Dark City (The Order of Shadows Book 1)

by Hallows,Kit

  I clambered to my feet, grabbed my sword and bolted across the room. There was only one clear way out.

  I dove through the window.

  Glass exploded and glittered in the air around me as I fell.

  Ashcombe's Jaguar rose up below me. I hit the roof hard, my knees buckling as a fresh new agony tore through my senses. Then pain burst through my torso as I dragged myself off the dented roof and fell sharply to the ground.

  I yelled out. It felt like a thousand invisible needles stabbed at my nerves as I pulled myself up and hobbled away. Fresh tinkles of glass fell behind me. I turned back to see the assassin standing in the room above, framed by the shattered window. It stared down at me before turning away.

  I staggered into the cover of the forest, half running, half limping, my body a map of hurt. Hellwyn's last, dying gaze played through my mind as if it were on a torturous loop. I ached to turn back and slay that bastard Prentice and the assassin, to burn the house down around them, but I knew in that instance I was beat.

  I wasn't giving up. No, I was going after them, but on my terms.

  I waited among the trees, watching the house. As soon as I knew the assassin was gone, I'd take out Prentice, murder him. But only after he'd given up the Hexling's whereabouts. I needed the puppet so I could follow the strings that led to its master.

  It was a simple enough plan.

  White hot agony continued to roar through my body. I reached into my bag for a vial of narcspyce. It would deaden the pain, as well as my senses for a short while, but that was a risk I was willing to take.

  Soon, the discomfort receded and as it did, it was replaced with grief and horror. The trees blurred around me as realizations filled my thoughts and tears of fury stung my eyes.

  I'd spent such a short time with Hellwyn. Had barely gotten to know her and yet I missed her so keenly. And I felt utterly responsible for her death. She'd successfully evaded the assassin, and Prentice. Then I turned up. She'd only poked her head out because she thought she had an ally. She'd been counting on me and I'd let her down. Now she was dead.

  Just like Tom.

  I slid down the tree and sprawled across the cold ground, anger and sorrow chasing each other's tails as I stared at the distant house and swore I'd end Prentice, the Hexling, and its master before the day was out.

  41

  After a time Prentice left the house, alone. He frowned as he inspected the roof of the Jaguar, before climbing inside. I forced myself to my feet. The pain was bad, but I'd had worse. I stumbled through the trees as the car rolled down the drive.

  The motorbike was exactly where I'd left it. I rooted through my bag. I had three crystals left, and my ammo was severely depleted. I considered calling Underwood, but what was the point? He'd warned me to back off, to let the Organization deal with it. No, I was on my own.

  As ever.

  I grasped the crystal tightly, drained its power and used it to tail the Jag. Its silvery trail was still visible. Just. I grabbed the helmet, dusted it off, turned the motorbike on and held my breath as it rumbled into life.

  The wheels skidded through the wet leaves as I jumped down the incline and landed squarely in the middle of the dirt road. The silver lines of the Jaguar still threaded through the air, but were fading fast.

  I gunned the engine and swept down the hill to where the silver trails grew brighter. Once I saw the car's tail lights I fell back, eager not to get spotted. The car roared down the highway as the heavens opened up and rain pounded the pavement. I kept back and put a few cars between us, my mood calm and focused, until he turned off toward the hills.

  The hills that housed the asylum.

  The sky darkened and the rain continued to fall cold and hard. I merged off the highway, following the Jaguar as it wound its way up that horribly familiar road, toward the wooded summit and the dark place that inspired my nightmares.

  I ditched the motorbike near the gates and cut through the thick forest near the top of the hill. Pain still wracked my body and I was tempted to down another vial of narcospyce, but I needed to keep my head clear.

  My senses were hyper alert; it felt like I could see every blade of grass leaning in the breeze. As I stumbled up a slope of muddy earth and glistening roots, I glanced back to see the highway far below and in the distance, the city.

  It seemed so very far away. An entire world away.

  I paused to catch my breath and load my gun as soon as I reached the summit. Cold rain fell upon my face like a baptism. I lifted my head to the billowy charcoal sky, loosened the catch on my scabbard and looked back to the great dark building nestled in the trees.

  That black and broken place, that factory of nightmares and utter dread.

  The place hadn't changed, repressive brownstone blocks, barred windows and the towers strangled in ivy. The stony drive sat empty but for the silver Jaguar with the dented roof.

  I stuck to the tree line and made my way around the back of the building, hoping to find a way in without being detected. My heart raced. It felt like the very air itself pulsed with foreboding and the heavy aura of evil and suffering weighed on me. It emanated from the asylum, seeping though the invisible blanket of despair that covered it like a shroud.

