Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars Read online

  Madison Mosby

  and the

  Moonmilk Wars

  By: Jason Winn

  License Notes

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or real people is strictly coincidence.

  Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

  Copyright © 2019 by Jason Winn

  All rights reserved, including rights to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form.

  Cover photo by Melissa Winn

  ISBN-13: 978-1718199798

  Web: www.JasonWinn.com

  Books by Jason Winn

  The Moonmilk Saga

  Madison Mosby and the Rose Widow

  Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

  Novels

  The G Crisis

  Fortress Pentagon

  For regular updates on new books, signup for the Jason Winn newsletter here - http://www.jasonwinn.com/newsletter/

  Subscribers will be sent exclusive bonus material from the world of Madison Mosby.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  For Mary Lou

  You are the inspiration for Nancy Mosby and the greatest woman I ever knew.

  I miss you so much, grandma.

  Argument

  Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars is the second volume in the Moonmilk Saga, a story inspired by a challenge to myself to blend two desperate worlds together; “Harry Potter” and “Breaking Bad.” The Moonmilk Saga follows the Mosby Family as they negotiate the resurgence of magic in the real world and eventually fight to control it.

  The first book, Madison Mosby and the Rose Widow tells how Madison, a twenty-something cook discovers that magic is real and her long missing grandmother was a supplier and power broker to sorcerers. She was known only as the Rose Widow. Nancy has been missing for seven years. As Madison delves deeper into the world, she will learn of a civil war raging in the shadows. The survival of sorcerers across the globe is at stake.

  In the beginning of the story, the magical world is in turmoil. A group called Finale has been killing off sorcerers and searching for the legendary Shiloh Library. The library contains a wealth of spells, potion recipes and magical items, collected by Nancy Mosby over decades. Control of the Shiloh Library would give anyone considerable power. Ex-army Colonel Nathan Trask is working for Finale in America, assisted by Patricia Churchill. The two have discovered that Langston Stavro, a board member of Nancy Mosby’s company Blue Petal, mentioned the Shiloh Library in an overseas phone call.

  As the story unfolds, Langston, who is in fact a sorcerer, contacts Madison and teaches her about her grandmother. Nancy Mosby was the finest brewer of a potion called Moonmilk – which rejuvenates sorcerers after casting spells. Langston is desperate to destroy Finale in an attempt to save his fellow sorcerers from extinction. He needs Madison’s help in brewing the Rose Widow’s Moonmilk to maintain his ability to cast spells.

  Colonel Trask attempts to trap Langston and then torture him for the secret location of the Shiloh Library. Langston makes a daring escape after learning of Trask’s true intentions. Meanwhile Madison, with the assistance of her new friend Sarah, is balancing her tumultuous personal life with sifting through the remnants of her grandmother’s estate. This is complicated by Nancy’s neerdowell brother Robard, who has had Nancy legally declared dead and who is looking to sell off her assets. Madison must find the Moonmilk recipe before everything, including the means to brew Moonmilk is sold off in an estate sale.

  Langston motivates Madison to find the secret of Nancy’s Moonmilk, by telling her that she will net millions of dollars, lifting her out of her crippling debt and save what is left from her family’s position in the magical underworld. He gives her a choice, keep living her shitty, go-nowhere life or become wealthy, powerful and the savior of the Mosby Family empire.

  Patricia and Trask eventually learn of Madison’s identity and decide to go after her, instead of Langston. In a last-ditch effort to corner Madison, Trask kidnaps Madison’s sister Dana and finance Reese. Reese is killed and Dana is held hostage. Trask demands the location of the Shiloh Library in return for Dana’s life. Madison tricks Trask into releasing Dana by giving him fake spell books she claims are all that is left of the Shiloh Library.

  Madison Mosby and the Rose Widow ends with Madison learning the recipe for Moonmilk, while at the same time defeating Colonel Trask and his private army. She saves the Mosby estate by letting Langston kill Robard in a freak car accident. Langston helps Madison with her first Moonmilk sale and gives her the Black Compass, which will guide her to the Shiloh Library.

  Chapter 1

  Coral Glass – foundational material used in the production of magic-infused crystals. The glass is formed underwater, drawing the necessary minerals from the byproducts of various breeds of aquatic life. The exact combination of fish and plants is unknown. Once the Coral Glass is large enough, it is harvested, and a decanter is used to channel a spell into the crystal.

