‘They came to my house,’ replied Paris. ‘The demons. We had to make a run for it. Thought you must’ve told them who you talked to. I figured you’d been tortured, before being killed. Obviously that didn’t happen. So how did they find me?’
Malbus stood looking at him for a moment, sucking on the cigarette as he considered his reply. When he spoke his tone was suddenly more serious.
‘I see,’ said the crow. ‘Well, I knew they were nearby way before they could spot me. Years of practice. And the way I flew off, they couldn’t tell where I came from. Made sure of that. Kept low at first, through the bushes. They didn’t catch me, since I’m still here. So they must have worked it out for themselves somehow. But if they did, and they came to your house, then you’re a very lucky boy. ’Cos if the Vanethria found you and they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. You ain’t. So it looks like they don’t wanna kill you. That’s the good news.’
‘What’s the bad news?’
‘They must want you for some other reason. And I haven’t got a clue what it is.’
15
‘Where are we going?’ asked Cassandra.
‘Boardroom,’ replied Paris. ‘Chief constable’s up there with all his senior staff, some councillors, maybe MPs. I’m expecting a bit of a grilling.’
‘Look on the bright side,’ said Cassandra. ‘At least you get a day out. Instead of being in South Manchester Police Headquarters, here we are in The Whole Of Manchester Police Headquarters.’
Paris gave her a puzzled glance. ‘How is that better?’
‘You get fired in a posher office.’
Paris rolled his eyes and wondered, yet again, if he was doing the right thing. He’d been summoned half an hour earlier and told to get straight to HQ. Bonetti obviously had to go with him, but Cassandra insisted on coming too. “What’s the point of having a mystical advisor,” she’d said, “if I’m not there to give you advice?” The argument made sense – in as much as anything made sense any more. Thorpe was already there when they arrived, waiting for them to get past the horde of reporters. Her reaction to the witch with the purple hair had been rather more liberal than Paris expected: one slightly raised eyebrow and a look to him that said, “If you do go hunting for magic experts, then this is the sort of person you’re going to get”.
The elevator pinged to indicate its arrival. The three cops and the mystical advisor stepped inside, one standing in each corner of the grey metal box. The middle of it was occupied by the smaller cardboard box that Bonetti carried. It had “Six X Stout” printed on the side and “EVIDENCE” written in green marker pen on the top. Thorpe studied it carefully.
‘Very official,’ she said.
‘Best we could do,’ replied Cassandra. ‘I’m all out of genuine evidence boxes.’
Paris watched her, intrigued. The media attention and the police surroundings had left her as unperturbed as everything else. Nothing fazed her. Even telling her the whole story on the way here hadn’t bothered her at all. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying it.
The elevator pinged again as the doors opened onto the top floor. The group set off down the corridor, Paris and Thorpe in front with Cassandra and Bonetti behind. On either side of them stood faceless brown doors leading to what Paris assumed were equally faceless brown offices. This was, after all, where the police force was run as a business. They were probably walking past a variety of non-useful people. Accountants perhaps. Or Human Resources. Even worse: media handlers. He repressed a shudder, telling himself they were a necessary evil. Plus, right now, a reminder.
‘Forgot to ask,’ he said. ‘What story have we put out?’
‘That it’s a hoax, obviously,’ replied Thorpe. ‘Independent film-makers, after publicity for their new horror flick.’
‘Not bad,’ said Cassandra, from behind them. ‘Just one problem, though. Don’t you think people will wonder why nobody’s come forward to claim all this publicity?’
‘No,’ replied Thorpe, without looking round. ‘Because we’ve also said that if we find them, they’ll be sued for criminal damage, causing a disturbance and wasting police time.’
‘Touché,’ replied Cassandra. ‘Nice one.’
Paris glanced back at her. She beamed at him. She still appeared to be enjoying a day out. Maybe he’d been right in the first place and she was actually mad.
He turned his attention back to Thorpe.
‘I assume the chief’s not happy,’ he said.
