Deadly Departed: A Supernatural Thriller (Fletcher & Fletcher, Paranormal Investigators Book 2)

by David Bussell

  We were barely three blocks away when we stepped into a brand new pile of shit.

  Chapter Twenty: The Boys in Blue

  Thanks to that little detour, the Vengari not only knew who I was, they knew that I was onto them. I thought the conclave would be a piñata I could crack open for juicy gossip, but instead it had turned out to be a nest full of angry wasps. Even worse, I was about to discover that the vamps weren’t the only bad bastards my investigation had succeeded in stirring up.

  We rounded a corner and ducked behind a wall with bits of broken glass embedded in the cement on top. Using Frank’s eyes, I checked back the way we came and confirmed we’d shaken our pursuers. The squeezing fist of dread that held us both in its icy grip seemed to loosen for a moment, at least until I cast Frank’s head in the other direction and saw some new figures heading our way.

  The three strangers moved simultaneously, each footstep landing in perfect synchrony like a trio of dancers performing a well-rehearsed routine. It wasn’t clear who or what they were, but I was certain they didn’t belong to the Vengari clan. With their upright posture and peacock strut, they were a total contrast to the crooked, hunched vampires we’d just outrun.

  The figures crossed beneath a street lamp buzzing with fat moths and I saw them for what they were: Arcadians. So, the fae I was chasing hadn’t come to the city alone. That put a whole new complexion on things. Speaking of complexion, with their azure skin on full display it was clear that these Arcadians—unlike the one I was chasing—had no respect whatsoever for the Accord.

  The Accord is what us Uncannies call the agreement we have: the one we adopted centuries ago to keep our supernatural business separate from the workaday world. I wondered briefly whether the fae were oblivious of the agreement or just contemptuous of it, but as they drew closer I could tell by the look on their smug blue faces that it wasn’t due to ignorance. The Arcadians knew the rules, they just considered themselves above them.

  ‘My name is Draven,’ said the Arcadian flanked either side, his voice smooth as a meadow river. All three fae were dressed smartly, but the cut of this one’s jib was a little tidier than the rest. He was suited and booted and wore a coat with a collar made from the fur of something rare and expensive. He lifted his chin and peered at me imperiously. ‘I assume you know who we are?’

  I scratched my cheek stubble. ‘I’d say the Blue Man Group, but you’re a fuck of a long way from Vegas.’

  I saw Draven’s face stiffen and wondered if pissing him off was really in my best interest. Inside my head, Frank was equally concerned, and with good reason. Even wrapped up in his body, I was as vulnerable to creatures who wielded magic as I was to other undead. I’ve learned over the years that the list of things that can kill ghosts is a long one. Aggravatingly long.

  ‘We’re here to find our missing brother,’ said Draven.

  So they were looking for the killer, too. It seemed even his own people didn’t know where he was. What happened, I wondered. Did he go rogue? That would explain why I found him roughing it. Just how ugly was this vamp he was meant to marry that he was prepared to ditch his own family and live like a derelict?

  ‘If you’re asking after the other blue pretty boy, you’re wasting your time,’ I said. ‘Because I don’t have a Scooby.’

  ‘A what?’

  I sighed. Why does no one take the time to learn the lingo anymore? ‘Scooby Doo: clue,’ I explained.

  ‘I see.’ Draven returned a sinister smile. ‘Well, that’s odd, because a deaf eaves told us very much the opposite.’

  Shit. The bulb-headed dealer must have done some digging and grassed me up as a thank you for the grilling I gave him at the nightclub. Poxy eaves.

  Draven continued, ‘Having learned about the so-called Spectral Detective, we decided to stop by your office. We’ve been following you ever since.’

  I guess they figured I knew this city better than them, so why not let the cat lead them to the mouse? That meant I had two groups piggybacking my investigation now. Honestly, the cheek of these people. On the other hand, two sets of stalkers; a bit flattering.

  While his companions remained mute, Draven spent a moment taking in his surroundings. ‘You know, the last time I was here, this place was fields as far as the eye could see. Now look at it.’

