The Last Line Series One

by David Elias Jenkins

  “Whatever you say.”

  Usher shook his hand.

  “But thanks big guy.”

  More battle worn faces appeared from behind the hulking soldier. The Australian Stromberg surveyed the carnage in the restaurant with his usual surf dude’s grin.

  “Have you ever been for a night out, boss, and not started a fight?”

  “I was having a very quiet night up until that point. How did you find me?”

  Stromberg mimed casting a spell with his hands.

  “Old spooky Debruler got a tip off from one of his magic circle friends that there was a hit out on you. Then he had some kind of vision, gibbered at us for a while, and here we are.”

  “Good old Lord Debruler. I’ll get him a gift if I can think of something he hasn’t already bought.”

  Stromberg grimaced.

  “Honestly boss, the weirdos he brings around. Did you know there’s like an entire underground subculture of amateur thaumaturgists in London? It’s like Comic-Con for virgin wizards.”

  Behind him stood Santiago, his Soulblade drawn and twirling casually in his hand.

  “Van’s running Major. Metropolitan police and ambulance are on their way. If no one needs first aid then we need to evac right now. If Spring Heeled jack is on the hunt then we need to intercept before he finds his victim.”

  Usher turned to Gina with a look of exasperation.

  “Gina, we need to catch this guy. I can’t-”

  “Usher, go. I’ll be fine, I’ll sneak out the back and see you tomorrow. And you can tell me all about that zoning out moment you had back there.”

  “You can find your way-?

  Gina leaned in and kissed his cheek.

  “I’m fine soldier, just go.”

  “We’re re-doing this. Somewhere quiet.”

  She gave him her coyest smile.

  “Deal.”

  Stromberg was kicking the headless corpse with a befuddled look on his tanned face.

  “Funny looking assassin. They run out of vampires?”

  Usher looked down at the thing that had once been a man.

  “Trust me Strommy he was tougher than he looked.”

  Stromberg shook his head at the damage all around them.

  “Weird, right? Trying to take you out like this? They’re getting cocky.”

  Usher grabbed his jacket from the floor and stepped carefully out of the broken window to where the unmarked van was running and ready to go. Usher turned and looked back at the wide screen television still playing MTV above the bar.

  Thanks for the heads up old pal. Stay safe until we find you.

  Santiago put a hand on Usher’s arm.

  “You ok boss? You see something?”

  Usher started to open his mouth. Then he shook his head and smiled.

  “No, nothing, just an interconnected phased event presented as archetypes and dream logic.”

  Santiago shrugged and blew his cheeks.

  “Boss I’m just a door-kicker. We need Ariel back if you want to talk nerd.”

  Usher patted Santiago on the shoulder. “We’ll get him back. Just now let’s go catch us a goblin.”

  Usher suited up and checked his kit as the van sped off on their way to intercept a monster that had been stalking London for weeks.

  3

  “Would you say, Colonel, that you are a disgrace to your uniform? Would you say that your tendency to go off book and disregard established protocol has left you open to attack and your position commanding the Special Threats Group vulnerable? I ask because we are one step from shutting you down.”

  Greystone’s starchy white shirt itched his neck. The boardroom was stuffy and hot. It smelled of old leather and rich tea biscuits. The grandfather clock ticked reliably in the corner, counting down his fate. He sat there, arse sweating in the uncomfortable chair, desperate for a whisky and soda but settling for a cup of earl grey. He sat before a table of stern old men. The panel was made up of high level civil servants, politicians and life peers who quietly ran civilization from the shadows.

  Greystone straightened his uniform and smoothed down his hair. He sat before the panel of glaring suits, his pale eyes flicking across them one by one. The medals of thirty eight years of military service gleamed on his chest. Northern Ireland, Falklands, the Balkans, Iraq, Afghanistan. A hundred other secret places to be found on no maps.