‘What do you think?’ replied Thorpe. ‘You saw the reporters, Nick. A dead centaur is news. Not, however, the sort of news that Chief Constable Pemberton wants to be asked about – especially when he didn’t know anything about it beforehand.’
She paused and looked across at Paris.
‘You sure you want to go through with this? Lying to the boss could be very damaging to your career prospects.’
‘It’s not exactly lying,’ said Paris. ‘Just not telling him the whole truth.’
They stopped in front of one of the brown doors.
‘In that case,’ said Thorpe, ‘remember he’s a politician now, but he’s also a pragmatist. Make a good case and you should be alright.’
Paris nodded. ‘Any other pearls of wisdom you could give me?’
Thorpe smiled grimly. ‘We who are about to die salute you.’
She knocked on the door, opened it, and went in.
Inside the room was a large wooden table, with assorted uniforms and suits sitting round it. Paris scanned the dozen or so faces as they turned towards the door. The chief constable, his deputy, various senior officers, some councillors and a few people he didn’t recognise. None of them seemed in a particularly good mood.
‘You’re here,’ said Pemberton, his voice booming out from the other side of the room. ‘Everyone, this is Superintendent Thorpe, Inspector Paris, Sergeant Bonetti – and who the hell are you?’
‘They call me Cassandra,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘I’m what you people would term an expert witness.’
She pulled out one of the empty chairs near the door and sat down nonchalantly.
‘Carry on,’ she said. ‘Don’t mind me.’
Pemberton glared at Thorpe.
‘We need her,’ said Paris quickly. ‘We need all the help we can get.’
The chief constable snorted.
‘The superintendent has told me part of this ridiculous story,’ he said. ‘Some twaddle about magic. So you’re supposed to be an expert on wizardry, I presume?’
‘I’m not a wizard,’ said Cassandra. ‘I’m a witch.’
‘Oh really. Right now, what’s the difference?’
Cassandra folded her arms and smiled at him. ‘Witches have dangly bits. Wizards have balls.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Crystals.’
Pemberton stared at her, uncertain how to reply. Paris seized the opportunity. He took the cardboard box from Bonetti and placed it on the table.
‘Listen,’ he announced. ‘All of you. There’s things going on that you won’t understand, and things that you won’t even believe. Hell, I don’t believe half of them myself. So I thought, instead of telling you, I’ll show you something first.’
He opened the box. Chunks of polystyrene packaging fell over the sides. A crow’s black head popped up.
Pemberton’s head looked like it was about to explode.
‘Paris!’ he demanded. ‘What do you think you’re doing? I want answers, not a novelty act with a dumb animal!’
‘Oi!’ said Malbus. ‘Watch it with the insults, fatso.’
Paris closed his mouth. The explanation he’d been geared up to make was now redundant. His eyes flicked around the room and he viewed the increasingly familiar sight of other people’s mouths dropping open. Quite enjoyable it was, too.
He felt a tap against his arm.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ said Malbus. ‘Get me out of here.’
Paris reached into the box. He put his hands under the bird and lifted him up.
More polystyrene tumbled out. Paris placed Malbus down on the table. The crow stretched his wings and shook himself.
‘That’s better,’ he said, kicking bits of packaging away. ‘I hate this stuff. I mean, “It’ll stop you getting bumped about,” he said. “We’ll put air holes in the box,” he said. Still not exactly first class, is it?’
One of the councillors raised an arm slowly and pointed at the bird.
‘What is that?’ she said.
Malbus stared at her. ‘What do I look like? Owl droppings? I’m a crow, moron. Don’t they teach you anything in school these days?’
The woman didn’t answer. She lowered her arm, suitably chastened. Malbus tutted, casting his eyes around the assembled great and good.
‘I suppose you’re all wondering why I’m here. And I suppose you’ve all got lots of questions. Hopefully better than the last one. But before you start, I’ve got one of my own. Anybody got any fags?’
Paris banged his hand on the table.
‘You’re not smoking in here,’ he hissed. ‘You’ll set off the sprinklers. You may need a damn good wash, but we don’t. So you’ll have to do without.’
