Bermuda’s head dropped in defeat. Surrounded by nine trained creatures of extreme power, he knew there was no escape. The inevitable would be a trade which would see his best friend undoubtedly murdered. The two worlds would keep spinning, with the loose ends tied up, and the truce would be one crack closer to breaking point.
Argyle would die in his place.
What hurt Bermuda the most was that he knew Argyle would do it willingly.
As the rain clattered around them, the high-pitched sound of metal piercing the air grew. Suddenly a metal chain shot through the dark opening of the tomb, a brutal spike attached to the end of it. It ripped through the neck of the Legion soldier nearest to the door, bursting out of the other side and splattering its neighbour in black blood. The spike split into four and then hooked into the skin. The life drained from the soldier’s eyes.
In an instant, the Retriever hauled the soldier out of the tomb and into a dark, wet death.
The rest of the Legion turned, refitting their masks to their faces and drawing their weapons. Mandrake, experiencing fear for the first time, took two steps back, ensuring he was protected.
Bermuda, with blood dripping from his mouth, smirked.
‘Oh, you boys are in trouble now.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The music thumped out of the speakers, drowning out any notion of conversation, as more people squeezed into Waxy O’Connor’s, a popular bar just round the corner from Queen Street Station. Six bars spread out over three floors, it was a regular drinking spot for many of Glasgow’s police officers. However, tonight, as she sat near the bar, McAllister failed to register a single recognisable face.
Taking her spot on the quieter floor of the establishment, she marvelled at the grand building’s gothic design, the interior fitting in seamlessly with the other large, demonic structures that framed the city. With bars and balconies made of carved oak, it truly was an impressive place to drink.
Judging by the sheer number of people downing shots and shouting over the music, she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Finishing her glass of wine, she anxiously looked at her phone. Ethan had responded, yet she still wasn’t sure how to take the first step.
A bridge needed building; she just didn’t know how to lay the first foundation.
With Bermuda’s words echoing in her ear, she refused the offer of a refill, instead ordering a soda water and lime. Besides, she was meant to be working. As the bartender sorted her drink, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that ran around the back wall of the bar. Hidden between the reflections of the many bottles of different mixers, her face poked through. With her hair straightened and a bit of makeup on, she was impressed with how well she scrubbed up.
The rose-patterned dress she wore felt uncomfortable but clung nicely to her athletic frame.
Bermuda’s other words also hung heavy in her mind, as he had marched out of the police station earlier that evening.
The roses.
Sure enough, once Fowler and Strachan had retired to his office, undoubtedly for an undeserved drink and a back slap, and Butler had calmed and left for the evening, McAllister had snuck into the incident room. Every victim had a link to a rose of some description. Nicole had worn a rose on her hair clip whereas Katie Steingold had met Parker while wearing a rose-covered shirt. Rosie Seeley had been a florist and CCTV had captured Kevin Parker in her store the day of her murder, admiring the very flower. Emma Mitchell, despite being butchered half-naked in the street, had been relieved of a rose-patterned dress in her living room. Lastly, Mika, the poor foreign exchange student, had a rose-covered and blood-splattered rucksack.
As she had run through the case files, she had sat back in amazement. Staring at the picture of Kevin Parker from the nineteen twenties, she had zeroed in on the stunning woman beside him.
She too, wore a dress adorned with roses.
None of it made sense, but she knew that Bermuda was right. The man who had been kicked off the case for interfering had done what none of her team could.
He had found a link.
She had to admit, it was a loose one, but with another woman sure to be found dead in the morning, there were no better options. Pushing the folders aside, she had rushed home, rounded up all the empty wine bottles and binned them, and then told herself it was time to change.
It was time to control what she could.
Then, after a quick shower, she had got ready, easing her slender frame into the dress she had worn to Ethan’s sister’s wedding three years before.
Ethan.