  A sudden cough rattled his ribs. He plucked a silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at his mouth. Clearly, the city agreed with him about as much as it did the Arcadian I was chasing.

  Draven returned the hankie to his pocket. ‘Now, are you going to tell us where we find our brother, or do we need to extract an answer from you some other way?’

  I didn't like the sound of that, and neither did Frank. Matter of fact, he floated the idea of telling the fae what we knew and leaving them to deal with the matter themselves. He only said it out of love for me, mind you. Frank knew, even though we were certain to catch a beating for it, that we weren't giving the Arcadians shit. Not when we had a murdered woman relying on us to take down her killer.

  ‘Sorry, lads, no can do,’ I said.

  Draven’s mouth curved into another fishhook smile. ‘Such a shame,’ he said.

  He popped the buttons of his fur-lined coat, peeled back a flap, and produced a weapon. Not a common shooter I noted—like the type his kin had used on my client—but something not of this world. In his hand, he held a short iron rod topped each end by a lump of crystal the size of a doorknob. Embedded in each of these crystals was what looked like a miniature swirling thunderstorm. He passed the rod to his other hand and a crackling white tentacle trailed behind it. I tasted static on Frank’s tongue and gulped involuntarily.

  Draven’s smile turned dangerous. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’

  He lunged at me with his rod of ruination, but I pulled back just in time and it slammed into the wall beside me, missing my skull with barely enough space for a Rizla paper. The other two didn’t wait for me to take my turn. The fae pounced in my direction, but before they could get to me, I evened the odds by parting ways with my corporeal form. As I peeled away from Frank, he took a swing at the nearest fae, caught him in the jaw, and introduced him to the pavement.

  ‘Hm,’ said Draven, tutting. ‘That explains where your partner got to.’

  As we backed away, the floored Arcadian staggered to his feet, blood shading his blue face purple. Eager to return to the fight, he fell in line with his companions and the three of them came at us as one.

  I turned to Frank and saw from the look in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing I was: no way we were going to take on the Arcadians in a straight fight. We’d need to box clever if we were going to stand any chance of walking away from this, and that started with getting the hell out of their orbit.

  For the second time that evening, Frank and I ran. We ducked by the Arcadians and made good with our legs, Frank’s shoe leather slapping the ground hard, my phantom loafers making no sound at all. As we barrelled down the side street I snatched a look over my shoulder and realised the fae were gaining on us with ease. We wouldn’t outrun them. The best we could do was face them in an arena of our choosing; some place that gave us an edge. I had no idea what such a place would look like, but I saw a door on our right and decided being inside was a start. Out here we ran the risk of running into some vegetation the fae could use against us—a patch of ivy creeping up the wall ahead being a likely culprit. Indoors, the worst we’d have to face was a pot plant.

  ‘Quick, through there...’

  Frank caught my meaning. Ducking his head and turning his shoulder, he steamrolled through the door and laid it flat on the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-One: A Freudian Slap

  The room we found ourselves in was large and grey and littered with pallet trucks. Evidently we’d barged into the loading dock of a warehouse. We forged on into the main storage area, a massive space lined with rows of industrial racks that stretched up high to a corrugated iron roof. The warehouse was dark and con
tained plenty of places we could hide and spring from. Because if there’s one thing ghosts are good at, it’s springing on people.

  ‘Come out, smog-drinker,’ called a voice I recognised as Draven’s. It was followed by another racking cough.

  I hoped the environment I’d chosen, combined with the fae’s intolerance for the modern world, at least gave me and Frank a fighting chance.

  ‘Allergies playing up?’ I called back. ‘Maybe you should get out of London and bugger off back to the Midsummer Night’s Dream candyland you came from.’

  ‘So quick-witted,’ came Draven’s disembodied voice. ‘And yet what are you, really? Just the absence of a person. A void.’

  ‘Better that than a fucking displaced wood nymph,’ I retorted.

  We were fighting for our lives, so forgive me a bit of fae-cism. That’s racism against the fae. Get it? Okay, let’s move on.