Malbus glared at him with an expression on his beak that was trying hard to be a sulk. Then he turned back slowly towards the rest of the meeting.
‘Anybody got any wine gums?’
Dumbstruck stares were his only reply.
Malbus groaned. ‘Great. Oh well, let’s get on with it.’
He walked to the middle of the table, holding his wings out wide.
‘I’m a crow,’ he said, swivelling from side to side. ‘I’m also magic, in case you ain’t realised. I’ve come from the magic world and now I’m here in yours. But don’t think we’ve got nothing in common, ’cos, just like you lot, I’m a cop. Now I can see you’re all a bit stunned by that and I’m not surprised. Who’d have thought the force would hire someone this handsome?’
Paris looked round the room. Malbus’s audience might be doing politics instead of policing these days, but they were still police at heart. And this sort of evidence was very hard to refute.
Malbus strode around the wooden surface, making sure he made eye contact with everybody.
‘Now then,’ he said. ‘What am I doing here? Well, the magical creatures in your world don’t want anything to do with humans. Nothing personal; they just don’t wanna be prodded or poked or put on display. So I’m part of a team who makes that happen. We keep the presence of magic hidden from you lot. At least, we did. Then the fairy turned up.’
‘It’s a warning,’ said Paris. ‘From the rulers of the mystic world. Telling them they’ve all got to go back.’
Malbus gave him a knowing look. This was when not telling the whole truth began. Paris didn’t want lots of police involved – it would attract too much attention. Plus the more people who knew, the more chance of the story getting out. And the more chance of people getting hurt. The Vanethria apparently wanted something from him, but they didn’t want to kill him. What would happen to other officers who got caught up in it, he couldn’t say. Best not to find out. So the portal and the demon army were not for mentioning at this precise moment.
‘Yeah,’ said Malbus. ‘Now as messages go, damn right it’s overkill. But that’s what they do. So I wanted everyone to be able to get back to the magic world without any interference, and I figured you folks wouldn’t want ordinary humans to find out either. No point having a panic, is there? So that’s why I went to see your man Paris. Reckoned we should keep it quiet between our two forces. The magic creatures go home, your problem disappears. It’s one of them win-win situations.’
Everybody sat transfixed. Everyone except Pemberton. Paris could see him slowly recovering his composure and knew he’d try to regain control of the meeting too. Paris also knew there was absolutely no chance of that while Malbus was around. But it would probably be fun to watch.
Pemberton leant forward onto the table.
‘These creatures,’ he said. ‘They simply want to go back to their world?’
‘Got it in one,’ replied Malbus.
‘So why are they killing each other?’
‘Bit of an argument,’ said Cassandra. ‘These things happen. Well, they happen for us sometimes too, don’t they? Suppose you’ve got two lots of football supporters who bump into each other.’
Paris crossed his fingers under the table and hoped fervently there wasn’t a football stadium’s worth of supernatural creatures out there.
‘My team have got it under control now,’ said Malbus. ‘It won’t happen any more.’
Paris wished he had more fingers to cross.
The chief constable sat back in his chair again and stared at the inspector.
‘If we keep out of the way,’ he said, ‘keep it hushed up, they’ll all go, and nobody will be any the wiser? This is what you’re telling me?’
‘I’ll work with Malbus, but we’ll maintain a minimal police presence. It’s either that, or we flood the area with officers, have more disturbances and people getting anxious. I’m sure that’s not what we want.’
Pemberton nodded slowly. ‘Very well. Good work, Paris. Keep me posted on everything.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Paris, the strain of crossing fingers now making them ache.
Pemberton looked back at Malbus.
‘Absolutely incredible,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe you’re real.’
‘As opposed to what?’ said the crow. ‘A toy? Put it this way: you ain’t shoving any batteries up me.’
‘But – a bird that talks. Amazing. Do you do anything else?’
Malbus lowered his wings. He fixed his gaze on the chief constable. ‘A talking crow’s not enough for you? Tough crowd. Obviously, you need a bit more of a demonstration. Feast your eyes, people.’