She shook her estranged husband from her mind, promising herself she would take that step the moment she put Parker behind bars. She was still slightly unsure what he was, wanting to look beyond reason and science to admit to this other world. She wanted to believe.
One thing she knew: she trusted Bermuda.
Despite his propensity to irritate, she felt a genuine bond with him. Usually, two broken pieces tend to fit together somehow.
As the music thumped from the floor beneath, McAllister felt her chair rise with the beat. As she gently sipped her non-alcoholic drink, her eyes lit up. Quickly she grabbed her phone, flicking through it quickly and pressing dial.
Her gaze locked on.
Kevin Parker was sat across the bar.
After several rings, she tutted as Bermuda’s bored voicemail message piped through. Staring at a violent murderer, she waited for the beep.
‘Hey, it’s McAllister. I reviewed the files and all of our victims were either drinking here at Waxy’s or nearby. Rosie’s flower shop is also on a surrounding street.’ She looked up; Parker hadn’t noticed her. Yet. ‘Anyway, I am at Waxy’s. Roses on. Parker is here. I am going to distract him. Get here as soon as possible.’
McAllister stopped speaking as Parker turned and their eyes locked. She froze, captured by the genuine beauty of his face and also the terror. His eyes were dark and drilled holes through her skull as if looking right through her.
She hung up the phone, sliding it into her bag. She looked back, and he offered her a warm smile, one she admitted would be hard to resist.
As the music shook the building, Kevin Parker lifted himself from his stool and walked across the bar towards her, a confidence to his walk and a hidden, murderous menace that only she knew of.
She pulled her dress down, ironing out the creases and quickly fluffing her hair. Nerves pulsed through her as if she was experiencing her first kiss all over again.
As the murderous creature from another world took the seat next to her, she wished upon a god she had long since given up on that Bermuda checked his phone soon.
With the increasing force of the rainfall, the wind howled through the tombstones of the Necropolis. Slowly, each member of the Legion filtered out of the tomb in single file, their hands to their weapons. They walked with regimented precision, splitting into equal paths that fanned out around the structure and were slowly enveloped in the darkness. One of the creatures standing guard at the door joined as six separate entities entered the darkness of the Necropolis.
One remained guarding the door, its weapon drawn and its eyes wide and searching. Inside, Mandrake stood calmly, hands behind his back as he waited for Argyle to be defeated swiftly.
None of the creatures had even acknowledged the death of their own. Bermuda shivered in the cold as he struggled to his feet, the chill of the night biting at him with razor teeth. His skull trembled with pain as he reached for the top of the altar, trying to lift himself silently.
Argyle was out there somewhere, outnumbered but willing to fight to save Bermuda’s life. Bermuda, much to his own surprise, found himself willing to fight for Argyle’s life too.
Willing to die for his friend.
Mandrake took a few steps towards the tomb wall, the bricks stacked precariously as they lost their fight with Father Time. The wind whistled through the cracks as he slowly slid his hand from its armoured glove. With an uncovered finger, he dab
bed at the blood of his soldier that painted the wall.
Bermuda pulled himself to his feet.
‘I would stay down if I were you.’ Mandrake didn’t turn. ‘I will turn you over alive, but I said nothing about mobile.’
Bermuda froze.
Mandrake turned, a horrifying grin across his scaled face.
‘Argyle will kill them. You know that, right?’
‘I think it’s entirely possible,’ Mandrake agreed, his hands returning behind his straight back. ‘Yet I know Argyle better than you and it’s his appreciation for life that will kill him. The Legion are many. They do not cry for a fallen comrade. They will surround him and he will kneel by their swords.’
‘Or they will die by his,’ Bermuda countered.
‘Time will tell. However, you should be worried, Bermuda. Argyle has broken his rank and defied his orders. Without a negotiation, your life now holds little value.’
With the threat looming, Bermuda suddenly made a dash for the doorway. In an instant, he felt the cold grip of Mandrake lock onto his arm like a clamp. Without his glove, the Otherside pulsed from Bermuda’s body into his fingertips. Mandrake’s eyes widened with fury.
