A Touch of Fever: Chapter 1
Over four hundred pounds of pure gryphon came soaring towards me from on high, the creature’s flight shattering the air like a jet engine. His eyes flashed, trained on me like brilliant lasers, his muscular front legs outstretched, claws as sharp as knives gleaming in the midday sun. The gryphon shrieked in his terrifying descent, his beak as lethal as the very jaws of death. I stood my ground, waiting as he flew closer, and closer. Too close.
I punched him right in the face.
The gryphon spiraled and twisted with the blow, crying out at the impact, the trajectory of his flight bending away sharply as he wobbled in the air to regain his composure. But it takes more than a right hook to really put a number on an adult gryphon. If anything, all I did was make him angrier.
“You dare,” the gryphon cried into the sky, soaring higher, angling for another dive-bombing attempt. “You dare strike me in the face, little human?”
“The name’s Jackson Pryde,” I shouted back, my hands cupped around my mouth. “And you’d do best to remember that.”
The gryphon screeched, furious. Okay, so maybe the punch had hurt more than I thought. I might have downplayed that part. Thing is, punches are guaranteed to hurt a lot more when they’re delivered with all the weight and brute force of the Gauntlet behind them. The normally cold sheath of metal over my hand had gone warmer, both from the heat of the day and the expenditure of magical energy. I readied the Gauntlet as the gryphon closed in again, the air itself whistling with his approach.
I wasn’t ready for the gryphon to bodyslam me.
Every bone in my body screamed for mercy as the full brunt of the creature smashed into my torso, throwing me off my legs and halfway across the dusty clifftop he called home. Jagged little rocks and bits of debris pressed and scraped into my skin as I rolled myself away. I didn’t often regret wearing a tank top for hot days like this one, but exposed skin just meant more surface area for the gryphon to rip into shreds, whether by force or circumstance.
I blinked hard, trying to collect my senses despite the throbbing pain in my ribs. I liked to think that it should’ve taken more than a gryphon bum rush to throw me completely out of whack. I mean, I wasn’t exactly a slouch in the physique department. Beating up on metal and machinery does the body good. But I was still only human, after all. My head spun as I searched the clifftop, the gryphon’s laughter echoing from somewhere nearby. Typical gryphon. Half eagle, half lion, pure asshole.
“Come,” I slurred, struggling to form a sentence. “Come out and show yourself, birdbrains.”
The gryphon’s voice came from somewhere behind me. Or was he above me? I spun on my heels, going dizzy again.
“The pink, fleshy manling thinks to insult my intellect, when his own is about as complicated as a gnat’s. I imagine that even the youngest, littlest sparrow has more brains to spare than you.”
“Am not dumb,” I roared, making an excellent case for my superior IQ. I was stunned, okay? Disoriented from being tossed around like a rag doll. On a good day, Jackson Pryde is a competent artificer, a tinkerer of complex arcane technology.
On bad days, I’m a gryphon’s scratching post.
I flexed my fingers so that they crooked like talons, the segments of the Gauntlet following suit. Trails of energy surged towards it, siphoned from the little traces of magical essence my body held. Can’t be good at magic? No problem. Be an artificer. Build miracles. Wield lightning in the palm of your hand.
In time I would perfect the Gauntlet’s power, with more research, tinkering, and materials. And I’d need money to do all that, but the money could come from that big, juicy reward back at the Black Market, something about a murder. But that could wait for later.
With a triumphant shout, I extended the Gauntlet up high, punching into the sky. Blue arcs of arcane lightning danced across its surface, charging the Gauntlet with enough power for a definitive burst, enough electricity to take down a gryphon. I was going to tase him right in the face, serve him an electrical knuckle sandwich.
