Bad Soul

by David Bussell

  She leaned her rifle against the wall and headed over to the stove, grabbing the kettle to pour a couple of cups.

  ‘Have you tidied up since my last visit?’ I asked, looking around the caravan’s gloomy interior. It was, in stark contrast to the outside of the abode, meticulously tidy. Not a fork out of place, not a leaf walked in from outside.

  ‘Tidy house, tidy mind,’ Alisha replied, who as well as being next-level paranoid, was also a clean freak with a bad case of O.C.D. Oh, she was a whole sack full of issues, this one.

  ‘Haven’t heard from you,’ she said, passing me the cup of hot tea. I pulled out my hip flask and poured a little whisky into it before taking a sip.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. Been in prison, just got out.’

  ‘Prison?’ said Alisha, alarmed. ‘They’ll never lock me up. Never. Never! When they come for me, and they will, it’s only a matter of time, I’ll be saving a bullet for myself. If I’m cornered with no way out, it’s hello gun barrel, bye-bye brains. No one’s putting me inside. No one.’

  She’s a little intense, is our Alisha. And mad as a box of frogs.

  ‘Oh, I hear you, girl. New rule from now on: death before imprisonment. Absolutely.’

  Alisha nodded and grinned, then sat down at the tiny fold-out table that dominated the caravan’s small kitchen area. The other half of the caravan, the living area, contained a single bed, rows of sealed plastic boxes, and a ham radio.

  ‘How’s…?’ started Alisha.

  ‘The wife? The missus? The old ball and chain?’

  Alisha grimaced and nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Great. Doing just great,’ I said, flashing the wedding band. ‘Still very, very sexy and smart. All we seem to do is bone and talk, bone and talk. And then bone again. Lot of lesbian sex going on.’

  Alisha frowned and blew on her tea.

  ‘Hey, why the face?’ I asked. ‘You know if I’d met you first this would be a shack for two. Bad timing, that’s all it is.’

  ‘And people die. Which means Tammy might die at some point.’

  ‘Exactly, and the minute she does I’ll be on your doorstep, suitcase in hand.’

  Alisha smiled, then frowned, then stood and threw her tea down the sink. ‘Just in the area?’

  Down to business. I pulled out my phone and brought up the picture of the chalk circle I’d found in Brian Teller’s cellar. ‘What do you make of this?’

  She grabbed the phone from me. ‘Where did you see this?’

  ‘Highstaff. Which is currently being eaten by a bunch of wraiths who are, I can confirm from first-hand experience, a right flock of bastards.’

  ‘This is very intricate, high-level stuff. Look at the lines, how fluid and confident they are. A protection spell. A really, really top of the line protection spell. But to protect from what? That degree of protection is way overboard.’

  ‘Guy sold his soul.’

  Alisha’s eyes widened. ‘Yeah? Wow. That’s about the level all right. A circle like that would even keep the Yellow Man at bay.’

  ‘Who?’

  Alisha passed me back the phone. ‘So what do you want to know?’

  ‘I need to find Brian Teller and make sure his debt is paid. He’s no magician, so someone helped him. Someone created that circle for him. If I find that someone, maybe I find Brian.’

  Alisha slumped back in her chair.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I know who drew the circle,’ she replied, ‘it’s obvious. Every magician has their own distinct signature. A fingerprint they leave behind.’

  ‘So give me a name and I’ll be out of your hair.’

  ‘He might… hurt you.’

  Well, that didn’t sound great.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about me, babes, I’ve had worse than a poxy wizard try to mess me up. Besides, all I want is to have a bit of a chat with him. No rough stuff.’

  ‘No, if you’re going to find the man for sure, you’ll need to do more than talk with the wizard.’

  ‘Okay. Like what? Ask for Brian’s phone number?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. You just need to bring me back his blood.’

  10

  It was late when I pulled up to the wizard’s home in Eastbourne. The night was crisp and dark; away from the light pollution of the city, the stars lit the sky like flakes of snow.