Malbus started his demonstration. Jaws all round the room dropped even further. Eyes bulged even wider. Paris gaped too, in silent astonishment. He stared at the table for fully a minute before Cassandra nudged him.
‘Well,’ she whispered. ‘Fancy that. I never thought I’d watch a crow singing Queen’s “A Kind of Magic”.’
‘Yeah,’ said Paris. ‘I never thought I’d see a crow doing air guitar.’
‘Your boss is convinced, though. You’ve got what you wanted. I only hope you know what you’re doing, investigating by yourself.’
‘So do I,’ replied Paris. ‘So do I.’
16
The visit to headquarters had been a slightly nervous trip for Paris. Apart from having to tell Cassandra what was going on, he’d also worried about how Chief Pemberton would react to this crazy story of witches and demons. And, even though things had gone much better than expected, he’d still felt edgy as they drove away – although for a different reason. As Bonetti pulled to a halt at the end of Paris’s drive, the inspector’s palms started to sweat.
‘It might not be safe,’ he said. ‘This is where the Vanethria nearly caught us. You don’t have to come in with me.’
‘Yes we do, Boss’ replied Bonetti. ‘Remember, before we went to HQ? You said we didn’t want lots of police involved and we’d be better off sorting it out ourselves. We all agreed.’
‘I know,’ said Paris. ‘I was there.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Malbus, his head sticking out of the cardboard box on the back seat. ‘If the V were fighting centaurs, they’d need every soldier to take them on. Won’t have left any here. They’re probably lying low now, licking their wounds.’
‘Besides,’ added Cassandra, ‘you said they come out at night. It’s only just afternoon.’ She leant forward from the seat behind Paris and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re in this together now.’
‘Yeah,’ said Bonetti. ‘Like the Musketeers. All for one, and three for the price of two.’
Paris turned in his seat to study his companions. Cassandra offered a reassuring smile. Malbus winked. Bonetti looked gormless. Their comradeship was touching. In these circumstances, how co
uld he tell them he’d already worked out it was safe? How could he say he wanted them all to clear off so he could drink and smoke in peace?
‘Come on then,’ he said. He pointed at Malbus. ‘But you – back in the box.’
Malbus glared at him. Paris stared back. A woman in goth make-up with purple hair would attract enough curious glances from the local residents without a crow chattering away. Sulking, Malbus burrowed his way back into the polystyrene chips.
The three humans got out of the car, taking the cardboard-enclosed bird with them. As they made their way up the drive, Paris’s eyes darted about the street. He knew there were no demons around; there couldn’t be. But still…
They reached the house without any Vanethria attacks or even spotting a neighbour. Malbus popped his head back up as soon as they got inside. Bits of packaging and muck tumbled down to the floor. Paris observed them with something approaching detachment. Compared to the living room, he thought, this is quite tidy.
‘Bonetti,’ he said, ‘take Malbus up to the bathroom. He needs a wash.’
‘I’ll take him,’ said Cassandra. ‘Your enormous paws would probably break his wings.’
Bonetti handed the box over with a grunt.
‘What you going to do?’ he asked. ‘Wash him with magic?’
‘I’m already using my powers,’ replied the witch. ‘I’m shape-shifting.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘As of now, I’m a-carryin’ crow.’
Paris groaned. ‘That’s terrible,’ he said.
Cassandra smiled. ‘Relieved the tension though, didn’t it?’
Paris watched thoughtfully as she made her way up the stairs. Definitely mad, he decided, but definitely not stupid.
He walked across to the living room and opened the door. The smell of stale whisky in his nostrils was very nearly inviting. Stepping inside, he looked around. The debris lay in exactly the same state as he remembered it.
‘I should clean up,’ he said. ‘Rocky left us a bit of a mess.’
‘Yeah,’ said Bonetti, from over his shoulder. ‘I’ve been wondering about that, Boss. You told Cassandra how we found the fairy, and there’s demons chasing magic creatures home and all that stuff. But you never mentioned Tergil and Rocky. How come?’
Breaking the Lore Page 9