  Excerpt from Magiske Uddannelse - p. 342

  English translation - Alexander Hamilton

  Last known location -
Commander’s Library, Fort Black Rocks, Nevis

  ***

  Cigarette smoke swirled above Contessa Morano’s head, impervious to the wind coming in from the balcony. It took the shape of a sparrow, before transforming into a snake. A thin, placid cloud filled the sitting room, caressing everything. Through the cloud, Contessa felt the rich carpet, the writing desk, the antique mirrors, and the Baccarat chandeliers.

  The door opened and her son Corrado entered. He drifted across the room, though the smoke, stopping to look at himself a mirror. He fidgeted with the tan suit she’d selected for him that morning and made sure his black hair with its white streaks was neat enough. He stopped behind her chair, no doubt trying to avoid eye contact. She knew he didn’t want to displease her, which could earn him time behind a locked door. Contessa believed everyone in her circle should remain in a state of perpetual fear.

  “He’s coming,” Corrado said over his mother’s shoulder.

  The slender young man’s pasty skin gave him the look of perpetual motion sickness.

  The Monument was early. Good, thought Contessa. Better to get the money now, conclude this business and go to the club for lunch.

  Contessa rose to her feet, slapping away her son’s hand on her elbow. She wasn’t much taller standing, but her knees still worked well enough. At eighty-nine, most women her age were dwelling on funeral parlors or talking about dead friends over knitting needles or a game of Mahjong. Her long black hair glimmered in the morning sunlight, flowing down her red silk jacket. The spa stylists saw to it there wasn’t a streak of gray or split end.

  She took one last look out at the trees stretching off toward the horizon before adjusting her tinted glasses, lighting a fresh cigarette, and turning to lead Corrado out of the room. It would take a while for Monument’s people to drag him into the parlor downstairs, so there was no need to hurry.

  Contessa’s Moonmilk empire was supported by a handful of wealthy sorcerers, desperate to outlive the magical purge that began almost ten years ago. Philadelphia wasn’t the most active market on the East Coast, but it was one of the shinier jewels in the old Rose Widow’s operation. Recently, the disappearances had ceased. Customers were once again coming to her couriers looking for vials of her Moonmilk. The rejuvenating tonic that cleared the mind and allowed for spells to be cast.

  And while the effects of their spells were hidden from public view, Contessa could sense sorcerers at work, leveraging magic for personal, political or economic gain. The money was flowing back into her offshore accounts, and once again members of the magical underworld came to her for council and favors.

  Old friends were emerging from the darkness, and for the first time in four years she would be able to host her annual gala, where all of the country’s most powerful sorcerers would come and kiss her ring.

  She proceeded to her parlor, the closest room to the front door. She didn’t want Monument’s wheels tracking mud and dust any further into the house.

  Ten minutes later, the sounds of grunting and heavy feet announced his arrival. Two of Contessa’s servants opened the heavy, oak double doors to reveal eight men in columns of four, carrying an ivory box the size of a large coffin. Sun radiated off the enameled finish, so bright that Contessa squinted, instead of turning away. Corrado whimpered behind her.

  Thick posts suspended the box off the ground, each man carrying his section of the post, like a pallbearer. A small, hunchbacked man led the way, his eyes darted in all directions. Red blotches covered the tight skin on his cheeks and bald head. He carried a carved, two-foot long stick, with jewels at one end glimmering in the sunlight.

  The old man had a name, but everyone knew him simply as “the linguist”—one who speaks for the master.

  A smile fought its way to Contessa’s lips, but she suppressed it, not wanting to show her elation at the customer’s arrival, and subsequently his money. Which one had her cash? She reminded herself not to use his nickname, before walking over to greet him. The last person to call him Monument was burned alive by one of his zealots.

  The pallbearers lowered one end of the box to the floor and upended the other. With a few grunts, mixed with quiet murmurs, the box stood upright. It looked like a monolith, or a tombstone, marking the man that once was. It stood at least seven feet tall and three feet wide. Contessa couldn’t help but notice that all the men were young with long hair tied back in those stupid man-buns. Did they want to wear those, or were they told to?

  Hipster monks. How twenty-first century.

  The linguist stepped forward, rapping the end of his special stick against his palm, and the door swung open. Corrado shuffled his feet as Monument was slid from his mobile chamber.

  Out of pure darkness emerged a half statue, half man. An ornate ebony pedestal, resembling the base of a Roman column, elevated him eight inches off the ground. His lips twisted downward across clinched teeth.