‘You are infected,’ he uttered. ‘You belong to my world.’
‘Get off me.’
Before Bermuda could continue, he found himself hurled across the tomb and colliding with the wall for the second time that week. His spine cracked against the hard stone, the wind fleeing his body rapidly.
Mandrake slowly eased the glove back over his hand, his face a mask of disgust, as if he had just used it to unclog a toilet. ‘Like Argyle you walk in both worlds, and like Argyle you shall be executed.’
Mandrake took a few measured steps towards Bermuda as he writhed on the floor, his hand pressed against the small of his back. Mandrake smirked at the pathetic human before him. While his squadron hunted one mistake and sent him to the afterlife, he would do the same with another.
He stepped forward again.
Bermuda leapt forward.
Catching Mandrake off balance, Bermuda launched his entire body weight into the murderous general, his shoulder catching him in the stomach below the breastplate. Mandrake stumbled back, growling like a rabid dog, but his mighty frame collided with the fragile stone wall. It collapsed, the thick bricks falling on top of him, slamming him to the hard ground. He roared in pain as the heavy stone toppled, the weight growing and crushing his legs to dust. Bermuda scurried back on his hands and feet, just out of arm’s length as Mandrake reached and clawed for him, his fangs gnashing wildly.
After a few moments, the noise stopped. Bermuda sat a few feet from the trapped soldier, their eyes locked. The flames from the torch fizzled out as the rain burst through the gaping hole of the tomb. It sizzled gently, and a thin line of smoke washed away into the darkness.
Mandrake went to speak, but was instantly shut down by the full force of Bermuda’s foot to the face.
‘Fuck you,’ Bermuda spat angrily before slowly easing himself to his feet. The base of his spine felt like it was on fire and he limped to the exit, stumbling over the threshold and onto the thick mud.
Instantly the guard turned, its face a sheet of white, and it marched towards him, drawing its sword from the sheath that swung from its belt.
Bermuda tried to push himself from his knees, but the mud had engulfed his legs like thick, gooey fingers holding him in place.
He heard the blade freed from its holster, the moon bouncing from its clean steel like a floodlight.
The deathly pale face stayed locked on him as the blade was risen.
The soldier brought it down with full force.
Argyle’s blade deflected the blow before Argyle launched a kick to the soldier’s chest, sending him back a few steps. The creature growled beneath its mask before lunging forward, swinging its sword with deathly precision. Argyle leant back, the blade swinging just above his chest, before he spun on his foot and flicked his own blade across the calf of his opponent.
A spray of black shot up like a fountain, and the creature barked in pain as it dropped to one knee. Before another sound came from its gruesome mouth, Argyle spun his sword expertly before driving it down two-handed into the creature’s neck, severing its spinal cord and killing it instantly.
Bermuda watched wide-eyed, having never seen Argyle kill with such brutality before. Without flinching, his partner drew his blade up with one hand, letting his former comrade slump lifelessly into the mud. As the sword swung from his powerful mitt, Argyle turned to Bermuda and offered him his other.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m fine, Big Guy.’ Bermuda smiled as he took the offer, his partner helping him to his feet and once again saving his life. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘You too.’
They shared a smile. Bermuda then looked past Argyle to the dead creature that was slowly being surrounded by a puddle of black blood. It was as if Argyle had struck oil.
Bermuda pointed at the body. ‘By the way, that was awesome.’
Suddenly, the sound of twirling metal picked up in volume and Argyle dove forward, dragging Bermuda to the ground with him. As they fell to the ground, a razor disc cut through the air a foot above them.
It would have decapitated Bermuda.