  He regarded the review board with his shoulders square. Greystone knew exactly where this was going. His entire career had been spent with one boot in the boardroom and one in the mud. The mud usually felt cleaner.

  As these powdered pricks sit in their gentleman’s clubs analysing our every move over cigars and brandy with their 20/20 hindsight.

  Greystone cleared his throat.

  “I’m at the sharp end of an unconventional war against a very unconventional enemy, Minister. Our adaptability has traditionally been our strength. Had we been unwilling to go off book, as you put it, a lot more unsavoury things would currently be crawling around on our side of the fence.”

  But I’m sure that even they’d be as repulsed as I am by you and your cronies.

  A chinless man with thinning hair and a pin stripe suit shook his head at the reports in front of him. Blocks of black ink were scored liberally over the pages.

  “That’s just it Colonel. I can barely make sense of all this it’s so redacted. As for all this gobbledegook about Thaumaturgy and Otherkind, does anyone here actually understand this? It all seems like some form of parlour trick to me. I’ve yet to even see any concrete evidence for myself that this threat even exists.”

  Greystone offered the man the thinnest of smiles.

  Why don’t you come down to the detention facility in Wales? I can put you in a cell with something for a couple of hours and I can watch you piss your pants.

  Greystone took a sip of tea to moisten his parched mouth.

  “Historically Minister, the strength of the Unseelie has been their ability to stay in the background, work through intermediaries, redirect blame. Think of them less as a conventional army and more as network of spies or a collection of loosely connected terrorist cells. On top of that, my teams have worked very hard to keep as much of these events as possible from the public eye. But recently it’s changing. The incidents are becoming more prevalent. ”

  “Changing Colonel? You mean these recent attacks? We’re not impressed. For an organization that prides itself in keeping all this stuff under wraps, you seem to be haemorrhaging information on all sides. It’s dangerously close to the public eye, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would.”

  “Unless of course, these unlikely incidents are fabricated.”

  “Fabricated? By whom?”

  “Why by you and your teams Colonel. Surely no one is better equipped to create the illusion of increased attacks. All the artefacts and supposed creatures you have collected.”

  “I wonder, Lord Bramley, if you would make such accusations if you had seen for yourself what my men have faced all across the world first hand.”

  Another man sitting behind the long mahogany table cleared his throat and fixed Greystone’s eye. He was a hereditary peer with his finger in every pie.

  “Yet for all your improvisation and willingness to disobey protocols, Colonel Greystone, your team Empire One, led by this Major-” he looked down at his notes for a moment “-Major Usher, has allowed something extremely unsavoury to cross over. Something which this report states, could pose a significant threat to our security. This Bones of Lilith incident. Would that responsibility ultimately fall on your shoulders, Colonel?”

  Significant threat to our security? It will end us all if we don’t stop it.

  Greystone fixed the man’s gaze.

  “The buck always stops with me, Lord Bramley. I take full responsibility.”

  Lord Bramley referred to his notes then glanced up at Greystone. His sense of casual entitlement was tangible and rubbed the old soldier up the wrong way. />
  “And this threat, this Lilith creature that is so dangerous. You’ve set up some manner of watch stations across the world to do what, monitor for some kind of thaumaturgic activity?”

  “That’s correct Lord Bramley. Our team’s occult investigator Edward Debruler believes that the remains of Lilith are protected by a sort of thaumaturgic shield. This shield is being projected out from a place of great power somewhere on earth. Unless this shield is destroyed, she is essentially invulnerable.”

  Lord Bramley raised a doubting eyebrow at the old soldier.

  “I’m familiar with Lord Debruler. His father was a fine man but from my few meetings with the son he is nothing but a wastrel and a playboy. I’ve rarely seen him sober. Do you trust his expertise on this matter?”

  “Implicitly. He proved extremely adept in practical thaumaturgy and all knowledge relating to Unseelie lore during the Bloodmist incident.”

  Bramley let out a derisive snort.

