“I don’t need any help. I deal with everything just fine.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Alice could almost hear the eye roll. “Look, I don’t want to fight. You need to get to work, and I need to go soak in the tub with a pot of ice cream.”
“Aye, I do.” He stood, adjusting his skinny jeans. “You sure you don’t want to hang with me tonight?” The look of worry on his face made her turn away. He had his own demons, he didn’t need to fight hers too.
“No it’s cool, I’ll be fine.” With a kiss on the cheek Sam walked out, the front door shutting a moment later.
Once she heard the lock click she walked into the living room, heading towards the bathroom when a photograph caught her eye. She stared at the picture, the two adults and two kids smiling towards the camera, the only picture she had of her family, the others having been lost or packed away at the house. The house that Alice still hadn’t dealt with, still hadn’t visited. She tilted her head as she looked at her mother, her emerald green eyes shining with happiness.
Alice reached up, fingertips’ touching the glass, tracing her mother’s smiling face before moving onto her father, a tall man who only had eyes for his wife. While her mum was the light with bright hair and eyes, her dad was the dark, black hair and deep mahogany eyes. Kyle, her older brother was a mixture of both, dark brown hair with emerald eyes while Alice, the little girl holding her dad’s hand was a perfect copy of her mother.
Alice choked back emotion as she dropped her hand, her family gone. Taking a moment to herself she turned to the bathroom, a hot bubble bath sounded like the perfect distraction.
Chapter 4
Alice flicked the dirt from underneath her fingernails, the soil having embedded itself from spending most of her morning tending her few plants and herbs on her balcony. She usually used gardening to calm her temper, but it hadn’t worked today. The contract she had been assigned igniting her irritation.
How could they do this to me? she thought to herself. It’s barely above intern level.
Alice audibly sighed, annoyed that she could hear herself whining in her own head. Frustrated she clicked through her phone, double checking the contract, assuring herself the small guy at the bar was indeed the right target.
Target: 347680
Mr Scoolie Smitt – Fae – Leprechaun. 4ft tall – long brown hair.
Sells dud charm spells to young adults who use them to get high.
Alcoholic
Aggression level – green
Retrieval fee – Basic
She had been training to become a Paladin for as long as she could remember, Dread having prepared her since she was a little girl. It made her great at her job, yet there she was, on a contract with a leprechaun. Not even an interesting leprechaun, one who liked to sell crappy charms.
The screen flashed as she analysed all the information, confirming the details with her research.
The Fang
Red Lion
The Cock Ring
Three pubs the alcoholic leprechaun liked to frequent. As she had already been to The Fang and The Cock Ring, (The Cock Ring having, disappointingly, just a rooster as its logo,) she now sat grumpily in The Red Lion Pub just off Angel.
“Give me n’other one then,” Mr Smitt called to the bar staff, his high-pitched voice carrying across the room. A large rucksack sat at his feet, almost the same size as him. It was just luck he was the only leprechaun in tonight, otherwise she was out of options. She tried to examine his clothing, looking for the telltale sign he belonged to one of the two Fae courts. Which honestly were more like cults, or some ridiculous frat/sorority.
The Seelie court, also known as the Light Fae, were relatively nice compared to their darker brethren. In her experience, at least. They usually wore an emerald somewhere on their body to symbolise their connection to Seelie. On the other end was the Unseelie court, also known as the Dark Fae, who were a lot less friendly. Their traditions were more barbaric than their light siblings and were often on S.I.'s wanted list. They liked to use the ruby as their emblem.
As Mr Smitt wasn't wearing any gemstones, he probably wasn't registered with either court, which made paperwork a hell of a lot easier.
From his increasing volume she gathered he was only a few drinks away from toppling over, or leaving. So she decided to wait until she detained him.
With time on her hands she looked down at the newspaper left on her table, she might as well relax and make the most out of the evening. Someone had clearly read through it already, the paper torn in places, the crossword completed and artistic penis symbols were drawn on almost every page.