  I decided to stop taking Draven’s bait and shut my trap before I gave away our position. Frank and I ducked behind a rack loaded with nondescript cardboard boxes and watched the three Arcadians split up to cover more ground. Obviously, these guys had never seen a horror film before.

  One of the lackeys—the feller that Frank had leathered outside—ended up wandering in our direction, more by luck than judgment. Bad luck as it turned out.

  Without waiting for my permission, Frank plunged a fist through one of the cardboard boxes stacked between us and the fae and connected with his temple. His knees unhinged and he went down, but the bloke wasn’t out for the count just yet. He tried to get up but failed on the first attempt, one foot sliding out uncontrollably and sending him back down. The floor beneath him had turned slippery and shone like an oil slick, only this wasn’t Texas tea, this oil was see-through as a cartoon ghost. I noticed broken glass scattered among the mess, and attached to a portion that still bore a half-jar shape, a label. It read FRISKY BUSINESS SEX LUBE. With a rapidly dawning realisation, I came to understand exactly what kind of warehouse we were occupying, and what it was doing parked in this shit part of town.

  The fae was getting back to his feet. If we stayed in this spot and let him square up for round two, his friends would come running for sure. We needed to retreat and make another attack from the shadows, guerilla warfare style. So Frank and I fell back and found a new hiding place among a forest of assorted fetish gear hung on mobile clothes rails.

  I caught sight of the creeping fae, who looked pretty much recovered from Frank’s punch and was once again heading our way.

  ‘Hiding, eh?’ he said. ‘Two can play at that game.’

  With that, he vanished. I don’t mean he took cover or stepped into a shadow, I mean he disappeared without a trace. It was the same invisibility magic I’d seen the Arcadian I was hunting use, only there was no rain to give this one away. This camouflage was one hundred percent effective.

  Feeling exposed, I reached into my jacket and felt the reassuring weight of my hammer. I took the weapon in my fist and pressed my back to Frank’s. Together, we turned in a slow circle, eyes darting this way and that, searching for the first sign of danger.

  I almost didn’t spot it at first, it was so subtle: a barely significant detail that I almost mistook for a floater in my eye. A shiny spot had appeared on the ground in front of me, accompanied by a low squelch. Behind the spot were more of the same, a breadcrumb trail of small, wet marks. Something invisible was leaving behind footprints like a man tracking dog shit through the house. Only this wasn’t shit, it was lube.

  I lashed out with the hammer and felt the flat end connect with something mid-swing. The fae struck the ground as large as life, blood leaking from his ear. I looked down and saw the hammer had snapped in half, the part with the steel head lying on the floor some distance away.

  ‘Fuck you, Thumbelina,’ I hissed, ‘and the unicorn you rode in on.’

  One down, two to go.

  I hooked a hand under Frank’s elbow and steered him to a new hiding spot, a shady nook in a narrow aisle of marital aids. I felt good. I felt lethal. I felt like my blood was on cocaine.

  ‘Listen,’ I whispered to my partner, ‘I need you to lie low here while I get the drop on the next one.’

  Frank went to say something but I clapped a hand over his wet mouth before he could start grousing.

  ‘Don’t take it personal,’ I assured him, ‘it’s just that you make a fuck of a lot of noise. Me, they won’t see coming.’

  Frank clearly had more to say on the subject of being benched, but he let me have this one and stepped aside with a minimal amount of grumbling.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere. Just stay here, okay?’

  He nodded once. ‘Oookay.’

  I took off, patrolling the aisles in search of a new weapon. I was on the lookout for something with a bit of heft to it, something I could do some real damage with: a janitor’s mop, or maybe I could detach the handle from one of those pallet jacks and use that. I felt confident. I felt emboldened. And then I felt a fist in the side of my head.

  The punch landed hard and left me swaying like a drunk at his ex’s wedding. An Arcadian snapped into focus before me. It was the other lackey: the second of Draven’s footsoldiers. While I was still floundering, he socked me with a left that had my head singing like a bell.

