by Al K. Line
"I'm not sure, but something very worrying. Can you get here fast? I need to talk in person."
George sounded worried and paranoid, neither of which were good. For Sasha to be in trouble meant things were very serious. She was a bloody faery, full of awesomeness. She didn't get into bother, hadn't for a long time. She caused it.
"I'll be there as soon as I can. We've had a minor incident, but we won't be long. Promise."
"Hurry, Dad." George hung up.
"What's wrong?
"Not sure, but George said Sasha's in trouble. We need to get back there, and fast."
"How? We don't have a car."
I cursed not having the Teleron with me, but now I kept it locked safely away as it was too precious to carry around all the time. Maybe I should rethink that decision?
As we stood in the road, trying to think how to get home quickly, it was as if our prayers were answered as a bright red sports car, something so expensive and stylish it didn't even have a familiar name, roared toward us, swerved before we could even think about moving, and sped past.
"Damn, thought maybe luck was on our side for once," I said, then began walking.
Vicky jogged along beside me and asked, "Can't we call a taxi?"
I raised an eyebrow, glanced around at the place we were in. No taxi would ever come here; this was out-of-bounds to anyone who wanted to keep their wheels. We ignored the moans and shouts from inside the buildings as junkies clung desperately to the only thing that made sense in their lives. I glared at the desperate as they eyed us up then retreated into the shadows, and ignored the noise the chancers made as they dismantled the car. Couldn't blame them. They had nothing and it was an opportunity not to be missed.
Several minutes later, with my stress levels rising, walking like a zombie, in and out of consciousness, a familiar roar came from behind us.
We stepped aside, expecting the car to speed past, but it slowed to a crawl, the engine thrumming like a wild animal. It pulled up alongside us.
I stopped and peered at impenetrable tinted glass. The driver's window lowered and a familiar face beamed at us.
"Juice," I sighed.
"Fancy a lift?" he asked, grinning broadly.
"Fine, but don't screw me around."
"Hop in. Out you get, Clarence," he said to the passenger. "There's no room for you."
Clarence protested for a moment but was stared down by Juice. He reluctantly got out and held the door while Vicky clambered into the back and I took shotgun.
"How am I supposed to get home?" whined Clarence.
"Walk," I said, pulling the door closed as Juice went from zero to sixty in two seconds.
A Telling Off
"That wasn't nice, Arthur," whined Juice as he slammed on the brakes, dropped into third gear, and took the bend skidding sideways. The car gripped the road like a magnet and he righted it expertly, floored the accelerator, and was up into fifth before my heart took its next beat.
"You deserved it," I growled.
"Haha, you're such a grump. He is, isn't he?" Juice turned to get confirmation from Vicky who was gripping the back of my seat like she was trying to rip it off.
"Just watch the road," I said, in no mood for this crap. "And you deserved worse than a punch in the face."
"Punches. You punched me twice."
"Yeah, like I said, you deserved worse for the shit you pulled. I can't believe you murdered your own mom, dude. That's stone cold."
Juice frowned, his oily skin wrinkling like someone squeezing a greasy white dishcloth, then his features softened and he smiled. "I did, didn't I? Poor Mum. I loved her so much, but it had to be done. Do you know, she could have ruled this city, this country? She could have had everything, but she gave it all up."
"For you. She gave up the life for you."
"No, she did it for herself. You don't know the half of it, what she still got up to. She's a sneaky one. Haha, was a sneaky one. She got in the way of my business, was always interfering, spying on me. She stifled me."
"You could have just moved out," said Vicky, poking her head between the bucket seats.
"She wouldn't let me!" whined Juice, like he was five years old.
"You're a grown man, and apparently you're smart, and have plenty of cash. You have your goons, the business you've built up, but you couldn't move out from your mom's basement?" I asked, not really finding any of this surprising.
"Like I said, she wouldn't let me. She always laid a guilt trip on me. And besides, I like it there. It's comfortable, nice. Easy. But no more. Today is the dawn of a new day. I'm free. Whee!"
And with that, Juice really floored it, and nobody spoke for a while. We couldn't, the g-force was too strong.
Several minutes later we hit traffic and Juice rumbled as angrily as the engine as we waited for a red light to change.
"Where we going again?"
"I just told you for the third time!" He was really getting on my nerves now, and I still couldn't believe he'd summoned the Hangman. What was he thinking. "What were you thinking?"
"About what?"
"All of it. Your mum, the Hangman. Why?"
"Adventure. I want adventure. I want freedom and to be out on my own."
"Like Vicky said, you could have just moved out." I offered.
"You don't understand, neither of you do. I can't move out. It's my home. I have issues."
"You're telling me," I mumbled.
"What was that?" asked Juice, face turning mean and cruel. I had to watch myself. He was unstable and unpredictable.
"Nothing."
"So, okay, I need something familiar. I have to have things just so, and I like my routine. I've been doing my thing for years, and I like it, but all the money, all the businesses, none of it's real. Just numbers on a screen. Same with the artifacts. I want to experience life. I've got all these gadgets, these magical items, and I know all about them, probably more than you do."
"Doubt that. I'm a professional."
