Chapter 2.1 - In which Percy hangs around

Author Note:

The start of The Catastrophe Collector Book 2 coincides with Chapter 51 of A Practical Guide To Sorcery, "Saved by the Enemy." (Book 2 Chapter 14)

If you haven't read the first book yet, it is currently available in full here and also for sale in ebook/audiobook/paperback. It might also be a good time to refresh yourself on the story so far, since it's been a while since I finished the previous book. 

If you'd like a quick recap, CliffNotes style, I've posted one on the Alcove: https://alcove.azaleaellis.com/t/the-catastrophe-collector-book-1-larva-recap/846

Percy

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 9:15 a.m.

Percy squeezed the tree branch above his head fearfully, one eye on the ground below. The back of his jacket was snagged on the stubborn branch, leaving him suspended like an oversized, gangly ornament. He could touch a larger branch below with his foot, but was by no means well-supported or safe. He twisted, trying to free himself, but only managed to almost lose his footing.

His heart pounded in his ears as he steadied himself, and he shuddered at the distance to the street below. “My thrice-cursed luck!” he muttered bitterly. The rogue magic sirens were still wailing in the distance, and the ringing in his ears left him feeling dangerously off-balance. The streets below had already emptied of anyone who might notice or help him.

A furious chatter drew his attention to a nearby hole in the trunk. An irate squirrel glared out at him, its tiny paws twitching as if itching to shove him out of its territory.

“Look,” Percy said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t choose to invade your home.”

The squirrel’s tail flicked dismissively. 

“I’m trying to leave, but I can’t. Believe me, I would love to be hiding somewhere underground and safe right now. That’s literally what I was trying to do before I got stuck here. I’m not some idiot who just stays outside to sate my curiosity when the sirens go off!” Percy knew he was babbling, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. 

The squirrel chattered again, its tone slightly more conversational. 

“I was just trying to get home, but then someone knocked into me. Everyone knows what the sirens mean. Rogue magic. In the worst case, an Aberrant. People running, shoving, screaming. I stumbled right onto that board,” he told the squirrel, gesturing to where it lay beneath the tree. “It was balanced on a tipped-over barrel, see?” Percy knew it was slightly crazy to start talking to an animal, but if he didn’t do something to distract himself from the panic, he was worried he might lose it. When bad luck hit, it was even more important that he kept his wits about him.

The squirrel chittered, distinctly unimpressed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Stupid of me not to notice, right? But before I could catch my balance, the other end shot up like a—” Percy paused, searching for the right word. “Like a catapult. Next thing I knew, I was sailing through the air.”

He gestured at his predicament with his free hand. “And now I’m stuck here, talking to a squirrel. Because apparently, that’s just how my day is going.” He laughed bleakly.

The squirrel seemed to nod sagely, as if it understood the fickle nature of luck all too well.

Percy’s eyes stung with unshed tears as he clung to the tree branch, his heart heavy with a familiar disappointment. “I don’t suppose you could do something to get me down?”

The squirrel disappeared back into its hole.

Several people had seen him fly through the air and get stuck in the tree, but perhaps because it was so absurd, his predicament only seemed to deepen the panic of those beneath him. Perhaps they thought he’d been blown away by magic, and they might be next. Or perhaps they simply couldn’t spare the energy to care about anyone else when their own lives were at stake.

When he’d realized he was stuck, Percy had called out for help, but everyone ignored him. Eventually, one kind woman hurrying past with a small child in tow had paused and promised to alert the coppers, but Percy knew better than to hope.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, another bitter laugh catching in his throat. “Trapped in a tree during a rogue magic incident. It’s like the universe is writing bad comedy.”

Yet the absurdity of his situation wasn’t what truly bothered him. It was the crushing weight of inevitability. How many times had he found himself in similarly preposterous predicaments? The tattoo on his wrist had been working overtime to counteract his perpetual bad luck, but clearly, it was fighting a losing battle.

Percy’s gaze drifted to the distant shimmer of the Charybdis Gulf. He’d ventured out at dawn to capture the aurora shrimps’ magical light show during their breeding season. The memory of those ethereal colors dancing across the water’s surface seemed a world away now.

What if the tattoo stopped working altogether? The thought sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the cool morning air. And if his luck was getting worse… He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

He shifted carefully, wincing as the branch creaked ominously beneath him, and tried to console himself with the thought of the beautiful images he had captured before this, patting the camera obscura bag still miraculously slung across his shoulder. Though at this rate, he might not live long enough to develop the photographs, let alone sell them.

Several helpless minutes later, when Percy’s body had started to grow tired of the constant fear, their rogue magic sirens finally stopped their piercing screech. Presumably, most of the city was safe within the emergency shelters by now. And, as if manifested by that thought, movement drew Percy’s attention.

Someone was approaching on the street below. They were hurrying—but not fleeing—and wearing what looked to be some kind of bulky protective gear.

Percy opened his mouth to call for help, squinting through his smudged glasses, but as the person drew closer, he was able to make out more details.