  I checked my phone. It was getting on for 2:30 a.m. and I was exhausted. The only thing stopping me from curling up on the back seat was the pep of energy my tattoos were leaching from the area’s naturally occurring magic. Unfortunately, they don’t have an off switch, which is why I mostly put myself to sleep with whiskey.

  I sat up straight. ‘Right. Just grab some blood off a powerful wizard. Easy peasy,’ I muttered to myself, somewhat unconvincingly.

  Alisha had explained that the circle of protection I’d shown her indicated that Brian Teller was connected to it still. At least, connected to the magic the circle had created. Even if the circle was entirely destroyed, it was of such a high level that it continued to leave its footprint in our world, protecting Brian from being found by any demon. But not by me. A live connection meant a trail existed. A mystical umbilical cord that Brian was at the end of. Using the blood of the circle’s creator—the wizard—Alisha could perform a spell that would find the invisible cord and pinpoint where Brian was hiding.

  Somehow.

  She’d used a lot of technical words at that point, so I’d kind of tuned her out. I didn’t need to get bogged down in all the details. I felt sure everything would become clear as soon as I got the blood back to her.

  Obviously, the wizard himself might have a few things to say about me taking his blood. You know how people are. Then again, it was the middle of the night, and the likelihood was that he was tucked up in bed, off with the fairies. Maybe I could sneak into his home, jab him with a hypodermic needle, then leg it out of there before he even knew what was happening. Why do I carry a hypodermic on my person? Probably best you don’t ask.

  The wizard’s name was Elton, and he lived in a very impressive-looking three-storey house. The building was clad in white stone and reflected the moon’s rays, which made it glow like a fresh pearl. Eastbourne, where the residence was located, was another coastal town, a little under an hour’s drive from Brighton. The sleepy resort was often called God’s Waiting Room due to its popularity among the elderly, who made up a large part of its population. What was far less known was that wizards made up around two percent of that same population. No idea why, but it’s an interesting fact, right? No, I didn’t think so either when Alisha told me, but I said, ‘Oh, really, wow,’ and bobbed my head, so the least you can do is feign a little interest.

  Moving softly, I exited the car and approached the wizard’s house. I snuck around back and pulled out my lock picking equipment, making short work of the door’s security and slipping inside. No alarms started blaring, which was always a good sign. Of course the place could be covered in all sorts of magical protections and warning triggers, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. Assume the best until the worst happens.

  Inside the house the only sound was the distant ticking of a clock. I crept up the darkened staircase, feet sinking into the deep carpet runner, keeping close to the wall to prevent any of the steps from creaking and giving the game away. As I reached the top I could hear the sound of gentle snoring. I pulled the needle from my jacket and made my way towards the sound, gently pushing open the bedroom door.

  The room had a mirrored ceiling and was dominated by a large, four-poster bed. Decorating the bed’s thick mahogany posts were carvings of several exceedingly underdressed (not to mention buxom) women. Classy. Not only that, but hanging on the wall by the head of the bed was a large oil painting, depicting a balding man in a scarlet robe covered in mystical symbols. He was accompanied by two more large-prowed women, naked on their knees either side of him, gazing up at his face in open-mouthed wonder.

  Jesus.


  The snoring noise I could hear came from the bulging shape beneath the bed’s silk covers. There he was. The softly slumbering wizard.

  I slid forward and craned over the bed, smooth as butter. I could see his shoulder, white and bare, poking above the sheets. Biting my bottom lip, I moved the point of the hypodermic towards the exposed curve of his shoulder—

  Closer. Almost there. Gently does it—

  And the wizard drifted away beneath the needle like smoke.

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  The light came on, blinding me with its glare for a second. I spun on my heel to find Elton, wizard and fan of large boobs, stood in the bedroom doorway, dressed in a silk kimono. I was happy to see, as it billowed open, that he was also wearing pyjama bottoms. Small mercies.

  ‘Think you can break into a wizard’s house, you daft cow?’

