Dark Warlock: Arcane Inc. Book 3

by Sean Stone

  Dark Warlock

  Arcane Inc. Book 3

  Sean Stone

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

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  Untitled

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  Also by Sean Stone

  The Cedarstone Chronicles

  Cursed

  The Cult of Osiris

  The Ancients

  Arcane Inc.

  Warlock for Hire

  Warlock Wanted

  Short Story Collections

  Horrors from Cedarstone

  Horrors from Cedarstone II

  Horrors from Cedarstone III

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  1

  I could feel the ghost. It was in the room. The temperature had dropped ever so slightly and I could sense the presence of something not human. Not anymore anyway. Neither of the occupants were supernatural and apart from myself they were the only ones in the room. Nigel and Harriet Carson, the middle-aged residents of this quaint little house on the outskirts of Maidstone’s town centre, had hired me to resolve their ghost problem. Apparently it had been causing quite a rumpus. Their words not mine.

  “Listen,” I called to the ghost. “I’ve got all night and so have you, but I charge thirty quid an hour which means these two lovely people who own this house probably—”

  The crystal vase flew off the mantel and smashed against the far wall. Luckily it had been empty. Nigel shrieked and Harriet fixed him with a disapproving look.

  “Good, we’re getting somewhere,” I said to the air. “Why don’t you try using words?” I suggested.

  “This is all it ever does. For months now all it’s done is throw things around. So many of our things have been destroyed,” Harriet said. She was a stern woman with her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun. She reminded me of a mean headmistress.

  “That’s unfortunate,” I said. Ghosts, or as this particular spirit was more commonly known: poltergeists, often resorted to throwing things around in frustration. They grew frustrated with being unable to materialise and communicate properly. Crossing from the spirit world isn’t easy. Those who fail sometimes try to force their way back and the result is usually getting stuck halfway. I suspected that that was the case here.

  I looked at my watch. I’d been here for an hour and a half. That was sixty quid plus the two-hundred for resolving the issue. I could drag it out longer but I couldn’t really be bothered. Besides, who knew how long it would take to wrap things up anyway.

  “Ghost!” I called out. “I’m going to pull you through to the living realm. This might feel weird, I don’t know it’s never happened to me. Also it might go wrong because I’m a tad out of practice. By out of practice I mean I’ve never done it before but I have seen it done and I know how to do it. I think. Just bear with me.”

  The temperature suddenly plummeted and I heard a voice behind me. “There’s no need for that.”

  I turned casually, trying to hide my surprise and looked at the dead woman behind me. Ghosts can appear in a variety of forms but most commonly they look like faded versions of themselves. To the untrained eye they don’t look any different than regular living people. My eyes are trained though. This particular ghost was a young woman, no older than thirty. Her hair was long and brown and she had a triangular face with dark glaring eyes.

  Nigel gasped again and the ghost gave him a dirty look.

  “So you were choosing not to materialise,” I said accusatorially.

  “Obviously.”

  “All these months you could have appeared like this and talked to these guys but instead you chose to throw their belongings around and harass them. Why?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Because I don’t like them,” she snapped.

  “The feeling is more than mutual,” Harriet hissed.

  “No, Harriet, don’t antagonise it,” Nigel muttered.

  “It?” the girl demanded rounding on Nigel.

  Nigel opened his mouth and little squeak of fright popped out. How pathetic.

  “Don’t you get confrontational with my husband you unchristian beast,” Harriet said in a strict tone. If she thought the ghost was unchristian I wondered what she thought of me?

  “Unchristian?” the ghost-woman smirked. “I’ve seen what you two get up to in the bedroom and it is anything but christian.” Both Harriet and Nigel blushed and looked away awkwardly.

  “Well, I think I’ve heard enough of that,” I said. “Why don’t you tell us your name?”

  The ghost-woman looked at me dubiously, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Amber,” she said quietly.

  “Okay, Amber, let’s sit down and try to resolve this matter.” I sat down in one of the armchairs. I had to move some of the many cushions that had been piled into it before it was anywhere close to comfortable. “Come on.” I gestured for the others to sit with me. Nigel and Harriet sat down together on the sofa. Their postures mirrored one another’s. Both sat rigidly, their legs pinned together and their hands clamped in their laps.

  “Really?” said Amber, one eyebrow raised. Judging by her attitude and mannerisms I deduced that she was a fairly modern ghost. She sighed and then fell lazy into the armchair to my left. It put her opposite the Carsons.

  “We need to find a way to resolve this—”

  “Just get that thing out of my house. There’s no need to talk to it!” Harriet interrupted petulantly.

  “Thing? It?” Amber roared. “This is my house!” The ashtray on the coffee table shattered when she shouted, causing Nigel to jump in his seat.

