Idman, as former lawman, was greeted with stony suspicion by the gnarled old Chaosbane clan chief. The old man’s demeanor thawed only after Reginald explained how Idman was no longer the owner-operator of the Eldritch Prison and was, in fact, a fugitive.

“And this,” Reginald said, beckoning me forward “is Justin Mauler.”

The clever dark eyes regarded me from under the snowy brows.

“I know who this one is.” Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock extended a hand that looked like it had been carved out of a piece of walnut.

I grasped the hand, intent on making a good impression. This man was, after all, the head of, despite their idiosyncrasies, one of the most formidable wizarding families around.

“A pleasure to meet—” I began, but then recoiled in surprise as the hand I had grasped turned suddenly into a very realistic dildo.

“What the shit?” I said.

Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock was snorting with mirth. He even went as far as to slap his thigh, so I figured he was pretty pleased with himself. I was left standing like a lemon and holding a big rubber wiener.

“Ah, just a jape on my part, Mauler,” he said, grabbing me by the elbow with a horny hand and guiding me toward the front door. “No need to look so shocked. You might not be aware, but we keep a reasonably relaxed house here.”

I was half-tempted to tell the old coot that I’d just seen how relaxed a place he kept; the wreckage strewn about his private carnival ground was testament to that.

“Gorlbadock!” a shrill voice called from the doorway as we approached. “Gorlbadock, have you been rummaging around in my pleasure chest again, you old pain in the— Oh, who have we here?”

An older woman had revealed herself in the spacious front doorway—older certainly, but not old like Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock.

She was dressed in the type of frock that you might expect a wealthy chick in a period drama to wear; all petticoats and flowing skirts and those cinched waists that made their knockers pop out so brilliantly. I’d always found that element of the fashion of those days to be such a contradiction. In an age where modesty was everything, these rich ladies would swan about with their magumbos squashed out for all the world to see.

I held out a hand.

“Justin Mauler,” I said.

The woman took my proffered hand, and we shook. Her grip was firm, her hand soft. Her hair was an artful arrangement of chestnut curls with streaks of silver through them. She had a heart-shaped face and crinkles at the corners of her eyes, which were dark and quick and clever, as I had thought they would be.

Slice it how you would, this woman was the definition of a cougar.

“I’m Aunt Ruth,” the woman said, hitting me with a modest little smile.

“You’re… You’re Aunt Ruth?” I said, just managing to keep the incredulity from my voice.

“That’s right,” Ruth said.

I looked at Leah, who was standing in the hallway behind Ruth.

“Aunt Ruth, as in Aunt Ruth, the ‘less’ is silent?” I asked.

Aunt Ruth gave a small smile and rolled her eyes.

“I can be a little… spiky,” she said. “Especially when it comes to getting things that I want.”

Was it my imagination, or did the cougar’s eyes flick over me, giving me the north to south in lightning fast time?

“Come,” Aunt Ruth said, taking me by the arm, “let me give you—and all our new guests—the grand tour.”

“Perhaps a drink might be nice…?” Igor prompted. “It’s been a hell of a trip.”

Aunt Ruth made a little tutting noise of annoyance. She glanced at the mustachioed Rune Mystic. “You’ve always been a rascally pain in the unmentionables, Igor dear, perhaps you can take the day off?”

“Perhaps, I could,” Igor said evenly, “but I’ll be dashed if I’ll be doing it sober.”

We stopped off for a drink or three in a lavishly decorated dining room, which looked as if it had been decorated by a team of paintballers who had been locked in there with a bear for company.

Afterward, Aunt Ruth, with Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock limping along at her side, gave us the tour of enormous log manor. Each room was totally different and unique to the one that had come before it, as if the layout and decor of the house as a whole had never been a consideration. It was so different from any home I entered that I thought it was overwhelmingly marvellous.

It was also stuffed with children.

“Aye,” old Great Granddaddy Gorlbadock said, when I mentioned this to him, “who knew Chaos Magic could lead to such fecundity, eh?”

“They’re all your family?” Idman asked, a note of