  There was magic here. Deep magic. It welled up from unspeakable sources. I thought back to the tunnel in the Hinterlands and my encounter with the werewolf and those black forces that had stirred inside me.

  I never wanted to encounter anything like it again. It had saved my ass, but at what price? Proceeding now could likely put me in the same position again. Was I prepared to sacrifice my very being to that hideous darkness?

  I thought again of calling the Organization. They were equipped to deal with this, they had more experienced agents that would take the case, even if they were little more than bounty hunters. But I felt I couldn't trust them, and besides, I had to be the one to avenge Hellwyn and Tom. I needed to know it had been done, I needed the closure.

  I ran alongside the back of the building and finally found a broken window, a few dagger-like shards of glass jutted from the frame. I smashed them out, climbed up to the sill and dropped in, landing on a hard floor peppered with broken glass.

  The room was vast, its soot-stained ceiling high and wide. It reeked of decay and piss but the checkered linoleum floor still held a faint tang of antiseptic, a ghostly scent from the past.

  I could feel the despair and almost hear the cries and screams of the poor tormented souls who had been committed here. The air stirred around me, as if the shades of yesterday were still shuffling through the rooms. Dead now, their lost souls forever roaming the place of their torment.

  Being here made me feel sick. I despised the place, loathed the sight of its cracked walls and the stench of madness and distress. I'd vowed never to come back. And here I was, like a fly choosing to revisit the spider's web.

  Gruff laughter echoed down the dark corridor beyond; I stole across the room and peered round the charred, broken door.

  The long hall was bathed in gloom despite the candles that were dotted along the length of the floor. The flames flickered within the thick waxy stumps. Some yellow and orange, some electric-blue.

  Witch fire.

  I slipped into the shadows as a figure appeared at the end of the corridor. It was huge and definitely not human. Its hair seemed to writhe and dance as it turned and kicked a door open, stepped through, and slammed it shut.

  Voices chattered, whispered and gibbered as I inched along the hallway.

  The asylum was full once more, but now it seemed the inmates had been replaced by squatters. Dark magic filled the air. I caught glimpses of demons, gaunt-faced magicians and heavy-set trolls.

  I reached into my bag and pulled out my penultimate crystal and clutched it hard, allowing its magic to soak through me. I conjured a simple cloaking spell to hide myself from view. If any of them looked my way, they'd see one of their own, but with a face full of boils and sores - something to stay away fr
om.

  The spell worked as I passed a pair of vampires. They backed against the wall, their lips curling with disgust. I continued on. The place was swarming with Nightkind. There was no telling how many had gathered below the asylum's roof, or exactly what had attracted them. Was this where the darkness smothering the city was originating from?

  I thought of the black portal, that dark star of my visions, and wondered if it was still upstairs. Yes it was, I could almost hear its heavy ocean-like hum.

  Blood spattered glass, clear and red, crunched below my feet as I walked towards the great staircase ahead.

  Someone was descending.

  A woman.... She was grey within the murk, as if she'd been woven from shadows. Long black hair fell down her back.

  It could be anyone.

  My heart pounded hard.

  But she looked like Elsbeth Wyght. A lot like Elsbeth Wyght.

  I pulled out my gun, my hand shaking violently.

  One shot was all it would take.

  She stepped into the hallway, her long off-white dress trailing to the ground. Someone walked with her, a powerful looking woman with rich golden hair twisted into a bun. The pair of them headed toward the front doors.

  I stalked after them, my hand tightening on the gun's grip.

  It was a clean shot. She'd be dead before she could even think of counteracting my attack. But the gunfire would alert every creature in the place to my presence. And what if it wasn't her?

  Indecision crippled me. I needed a positive I.D....plus I was hot on the trail of Prentice, the assassin and its master...and this was likely my only chance to take them out for good.

  I watched the two women as they approached the door. The blonde reached out and held it open for the woman in the dress. Daylight burst through the doorway, melting the details of the dark-haired woman into a silhouette.

  My feet were frozen. My heart screamed to go after them, while my head told me to holster the gun and finish the job I'd started.

  And then the doors slammed shut, the light vanished, and they were gone.

  I felt sick. I forced myself to take a deep breath and I began to climb the wide stairway. The wooden steps felt solemn and heavy, or maybe it was the memories the place was bringing to mind. I hadn't climbed these stairs in years and somehow it felt like I was ascending toward the end.