  His right arm was curved upwards, protecting his face. He looked like someone trying to shield himself from a searchlight, or the swing of a baseball bat. His head was turned to the left.

  He had tried to angle away from the blast that converted half his body from flesh to black marble. His raised arm had protected his head from the nose up, but the rest of his body’s exterior, save his left arm, had been transformed into marble. Presumably, Monument’s back and sections of his lower legs were still normal, but Contessa had never tried to steal a peek. Fine white silk covered his chest and legs, like some Roman emperor.

  The explosion that turned Monument into a half statue, half man was by all accounts an accident, his early discovery of crystal magic, literally blowing up in his face. He spoke the magic phrase too close to the crystal. The spell trapped inside, had been used in the ancient world by impatient oligarchs to create statues quickly, meaning that any number of ancient statues in museums had once been people.

  With great care, the attendants turned Monument so he could stare down at Contessa.

  The linguist stole a quick glance at Monument’s good hand before turning to address Contessa.

  “Reverend Tucker wishes you good morning,” said the linguist.

  “Mmm, Reverend Tucker, so good to see you again. I’ve missed you,” Contessa lied. At this point she always wanted to reach up and shake his frozen right hand, but that would not go over well with the attendants. They were fanatic disciples, or so the rumors went. She settled for a polite bow.

  Unable to talk, Monument communicated via hand gestures with his left hand. The linguist watched these attentively, before speaking again. “Reverend Tucker would like to know when he can expect you to hear his gospel.”

  Never, you little worm. She wondered what would happen if she grabbed that sparkle stick and beat him over the head with it.

  “I will be free soon. Can I call you when the time is right? I’m sorry, but I am a prisoner of my organization.”

  Monument’s eyes narrowed, the way they do when people laugh. Those who could laugh anyway. Hopefully he wouldn’t belabor the point. Contessa wasn’t going to go listen to his dogma in some musty church basement, so there was no point in continuing this part of the pleasantries.

  “In the meantime, would you like to review the latest order?” Contessa asked. She snapped her finger and two of her men brought out a rugged plastic crate, set it next to her and opened it. Inside, a hundred vials of neon-red Moonmilk lay in individual cradles, the color a derivative of South African Scarlotta grapes.

  Monument’s eyes drifted down to the open crate and back to the linguist.

  “Reverend Tucker has decided to reduce his order by half.”

  The words rattled Contessa. She swallowed and steadied herself. “I’m sorry. Half?”

  “Yes.” The linguist grinned. He took a little too much pleasure in his work. “While your product is beyond measure, and Reverend Tucker is grateful for your commitment to his patronage, he has decided to renegotiate his contract with your organization.”

  Contessa wanted
to jump forward and strangle the smug little man. Then she would have Corrado knock over the piece of living art and watch him shatter. How dare he renege on their agreement. Tucker had been a reliable client for years. What was this all about? She took out a cigarette, lit it and blew a cloud of smoke between her and the linguist.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Contessa. “Falling on hard financial times can be challenging. I’d be happy to work out an affordable payment plan.”

  The linguist scowled at the insult to his master. “That is not the reason behind the change. Reverend Tucker is beloved by his followers, and they shower him with gifts of love and support. More so now, than ever. It’s just that he’s found a Moonmilk more suitable to his tastes. I’m sure you understand.”

  Contessa willed the smoke into tendrils and sent them to slither at the linguist’s feet, not touching him, but close enough for him to feel threatened.

  “I understand perfectly. I’m sorry to hear that we cannot live up to his demanding tastes.”

  There was someone else out there, brewing and selling Moonmilk. Someone else cutting into her business. But who? Whoever they were, Contessa would kill them and find out how their recipe was superior to hers.

  Within fifteen minutes, half the order was carted off to Monument’s caravan of cars as he was being put back into his box and carried out.

  Contessa whirled to look at her son. “Take Desmond and find out who is selling in our territory and bring them to me.” He nodded and left Contessa alone to simmer.

  How many other customers were dealing with this intruder? she wondered.

  Chapter 2

  Dateline: Richmond, Virginia

  Gavel Falls on Largest Private Land Sale of the Twentieth Century

  Tuesday, June 15, 1971

  125,459 acres, spanning Clarke, Warren, Page and Shenandoah counties sold today to an anonymous bidder for a price of $13,500,000. The plot of land, formally owned by the West Virginia Rail and Telegraph Company, was expected to fetch no more than $10,000,000. The winner bested several national timber and mining companies to come out on top after a spirited round of bidding that lasted almost half an hour.