  “I wouldn’t boast about the outcome of that mission Colonel. It’s mainly the reason why you are here today answering to us. And do you have the slightest idea where this place of supposed power is located?”

  Greystone bit his lip and held in his anger.

  “We have been unable to find it thus far. We have psychic sensitives located at several possible locations to detect any anomalies.””

  The old aristocrat hesitated for a moment, rubbed his thumb across the tips of his fingers.

  “And what about this necromancer character that stole the Bones from under your team’s noses? Cornelius Fortune. Is their surveillance on him?”

  “No. We believe he may be here in London but have no location for him yet. My team are at this moment on a live operation to intercept an Unseelie operative that has known connections to Fortune.”

  Lord Bramley raised a bushy eyebrow at the old soldier. He poured himself a brandy from a decanter on the table and took a slow sip.

  “Colonel Greystone, we’re not asking you to fall on your own sword just yet, but I would ask that you consider your position. If you were to step down discreetly, it might be possible to restructure the Special Threats Group into something a bit less Wild West and a bit more Queen’s Own. We can’t have rogue elements. There are other officers in line for your position and we could ensure that you leave with full honours and step neatly into a cushy little government advisor position to the Saudi royal family.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You’re certain? This would allow you to leave with some measure of dignity.”

  Greystone cocked his head and took a long measure of the Lord in front of him. Finally he sighed and gave a sad smile.

  “Finishing what you start, never compromising on your values, never sending a man to do a job you wouldn’t be willing to do yourself, going into the ground with some honour in your bones. That’s what gives you a measure of dignity Lord Bramley. Or did you mean sidestepping blame for the bad days while never accepting responsibility for getting your hands dirty? Is that what you meant by dignity? If so, no thank you.”

  A low disgruntled rumble carried along the old men at the table. This jumped up colonel simply wasn’t playing the same sport as them at all. They’d see him disgraced for this. Lord Bramley stood up and extended a hand, with the easy smile of someone absolutely confident they were addressing an inferior.

  “Colonel, you’ve made your position absolutely clear. This board will review all information and be in touch with you at our convenience. Although I should warn you that we will be auditing your department thoroughly and may suspend certain active operations that we deem over budget or unproductive. Good day to you sir and thank you for attending here today.”

  Greystone stood up and straightened his uniform. He did not take Lord Bramley’s hand but offered them a smart salute instead. Bramley left his hand extended for a few awkward moments then drew it back.

  “Perhaps we will see you Colonel, in a less formal setting. Brandies at the club perhaps. You are still a member I trust? We so rarely see you there.”

  Greystone nodded.

  “Lord Bramley, if I had time to sit around all day in a fucking armchair pickling myself, then I would know that all Unseelie were gone from the earth, and we had won. So on the day I sit down to join you, rejoice.”

  “Oh I dream of the day Colonel, when there is no one left to stand against us.”

  Greystone turned sharply and marched out of the boardroom. Once out, he finally allowed his shoulders to sag, as the weight of what he was about to do rested upon them.

  Oh I just bet you do.

  .

  4

  “Control this is Exorcist.”

  Usher frowned in concentration, pressing his earpiece tight and trying to hear the reply above the pounding rain.

  “Receiving Exorcist.”

  He crouched low behind a crumbling wall. He peered through his night vision binoculars. Across the derelict urban wasteland the Unseelie killer crouched. It was silhouetted against the burning brazier lit by the area’s many homeless. The fire interfered with his light enhancing lenses and made him squint.

  “I have eyes on the subject.”

  The clipped voice in his earpiece.

  “Acknowledged Major Usher. Your tactical parameters remain in place.”

  Usher glanced over at Jeter, his teammate. The German sniper was perfectly still, his icy eyes flicking from his rifle scope to Usher. Usher gritted his teeth and shook his head, disallowing the shot. Jeter showed no emotion, he just nodded and resumed his gaze on the target. Usher whispered into his comms unit.

  “Are you serious? This thing is not going to come quietly.”