  I got cocky, that’s what I did. I was so amped up after taking down the first fae that I forgot the golden rule—the same one I only just chided the enemy for breaking—don’t split up unless absolutely necessary. There’s strength in numbers. Frank knew that, but instead of cooperating with him, I went stag and got myself into this mess.

  The fae gave me a kick in the guts before I could call for help, and then another. A third punt caught me in the head and threw a fistful of static blooming across my vision. There was nothing I could do to stop him; if the fae carried on like this, I was going to end up a leaky bag swimming with loose bone splinters.

  And then came my knight in shining armour.

  A pair of arms girdled the fae’s chest and lifted him off his feet, bearhug style. Frank to the rescue. He’d disobeyed my order and snuck up on my attacker in a pincer movement, and thank Christ for that. If he hadn’t tagged in I’d have gone belly up for sure. And no, the irony of telling Frank that he was too clumsy to be useful in this fight, only for him to sneak up on my assailant after I blundered into his trap, was not lost on me.

  The Arcadian tried to call out to his superior, but Frank was hugging him so tight he couldn’t breathe air into the words. Still, there was no telling when he might break free and bring more heat on us, so he needed taking down. I considered taking a swing at him, but if Frank’s best punch only fazed these guys, chances were I’d only break my knuckles on his face. I needed something stronger than a fist, something that really left a dent.

  Or maybe not.

  Maybe what I needed didn’t need to be tough at all, just poisonous. The Arcadians had a weakness to steel, but how were they affected by truly modern materials? Say something completely synthetic, like—my eyes searched the shelves either side of me and settled on just the thing—a silicone dildo the size of a grown man’s arm.

  I snatched it up, tore off its packaging, and belted the fae across the chops with it. It worked like a charm. His eyes crossed on impact and he crumpled to the floor in an ungainly heap, all trace of his former poise lost. As I stared at the livid mark decorating his cheek, I asked myself whether there was such a thing as a dignified way of being knocked out by an oversized sex toy, and decided probably not.

  I high-fived Frank. ‘Good lad,’ I said.

  I’d thank him properly later; for now there was the matter of the third fae, Draven. But before we could mount another hit and run, the final Arcadian blinked into existence behind Frank and dealt him a crack across the back of the skull that made him collapse like a failed soufflé. An eardrum-molesting crunch accompanied Frank’s fall. I thought for a second it was the noise of bone shattering, at least u
ntil I saw broken glass on the ground and realised it was the jar he was carrying, crushed beneath the weight of his body along with the will-o’-the-wisp it contained.

  Draven flashed me a grin like a monkey about to fling a fistful of fresh shit, then brought down his magic rod.

  A black wave folded over me, plunging me into a dark dreamless nothing.

  And that was that.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Off with the Fairies

  I wasn’t expecting to open my eyes again, but I did, at least in flashes. As I drifted in and out of consciousness I caught disparate glimpses of my surroundings, snapshots of an unfamiliar world.

  I saw a steep grass verge and a weed-choked path.

  I saw birds circling overhead, screeching like no bird I ever heard before.

  I saw the yawning mouth of a gated tunnel covered in crude graffiti. One of the paintings was of a black skull topped with a pair of large round ears. Underneath it was scrawled the words MICKEY MORTE.

  Then off flicked the switch and I was left in the dark again.

  When the lights came back on, the first thing I saw was my own face. I thought I was looking at my reflection for a second, then I realised I was lying next to Frank. We were splashed across the floor of a small room. More of a cell, really. A cell so small it was like a coffin with headroom.

  ‘Frank?’ I whispered.

  He wasn’t breathing (reanimated corpses tend not to), so it was hard to tell if he was unconscious or whether he’d earned his epitaph. I was starting to panic when a twitch of the eyelid and a tic in his cheek told me he wasn’t done kicking yet.

  I rolled over and saw a flickering light filtering through the gap underneath our cell door. I scooched up to the gap, placed an eye to it, and saw a cold blue flame burning in a metal sconce outside, illuminating the corridor beyond with eldritch fire. There was magic at work here. Fae magic.