  ‘No need for name-calling, you shit hamper,’ I replied, as Elton punched out a hand and I found myself lifted from my feet and slapped against the far wall beside the oil painting.

  Alisha wasn’t lying, the bloke had some moves. He may have stood around five-five and had a paunch poking out of his kimono that made him look like a laboratory frog, but when it came to magic, the guy was a hunk. He nodded and I fell in a heap to the floor. I got up and gestured to the wall.

  ‘So, Elton, is the painting anatomically accurate? Because if it is, you were blessed in more ways than one.’ Always good to try and disarm with flattery.

  ‘What are you, hm?’ he asked, studying me with an owlish gaze. ‘An assassin? Is that it? Going to murder me in my own bed?’

  I ran towards him, my tattoos glowing fiercely, providing me with the extra speed that I hoped would give me the element of surprise.

  It did not.

  The wizard spat out a single word and blue lightning arced from his fingertips, struck me in the chest, and sent me spinning across the room. I landed painfully on the other side of the bed.

  ‘That… stings,’ I wheezed, chest tight from the shock, clothes singed, the air flavoured with the smell of burnt hair.

  ‘Oh, I have plenty more where that came from,’ the wizard cackled.

  ‘I’m not here to kill you,’ I insisted as I climbed back to my feet, the bed between us forming a useful barrier.

  ‘Good, because you were doing a bloody terrible job if you were.’

  ‘All right, I wasn’t looking for a performance review, mate. I just need some of your blood, that’s all. Hardly any, really. You won’t even miss it.’

  Elton swept an arm from left to right and the bed shunted along the floor and went through the wall. Yeah, through it, like the wall was made of smoke.

  ‘Okay, now I don’t know whether to fight you or applaud you.’

  ‘You could try screaming,’ he replied, which, fair play to him, was a pretty bad-ass comeback.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not really a screamer,’ I replied, which would have sounded a lot better if I hadn’t immediately followed it up with a sharp squeal as I was lifted off my feet and thrust against the wall, my head hitting hard and bringing static to the edges of my vision.

  I shook the sparks clear and realised I was still pinned to the wall, a good two feet from the floor. Elton rubbed his palms together and purple, green, and red ribbons of magic curled around his hands. The whole room throbbed with menace.

  ‘You come into my house,’ he said, slowly moving towards me, ‘my own bedroom. You, a nothing, a nobody, with dark deeds in mind.’

  ‘Not very dark, though. Pretty undark, really.’

  ‘An assassin. An assassin sent by enemies too afraid to face me themselves. Too frightened to tackle Elton the Magnificent!’

  Magnificent? Christ, this bloke really was full of himself.

  ‘Could you let me down so we could have a little chat?’

  Elton grinned. ‘I could do, that’s certainly one option. Or I could turn you into a little pile of ash.’

  ‘Not a fan of option two, personally.’

  ‘Really? I’m leaning towards it myself.’ He began to rub his hands together faster and faster, magic weaving and crackling around them, building, getting ready to be unleashed and turn me into option two at any second.

  ‘I’m here about Brian Teller!’ I cried.

  Elton stopped, hands dropping, magic fading away. ‘Shit,’ he replied.

  Well, that certainly changed the temperature in the room.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. Brian fucking Teller. Can we talk now? I told you already, I’m not here to kill you.’

  Elton eyed me suspiciously then nodded. He clicked his fingers and I dropped to the carpet. ‘I don’t know any Brian Teller,’ he insisted.

  ‘Not great at the lying, are you?’ I replied, dusting myself down. ‘Top notch at the magic, though. That bed move was ace. Right through the wall, gone.’

  Elton sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He sat in a chair that was just suddenly there. Handy trick. ‘Fine. How did you find out?’

  I pulled out my phone and held up the picture of the circle.

  ‘He was supposed to destroy all traces, the fool. I even gave him a broom to brush the chalk away before he left. Why can people not follow simple instructions these days?’

  ‘He also ran out on a demon. Not really a great forward-thinker, our Brian.’

