Demon Dogs (Wildcat Wizard Book 3)

by Al K. Line

  He'd need it wired shut for weeks, have to drink his meals through a straw, and find talking next to impossible, but that was his problem and this wasn't over.

  With the room utterly silent still, I bent and grabbed him by his leg and dragged him over to the ropes. Then I shifted him so he was looking out from the floor, just so his mates could see.

  "You don't disrespect women. You don't pick fights for no good reason, and you sure as shit don't come into a place like this, somewhere you're offered sanctuary and friendship, and disrespect Jeremiah. Understood?" I glared at TS' mates and they shifted uncomfortably but steeled themselves and nodded to me then Jeremiah.

  He nodded back to them then shouted, "Right, show's over. Carry on training or Arthur will teach you a lesson in manners next. This is The Hat, people, you don't fuck with The Hat. And somebody get a mop."

  TS was still out cold but I shook him and got him up as he came to. He was wobbly and disorientated but nobody cared apart from him. "Say sorry," I hissed into his ear.

  "Sovvy," he mumbled through his mashed mouth, body tensing with the pain as he spoke.

  "Good boy." I slapped him on the back and then sprang out of the ring over the ropes and landed smartly next to Vicky and Jeremiah.

  "Can I have a word in private?" I asked Jeremiah as I took my hat from Vicky and carefully arranged it on my head, tilting it forward a little as I knew it made me look more mysterious and that was a nice way to end this. On a high note.

  With TS grumbling and his buddies dragging him reluctantly from the ring, we went into the back office.

  Time to get what I had come for.

  My hand really hurt but I said nothing as it would ruin the mystique.

  A Lead

  "You get crap like that much?" I asked Jeremiah as we settled into cheap vinyl chairs, split with the foam poking out.

  "Not too often," he said groaning as he lowered himself into a plastic swivel chair behind a desk covered in papers. The walls were plastered with old posters and yellowing receipts.

  "Sorry if I overstepped."

  "That was awesome." Vicky was looking at me weird, almost with adoration, but I didn't know why. She'd seen me deal with worse, and with magic.

  "Fighting demons is awesome. Pummeling Hounds with magic is awesome, that was a gnat."

  "It was brutal." Vicky continued to stare at me, then at my hands, red and aching. Damn she was a funny one. Was she getting off on this?

  "Okay, to business," I said, trying my best to ignore her bloodlust. "I need information, and I know you have it."

  "What do you need?" Jeremiah wasn't unduly impressed with the fight, he'd seen it all before, and much nastier, and he knew what I was capable of, had witnessed a few things back in the day when our paths crossed and we weren't so friendly with each other. He also knew all about the magic, accepted it, which was rare.

  "There's some serious money in this for you if you can give me a lead. Ten grand."

  Vicky turned in shock, eyes wide, but I ignored her.

  "That's an impressive amount. I could do a lot with that," Jeremiah whistled and smiled, playing the game.

  "Sure you could. Now, here's what I want to know. And don't hold out on me, old friend, I know you know. Underground fights, the, shall we say, animal kind?"

  "I don't do that, never have. You know me, Arthur. Dog fighting is disgusting."

  "I don't mean dogs. I mean shifters. Where do the shifter fights happen? Not here, or I'd know already. Where does it happen, who runs them?"

  "What, for the whole country?"

  "Just the real deal. The hardcore action."

  "That stuff is worse than the dog fights," Jeremiah said with a scowl, shaking his head.

  "I can only imagine."

  "No, you can't. I've seen some things in my time, Arthur, you too, but this is a whole other level of bad shit. You don't want to get involved in this, trust me."

  "I absolutely don't want to get involved, you're right. But I need to find someone and my hunch is she's part of this somehow. Maybe made to fight, or in a show before the main event. I don't know." And I didn't. Could Avisha have survived for so long if she fought? Just how far did these things go? I knew the serious shifter fights, the ones where the real money was to be made, were sometimes life and death. Rare, but they happened. And major money was at stake.

