He drew in the energy of the moon with his breath and let out fear and doubt. He opened his mind to Artemis, his patron, his creator. He was one of the Chosen of Artemis. She gave shapeshifters their animal forms and special gifts. She chose Ragged Edge for a purpose and he trusted her with all of his heart. A smile lit up his serene face.
Artemis touched his thoughts with a single, silver spark and his mind was plunged into a vision. He was a raven flying over a darkened Caerton. Lights twinkled below. Cars swept along the roads; people scurried like ants. The city itself was alive and he was witness to it. He soared over the castle, followed the river north and then the lights vanished. Below was nothing but inky blackness. Ahead he could see the docks on the estuary that the river spilled into. They were lit and alive but between them and Old Town there was nothing.
He gazed down into the black and gradually he began to see swirling shapes. Then he was back in the ritual circle in his wolf form, looking at his pack mates. The six wolves stood in a circle, their bright eyes shining in the firelight. Above them the sky was full of ravens beating their feathered wings and singing their discordant song. He was not alone. He was surrounded by power. The golden dome came shimmering down around the shifters and the ravens swooped down into the circle, surrounding the wolves. Ragged Edge felt calm, detached, this was still part of the vision. The black sky above was empty but as he gazed up at it he saw the slip of a crescent moon appearing and quickly waxing to a half moon, then a gibbous and finally becoming full. Its silver light shone down on the wolves and reflected on the shining wings of the ravens still circling them. Beyond the circle a throbbing city emerged from the darkness, bathed in moonlight. Traffic, voices, music; the wonderful chaos of the city was restored.
Ragged Edge’s eyes sprang open and he looked at his human-shaped pack mates around him, all looking at him expectantly. A single raven flew around the circle and the golden dome still shone over them. He grabbed his staff and hauled himself to his feet.
“Well?” Warden asked.
“We need the moon.” He cleared his throat and brushed the dirt and grass from his hands and knees. “We need to accelerate its course.”
“How on earth do we do that?” Two-Doors-Down said, his disbelieving voice echoing dully off the protective dome.
“We’re the Chosen of Artemis,” Ragged Edge said, as calm and steady as he had felt in his vision.
“That’s never meant that we can control the phases of the moon before, brother,” Mjolnir said.
“Just because it’s never been done doesn’t mean it can’t be. Artemis showed me what to do.” He stomped his feet and clapped his hands together, beating out a rhythm. His pack gradually joined him, and the ground trembled under them. He raised his arms over his head and swept them in a great arc, bringing down the dome. Warden let out a stifled cry, but he continued with his plan, undeterred. The ravens cascaded down upon them, swirling around the circle and in between the shifters, narrowly missing the fire that still blazed.
“Woah!” Doors cried as the birds rushed around him, causing him to lose his balance for a moment before recovering himself. He was grinning as he watched the birds in awe.
“Artemis, Mother, hear us!” Ragged Edge called out over the din. “Show us your light!”
“Show us your light!” Echoed his pack, their voices unified. Their feet still pounded the relentless rhythm on the ground and the birds swooped all around them.
“Caerton is broken,” Ragged Edge went on. “Shine your light on the city.”
The fire roared higher and higher in the centre of the circle, the fae within it dancing frantically to the beat of their stomping feet. Ragged Edge drew his knife again and re-opened the cut in his palm. He clamped his raven pendant in his bloody hand and hoisted the cord over his head, raising his clenched fist to the sky. There was a flash of lightning and crash of thunder. Directly over his raised hand the clouds parted, and the ravens flocked out to the sides to reveal a shining crescent moon.
The ground shook and Ragged Edge toppled to his knees. He shifted rapidly into his wolf form, forcing his body to make a change that it had made countless times. He turned his nose to the sky and howled. His pack mates followed his lead and all shifted, like a ripple around the circle. He howled again and all six wolves were calling to the moon above. It waxed a little more, inching towards a half moon. There was a great rush of air and the pressure of gravity seemed to increase, pressing Ragged Edge and his pack into the ground.
As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Ragged Edge started to get to his feet. There was a great sonic boom and Ragged Edge collapsed to the ground. His closing eyes settled on Warden’s stunned, wolf face as she too dropped to the ground.
Felix felt all of their eyes watching him. He took a large swig of his pint of beer. It was the first drink he'd had since the start of this madness. He needed it to get through his story.
“Well,” George said then cleared his throat. “What do you guys make of it?”
Felix glanced up and looked around the cluster of people sat around the table at the back of the quiet pub. They were an odd assortment of people with nothing in common. But they all had that haunted look about them that Felix associated with the people who had been through trauma, like he had. Helen reached across the table and closed her hand over his.
“Thank you for telling us about it.”
Felix gave a nod and slid his hand out from under hers.
“He just healed right in front of you?” A young man next to Helen stared at Felix, a hint of disbelief in his tone.
“Right.”
“I work in A&E,” an older woman said softly. She had a hard face and alert eyes. “I’ve seen wounds that ought to kill a person vanish overnight. Those patients always disappear before we can complete their discharge papers. I believe you.”
