by Hallows,Kit
Light flickered in the large window and I caught sight of Dauple's chalky gaunt face.
I stood at the front door, its faded blue paint peeled and flaking. The thought of touching it was too disconcerting, so I delivered a sharp kick to its base instead.
Finally it opened.
"Morgan Rook!" Dauple grinned, revealing yellow and black teeth spotted with something gelatinous and blue. As if he'd been sipping ink, a possibility that wasn't entirely out of the question.
"Dauple." I nodded. "Look, I-"
"Come in." Dauple's bony fingers encircled my wrist and a heavy, sinking feeling passed through me as I was yanked into his dimly lit home. The buzzing drone of flies was even louder inside, his carpet was the color of moss and the wallpaper was bubbled, peeling and torn.
"This way. This way!" Dauple ushered me into a tiny living room. His sofa rested lopsidedly against one wall and for some reason, it had a large black hole scorched in the center of it. On one side was a wonky cabinet and a dusty vintage radio playing synth music from the eighties and a three-legged table that leaned against the arm of the sofa, supporting the remains of a Chinese takeout meal, as well as a syringe, which appeared to be filled with buzzing flies.
Dauple grabbed it and stuffed it under the blackened cushion. "Sit," he said.
"No, I-"
"Coffee? Rum? Chocolate milky? Haven't had a visitor in..."
Decades?
His eyes were glazed as he stumbled through to a small kitchen with an ancient old stove and a big pot full of something that smelled like dust, graves and last October's rain.
I sidled back to the living room, which seemed a fitting description, because who knew how many cultures of bacteria lived here.
Dauple returned moments later, bearing a dented platter, a chipped tea pot and a pair of styrofoam cups from a fast food joint. He poured thin amber liquid into the cup, and held it out with a shaking hand. "Drink," he said, with another toothy grin.
I mimed drinking the substance, which I hoped was whiskey, and watched as Dauple sipped from his own cup, his little finger extended in a strangely dainty fashion. "I'd have tidied up if I'd known..." Dauple's eyes drifted and then narrowed. "How'd you find me?"
"Imps."
"The alley lurkers? I've had more than my fair share of problems with those little shits. You wouldn't believe how many times I've reported them to the Organization, but-"
"Imps aren't exactly the Organization's highest priority. Look, I appreciate your hospitality, but I'm in a rush."
"How can I help you?" Dauple gave me an earnest look, eager as ever to impress. I knew he'd have given almost anything to be in my line of work, but the Organization had relegated him to an even lower rung then myself; corpse collector. "Do you know any graveyards-"
"I know every inch of every graveyard in this city. Every single one."
"I figured as much. I'm looking for one with a statue that holds a candle and-"
"Oh," Dauple said. "You're looking for her."
"The mercenary? You know her?"
"I know of her, and I know she's not someone to be trifled with."
"I don't want to trifle with her, I just want to talk to her."
Dauple set his cup down and led me from the room. "Come this way, I'll drive you to the graveyard. But I'm not hanging around there, not for anything."
I didn't think to ask why; I was more preoccupied with the thought of going anywhere in his hearse. But needs must when the devil drives. So I followed him from his rancid apartment as night sank its claws into the city.
23
The graveyard was a square of wild green foliage fenced in by iron railings and surrounded by townhouses that had seen better days. The seatbelt felt damp and clammy as I unbuckled it and fought my way out of Dauple's hearse, anxious to escape reeked of death, decay and Dauple's boozy sweat.
"The statue you seek is in the dead center of the graveyard." Dauple's eyes flitted to my bag. "You're armed, yes?"
"Yeah. Why? What should I expect?" I glanced at the heavy brambles spilling over the rails. The graveyard's domestic surroundings hardly made it look like much of a threat, but looks could be deceiving.
"Who knows!" Dauple's eyes widened as he gazed through his filthy windscreen. "But the last time I was here I felt something watching me. It sent a cold shiver down my spine. I left immediately, didn't even finish cataloging the graves into my logbook."
A Logbook of graves. I didn't have the time or self-possession to ask so I just thanked him for the ride, and left him to his evening of fun with his pet flies. He drove off in a cloud of exhaust. I listened as his car rattled around the block and vanished into the night.
I glanced around at the houses, most were dark but there were a few dimly lit windows that overlooked the graveyard. If the mercenary was keeping watch, she might well have lived in any one of them. Providing that was how she saw the signal. It was also possible she'd rigged magical elements that would alert her to the candle being lit, but spells could be traced and it seemed like privacy was high on her list of priorities. Plus, when it comes to magic there are costs, and most of the mercenaries I've met are beyond tight.
I pushed the rusted gate open and entered the graveyard. It was a mess of tall wild grasses, overgrown shrubs and chipped, crumbling gravestones that leaned against one another in the moonlight.
The silence seemed to thicken as I made way toward the center, as if I were somehow miles away from the city. I passed a row of looming mausoleums and wandered through avenues of twisted trees, overgrown paths and broken railings.
Finally I found the stone angel, once white, now it was stained green with algae. Its wings were spread wide, its cupped hands held out. And there was the candle cradled in its palms.