"I do, and as to professional, that's debatable. Anyway, I was stuck in a rut, now I'm out of it. I've got my posse, and we're off on a mission. See, already we're having fun. We've got the Hangman coming for us. Who knows what will happen next?" Juice grinned like a child with a lolly, smug and self-satisfied.
He accelerated hard as the lights changed, swerved to overtake the car in front, then gave the driver the finger as he sped off down the wrong side of the road. We headed for the quiet streets on the city's outer limits where those with money locked themselves behind high gates and hedges and pretended everything in the world was all right.
I knew better. Unfortunately.
One Thing After Another
Juice skidded to a halt outside Vicky's, kicking up so much gravel I could hear it pinging against the window panes as I jumped out. Cursing my ineptitude, I reached back in, said, "Sorry, Juice, but there are kids in there, and you're an utter nutcase," and punched him for the third time that evening.
"Should we kill him while he's sleeping"? asked Vicky as she clambered between the seats and slid out of the car.
I glared at my seemingly permanent sidekick—trust me, she'd lasted a lot longer than any of the others—and tried to decide if she was joking or not.
"Oh, you're serious? What happened to you, Vicky? You used to be so sweet. Now you want to kill a man outside your house where your kids could be watching?"
"I was just asking," she replied with a pout.
"We need to have a long conversation," I warned, shaking my head at her bad attitude.
This was what this life did to you. It hardened you, made you cold, and I didn't want that for her. But her life, and attitude, had changed when she discovered the shift she could make every month, the inner hardness solidified when she killed her husband. Vicky was not the same, but she was. Soft and fragile, but with a coldness. Was I any different? Hell no. She was thinking of family, as was right, but it didn't make her attitude any more comfortable to witness.
"Don't worry about him. He won't be back for a while."
"How do you know?"
"I just do, okay? Knowledge comes with the job, and I've been doing this for a long, long time. Come on, let's go see what's happened. If Sasha's in trouble then this is very serious."
We went inside, took off our shoes at the front door, and padded across lovely shining parquet flooring, original from when the house was first built. The walls were paneled oak up to waist height, the ceilings were high, the windows large. But the house was of modest proportions, only four rooms downstairs, the same above. More than sufficient without being ostentatious like her last place.
"Hello?" I shouted. No answer. We exchanged glances and I let the magic rise. It was a struggle, there was basically nothing there, and it was then I remembered Wand. Damn, he'd been quiet for hours. Was he all right?
I reached into my pocket and felt the energy in the wood. It was dormant, a sign of my magical strength. We were linked, and if I was running on empty then so was he. This was worse than I'd thought. I needed to sleep, for with sleep comes rejuvenation, which is why I always looked like I was hungover and had big bags under my eyes. My breath was always fresh though. Wizards have lots of pockets, so there's always room for mints.
I shook Wand to get some life into him and he stirred sluggishly.
"What did I miss?" he asked.
"Everything. Hangman, missing faery, maniac outside. Read my mind, I'm too tired to repeat it."
Moments later, Wand said, "Ooh, cool stuff. Can't believe I missed it. You should have woken me."
"Didn't think. Too tired."
"Want a little pick-me-up?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure, if you can do it."
"Oh, I can do it. But there's a comedown. Be warned."
"Just do it. I'm dead on my feet here."
"Okey dokey."
I gasped, grabbed for the wall, and hung on for dear life as my body felt like it was fizzing with sherbet. My mind cleared, my senses sharpened, and I wondered if this was what it was like to mainline heroin. Maybe meth. Something addictive and dangerous anyway. Just like magic.
I felt awesome, dancing with energy. Zingy, that's what I felt. Zingy.
"Let's go, my homicidal munchkin," I said to Vicky as I shuffled forward into the dining room, my senses on full alert.
Vicky looked at me funny but followed on behind. She bumped into me as I froze in the doorway. The high came crashing down as I took in the horror that awaited.
Sparkly Room
"What the hell?" I gasped, my mind still buzzing, body thrumming with the power of the universe. The positive attitude as the endorphins rushed around my system dissipated as I entered the room.
"Dad!" croaked George, standing on the dining table, cuddling the girls. They had their heads buried in her blouse but looked up when they heard me.
"My little darlings," screamed Vicky as she ran into the room, heedless of the consequences.
It was too late to stop her so I darted forward, scooped her up, then flung her onto the table and launched myself up there too.
The six-seater table with a polished top and dodgy carved dolphins—with fake jewels anywhere they'd fit—for legs groaned under the weight but didn't collapse, so maybe the legs weren't such a bad idea after all, just dubious taste.
Vicky lunged for the girls and they sank onto their backsides as they all embraced. The girls began to cry and then so did Vicky, and I wasn't far from it myself. The poor things should never have to be afraid, but our life had finally pushed its way into the most private of places.
"Are you all right?" I asked George as she stood there looking beautiful, hair almost ablaze as auburn locks shone with a luminescence and vitality not possible for mere mortals. Her green eyes twinkled and her pale skin was flushed. The emerald blouse that made her eyes even more intense was soaked through with tears and sweat and her pencil skirt clung to her legs, stained with strange blotches.