The main headline on the first page was of a body mysteriously disappearing from the morgue. Most of the story had lovely dicks drawn over the writing, but Alice understood the general idea. As she flipped through the pages a picture of a smiling man caught her eye, one of the few photos without pen marks all over it. The title explained he was the youngest witch to accept a position in the Magika, the highest members of the magic world.
The Magika, much like The Council, were a board of witches that specifically govern their own race. They specialised in a tiered system to determine how powerful someone was in each main class, earth, arcane and black.
Earth magic was classified simply as someone who used natural ingredients to create potions, amulets and charms. Arcane was slightly different, using their chi to physically manipulate their power. The witch would use incantation words to throw spells at people and objects and was known to be one of the harder classifications to master. Most witches mixed a little of both classes, however, there was one more class of magic.
Black magic was the worst, and yet the most powerful of the three classes. Those witches use blood and death to create spells and potions, something that had been made illegal for obvious reasons.
Within each class there were several branches, such as herbalist within earth and sorcerer within arcane. Inside each branch a witch could be tiered between one and three, one being the highest and three being the lowest. However, most witches just went by their class heading unless they personally specialised in a particular branch.
Tier four was reserved for mages, humans who were touched by magic. Normally born from a witch and a human they were treated like second-class citizens in the magic community. No mage had ever gotten to tier one even though some were pretty powerful in their own right.
Alice snorted at the picture. “It doesn’t take a pretty piece of paper to decide how much of a witch I am.”
A loud smash brought her attention up to the stage, a drunken man apologising profusely to the amp he had bumped into. He stood there for a good few minutes, his apology turning into a full-blown conversation. Distracted, Alice lifted her drink to her lips, the bubbles going down the wrong hole until she choked loudly, her hand snapping up to cover her mouth. Throat still raw from the coughing she pushed her glass away, sitting straighter in her chair as her boot squeaked across the threadbare carpet.
What the…? Beneath the table she checked her boot, frowning at the noise. Oh gross. Her boot squeaked again, the spongy carpet having soaked in a generous amount of liquid. It’s probably safe to say over the years alcohol, vomit and other bodily fluids had helped decorate it.
Alice looked down.
It was probably what all the brown patterns were.
Gag.
The décor unsurprisingly matched the disgusting carpet, brown and blue striped walls with paint peeling straight from the brick. Black and white photographs had been nailed to the surface to try and add some decoration. A portrait showed a group of men smiling, a wide angled shot of the outside of the pub and one of a serene woman, her once pretty face having received similar treatment as the newspaper.
The man over to the left continued to chat animatedly to the amp, one foot planted on the ledge of the poor excuse for a stage, and his other placed on the carpet. He leaned forward to caress the black felt of the speaker, his empty glass
placed haphazardly on top. A waitress walked past and picked up the glass, causing him to mutter something at her before he staggered off, collapsing onto a table nearby.
Pints clinked as two bartenders served drinks at the bar, the wood a lot cleaner than the tables and chairs dotted around the room. The old wood scratched beyond redemption, the top’s sticky, like a fine layer of glue engraved into the grooves of the wood. There was a deep open fireplace, the fire protected by an ornate iron grate cracking happily to the left, the warmth from the flames a pleasant sensation. Unfortunately, the heat cooked the odd smell in the air, a mixture of mould, damp and old beer.
Something shattered against the bar, dark amber liquid pouring down the front.
“Stoopid fecking bitch,” the leprechaun shouted, trying unsuccessfully to stop the drink from soaking into his rucksack, the bag now having been placed on the counter. Alice looked over at the ugly clock ticking loudly above the bar.
It was getting late.
With a sullen look at her glass she returned her attention to the room, deciding if it was quiet enough to just snatch her target and call it a night. It wasn’t like it was busy, the bar reasonably empty apart from a few drunken men. A handful sat around drinking quietly, some chatting with their friends and some alone, watching the football game on the painfully old television in the corner.