I looked around, noting the houses with a clear line of sight through the vegetation, pulled my lighter out, flipped it open and sparked it into life. The candle sputtered as I lit the short damp wick and within moments the stump of wax glowed red and bright.
Wind stirred the leaves. I glanced around, expecting to find the mercenary standing in the shadows, but the graveyard was empty. Or appeared to be.
I waited a few moments and watched the windows, but there was nothing. So I blew out the candle and headed back through the graveyard, shivering as the air shifted and something scampered through the heavy brush.
It didn't take long to walk around the square. The houses were dull and unexceptional, but I caught a glimmer in a narrow alley between two buildings. It was a faint, colorful light, like the rainbow sheen of oil upon a puddle.
More of the light twinkled across the small garden in front of one particular house. Minor traps - nothing deadly, just simple deterrents for uninvited guests.
The doorbell was stiff and rigid, probably from lack of use. I pressed it hard, setting off a series of electronic chimes that rang deep within the house.
I peered through the small pane of glass in the door just in time to see a flicker of light at the top of a carpeted flight of stairs. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, plunging the house into shadows.
If there was anyone home, they certainly didn't want to be seen.
I ran my hand across the doorknob but drew it away as a heavy cold sensation passed through my fingers and seeped into my bones. The lock was enchanted. Using magic to break it would take more effort than I could spare. Luckily I had another trick in my bag, a ring of skeleton keys. Eventually I found one that fit.
Thankfully the dead bolts weren't drawn, but as I pushed the door it gave a loud moaning creak. "Shit."
So much for stealth.
The house was silent but for the tick of a distant clock and the heavy drip of a tap. I grasped a crystal, closed my eyes, and absorbed it along with some of the magic thrumming through the walls and ceilings. I focused my thoughts and let it wash over me until I was fully charged and ready to go.
The first room I searched was a sparse, vacant living room; the kitchen was empty
too.
I made my way up the stairs, my heart pounding as I unclipped my holster.
Something was off about this place, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
The upstairs was as silent and still as the ground floor. I checked a bedroom, and a large spotless bathroom and found nothing.
One room to go.
I pushed the door open and slipped into a second moderately sized bedroom. It was furnished with thick heavy curtains, a queen-sized bed, a wardrobe and a tall freestanding mirror. The room appeared to be empty, but someone was watching. I could feel it. I scanned for the blink of a camera and checked the walls for tell-tale signs of magically cloaked figures. There was nothing. Then the mirror caught my eye and as I crept past it, my reflection moved a little too slowly, as if it were just a split second behind my movement.
"There." I reached into my bag and pulled out an iron wand and ran it across the mirror's surface. It flickered with blue swirls of light.
An enchantment.
I was about to counteract the spell when the door downstairs creaked open.
24
I gripped the handle of my gun. Moonlight filtered through the windows, illuminating the top of the staircase as a silhouette passed. The light was too dim to see in detail, it was just a dark form but I could tell it was hooded.
The assassin?
My heart raced as I considered the killer's murderous efficiency and its seemingly limitless threshold for pain.
Could a bullet stop it?
I placed a foot out to steady myself. As I brought my gun up and took aim, the fleeting memory of Tom's last moments flashed through my mind.
I saw him falling dead in the dirt.
I saw his eyes being scooped from his face.
Come on you bastard.
A door creaked along the hall.
It was searching the house, just as I had. This room was next, I had seconds left.
I decided to meet it head on. I was about to inch towards the landing when someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me back.
I fell, tumbling into what could only be the mirror. The glass was icy cold and swelled around me like water. Like plunging into the wintry Pacific surf at dawn.
There was no crash, no chime, no tinkle of broken glass.
There was no sound at all.
Just silence and darkness.
25
The arm clamped around my neck and held me like a vise. I still had my gun in hand and considered firing blindly behind me, until a woman whispered, "Not a word. Or we both die."
Several words came to mind, none of them good, so I forced myself to swallow them and gave a slight nod. She had the advantage.
For now at least.
I stared back through the mirror, it was like a thick sheet of ice. Cold darkness pressed around the portal and I could hear a distant sound of rushing air.
The view of the bedroom through the glass was a back-to-front glimpse of the world I'd just left behind. I was somewhere else.
But where?
The Hinterlands? That fabled realm between realms?
My racing thoughts ceased as a shadow fell over the glass and crept across the patch of carpet before the opening. The assassin stepped into view, a short sword clenched in its gloved hand.
Its movements were silent, all I could hear were the controlled shallow breaths from the woman behind me. We watched as the assassin searched the room, then it turned to face the mirror and leaned in close, its dead, soulless eyes piercing through the glass.
Terror and rage flooded through me. I tried to raise the gun to blow the bastard's head off.
"I told you not to move," the woman whispered.
I grabbed her hand and twisted. She released me. "Idiot," she growled.
I paid her no mind. The assassin's eyes narrowed, it cocked its head. It had heard us.
It reached towards the glass.
I took aim.
"I really wouldn't do that." The woman's voice was receding, her footfall drawing away. The assassin tapped a finger upon the glass, the sound was like cannon fire.