  “Let’s all try to stay calm,” I said. “Less things will get broken. I think the problem is clear here.”

  “This my house and those trespassers keep moving my things around,” Amber said quietly, trying to remain calm. I saw that Harriet was about to argue and put my palm up to stop her. She sat mouth open and staring.

  “Your things?” I asked.

  “Some of the rooms were furnished when we bought the place,” Nigel informed me. “They were included in the sale and therefore are now our things.” He risked a sideways glance at Amber and looked quickly away regretting his decision.

  “When did you buy the place?” I asked.

  “A couple of months ago,” said he.

  “Amber when did you die?” I didn’t think about how insensitive my question might be but she didn’t seem to mind. I often don’t think about how insensitive I’m being; if I did I’d speak a lot less regularly.

  “About six months ago.”

  “You used to own this house I take it?”

  She nodded. “Died upstairs.”

 
; “Oh sweet Jesus,” Harriet said under her breath.

  “You shouldn’t blaspheme,” Nigel muttered.

  “Shut up, Nigel,” she hissed. “They didn’t mention that when we bought the place. They have to mention that kind of thing don’t they? If there’s a death.”

  “I think it’s only if it was a murder,” I said, although I wasn’t sure. I’m a warlock not an estate agent.

  “I was murdered,” Amber said and Harriet blasphemed again.

  “We’re a little off topic and I have other things to do tonight,” I told them.

  “We are paying you,’ Nigel said feebly.

  “Shut up, Nigel. Let him work,” said Harriet.

  “How were you murdered?” I asked. My curiosity always gets the better of me.

  “Can we get on with this?” she said irritably.

  Since she clearly wasn’t going to answer my question I did as she said and got on with it. “The three of you are in this house and the way I see it you all have a legal claim to it.”

  “The dead cannot claim anything legally,” said Nigel.

  “Shut up, Nigel,“ Amber said. I was starting to get sick of hearing that phrase.

  “That is only because this is unprecedented,” I said. “I think the best solution is for you all to live peacefully together.”

  “I think the best solution is for you to send her back to where her kind belong,” Harriet said throwing a dirty look Amber’s way.

  “I could send you there if you like,” I warned. Harriet’s mouth dropped open and she looked away. I tend to try not to threaten my clients but sometimes they really piss me off.

  “I don’t want to live with them,” Amber said indignantly.

  “The alternative is for you to move,” I told her. “And we both know there’s only one place for you to go.” Ghosts are stuck in the places they died. That meant Amber’s choice was stay in the house or pass over to the land of the dead.

  “I don’t want that either,” she said.

  “Those are your options. You can either all live together or you can move on. Your choice.”

  “We can’t afford to move again. All our savings went into this house,” Nigel said.

  “So did mine,” replied Amber.

  “You have to stop breaking our things!” Harriet shouted out of nowhere. Even I jumped a little.

  “You have to stop moving mine then!” Amber shouted back and the coffee table moved ever so slightly.

  “How many bedrooms are upstairs?” I said, raising my own voice over theirs.

  “Three,” they all answered in unison.

  “Amber will take one room. The other two are yours. The downstairs will be shared. I assume you don’t need a bathroom?” I asked, looking at Amber. She shook her head. “That is the agreement so agree to it now.”

  “I…” Harriet said in shock. I glared at her before she could protest further.

  “I agree,” Amber said calmly. “As long as my things don’t get moved.”

  “Keep them in your room then,” Harriet said glumly.

  “Is that your agreement?” I asked.

  “What choice do I have?”

  I ignored her moaning and turned to the final person. “Nigel?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” He said slowly, clearly resigned to the matter.

  “Good, then it’s settled.” I stood up and they all stood with me. “Now, if you’ll just pay me.”

  “You expect us to pay you for that?” Harriet said. “The ghost is still here!”

  “You asked me to resolve your problem not remove your ghost. Your problem is resolved. Now pay me or you’ll have a problem of an entirely different nature on your hands,” I warned.

  “Don’t you threaten me you… you… fraud!” she said in a shrilly voice.

  That was it. I snapped. With one sharp gesture the coffee table smashed against the nearby wall. A second motion had Harriet sliding across the carpet where she too met the wall. My magic pinned her against it, holding her against her will. Her anger turned to fear rather quickly. Her eyes were wide, nostrils flared, deep ragged breaths coming from her mouth.

  “Fraud? You think I’m a fraud. I am anything but. I said I was a warlock. As you can see I am a warlock. I said I would resolve your issue. I have resolved your issue.” The lights flickered above me as I slowly crossed the room towards her. “You promised payment. Two-hundred and sixty pounds. Are you now refusing that payment?” I stopped in front of her, my face inches from hers.