  A pause. Then the dispassionate voice of the control room.

  “Be cognisant of your less lethal options Exorcist.”

  Since their defeat during the Bloodmist incident and the subsequent disappearance of their cherished occult attaché Ariel Speedman, less lethal had not been part of Empire One’s vocabulary. They had gone after every Unseelie they could find with extreme prejudice. They knew the stakes were global, but their motivation was very personal.

  Usher rolled his eyes. He looked across at the oppo to his right and tapped the X-26 Taser strapped to his body armour. Stromberg, the Australian demolitions man, pointed to his own earpiece. His wavy blonde hair was lank in the rain.

  “Who is this work experience clown boss? You can’t arrest these fuckin things.”

  Usher shrugged and then held his press-to-talk button.

  “Control, this Unseelie has seven missing women to its name. I’ll keep it alive until I get the answers I want.”

  “Negative Major. The location of the Bones is the primary objective. Utilize minimum force to achieve objective.”

  The youngest member of the group, Charlie, smiled bitterly. His voice was pure husky east-end gangster.

  “I grew up in this part of London Boss. Gentrification missed this tube stop. Working class folks always went missing here. Never been taken seriously by the filth…sorry guv, the Metropolitan police service. ”

  Usher felt his protective instincts kick in. Sometimes the brass really knew how to push his buttons. Hurt women and kids? Usher would make it his life’s mission to switch you off. He wanted the Bones of Lilith back more than anyone, but was loathe at letting a single Unseelie survive in the process. He reined the rage in a little and whispered to his team.

  “The victims being prostitutes and homeless has nothing to do with their value. They’re missing women. If the brass doesn’t see it that way then that’s their problem. This fucker’s on our hit list. We’ll get the info we need first, then it’s nighty-night. ”

  Charlie absent mindedly daubed his face with a top up of camo paint.

  “Agreed guvnor. Don’t mind telling you my auntie Ida was on the game. Lovely woman, never missed me birthday. Got strangled by one of her regulars when I was fourteen.”

  Usher peered sidelong at his young teammate. Cha
rlie looked like a wet pit bull. He had only ever had two paths in life; prison or the forces. Usher thought it would have been a serious waste of talent if he’d gone the former route.

  “Christ Charlie you had some childhood. They ever catch who did it?”

  Charlie shrugged.

  “Nah.”

  Usher resumed surveilling the target.

  “Did you ever catch who did it?”

  Charlie grinned out into the night and brought up his rifle.

  “Course I did.”

  Usher guessed the next part, but wasn’t gonna ask where the body was buried.

  Usher and his team had tracked this particular Unseelie for weeks. At first the police thought that they were investigating some twisted copycat killer, emulating the Whitechapel murders of 1888. The victims were all from the underclass unlikely to be missed or even reported. The first few women were left on industrial estates and derelict sites just like this one, mutilated and torn open. Then after the first four bodies the victims were abducted and no more bodies turned up. The police were baffled as to this sudden change in modus operandi but it was red-flagged with the Special Threats Group.

  It had been Debruler, their new occult attaché that had pointed out the missing detail gathered from the investigations. Victims four onwards had been in the early stages of pregnancy. Debruler had pored over old tomes at the arcane library in Hereford. The once flippant young aristocrat had gravely explained to Usher pre-mission.

  This is not the work of some serial killer Usher. This is part of a ritual. It’s an old Unseelie way of a protecting a site of importance to them. The ritual he would work on those…unfortunate women. It would conceal that place from our watch stations. Mask the thaumaturgy. Not completely, but enough perhaps. This thing is on a mission, Thom. This magic, it’s about protecting death with the illusion of life. Encircling it until it is invisible to us.

  Usher heard Santiago the Hispanic knifesmith crawl up beside him.

  “Boss, I’ve scouted ahead. The only viable lair for a creature like that, that’s at the epicentre of its hunting patterns, is a derelict hospital on the other side of that waste ground.”