I cocked the hammer as it drew back its fist to strike the glass.
I fired.
Light exploded through the murk and the roar of the gun was like a blow to the head.
The world shook, the mirror splintered, then everything went black.
26
Was I dead? Had the journey into the Hinterlands wrenched my soul from my body?
It took a moment to put the pieces together, the fact that I was still thinking meant I was most likely still alive. This realization was confirmed as I felt every single ache and bruise in my body.
"Hello?" I called.
Someone moved in the darkness, a reddish black silhouette stepping away through the swirling gloom. A bitter laugh receded into the distance, followed by what sounded very much like fucking idiot.
I ran until the footfalls ahead came to a stop.
"What part of not a word or we both die did you not understand?" A flame sparked to life, illuminating the woman holding it.
She was shorter than me, but only just, and older too. Fury glinted in her iron-grey eyes and flashed like lightning as she glared at me. Her silver streaked raven black hair was pulled back into a pony-tail and her mouth was drawn into a well-used, mocking smile. She wore a simple fitted coat and trousers that seemed to be made from battered black leather, and a glimmer of light ran through them. It was the same glimmer I'd noticed on Tom's raincoat when the attacker had struck. "Where are we?" I glanced into the darkness around us.
"Where do you think we are?"
"The Hinterlands...the in-between?"
"Bingo!" The woman dropped the match, plunging us into darkness.
The blinding gloom was overwhelming and disconcerting, then a beam of light appeared on the hard stone ground. It caught the sheathed sword by the woman's side. "Are you Hellwyn?" I asked.
She gazed at me for a moment, and gave a slight nod. "I am. And if you don't tell me who you are, and what the hell you were doing in my house, I'll leave you to the darkness." Her smile was hard and tight. "I'd give you five minutes of survival at best."
"I'm Morgan Rook."
"Really." She gave me a long, frosty look. "And you were prowling around in my house, because?"
"Because I was looking for you."
"Yes, I saw you in the graveyard."
"Why didn't you come?"
"I didn't like the look of you, and I still don't. Who sent you?"
"No one."
"Really? You're not from the Organization?"
It was amazing how much scorn she managed to inject into that single word. I decided to try another tack. "I came to help you."
She snorted. "Help me? How?"
"The man trying to kill you-"
"It's not a man."
"Then what is it?"
"Carry on. You were about to explain how you think you can help me."
"Look, that thing...whatever it is....it killed my friend, Tom."
Her sneer melted. "Tom was a good man." She sighed. "And a fool. I can't believe he's gone. He should have retired years ago. I told him. Quit, spend your last few years propping up bars in some faraway place. Eat, drink, be merry. Go to ground. That's what I told him. But instead he stayed on the streets."
"How -"
A thud came from somewhere in the darkness.
Hellwyn's fingers closed around the pommel of her sword. "That's a creature looking for a way in, and it may find one." She strode off, her flashlight playing across the cavern-like floor. I dug around in my pocket for my phone. I wanted my own light. I looked up as I heard her stop.
"Are you coming, Morgan Rook, or do you want to stay here in the dark? I'd advise against it. Things lurk in these shadows...and they're not very nice." She strode away. I ran to catch up.
We walked in silence, our footsteps punctuated by depth-charge like thuds that seemed to echo all around us in the gloom. It was difficult to
get a clear picture of where we were, but it sounded, by the echo of our boots, like we were in a tunnel and far off in the distance was a flickering light. I reached out, searching for a wall, and recoiled as an icy-cold wetness brushed against my fingers.
"I wouldn't do that," Hellwyn said, as she continued at a pace. "Reach out into the darkness and it just might reach back. It's how things are here."
"I still don't understand where here is." Naturally I'd heard the rumors and tales of the otherworld, and the spaces in-between, but it wasn't a subject I'd really been drawn to. I already had more than enough problems dealing with one reality, let alone worrying about others.
"Think of this place as a crawlspace between worlds. The true middle of nowhere, the place the forgotten things go." Hellwyn trained her flashlight upon a wall. It was made of rugged black rock. "Or perhaps, the things best forgotten."
Her light passed over an opening that looked like a huge glass porthole thick with algae and mold. I leaned towards it and recoiled as a giant face gazed back at me. It was huge and pale, its flesh the color of a fish's belly. Two great pits, just above its cavernous mouth, formed its eyes.
As I looked into those deep empty spaces, I felt a terrible urge to smash my fists against the glass, to help the watcher through.
It reached towards me, its fingers unfurling like a sea anemone. They drummed on the porthole, producing the deep, booming sound once more. The din passed through the glass, through my fingers and into the very center of my mind.
Strange noises swirled all around me, eerie deformed sounds like whales in the deep, their calls slow and warped. But there was another layer to it. At first it seemed like tv static, then like matches being struck. Thousands of matches. I suddenly realized they were voices, each imploring me to smash the glass and let the creature through.
"I will!" I heard myself call. I had to shatter the barrier, to free the giant from its prison. I drew back my fist to pummel the glass, when someone grabbed my wrist and yanked me away.
Hellwyn spun me around and shone her light deep into my eyes, then she slapped me hard and fast.