“These are things you might see in a film,” George chimed in. “Most people would never expect to see them in real life. But all of us here have seen things that have scared us, alarmed us, made us reconsider our place in the world.” The others nodded and murmured agreement. Felix took another sip of his drink and pressed his free hand down on his trembling knee under the table. “Felix, what happened to you is more direct than anything any of us have experienced. We’ve just had tiny glimpses of the supernatural world. But you’ve stepped right into it.” George looked at him in awe and Felix felt discomfort creeping up his spine.
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” he said, not meeting George’s gaze. He wanted a cigarette. He felt as though he was on display and it made him nervous. His knee had started to bounce again, and he pressed his hand against it to steady it. He felt acutely aware of his handgun in its holster inside his jacket. He wasn’t taking any chances now and was going to stay armed. The law be damned.
“If they’re werewolves, then I wonder if the stuff from films is accurate?” The youngster who had seemed skeptical was gazing just past Felix into the mid-distance, lost in his train of thought.
“What stuff?” Helen asked.
“Like how you kill them.”
“Silver bullets?” George said with absolute seriousness. Felix held back an eye roll.
“Yeah! Where can you get those?”
“You can’t,” Felix said, unable to hide his exasperation completely. “You’d have to make them.” He added hastily.
“Actually,” said the hard-faced woman who worked in A&E. Felix looked at her through slightly narrowed eyes. She reached into a large handbag at her feet and pulled out a small cardboard box. She flipped up the lid and inside were a dozen bullets. Felix reached out and lifted one from the box. It looked more or less like a regular bullet, but it had been tampered with.
“What’s this?”
“It has silver filings inside.”
“Did you make them?” Felix raised an eyebrow and lifted his gaze from the bullet in his fingers to her lined face.
“Yes. I looked up how to do it onlin
e.”
“Why?” Helen asked, aghast.
“Because I suspected what they are, and I wanted to be prepared.”
“Do you have experience with firearms?” Felix asked. She didn’t look like the type. This wasn’t exactly the US, where any Tom, Dick, or Sally could pick up a gun at the supermarket and go shooting.
“I grew up in the countryside. My father kept hunting gear and hosted shooting parties. I’ve been shooting pheasants since I was twelve.”
Felix nodded appraisingly and turned the bullet over in his fingers again. He wasn’t sure whether this could work, but it was worth a try.
“Can I keep this?”
“Sure.” She closed the box and slipped it carefully back into her bag. Felix pocketed the bullet into his jeans. It would work with his handgun.
A rumble beneath their feet made their glasses clink on the table. Felix looked around at the group’s startled faces.
“Is that an earthquake?” George said, getting to his feet and promptly sitting back in his chair. Felix clung to the table, memories of caravans of tanks flashed into his mind. Aircraft flying low overhead. Distant bombs dropping. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and took deep breaths. Great pressure held him in his seat and the rumbling continued. He chanced a glance around him and everyone in the pub was similarly disabled. One woman at the bar had fallen to the floor and was crying. The barman was gripping the bar so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
“What’s going on?” Helen’s voice was shrill with panic.
The rumbling stopped and everyone lurched sideways, like when a bus stops suddenly at a traffic light. Felix was on his feet in a shot and running for the door. He flung it wide and stepped out into the night. All of the street lights had gone out and people were getting to their feet, cars were halted at odd angles in the road, their lights flickering.
There was a loud boom. Felix flinched and reflexively covered his head. His heart was pounding. A shock wave rippled along the street, knocking people back to the ground. Felix clung to the pub door frame and managed to stay on his feet. He looked down the road in the direction that the shock wave had come from.
“It came from St. Catherine’s,” he said to himself. Without a second glance back into the pub he was off, sprinting towards the river. Pain throbbed in his knee, but he pushed past it. Something like hope was rising in his chest. Could it possibly be that St. Catherine’s had come back?
He ran across the bridge into Old Town and turned north. His lunges stung, his leg ached and every inch of him longed for rest. He was almost there. Not far now. He pushed onward. He ran up a street that followed the course of the river. There was no traffic, no people. The place was deserted. Rubbish lined the gutter and he passed an abandoned car with flat tyres. He hadn’t come up this way since St. Catherine’s disappeared, so he didn’t know where he should expect to get turned around. But nothing happened. He kept on running. There was no dizziness, no confusion, and no blank space. The city went on. He slowed to a walk to catch his breath but kept on walking. This place wasn’t familiar. He took out his phone and went straight to Julie’s number. He hit “call” and it rang.
A great cry rushed up from his lungs and tears sprang from his eyes. Great, vocal sobs burst from him as the phone rang in his hand. He cradled it to his ear and waited for her to answer. He was still walking, wandering almost aimlessly or on autopilot. He turned a corner and recognised where he was. He picked up the pace. Still Julie’s phone rang on. Finally, it went to voicemail.
“Julie?” He hated the panic in his voice. “It’s Felix. I’m on my way to your place now. I’ll be there soon.”