It seemed to be a man, but his ensemble was bizarre and unsettling—goggles, a breathing mask, bulky leather gloves reaching up to the elbows, and an oversized leather apron splattered with what looked disturbingly like blood. Three large barrels were strapped to the person’s back in some sort of harness contraption. They must have been using magic to support the weight, since the barrels were larger than they were, altogether. Either that, or it wasn’t a human beneath that outfit.

Something—perhaps a hard-earned wariness born from years of misfortune—kept Percy silent. He remained frozen in place, barely daring to breathe as he observed the strange scene unfolding beneath him.

The figure reached into a pocket and withdrew what Percy recognized with a jolt of fear as a battle wand. Without hesitation, they aimed it at the door of a nearby house and fired. The blast echoed through the empty street as the door was blown off its hinges.

Percy’s knees trembled as he suppressed a whimper. A tiny part of him hoped that the person was breaking in to rescue someone trapped inside the house.

But then they knelt down and heaved one of the barrels off of the harness contraption. After prying off the top, they reached inside and drew out something pale coated in a thick, slippery red. 

Percy didn’t recognize what they were holding, but it made his skin prickle with unease, and he flinched at the wet, meaty splat as they tossed it into the doorway.

Next, they tossed out a handful of something chunky, a gelatinous red-brown substance. It was only when they pulled out a ropy grey bundle that trailed wetly behind their fist, with one end stretching from the barrel like a too-long noodle that Percy recognized exactly what the person was spreading about. That was a loop of intestines. Which meant that the rest had been blood and flesh. And not just the kind of meat his mom could buy at the butcher’s.

Percy heaved, his stomach twisting and squeezing as if he had been punched in the gut by a troll.

As the person heaved the barrel back up and moved onto the next doorway with quick, heavy steps to repeat the entire process, Percy’s eyes searched for identifying features among the meat—fingers, toes, hooves. He identified no clues, but it didn’t actually matter. Because what could this be, if not for blood sorcery? Of course, it would be worse if those were all pieces of other people, but a rogue blood magic practitioner could still kill plenty of people with the Sacrifice of a pig.

He was witnessing a blood sorcerer preparing for a massive ritual. This person was the reason the rogue magic sirens had gone off.

“Oh, freaking Myrddin,” Percy whispered, his voice barely audible even to himself. He pressed his thick lips together and bit down on them from the inside, terrified that even the slightest sound might attract the sorcerer’s attention.

The blood sorcerer worked with eerie efficiency, tossing viscera in artful splatters, but seemed to be going for speed rather than precision. There were no carefully drawn spell arrays here.

The air seemed to thin and ring faintly, like a crystal glass being stroked just right around the rim.

Percy’s eyelids fluttered, and he took a sudden, gasping breath. He had been holding his breath without realizing it.

The squirrel poked it head out again, and, as if oblivious to the danger, chittered again. Now that the sirens had stopped, its high-pitched voice was clearly audible.

The sorcerer paused in their work, head tilting as if listening for something.

Percy held his breath, praying to any deity that might be listening that the person wouldn’t look up and spot him in his precarious perch. The seconds stretched into an eternity as he waited, frozen in terror.

The blood sorcerer moved on to the next house, already finished with the first barrel of gore and reaching for the second.

Percy silently thanked the tattoo on his left wrist. Normally, this was a moment where his bad luck would have given him away.

Suddenly, a sickening crack echoed through the air. The branch supporting him gave way, and Percy plummeted towards the ground. On the way down, he slammed into another branch and began to slide off it. He flailed wildly, desperately grasping at leaves and twigs, but failed to catch the branch and halt his descent.

He hit the cobblestones knees first, the rest of his body following a half second behind with a bone-jarring thud. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water. At the attempt to breathe, a sharp pain lanced through his side. He’d cracked at least one rib, and his knees felt as if they were pulverized. He lay there, stunned and struggling to breathe, to rise, to do anything useful. But, despite the imminent danger, his body refused to cooperate.

As Percy fought to regain control, heavy footsteps approached. Panic surged through him and he tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled and gave out beneath him. The world spun, and nausea sent a mouthful of saliva spilling over his lips onto the cobblestones under his face. He tilted his head to the side and looked up with one eye.

The sorcerer loomed over him, a blurry, nightmarish figure backlit by the grey winter sky. Their boot came down on Percy’s shirt, pinning him to the ground.

Percy’s mind raced, searching for a way out of this predicament, and with his first small sip of air, Percy croaked, “Wait!”

The person paused.

Percy managed another breathe, slightly deeper. “It’s not what you think!” he added.

The weight of the sorcerer’s foot lifted slightly. “Why are you here?” Their voice indicated it was a man beneath the suit, slightly out of breath and with a commoner’s accent.

Percy opened his mouth to speak, but his thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. As the boot began to press down again, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “They… they sent me to make sure you’re doing things right!”

Author Note:

Since chapters of this story are a bit shorter than PGTS's average, I'll be doing some bonus chapters during the hiatus. Once PGTS starts back up again, TCC will slow down to (approximately) 1 chapter per week. 

I'll be back on Monday with the next chapter. :)

Weekly chapter discussion thread on the Alcove: https://alcove.azaleaellis.com/t/chapter-2-1-weekly-discussion-in-which-percy-hangs-around/845