I raced towards the gryphon, my arm drawn back as I readied a blow strong enough to split the sky. The Gauntlet crackled with magic, my masterpiece, the jewel in my artificer’s crown. The gryphon dug his claws into the earth, daring me to rush him head-on. The Gauntlet sizzled, then sputtered. I stumbled instead of running, my feet almost tangling underneath me as I slowed to check on my baby, bringing the fingers of my free hand up to reconfigure it if needed.
Big mistake.
A jolt of electricity surged up my arm, searing my insides with white-hot lightning, with bolts of energy that should have been strong enough to flash-fry me from within. My teeth chattered as I did all I could to deal with the feedback, which was to flop around uselessly while my body served as a conduit for the supercharged spiritual battery strapped to my arm. Something wet and warm trickled down my chin. I was drooling. Blood would have been much less embarrassing. I convulsed one last time, then crumpled to the ground, spent.
The Gauntlet had very literally sucked the life out of me. I did as all artificers would, creating a device meant to amplify the tiny, tiny tanks of magical fuel we held in our bodies. I wasn’t a mage, never would be one, and for once I was truly grateful. The Gauntlet had burned out all of my essence. Much more of that and I probably would have been a goner. If my gas tank had been bigger, it would’ve kept on going, hard and long enough to kill me.
I heaved, my lips dry as I stared up at a clear, cloudless sky. I thought I could smell something burning, possibly the tips of my hair. It was probably even curlier, too. The ground scraped and gently shuddered with each of the gryphon’s steps. He padded up to me, staring ferociously out of huge eyes that glimmered like brown jewels. The gryphon placed a single paw on my chest. I grunted at the weight of it. In a flash, his eyes were no longer steely, this time sparkling with humor. Delight. Mockery. The gryphon threw his head back and laughed.
“I win again, human. So many months in a row. How many victories does that make now?”
The gryphon laughed again when I swatted his paw away from my chest.
“I lost count,” I grumbled.
The gryphon cawed, then guffawed. “It seems you have also lost count of the number of times your metal talons have betrayed you.”
I sat up, rubbing at the back of my neck, scowling. “Zephyr, man. Okay? Can you not? I thought I was coming so close to a breakthrough, too.”
Perfecting the Gauntlet meant more to me than anything. It would restore honor to the artificer’s guild, for one. And I’d finally have a creation of my own to profit from, so I wouldn’t have to constantly turn myself into a human punching bag at Zephyr’s gryphon boxing gym. I glared down at the Gauntlet, feeling deeply betrayed, yet somewhat afraid to touch it in case it decided to use my beautiful body as a lightning conductor again.
Zephyr pawed at the ground thoughtfully, tilting his head as he studied the Gauntlet out of one eye. “Perhaps it is time you considered other pursuits, then.”
I sprang to my feet, re-energized by his negativity. “Hell, no. I can do it. I just know I can.” I shook my hand in the air, more out of anger than disappointment. The Gauntlet clanked defiantly. “I just have to tweak a few more things, okay?”
The gryphon shrugged with powerful, sculpted shoulders that would’ve put a competitive bodybuilder to shame. “If you say so, human.”
“Jackson,” I reminded him. “I’ve been bringing you chickens for how long now, Zephyr? At least call me by my name.”
The gryphon rolled his eyes, because he was not only expressive, but pointedly sassy. “Very well, Son of Jack. I shall endeavor to remember.”
We played this stupid game every time I visited. Each time I dragged myself up to his clifftop eyrie, Zephyr would pretend to forget my name. At least I liked to pretend that he was only pretending. I liked to believe that Zephyr thought of me as nearly a friend. Most humans would have been killed on sight, but me and Zeph, we had something special going on.
Zephyr spread his wings and shook them, dislodging a cloud of fluff and feathers, and that something special came drifting to the ground. I tried not to look so excited about reaching for some of the more well-preserved feathers, which had pretty beneficial applications for the alchemists and enchanters who knew how to use them. Zephyr didn’t seem to care that I brought some home with me every time, not when I made sure to fulfill my end of the bargain.