  "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

  "Consider me warned."

  Jeremiah glanced out the window, leaned forward, and said, "You'd be looking for the Fat Man."

  "Shit."

  "Uh-huh." He nodded knowingly.

  "Okay, thanks. Still the usual account?"

  "Yup. But you don't have to do this. You know I'll always help you if I can."

  "Hey, I always pay for information when its part of a job. I'm getting paid so gotta spread the love, right?"

  "You know it, brother."

  We stood and Jeremiah came around the desk and hugged me. Then he turned to Vicky and said, "Nice to meet you, little lady. Any time you want to spar you come back and see me, you hear?"

  "Thank you, Jeremiah, it was nice to meet you." Vicky hugged him and Jeremiah's face lit up. Vicky had that effect on you, she made you smile.

  We left, the room watching as we did so, but nobody said anything, nobody was rude, and TS and his crew were long gone. I'm sure I heard clapping as the door closed behind us.

  Out on the street the sun was high and the air was stifling, probably a few degrees warmer than other parts of the city. This was another problem with these concrete jungles. The concrete soaked up the heat and radiated it back out, making everyone suffer and turning the air thick like a noxious soup.

  "Why'd you give Jeremiah ten thousand for such basic information?" asked Vicky, frowning.

  "Because he's a proud man and won't take the money if I offer it to him. This way he gets to save face even though we both know the score."

  "So he knew you were giving him the money to help with the gym, but wouldn't take it if you offered, then did because you said it was for information?"

  "You got it," I replied with a smile.

  "You men are all idiots." She tutted and shook her head.

  "Yup."

  We squared our shoulders, held our heads up, got our mid-distance gangster stares fixed, then wandered back to the car, neither fast nor slow. Owning it.

  Lunch

  Vicky kept glancing sideways at me as I drove to my new, uber-secret location so we could go home and have lunch. I wanted to walk Marjorie as she'd been somewhat down this morning and I knew how much she liked it when I turned up unexpectedly. Plus, I was knackered and thought a little shut-eye was on the horizon.

  As the adrenaline dissipated, a terrible, familiar lethargy came over me and I knew I'd sleep after lunch. I probably would have nodded off in the car if it wasn't for Vicky and her weird looks.

  "What? Why'd you keep staring at me like that?"

  "You're... It's just... You beat that man in a proper fight, with your bare hands."

  "And?"

  "I thought you'd use magic. You always use magic."

  "Not always, only if I need to. Besides, Jeremiah doesn't like it, and I certainly can't go around doing it in public. The Code, remember?"

  "Forgot. You don't say much about the Code and all the Laws, not that you seem to stick to any."

  "Yeah, well, there are always exceptions. Plus, I don't tell the bastards in charge so they don't bother me, or you."

  "I didn't know you could fight like that. Where did you learn?"

  "Where do you think?"

  "From Jeremiah?"

  "No, not from Jeremiah, but someone like him. I wasn't raised here, you know that. But I met him plenty when I moved here, when I was younger. He was different then, but he turned things around. He was immersed in the life, bad news, but he emerged good. Anyway, long story, different life, but I learned to fight. I had to when I was young. I had to stop..."

  "Arthur, you
always do this!"

  "Do what?"

  "As soon as you mention your past you go all moody and won't tell me. It's not fair."

  "Vicky, it was so long ago. We've known each other for a lot of years now, too many, but I had a past, you know what I was like when we first met."

  "Mad," said Vicky, smiling.

  "And bad," I agreed. "But I grew up, same as you, same as Jeremiah, and things change. People change. So I beat that kid to teach him some manners and he'll either see it as a wake-up call or he'll resent it and come looking for me one day, maybe soon."

  "You aren't worried?"

  "Hardly. I worry about insane elves and Hounds and demons and deranged shifters and vampires taking over the world, what I don't worry about are kids with gold teeth who are weak bullies."

  We got to our destination after plenty of random driving, several veils so we could be sure we weren't being followed, and a few other top secret Hat techniques I'm keeping to myself, then wasted no time getting to Cornwall and driving home.