He broke into a run again and noticed signs of life stirring behind windows. Lights came on, voices reached through windows and doors, music and televisions turned on. He ran past a terraced house just as someone emerged from inside and went to their car, their expression unconcerned. Felix frowned and ran on.
He cut through a small playground and leapt over the fence into an alley. He felt the fear rising up his throat. Why hadn’t Julie answered her phone? Where the hell had Peter been in all of this? Felix emerged at the end of Julie’s street. He paused for a split second then sprinted along the narrow pavement between parked cars and the houses that opened straight onto the street with no gardens. His heart hammered and he felt sick. He skidded to a halt at her door and thumped on it hard. He rang the bell and knocked again.
“Julie? Julie it’s me, open up.” He kept thumping the side of his fist on the wooden door and ringing the bell. He stepped back and looked up at the dark windows. With a quick glance up and down the deserted street, Felix shoved his shoulder hard against the door and the wooden frame splintered. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
A strange smell greeted him, and he wrinkled his nose. He closed the door as best he could and walked slowly into the small living room that the door opened into. His leg bumped into the sofa and he edged around it, feeling his way in the dark. There was a little light coming from the kitchen. It was ghostly blue. Light from the digital clock on the microwave. Felix moved towards it and that smell got stronger. It was faintly metallic. His foot made contact with the kitchen tiles and he inched into the room, peering around the corner. The kitchen table was on its side. He took a careful side step further into the room and his foot slid on something wet. He glanced down and saw a dark puddle against the white tiles. A heavy feeling was pressing on his chest and he stood frozen, unwilling to look past the overturned table. One of the chairs lay broken on the floor, the wood splintered. Felix made his feet move and took two cautious steps into the kitchen.
A heavy sob burst from his chest. There, in the eerie glow of the clock, in a huge puddle of blood, was his sister’s body. Her legs were bent at odd angles and her feet were bare. Her skin was almost glowing, it was so pale. She was in her pyjamas. The top was ripped at the shoulder and her throat had been cut. On the floor beside her was a large kitchen knife, covered in blood. Felix dropped to the floor at her head and lifted it into his lap. She was stone cold. Felix began to moan and rock. He curled himself over to press his forehead to hers.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I tried to save you.”
“She must have died before she vanished,” the silky voice in his head said. “There was no way you could have known.”
“Maybe she could have been saved if I’d found her sooner?” Felix still clung to Julie’s head, but he raised his own to look around the cold kitchen. “Did Peter do this?”
“Stands to reason.”
Felix let out a strained cry and raised a hand to wipe the tears and snot from his face. He gently placed her head back on the floor and stood up.
“I have to call the police.”
“Yes.”
Felix fumbled with his phone. His hands were slick with sticky blood. He looked at them and hesitated. He patted the illegal gun inside his jacket and let out a groan. If the police came and found him like this they would search him and find the gun. And the silver bullet. A cold, hard sensation spread quickly down his throat and filled his body. He walked carefully backwards away from the body and glanced down at his bloody shoes. He wanted to run. If he ran hard enough maybe none of this would be real anymore. He could hide from it. But he couldn’t leave Julie like this. He couldn’t make himself a suspect. He needed justice for this.
“I need to hide the gun,” he muttered.
“I can help with that,” his dark companion told him.
“You can?”
“Just leave it where it is. No one will find it. I promise. Make the call.”
Felix’s hands shook as he dialled 999.
“Police,” he told the voice that answered. “My sister’s been murdered.” He rattled off the address and sank back onto the floor.
It was all a blur, what happened next. He was aware of blue, flashing lights and people entering the house, torches swinging over him and the murder scene. Someone hoisted him to his feet and ch
ecked him over. He felt numb but he just about managed to recount breaking in and finding her. They took his shoes and jacket. Sure enough, his holstered gun was exposed but no one commented on it. He knew they would have endless questions and he would have to try to answer them. He had been so sure that when he found his sister she would be okay, and they would go on with their lives as normal. But now he knew that nothing would ever be normal again.
“The police will deal with Peter,” the quiet voice in his head said. “We have bigger fish to fry. You’re probably right, you could have saved her if you’d found her that morning. If St. Catherine’s hadn’t vanished, then she wouldn’t have bled to death. You know who’s really responsible.”
I do, Felix thought. He felt in his pocket for the silver bullet and it was there, safe and sound. He was going to find those creatures and make them pay for what they’d done.
The Watch have restored the city, but what will the consequences be? Will Felix get his revenge? Find out in the final installment in Forgotten Magic.
About the Author
H. B. Lyne lives in Yorkshire with her husband, two children, and cat. When not juggling family commitments, she writes dark urban fantasy novels, purging her imagination of its demons. Inspired by the King of Horror himself, Holly aspires to be at least half as prolific and successful and promises to limit herself to only one tome of The Stand-like proportions in her career. Other interests and idols include Joss Whedon and Robert Kirkman, and she is often spotted wearing Firefly™ or The Walking Dead™ apparel. Find out more at www.hblyne.com.
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Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 128