  “Nigel, pay the man,” she said. Her voice was choked, on the verge of tears. I remained totally still, staring at her in silent anger whilst Nigel went to retrieve the money. When he returned I held one palm out and watched out of the corner of my eye as he counted it out all in twenty-pound notes. When he was done I tucked it into my inside pocket and then took a step back. Harriet fell to her knees sobbing. I felt no pity. No remorse. If anything I wanted to hurt her more. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my forehead, trying to force my anger back. After a few seconds it worked and I felt a small amount calmer.

  “Pleasure doing business,” I mumbled as I headed for the door.

  “D… do… don’t you come back here,” Nigel called after me in the meekest voice I had ever heard. For him it was about as courageous as he could muster.

  “Shut up, Nigel,” I growled as I swung the front door open and walked out into the night.

  2

  So, here we again at the start of another wondrous tale. As you can see, the darkness is still a bit of an issue. If you need a little catch up, basically, Rachel— she’s my nemesis— put a curse on me that resulted in this horrible darkness which goads me into behaving, well… darkly. I know I said it was all under control after I relieved Rachel of her magic and had her carted off to prison but I was wrong. I mean the darkness was back under control for like a month or so but then it crept back out of its cage. The thing is I don’t even notice it coming anymore. Before there was a sensation of it creeping over me, taking control but now it’s more like it’s fused with me. When I lose my temper the darkness is there just like that. I think it’s actually a part of me now. Sometimes I don’t even have to get angry, I’m just dark for no reason. The thing that worries the most is that I don’t really mind it that much.

  Nonetheless, I have been working hard to remove the curse that caused it. I went through all Rachel’s books but there was nothing in any of them to help me. She never wrote down how she created this curse so I have no idea how to break it. I’ve tried all the basic stuff and achieved nothing. I know what you’re thinking; why don’t I just visit Rachel in prison and ask her? No. Just no. That woman is out of my life. The only time I ever plan on seeing her again is at her trial when she’s sentenced to multiple life sentences. With the rap sheet she’s got that would be getting off lightly.

  Anyway, that’s enough chit-chat for now. I’ve got a story to tell you. And you’re going to love it. And if you don’t then just pretend otherwise.

  I was walking towards town for a spot of lunch when the car pulled up beside me. A black BMW 3 series. I knew it to be Inspector Richards’ car straight away. I’d seen enough of it back it in August when he had a grudge with me. That was all in the past now though. I stopped where I was and waited for him to roll down the window and stick his head out.

  “Inspector Richards, it’s been a while. Have you decided you want to start stalking me again?” I quipped. I do like to be irksome.

  “Actually, it’s Detective Chief Inspector Richards now,” he said with a wink. I’m not sure why he winked at me. It was a little creepy to be honest.

  “Congratulations on the promotion but I’m not saying all that. It’s too long.”

  “Richards will do fine.”

  “After all we’ve been through we’re still not on first name terms, eh?” I pulled a mock sad face.

  “Never will be. Aren’t you cold?” He nodded at my t-shirt. I’ll admit it was a bit odd that I was walking around
in only a t-shirt at the beginning of December but I have magic. I can warm myself at will. You’re jealous aren’t you? Don’t deny it, I know you are.

  “Nah, I’m a warlock remember?” I enjoyed the wince on his face. He was one of those people who despite knowing about magic still tried to bury their head in the sand.

  “Speaking of which, you looking for work? If so jump in, I’ve got something for you.”

  I was always looking for work. That’s the problem with being self-employed in such an obscure profession; the work isn’t always available. I hopped into the BMW and he took me to lunch. He wanted to go to some American diner but since he’d come to me I got to pick where we ate and I chose my usual place: Muggs. Once we’d ordered I led him to my booth at the back and we got right down to it.

  “Over the last fortnight three little girls have been kidnapped. All under the age of ten, all taken from their homes in Maidstone and all have mentioned the same name. Panomie,” Richards said.

  “Who’s that?” I asked. One of the barmen brought our drinks over and I thanked him with a smile.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  I shrugged. “Never heard the name before.”

  “Well that’s disappointing,” said Richards, staring into his coffee.

  “How do you even know it’s a name and not something else?”

  “Two of the girls called him Mr Panomie.”

  “They knew him? The guy who kidnapped them?”

  “Allegedly kidnapped them and yes. The parents all reported their daughters talking about a Mr Panomie who they met in the garden. The parents brushed it off as a game or imaginary friend. By the time they realised there was more to it it was too late. The girls were gone.”

  “How were they taken?” The barmen returned with our meals. I had the buttermilk chicken burger and he had the all-day brunch. I always had the buttermilk chicken burger. It’s delightful.

  “In the night. The parents put them to bed but when they woke up the girls were gone. In these three cases anyway.” A piece of egg yolk dribbled down Richards’ chin and he wiped it away with his napkin.