  I waved to Marjorie and she brayed, and I promised her I'd let her out after lunch. Vicky went and gave her a carrot then came in as I prepared lunch.

  We ate leftover chicken and rice for lunch and although dog-tired I was in good spirits. I'd only had one fight the entire day; things were going well. Vicky was all nervous energy, pushing me to tell her about the Fat Man, but I told her it would have to wait as I wanted to sort out Marjorie then sleep.

  I swiped her plate out from under her as she took her last mouthful of food then cleaned the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, sprayed the sink and counters, dried them, then sprayed them again with a nice lemon eco spray I'd picked up. Vicky watched, both amused and perplexed.

  "Why do you do that?"

  "Do what?" I asked as I rinsed the cloth, dried my hands on a clean tea towel, then put them both on the radiator even though it wasn't warm.

  "Get so nutty obsessive about the kitchen? All that spraying and polishing and wiping and everything. It's weird."

  I was about to brush it off, to tell her she was being stupid and maybe she should look to her own hygiene habits, but I didn't. I thought before I spoke, which was becoming a worrying habit, and then said, "Okay, I'm gonna share something with you, just this once. But I don't want it brought up again. This is a one time thing."

  Vicky smiled, rubbed her hands together and said, "Ooh, a story, goody."

  "Not such a good one, but whatever. When I was a boy, because yes, I was one once, and I know you like to think I'm loads older than you but I'm not, er, when I was a boy things were bad."

  "How'd you mean?"

  "I mean in every way. But that's not the story. I was always hungry, properly hungry. I don't mean now and then I missed a meal and sometimes I didn't get as much as I wanted, I mean I can remember being absolutely famished, starving like you wouldn't believe. We weren't destitute like some people were, not properly poor, but there were many times when my parents... well, they weren't as dutiful as they maybe should have been. There was no food in the house and I had no money of my own, so I was starving."

  "That's awful. You poor thing."

  I waved her concern away. "I lived, it is what it is. Anyway, when things got bad, and I'd keep reminding my mum, maybe even my dad if he was around, to go shopping, or to give me money and I'd go, it often fell on deaf ears. There were... things going on, not good things, and they'd forget, or they'd apologize then forget. So, I'd go clean the kitchen."

  "Why?"

  "Not sure. But I'd spend hours in there. Probably wishful thinking, believing that maybe if I stayed in there long enough it would filter through to them and they'd finally get their act together and go fill the cupboards and stock the fridge and never let it happen again. So I'd hang out in there. I'd go through the cupboards and clean them, polish the handles, scour the oven, make sure the stove was spotless, get grease off the grill, use anything I could find to polish everything. I'd make the sink and taps gleam and I'd arrange anything I could find in neat lines and spend hours sorting the cutlery drawer until it was a thing of total beauty."

  "You do love arranging the cutlery," Vicky agreed, looking sad, which was exactly what I didn't want to happen.

  "No tears," I warned. "Anyway, that's what I'd do. I'd mop the floors, clean the windows, clatter about, sometimes I'd even sing along to this little radio we had in there, you know, being loud on purpose so they'd get it, so they'd understand. So they'd start looking after me."

  "Did it work?"

  "Did it fuck. I survived, then I found magic, and the rest is history." I plastered a smile on my face but Vicky knew me well enough to know it was fake.

  She came over and hugged me, and I kissed the top of her hair that smelled of apples. She looked up at me and smiled and her lip twitched.

  I bent my head down a little and...

  "Hey, Dad. Hey, Vicky. Um, what you doing? Were you about to..."

  "Hello, Arthur and Vicky," said Sasha, smiling her perfect smile, faery dust dancing like obedient distant stars, falling and landing on my black porcelain tiles, glittering as if offering a glimpse of another galaxy.

  Vicky and I pulled apart and I said, "Oh, hey."

  "It's not what it looks like," spluttered Vicky, looking as guilty as George after she'd cheated at Monopoly. Who cheats at Monopoly?