A laugh came from the pool table, a welcoming sound compared to the dull background noise. A thwack as a billiard ball was hit too hard, the ball smashing to the floor. White fangs flashed as the men laughed again.
Blade tight to her back she stood, making sure it remained hidden beneath her jacket, but within easy reach. Glass in hand she walked over to the bar, sitting on the stool next to her target.
“Hi,” she greeted, flashing her most sensual smile. He warily looked her over, taking in her leather knee-high boots, tight jeans and a black t-shirt. His eyes lingered on her breasts for a moment before deciding his Guinness was more interesting.
Eyebrows creased, Alice looked down at her cleavage, deciding she needed to invest in a good push-up bra.
How pathetic.
“Can I get a Guinness please?” she asked the barmaid, a shifter Alice would guess from the amount of hair on the back of her hands.
“A fellow Guinness drinker then miss?” Mr Smitt smiled over at her, his eyes actually rolling over her with appreciation this time.
“Maybe,” she said, thanking the barmaid before sipping a bit of the liquid, trying not to cough as it went down.
“What ya lookin’ for? I may look small but some parts of me are anyfin’ but,” he chuckled to himself, pushing his rucksack out the way so he could see her better.
“I was actually looking for someone to sell me some…” Alice hesitated, trying to sound unsure. “Charms,” she ended in a whisper.
“Aye, well, sellin’ charms is what I do second best.” He winked at her to make sure she understood the innuendo. “Well, are you lookin’ for a good time? I have charms for that, ones that make you irresistible to the opposite sex, or the same sex, depending on what you’re into.” He looked at her expectantly.
“So you admit you do sell charms?”
“Aye miss. Best there is.” He proudly smacked the top of his rucksack.
“Brilliant.” She stood up, reaching to the back of her jeans to unhook her handcuffs. “Mr Smitt, I have a warrant for your arrest for selling dud and illegal charms, you do not have to say anything, but what…”
His mouth did a great impression of a fish. “Feck off.”
Arsehole. “I have a warrant for your arrest. You will come with me quietly…”
He turned on his stool and pointed his chubby finger towards her, the motion causing him to fall face first onto the carpet. Using his confusion, Alice snapped her cuffs onto both of his wrists, the cuff automatically tightening to his wrist size.
“Hey, what the ‘ell do you think you’re doin’?” he shouted, dazed.
“I told you, you’re under arrest.” Alice huffed as she leant down to grab his rucksack, finding the bag full of hundreds of different wooden disks. She pushed the disks out the way, finding several vials of blood and a couple bags of salt.
Idiot. Most of the disks were useless. The salt from his fingers ruining the charms before they could even be invoked. Alice picked up a vial of blood, watching it move as she tilted it to the light.
He started to panic, scrambling as he tried to release his wrists. “Oi!” he called. “They’re mine!”
She ignored him, instead zipping up the bag and placing it onto the bar.
“Please,” he started to beg, turning to one of the bartenders. “Someone call the cops, this bitch is robbin’ me”
“Hey, you need to take this outside.” The barmaid pointed her finger at Alice. “We don’t want any trouble in ‘ere. Leave or I’ll call the Met.”
Alice stifled a laugh. What was the Met police going to do? They had no jurisdiction when a Paladin had a warrant. Besides, they were normally the ones that issued the bloody thing.
From inside her jacket pocked she pulled out her Paladin license, the evidence enough for the barmaid to growl and walk away. The Metropolitan Police dealt with the investigations and boring part of law enforcement, dealing with Breed unless the situation was serious or required a specialist.
She was the specialist.
“There would be no use calling the cops. I have a valid warrant.”
Mr Smitt’s face fell, the colour draining from his cheeks. “I’ll give you anyfin’, anyfin’ you want. Remember I can find the end of the rainbow!”
“Come on.” She went to grab him, but he jumped out of reach.