As they hit the ground, Argyle ushered his scared partner to move, the two of them scrambling to their feet and shuffling through the shadows and into the darkness of the graveyard. As they passed a few rows of tombstones, they heard footsteps approach the dead body. A loud roar echoed through the grounds, shaking the trees. They reached a small yet sharp drop of about six feet, with Argyle helping his partner down. They leant back against the muddy wall, cloaking themselves in darkness. Mandrake’s voice bellowed from the broken building at the top of the hill, his words lost to Bermuda.
Not to Argyle.
‘He is demanding our heads,’ Argyle translated as Bermuda fished his phone from his pocket.
‘I figured.’
He had several messages and missed calls, the majority from Montgomery Black and all of them the same message just at various stages of anger. With the battery clinging valiantly to life, Bermuda raised his phone to his ear as he listened to his voicemail.
It was McAllister.
‘Hey, it’s McAllister. I reviewed the files and all of our victims were either drinking here at Waxy’s or nearby. Rosie’s flower shop is also on a surrounding street. Anyway, I am at Waxy’s. Roses on. Parker is here. I am going to distract him. Get here as soon as possible.’
‘Fuck!’
‘Fuck?’ Argyle echoed.
‘It’s Sam.’
Argyle looked blank.
‘Detective McAllister. She called me an hour ago. She’s with Parker.’
‘I will distract them. You go to her.’ Argyle drew his sword again.
Bermuda shoved him angrily. ‘No. Come with me.’
‘I must stay.’
‘But you will die, Argyle.’ Bermuda felt a lump growing in his throat. ‘You have to come with me.’
‘This is my fight, Bermuda. I will not run from it. These creatures have killed humans to face me. Those deaths will not be for nothing.’
Bermuda raised both hands to his head, interlocking his fingers amongst his wet hair. He had to go – McAllister was in serious danger.
Argyle reached out his hand and placed it on Bermuda’s shoulder. ‘I bet you ten pounds I will see you again.’
Bermuda smirked, Argyle turning his own joke against him and once again proving to him that he was more than a monster. Whatever he was, Bermuda knew he was the best man he knew.
His best friend.
‘I will gladly pay you when I do.’
Argyle placed a fist on his chest as a sign of respect and Bermuda nodded. Argyle lifted his sword and in one leap cleared the six-foot back onto the tier above and, keeping low to the ground, moved swiftly through the cold. A moment later he spun the Legion soldier around, and with
one swift slice of his sword, slit its throat clean open.
Mandrake yelled another order and suddenly all the attention was back to the top of the hill. Argyle raced into the darkness, knowing he would be hunted by the five remaining Others who knew nothing but to kill.
With the coast clear, Bermuda began descending the hill as quickly as he could, navigating through the fields of death, knowing they were about to be sprinkled with even more.
As Argyle charged into the darkness to battle monsters, Bermuda made his way through the gate, covered in mud and hoping he wasn’t too late to stop a different monster entirely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Argyle rested on his haunches, his blade held steadily over his shoulder. Ducked behind a large tombstone, he used the monument of death to plot another. The decades of training at the hand of Mandrake were flooding back to him, the perfection he expected from his soldiers. Argyle knew what was expected of them, each member of the Legion.
They were not an army.
They were a death squad.
Argyle knew – he had led them to slaughter many, and he regretted every life that fell at his command. Mandrake, with his lust for blood, never batted an eyelid. The remaining five of those stalking him had seen horrors that would give even those of his world nightmares. They had trekked the dark fields for decades, eventually landing at the gates of his city.
They were as feral as the Other Argyle had slain on that momentous land ship in London.
Mandrake had weaponised them.
Their loyalty was as fierce as their combat. There was no regard for life, be it their opposition’s or their own. They were the perfect squadron.
They were the eight.
Now reduced to five.
Argyle held his breath, allowing the rain to run down his dark face and drip onto his blade, the water joining the black blood that ran up the steel like a tribal tattoo. As Argyle drew inwards, the sound of each drop bouncing off his sword echoed through his skull. The wind howled like a wolf on a full moon.
The Absent Man Page 26