I pulled a picnic blanket out of my backpack, setting it down near the edge of the cliff where Zephyr liked to eat. Sullenly I shoved the Gauntlet deep into the bag, then groped around for the grub I’d packed for us. My hand brushed against a sheet of parchment. It was the flyer I’d grabbed from a Black Market lamppost, the one promising a reward for bringing a killer to justice. My spine tingled as my eyes took in the absurd number of zeroes attached to the end of that reward. I folded the flyer carefully, putting it back in the bag, sifting around again for the food. A thermos of chilled coffee and a loaded BLT for me, and a whole rotisserie chicken for Zephyr.
“Time for lunch?” I asked, motioning towards the picnic blanket.
Zephyr held perfectly still, watching like a hawk as I unwrapped the chicken, grease smearing my fingers. His gaze followed as I lifted it in the air, then tossed it off the cliff, the way he liked.
The cry of a bird the size of a horse pierced the sky as Zephyr launched himself forward. His powerful beak snapped at the chicken, his wings beating like thunder in a pattern of brilliant brown and white.
Fucking majestic.
Zephyr circled back around, landing with a heavy thump onto the comfort of my picnic blanket, fidgeting with the chicken with his paws, tearing into it with his beak. We ate in silence side by side, looking over the rocks and spires he called home, somewhere high up in California, away from the prying eyes of humankind. Where in California? Well, that was our little secret.
I wiped my hands off on the blanket, folding it smudged side in before stashing it among my things.
“Same time next month?” I asked, shrugging on my backpack.
“It would be my pleasure,” the gryphon said.
When I left, I could feel Zephyr’s eyes watching my back. As I descended from his secret eyrie, I thought I heard him purring.
I punched him right in the face.
The gryphon spiraled and twisted with the blow, crying out at the impact, the trajectory of his flight bending away sharply as he wobbled in the air to regain his composure. But it takes more than a right hook to really put a number on an adult gryphon. If anything, all I did was make him angrier.
“You dare,” the gryphon cried into the sky, soaring higher, angling for another dive-bombing attempt. “You dare strike me in the face, little human?”
“The name’s Jackson Pryde,” I shouted back, my hands cupped around my mouth. “And you’d do best to remember that.”
The gryphon screeched, furious. Okay, so maybe the punch had hurt more than I thought. I might have downplayed that part. Thing is, punches are guaranteed to hurt a lot more when they’re delivered with all the weight and brute force of the Gauntlet behind them. The normally cold sheath of metal over my hand had gone warmer, both from the heat of the day and the expenditure of magical energy. I readied the Gauntlet as the gryphon closed in again, the air itself whistling with his approach.
I wasn’t ready for the gryphon to bodyslam me.
Every bone in my body screamed for mercy as the full brunt of the creature smashed into my torso, throwing me off my legs and halfway across the dusty clifftop he called home. Jagged little rocks and bits of debris pressed and scraped into my skin as I rolled myself away. I didn’t often regret wearing a tank top for hot days like this one, but exposed skin just meant more surface area for the gryphon to rip into shreds, whether by force or circumstance.
I blinked hard, trying to collect my senses despite the throbbing pain in my ribs. I liked to think that it should’ve taken more than a gryphon bum rush to throw me completely out of whack. I mean, I wasn’t exactly a slouch in the physique department. Beating up on metal and machinery does the body good. But I was still only human, after all. My head spun as I searched the clifftop, the gryphon’s laughter echoing from somewhere nearby. Typical gryphon. Half eagle, half lion, pure asshole.
“Come,” I slurred, struggling to form a sentence. “Come out and show yourself, birdbrains.”
The gryphon’s voice came from somewhere behind me. Or was he above me? I spun on my heels, going dizzy again.
“The pink, fleshy manling thinks to insult my intellect, when his own is about as complicated as a gnat’s. I imagine that even the youngest, littlest sparrow has more brains to spare than you.”