“I have money.” He licked his lips nervously. “Pots of gold. More gold than you could ever want.”
She ignored him, grabbing him by the scruff.
“Hey, bloodsuckers…” he shouted behind him. “Get rid of this whore for me an’ I’ll give ya some cash.”
The Vamps stopped their game of pool, turning to look at them in unison, as if they were one person and not three individuals. Their eyes dark in their pale emotionless faces, all hint of fun and humour gone.
Vampires could be really creepy fuckers sometimes.
“Now boys,” Alice began. “We’re not going to do something stupid are we?”
They smiled, a wide grin showing the edges of their very sharp teeth. A threat.
Oh shit.
She released Mr Smitt’s scruff as she faced the Vamps, analysing her options. One: Run away. Not really an option. Two: Ignore them and hope they go away. Unlikely. Three: Humiliate them with her badass skills but also hope they give up before she does.
The first Vamp calmly walked around the table, his sinister smile still in place as he looked her up and down.
Option three it is then.
Alice pulled out her sword, a sharp blade from her back sheath, ignoring the gun on her hip. Vampires were normally too fast to aim a gun at and get an accurate hit, so it meant close quarters with a blade to take them on.
“Any attack against a Paladin warrants an immediate arrest. I WILL use deadly force.” The vampires laughed at her threat. They actually laughed.
Bastards.
A blue flame bobbed around the hilt, not as threatening as she would have liked but at least it was something. The vampires stopped laughing, the one closest to her hissed, his fangs elongating in his jaw as he snarled at her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Vamps were fast, like ridiculously fast. She may have trained, but she could never match the speed and strength of even a baby Vamp. It was why Paladins normally partnered on vampire contracts.
Alice breathed in, steadying her weight on her legs as she waited.
“I SAID TAKE THIS OUTSIDE!” the barmaid shouted.
“Shut up, Mary.” A man grabbed and pulled her to the back of the bar, pushing her through a door.
“Yes, shut up Mary,” the Vamp at the back of the pool table echoed, his
head tilted to the side as he watched her carefully. His hair was dark, dyed Alice thought, his pale roots showing. He smiled, showing off his large fangs.
The three Vamps were serious Goth rejects, all wearing black trench coats with metal studs. One wore black lipstick, making his skin look even sicklier than it should. The mouthpiece of the group seemed to be content to stand and watch, his relaxed posture unthreatening as he leant against the wall towards the side.
He wasn’t a threat just yet, so she turned to the other two, tutting at their appearance as they made their way around the pool table. “Don’t you boys know that Vamps have joined the modern world? They don’t just wear all black now,” she teased.
None of them smiled. Tough crowd.
“You’re no match for us, witch,” the one on the left snarled. He even made the word ‘witch’ sound dirty.
She turned her attention to him, pointing her blade as she smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry Metal face, I couldn’t understand you with all that stuff hanging out of your mouth.” That got her a small chuckle from one of the other Vamps.
“Shut it Greig,” Metal face growled, shooting his friend a dark look.
Alice turned to the one called Greig. “I don’t know what you’re smiling about, you’re wearing more makeup than the whole of the French renaissance combined.” That stopped his chuckle. “Hey, I have a joke for you.” They all look at her like she had lost it. “What happened to the two mad Vamps?”
The three guys looked at each other warily. Not sure how to take her.
“What’s the answer?” Someone from the back of the pub drunkenly shouted, followed by a bunch of murmurs.
“Well, they both went a bit batty.” A cacophony of laughs from behind, the Vamps not reacting at all. “What?” she asked them, shrugging. “That was a good joke.”
“Enough of this,” Metal Face shouted, leaning over to grab her.
“Adolebitque.” She threw her hand towards Metal Face, his shoes catching alight with a bang before he even touched her. He let out a shrill cry, hopping from one foot to the next to stifle the flames.
Witch's Sorrow: A Witch Detective Urban Fantasy (Alice Skye Series Book 1) Page 4
