by ToCauson
We are facing a very real threat, there are people who can literally level cities if they want too. Patience, that’s your name right?”
“How did you know?”
“Bernard always spoke about you, something about being his favourite niece.” She smiled, agreeing with her uncle’s judgement. “But also warning me that you have a serious mouth on you.”
“Well at least my ears don’t make me look like a baby elephant.”
“My point precisely,” he said, almost fondly, “Patience, I think you better take a ride with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re gonna follow the trail.”
Patience nodded. Her brain was telling her that in no way should she go with this man, but her child-like thirst for adventure got the better of her. She’d been presented with a world of magic, no way was she going to turn her back on that. It was like all her good dreams packed into one, like being in a blockbuster movie. It was amazing.
They went outside, and Patience noticed the black Mercedes, which hadn’t been parked there when she arrived. It was four seated, but streamlined like a sports car. She climbed into the passenger side, screwing her backside into the comfy leather chairs. Grim climbed into the driver seat.
“Patience, say hello to Bessy.” She turned around and looked at each seat in turn.
“Where?”
“You’re sat in her.”
She eyed the leather beneath her. “You mean the seat?”
“Of course not. That would be ridiculous. I meant the car.”
“Bessy is the car?”
“You really are taking a while to grasp this concept,” he said, “yes, I name my car. It stops me feeling lonely on long journeys.”
“You really are sad.”
“So people tell me.”
He put ‘Bessy’ into gear, and set off down the road. They weaved in and out of traffic at an alarming pace. For a moment she thought they were invisible to the ‘normal’ people. But then a man in a van rolled down his window and shouted, “learn to drive you moron.”
Grim stuck his head out and replied. “I know the girl looks a little on the dumb side, but moron is a bit harsh.”He returned his head to the safety of the car just in time to make a sharp turn, narrowly brushing the hedge that lay on the corner.
“So,” said Patience, lingering on the word as she tried to find a way to break the silence, “what do you do in this world of magic? What’s your role? Who are you exactly?”
Grim kept his eyes on the road, but seemed amused by her questioning. “As you know, my name is Grim. You could say that I work for the government, and I have a job that entails a lot of different roles.”
“Such as?”
“Well my main job is to essentially keep the existence of the magical community a secret from the mortals, you know, the normal people.”
“You’re kind of failing at that,” she pointed out, “I know about it.”
“Yes, well, that’s one way of seeing it. The job involves many things, sometimes some detective work as we hunt down magical murderers before the mortal police catch up with them. We cover up everything by creating artificial crime scenes, and in the most dire of circumstances, I enlist the help of another sorcerer to wipe the memories of the mortals who have discovered us.”
Her heart began to beat faster, maybe he was taking her to this sorcerer so that her memory could be wiped, before being returned to a normal life. “Are you going to wipe my memory?” she said at last.
“Nope, sorry. Not allowed to do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the laws of nature. Common practice restricts us from manipulating the memories of a mortal if it was a member of their bloodline that told them. While it’s not recommended, sometimes sorcerers choose to tell their family what they are. In those cases, we can’t interfere.”
“Oh,” she said happily, “is it possible for me to do magic?”
Grim sighed. “What is this, an interrogation? Fine, well it’s possible. Everyone has magical energy inside them, just some have more of it than others. You come from a magical family so it is highly possible.”
“Great, how?”
“It’s not as simple as that. Only the Old Ones were able to use magic in its raw form, but they haven’t been around since the Great War. Now we utilise wands to channel that energy into something we can use.”
“Wands?”
“It’s not in the traditional sense. It could be anything, I use a glove.” He showed her his black fingerless gloves. “But sometimes there are staffs, spoons and also rings.” She felt herself shrink into the seat as she grabbed a handful of her jacket to hide the ring that was still on her finger. Had her uncle given her a wand?
She had to change the subject. “What type of magic is there? What can you do?”
“Generally sorcerers fall into a category, you don’t perform all types of magic as you’re only wired for one. There are elementals, who control the elements, obviously. Clairvoyants who have psychic abilities, and can sometimes see into the future. Necromancers who gain power from death and use what is known as shadow magic. Energy throwers who can store energy from any source and release it as a powerful beam, and finally there is adaptives.”
“What’s that?”
“Well it is simply everything else. An ‘other’ category, if you will.”
“Are you telling me that the person who made up the classification system got bored half way through and just said, ‘screw it, adaptive is everything else’, and goes home for an early retirement.”
“Pretty much, but you have to understand that it’s a daunting task, there are unlimited types of magic, some that we don’t even know about. Plus, the man was really lazy so we expected nothing less.”
She laughed.
Rain dripped down the side of the window. She didn’t know what time it was because Bessy’s clock was wrong, but it was getting late. She worried that her parents would miss her. Who was she kidding?
All she ever did is sit in her room watching classic action movies, they would never know if she was in or out. They would just assume in, and not bother her in fear of having their head bitten off by teenage hormones.
“What about that Great War?” she asked, “I wouldn’t normally have described a war as great.”
Grim’s face became serious. “Oh, it wasn’t. It must have been a good hundred years ago now. It was a secret war in which two sides of sorcerers fought bloody battles against each other. One side wanting to kill and enslave mortals, and the other wanted to coexist with them, maybe even protect them. The enslaving side was led by the last Old One, Diabolus.”
“What’s an Old One?”
“They were the first sorcerers, extremely powerful people that are now dead, but were sometimes mistaken for Gods. People worshipped them, or were killed.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was. That was a very devastating war.”
Patience wanted to change the subject once again. There was something about the talk of wars which sent chills through her, just images of dead bodies lining the street, and blood everywhere. It seemed to accentuate the dark side of the magical world. Maybe it wasn’t as much of a dream-land as she thought.
“Where are we going anyway?” she asked.
“To see a friend of mine,” he replied, “he has the ability to spirit walk. So, he will be able to tell us if Bernard is still alive, or not.” She fell silent, soon she would know the truth. She just hoped the results were good, and that Grim wouldn’t send her home to live a normal life once they were done.
3
RIPPER STREET
Jack
At eleven-o-clock that evening, the tides had come in and a pleasant breeze was being pushed inland.
Darkness had invaded the sunlight, with twisting shadows covering the ground like sinister patterns, and the only light that was being cast were the thin threads from the l
ow hanging moon, along with the dim yellow glow of nearby street lamps.
Jack sat and listened as footsteps knocked against the promenade. He had become practiced at identifying a person just by the sounds of their footsteps, but something compelled him to take a glance anyway. The source of the sound was coming from a young woman with long red hair like flowing fire.
She passed by the railing and stopped at the bench that he was sat at. Her dazzling, green eyes glazed over him as she lifted her coat and sat beside him.
She looked him up and down, though he reckoned most of his features were still covered by the thick trench coat that he wore: his small yellow eyes and his thin, chalk white body that seemed to reveal every bone in his body, almost like a skeleton.
“It’s a nice view,” she said, resting her leg lazily against her knee, “do you come here often?” Her voice was soft but assertive, he would make no assumptions as to what kind of woman she was.
“Sometimes,” he said, his voice sounding like a cold rasp as though he had only just learned to talk and was still getting used to the vibrating sounds as it broke from his lips, “when the fancy takes me.”
“Sorry,” she said, “that was a pointless question. I know you come here often, every night in fact.”
Jack rotated his head so that his eyes intruded hers. She didn’t remove her stare. His hat was still hanging low over his face, but he was sure she could see his thin lips twist into a look of anger. “You been following me?”
“I don’t need to,” she replied, “you’re ever so predictable.”
He blinked. “Seems I better change my habits then.”
“Seems