“Am not dumb,” I roared, making an excellent case for my superior IQ. I was stunned, okay? Disoriented from being tossed around like a rag doll. On a good day, Jackson Pryde is a competent artificer, a tinkerer of complex arcane technology.
On bad days, I’m a gryphon’s scratching post.
I flexed my fingers so that they crooked like talons, the segments of the Gauntlet following suit. Trails of energy surged towards it, siphoned from the little traces of magical essence my body held. Can’t be good at magic? No problem. Be an artificer. Build miracles. Wield lightning in the palm of your hand.
In time I would perfect the Gauntlet’s power, with more research, tinkering, and materials. And I’d need money to do all that, but the money could come from that big, juicy reward back at the Black Market, something about a murder. But that could wait for later.
With a triumphant shout, I extended the Gauntlet up high, punching into the sky. Blue arcs of arcane lightning danced across its surface, charging the Gauntlet with enough power for a definitive burst, enough electricity to take down a gryphon. I was going to tase him right in the face, serve him an electrical knuckle sandwich.
I raced towards the gryphon, my arm drawn back as I readied a blow strong enough to split the sky. The Gauntlet crackled with magic, my masterpiece, the jewel in my artificer’s crown. The gryphon dug his claws into the earth, daring me to rush him head-on. The Gauntlet sizzled, then sputtered. I stumbled instead of running, my feet almost tangling underneath me as I slowed to check on my baby, bringing the fingers of my free hand up to reconfigure it if needed.
Big mistake.
A jolt of electricity surged up my arm, searing my insides with white-hot lightning, with bolts of energy that should have been strong enough to flash-fry me from within. My teeth chattered as I did all I could to deal with the feedback, which was to flop around uselessly while my body served as a conduit for the supercharged spiritual battery strapped to my arm. Something wet and warm trickled down my chin. I was drooling. Blood would have been much less embarrassing. I convulsed one last time, then crumpled to the ground, spent.
The Gauntlet had very literally sucked the life out of me. I did as all artificers would, creating a device meant to amplify the tiny, tiny tanks of magical fuel we held in our bodies. I wasn’t a mage, never would be one, and for once I was truly grateful. The Gauntlet had burned out all of my essence. Much more of that and I probably would have been a goner. If my gas tank had been bigger, it would’ve kept on going, hard and long enough to kill me.
I heaved, my lips dry as I stared up at a clear, cloudless sky. I thought I could smell something burning, possibly the tips of my hair. It was probably even curlier, too. The ground scraped and gently shuddered with each of the gryphon’s steps. He padded up to me, staring ferociously out of huge eyes that glimmered like brown jewels. The gryphon placed a single paw on my chest. I grunted at the weight of it. In a flash, his eyes were no longer steely, this time sparkling with humor. Delight. Mockery. The gryphon threw his head back and laughed.
“I win again, human. So many months in a row. How many victories does that make now?”
The gryphon laughed again when I swatted his paw away from my chest.
“I lost count,” I grumbled.
The gryphon cawed, then guffawed. “It seems you have also lost count of the number of times your metal talons have betrayed you.”
I sat up, rubbing at the back of my neck, scowling. “Zephyr, man. Okay? Can you not? I thought I was coming so close to a breakthrough, too.”
Perfecting the Gauntlet meant more to me than anything. It would restore honor to the artificer’s guild, for one. And I’d finally have a creation of my own to profit from, so I wouldn’t have to constantly turn myself into a human punching bag at Zephyr’s gryphon boxing gym. I glared down at the Gauntlet, feeling deeply betrayed, yet somewhat afraid to touch it in case it decided to use my beautiful body as a lightning conductor again.
Zephyr pawed at the ground thoughtfully, tilting his head as he studied the Gauntlet out of one eye. “Perhaps it is time you considered other pursuits, then.”