"Fine, but freaked. Something's really wrong. Like, really, really wrong."
"No kidding," I said, taking another look around the room.
"This isn't good," observed Wand, as if I couldn't see with my own eyes.
"I know. Any ideas?"
"What?" asked George.
"Sorry, talking to Wand."
Wand stirred in my pocket but I left him there. He didn't need to be out to see. "My best guess is that Sasha is in mortal, or, um, immortal danger, and she put up a fight but got taken anyway."
"Just what I was thinking."
Everything was swirling, the fabric of the very room itself warped. Walls pulsed in and out, the ceiling was bowing low, the floor rippled in waves, and everywhere was coated in faery dust. The room was thick with it. It kept on falling, streaming through tiny pinpricks of darkness like spouts of invisible teapots then spreading out in a fine spray, the very essence of Faery itself.
"Can you deal with this? Shut it off?" I asked George, worried for the children as reality began to bend.
George's body wavered as if she was two dimensional and made of cardboard, her limbs stretching and everything wonky like a Hall of Mirrors at a fairground. "I think so, but not with the children here. It's too dangerous."
"Okay," I said with a nod, trying not to look at anything as it was making my head spin.
I scooted over to the girls and said, "Hey, little terrors. Uncle Arthur's going to show you some of his cool magic, okay?"
They nodded their heads but didn't look up, remained cradled in Vicky's arms.
"I'm going to take your hands, and you can still hold on to Mummy, then I'm going to make a magical bubble, like a shield, and it will protect us. We'll bounce out of the room and go somewhere safe, maybe the garden. Okay?"
More nods.
"Take my hands," I said as I pulled out Wand and put him between my teeth. "You ready, Wand?" I asked, voice garbled because of my full mouth.
"Ready."
"Okay, grab hold," I instructed. Two tiny, perfect hands reached out without looking and I cupped them tight. Vicky took their other hands and then I counted down. "Three. Two. One. Let's go."
I focused, and shunted what little will remained into Wand. He amplified the magic by drawing on the chaos all around, maybe even assimilating some faery dust—although that could get you into a lot of trouble if the fae ever found out, like permanently dead trouble—and a sphere formed around us, flattened where it sat on the table.
Wasting no time, I scooted to the edge and dropped down, the girls and Vicky trailing close behind. Vicky slid off like a seal and the girls did likewise, then we were all in the bubble, several inches off the ground, as faery dust swirled and everything began to go even wonkier.
We ended up in a heap being rolled about this way and that as we drifted to the doorway and stuck fast. Then the bubble squeezed through and we popped out into the hall, bouncing halfway toward the front door, flailing about but not coming to any harm.
At the door, I let the magic fade and we sprawled out, dizzy. I released the girls, said thanks to Wand, and felt him fade away without a word. As he quieted, so the buzz he'd given ebbed, leaving me with a blinding headache that made me want to scream.
No time for that now. I yanked open the door, said, "Get them away from here," and as Vicky led them outside I slammed the door shut and ran back into the dining room.
George was flat on her stomach, gripping the table as it bounced wildly and the room sucked in and out and furniture flew everywhere. I ducked as a lamp sailed past my head and then dove straight for George as the table crashed down, smashing several chairs.
I skidded across the table and grabbed George's hands just in time. Next thing I knew, we were catapulted sideways and slammed into a wall before sliding down and
landing on a soft bed of thick faery dust.
More tiny holes appeared in the room, spewing dust.
"Are they portals? Paths to Faery?"
"Not to Faery, no. I don't know where they lead, but one opened up and took Sasha."
"Then let's go get her," I said with grim determination.
"You sure?"
"No, but what choice do we have?"
"Okay." George focused, went still as the room raged against us, and one of the small specks expanded until it became a black circle. "Hurry," she gasped. "I can't control it for long."
We gripped hands again and stumbled through.
It was then I remembered that there was a psychopath in a nice sports car outside, and he wasn't the best person to do a spot of babysitting.
But it was too late, and the next thing I knew, my body was being ripped apart and I was screaming into the void.
Confusion
We burst through the Path and landed in a heap. I don't know what I was expecting, but as I glanced up I knew it wasn't this. We were in a room somehow familiar, yet I couldn't place it.
As we scrambled to our feet, I pulled out Wand and readied for action but there were no vicious fae waiting to attack, no monsters, not much of anything. Just a very large, cluttered library. It was ancient. There was a rich carpet, antique ornaments arranged on expensive furniture, a stuffed bear, suits of armor, and a roaring fire in the humongous fireplace. The library had two levels with a heavy wooden staircase linking them, every square inch of wall was full of dusty books, parchments were stuffed into gaps, and a huge table littered with more books, maps, strange objects, and all manner of peculiar paraphernalia.
"I know this room," I said, racking my brain to place it.
"It's just a posh library," said George, nonplussed.
"Yeah, I guess. What happened? What was the emergency? Vicky's place was in meltdown. What happened to Sasha?"
"It was the strangest thing. She turned up, looking stressed, and you know Sasha, she never gets flustered. She said she needed my help, that she was in real danger, and then she glanced around and everything fell apart."