  "What does it look like?" asked Sasha, enjoying herself.

  "Nothing," I growled. "I didn't hear you two come in."

  "We didn't," said George, massive grin spreading across her face. Her arms and legs had seemingly developed a mind of their own, twitching and moving erratically as if full of helium.

  "Huh?" was all I managed, still caught in that strange place where you can't transition from one moment to another. Were we about to? No, she was just cuddling me because of that damn story. I knew I should have kept it to myself. No good ever came from dredging up the past.

  "I'll make some coffee, I think we need to have a chat."

  George turned serious, Sasha raised an eyebrow, Vicky looked around in confusion.

  It was one of those afternoons. One where I actually got to call the shots for once when surrounded by three domineering women.

  Yeah, right.

  Suspicions

  Once we were all sat at the table, I put my concerned Dad hat on, not that I'd actually taken Grace off to start with, and got serious. "What's going on?"

  "What do you mean?" George looked genuinely confused, but I could tell Sasha was forcing herself to look blank.

  "I mean there's something happening I don't know about and I want to know what it is."

  "Dad, don't spoil it. This is my chance to see other places, go to the Nolands. And before you start, it's not dangerous. We go to Sasha's home world, she protects me."

  "Honey, I'm not having a go at you, honest. No, this is about Sasha. What's happening here?" I held her gaze and although it was tough I didn't flinch. She was not of our world and powerful beyond belief, and I loved her and she'd given me so much, but this was George. I would have answers.

  "I don't know what you mean," Sasha said lazily, daintily sipping her coffee.

  "You do, and you're hiding something from me. How come you keep taking George to the Nolands, to your home? How come that's even possible?"

  "Anyone can come, if they have an invite," she added.

  "You and I both know it isn't as simple as that. I've seen the way you get from there to here. Remember the other week and the rift the elves used? I've seen countless comings and going to and from the Nolands, and I know for a fact it isn't possible to stay for more than a few minutes and not feel like you've been hit with a sledgehammer to the head."

  "She's special," said Sasha.

  "I know she's special!" I scratched irritably at my stubble then banged my fist down on the table making the coffee, and everyone, jump.

  "Arthur!" scolded Vicky.

  "No, I will not have it. Sasha, I want some damn answers and I want them
now." I was on my feet, angry and maybe overreacting a little, but I was doing my best to keep George as safe as I could in my own stupid way and there was something happening here that I didn't know about. I didn't like it one bit. "Faery or not, you are a part of our lives and you have responsibilities, Sasha."

  "You dare talk to me about responsibilities?" Sasha stood too, and we glared at each other across the table.

  "That's right. What, you got something to say?"

  Sasha opened her mouth then closed it again, giving herself a moment to calm down. It was a good idea so I forced myself to relax, then said, "Sorry," to the room in general and to George in particular.

  "What's got into you?" George got up and her cheeks flushed. Her pupils were pinpoints, making her pale, intelligent eyes seem impossibly large. She was pissed at me. I'd blown it, again.

  "I'm trying to find out what's happening here. Sasha isn't telling me something, and she's keeping secrets from you too. Right?"

  "What secrets?" asked George.

  "There are things you do not need to know yet." Sasha spoke quietly, sadly. I'd never seen her like this before. In fact, I think this was the closest to a real argument we'd ever come.

  "Sasha, I love you with all my heart, but if you hurt my little girl."

  "I'm not your little girl." With an, "Ugh," George turned on her smart heels and flounced out of the room. She came back a moment later and said, "I give up. You two are meant to be the adults here." With that she left, and she didn't return.

  "Now look what you've done," scalded Vicky. "You two should know better than this. What is this all about, really?"

  I sagged into my chair and tried to get my thoughts in order. Something had been nagging at me for a while now, ever since Sasha began taking George off for their days out. I knew half the time they lied about where they'd been, and when they started taking trips to Sasha's home the feeling of being duped and held out on intensified.

  "I don't know what's happening but I know I'm not being told the whole story."