I sprang to my feet, re-energized by his negativity. “Hell, no. I can do it. I just know I can.” I shook my hand in the air, more out of anger than disappointment. The Gauntlet clanked defiantly. “I just have to tweak a few more things, okay?”
The gryphon shrugged with powerful, sculpted shoulders that would’ve put a competitive bodybuilder to shame. “If you say so, human.”
“Jackson,” I reminded him. “I’ve been bringing you chickens for how long now, Zephyr? At least call me by my name.”
The gryphon rolled his eyes, because he was not only expressive, but pointedly sassy. “Very well, Son of Jack. I shall endeavor to remember.”
We played this stupid game every time I visited. Each time I dragged myself up to his clifftop eyrie, Zephyr would pretend to forget my name. At least I liked to pretend that he was only pretending. I liked to believe that Zephyr thought of me as nearly a friend. Most humans would have been killed on sight, but me and Zeph, we had something special going on.
Zephyr spread his wings and shook them, dislodging a cloud of fluff and feathers, and that something special came drifting to the ground. I tried not to look so excited about reaching for some of the more well-preserved feathers, which had pretty beneficial applications for the alchemists and enchanters who knew how to use them. Zephyr didn’t seem to care that I brought some home with me every time, not when I made sure to fulfill my end of the bargain.
I pulled a picnic blanket out of my backpack, setting it down near the edge of the cliff where Zephyr liked to eat. Sullenly I shoved the Gauntlet deep into the bag, then groped around for the grub I’d packed for us. My hand brushed against a sheet of parchment. It was the flyer I’d grabbed from a Black Market lamppost, the one promising a reward for bringing a killer to justice. My spine tingled as my eyes took in the absurd number of zeroes attached to the end of that reward. I folded the flyer carefully, putting it back in the bag, sifting around again for the food. A thermos of chilled coffee and a loaded BLT for me, and a whole rotisserie chicken for Zephyr.
“Time for lunch?” I asked, motioning towards the picnic blanket.
Zephyr held perfectly still, watching like a hawk as I unwrapped the chicken, grease smearing my fingers. His gaze followed as I lifted it in the air, then tossed it off the cliff, the way he liked.
The cry of a bird the size of a horse pierced the sky as Zephyr launched himself forward. His powerful beak snapped at the chicken, his wings beating like thunder in a pattern of brilliant brown and white.
Fucking majestic.
Zephyr circled back around, landing with a heavy thump onto the comfort of my picnic blanket, fidgeting with the chicken with his paws, tearing into it with his beak. We ate in silence side by side, looking over the rocks and spires he called home, somewhere high up in California, away from the prying eyes of humankind. Where in California? Well, that was our little secret.
I wiped my hands off on the blanket, folding it smudged side in before stashing it among my things.
“Same time next month?” I asked, shrugging on my backpack.
“It would be my pleasure,” the gryphon said.
When I left, I could feel Zephyr’s eyes watching my back. As I descended from his secret eyrie, I thought I heard him purring.
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What do you do when you can’t cast spells? You make your own magic.
Jackson Pryde was never great at wielding magic. Instead, he works as an artificer, crafting enchanted devices in the Black Market, a shadowy bazaar of wonders. But Xander Wright, the mouthy, pretentious mage next door, hates all the hammering in Jackson’s workshop. When a chance assignment forces them to team up, they discover a terrifying predicament. Something is driving members of the magical community into murderous rages. Jackson and Xander must combine might and magic to find the source of the Fever and stop it. Can they put aside their differences long enough to end the Fever, or will they succumb to its bloodthirsty curse? A Touch of Fever is a 70,000-word M/M urban fantasy romance with a HFN ending. Join a fast-talking artificer and a snarky sorcerer, best friends turned bitter enemies, as they navigate an adventure filled with strange flora, mythical fauna, and magical murders. If you like your urban fantasy with humor, horror, and a whole lot of heart, you’ve come to the right place. Experience A Touch of Fever today. |