  ‘I broke no rules by helping him. The Long Man can’t be angry with me.’

  ‘Ooh, Elton, have you ever dealt with a demon who doesn’t get what he wants? Tetchy bastards, the lot of them.’

  Elton pulled his kimono closed, hiding his paunch. ‘So what is it you want?’

  ‘Could you…?’ I pointed to my rear end.

  Elton sighed, clicked his fingers, and a second chair appeared. This one had a hard, metal seat, unlike Elton’s rather plush-looking chair. But fair enough, I was an intruder in his home. It’s like that very well known old saying goes, no bottom comfort for assassins.

  I sat down. ‘Why’d you do it, Elton? Why’d you go and help a nobody back out on a deal he signed, knowing full well what he was doing?’

  Elton shrugged. ‘Money, of course. I really like money.’

  ‘What are we talking?’

  ‘Two-hundred grand.’

  I whistled. ‘Okay, can’t blame you there. Thing is, your little protection spell’s caused a wound in reality.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You must have known that would happen?’

  ‘No, no, no, my magic was perfect. I wrote a line in specially to stop that happening.’

  ‘Maybe you’re not as shit-hot as you thought, feller.’

  Elton grimaced and waggled a small, pudgy hand at me. ‘Let me see that pic again...’

  I pulled out my phone and showed him. Elton’s piggy little eyes squinted as they scanned the picture up and down.

  ‘Aw, the tit. The stupid, bloody tit,’ he sighed, sitting back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He smudged it. I told him it had to be perfect or else.’

  I looked at the picture of the circle, and there it was. A slight scuffing of one of the occult symbols Elton had drawn on the cellar floor.

  ‘Idiot must have nudged it with his shoe on the way in. I told him. I told him! I’m only a powerful bloody master of the mystical arts, but no, drag your feet around, what do I know?’

  So the circle should have stopped the wound. Would have let Brian skip town without any damage done. Bad luck, Brian.

  ‘You’ve gotta help me find him,’ I said. ‘The wound’s got to be closed, and the only way is for the Long Man to get what’s his.’

  Elton frowned and began picking at his nails.

  ‘Hey, you did your job. He messed up and brought me to your door. In fact, he’ll have brought the worst of hell to your door if you don’t help. Plus, what’s the big deal? You still get to keep the money he gave you. You completed your transaction, you don’t owe him anything. He messed up.’

  ‘He did mess up.’

  ‘Can you find him?’
>
  ‘I could, but I won’t. If I do that… how is that any different to killing him myself? I’m not a killer. I can’t even hit a fly with a rolled up magazine.’

  ‘You were about to turn me to ash less than a minute ago.’

  ‘Just threats. I’d have just knocked you unconscious and magicked you away.’

  ‘What about the Long Man? You think he’ll just let this pass if you don’t help?’

  Elton shrugged. ‘I can keep demons at bay. Unlike Brian, I don’t scuff my wards.’

  I shrugged and climbed to my feet. ‘Fine. Have it your way.’

  ‘So you’re just going?’ he asked, standing up from his chair too. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Sure. If you won’t help me I’ll just have to find another way. Nice to meet you, Elton.’ I headed past the wizard on my way to the door. ‘Oh, one quick thing…’

  ‘Hm?’

  I jabbed him in the buttock with my hypodermic and quickly drew off some blood.

  ‘Bastard!’ cried Elton, jerking away.

  ‘Thanks, bye then.’

  I ran for the door, only to find myself yanked back as if I was attached to a bungee cord. I shot across the bedroom, through the window, and down, down, down until a garden hedge broke my fall.

  I shook broken glass from my shoulders. Second time I’d gone through a window in less than 24 hours. At least this time I was caught by a bush rather than stone. You’ve got to be thankful for the little things, right?

  ‘Bloody cow!’ yelled the pissed off wizard from his busted window.

  ‘Thanks, Elton, let’s keep in touch, yeah?’ I called back, waving the syringe at him before legging it off his property.