  Figures shifted in the darkness around me. Eyes glowed and voices rasped. I ignored them, kept my head down, and stepped onto the landing as I made my way along the corridor ahead.

  Nausea flooded through me but I continued step after step.

  The hairs on my neck prickled. Someone was following me. I could smell blood and mania as I counted their thumping, slapping predatory paces.

  My hand strayed to my gun but I left it in its holster. It would be too loud.

  I unsheathed my sword and whirled around.

  42

  A demon prowled behind me. A wild, crazed thing with large scales that looked like carbon-black diamonds protruding from its head. Its eyes were silvery gashes and it grinned, revealing short, sharp thickset teeth as it lunged.

  Kill.

  I swung the sword with a two-fisted grip and slashed the demon's throat. It gasped, the sound almost comical. I grabbed it by its lumpy head and pulled it back into a small room with a barred window and a cracked porcelain sink. The demon was dead and by the time I dumped it in the corner, its skin was already turning to ash.

  I slipped out the door and carried on down the long dark hall, my heart thumping madly.

  Cells lined the walls on both sides. Most of the doorways were open and I passed them in a dream-like trance until I heard a whimper in a windowless cell lit by smoking tallow candles stacked upon an old wheelchair.

  A dark eyed boy, barely a teenager, sat in the corner. He gazed back at me while an ancient, hunchbacked vampire leaned over him, his forearm gently cradled in its gnarled hand. It would have been an almost tender gesture if the creature hadn't had its mouth clamped over the boy's wrist.

  A trickle of blood ran from the vampire's pallid lips and down its wrinkled chin.

  I didn't hesitate and was almost upon the parasite when the boy moaned, his glassy eyes widening as they focused on me.

  The vampire turned, its pinched feral face as pale as porcelain in the gloom. Then its yellow eyes flashed as it stared into my eyes and hissed, baring long curved fangs.

  Before the creature could move, I leaped forward and drove the sword through its heart. It opened its mouth to cry out but I clamped it shut with my hand. A dangerous move.

  The vampire twitched and as the light dimmed in its eyes, I withdrew my hand and pulled the blade from its chest. The boy whimpered as I cut the duct tape that bound his ankles.

  I reached into my bag for salve and a length of bandage to wrap around the wound on his wrist. "You need to get out of here," I whispered. "Can you do that?"

  He shook his head, his face filled with terror.

  "Yes you can," I said as I grabbed him and made him look into my eyes. "You have to. Now go, and be silent."

  I watched as he crept away, sluggish and confused. He made it to the stairs and then vanished from view.

  There were more cells, stretching to the end of the corridor, and by the sounds drifting out from them, this was not an isolated incident. But I couldn't clean this up on my own. There was a more pressing issue to be dealt with and I needed to get it done quickly. I'd have to return for these monsters and their livestock after I'd found Prentice.

  If there was an afterwards.

  A few candles flickered along the hall that yawned before me but it was a dark stretch nonetheless. Even with my bag of tricks, my gun and my sword, I felt woefully unarmed. And unprepared. Devilry oozed around me and magic thrummed within the walls as I crept toward the confrontation, tempting me with its dark force. I ignored its call and carried on toward a crossroads, my heartbeat hard and loud.

  An offshoot. Another corridor. One I remembered with every inch of my being. The cracked green paint, the scuff marks, the dents in the wooden floor. It was like a mausoleum to the past, every horrific feature intact.

  Two figures lingered by the double doors, an ogress and a tall man who seemed to be missing half his face. I strode towards them with a confidence I didn't feel, stopping as they stepped from the shadows and barred my way.

  The ogress held a length of pipe, the man a machete.

  There was no way around, so I'd have to go through them.

  The man looked to be the quickest, lean and spry, he'd have to go first. I grinned and beckoned to him. As I pulled my sword from its sheath he gritted his teeth and swung the machete. I danced aside and put my blade swiftly through his side, right up to the hilt.

  His machete hit the floor with a heavy clunk.

  I had no time to recover my sword before the ogress charged. I pulled my gun from its holster and fired. The shot echoed down the hall. She fell to her knees, and toppled to her face with a solid thump.

  So much for being covert.

  Howls and cries echoed through the building.

  This was it, no more time. I seized the double doors, threw them open and stepped inside.

  The room was long and dimly lit but for a single square of bright light that fell upon the bare floorboards from the skylight above.

  And on the far wall.

  The painting.

  From here it looked to be at least ten feet tall, an immense block that swirled in a constant flux of charcoal black and midnight blue. Splatters of paint flecked the wall around it, giving the impression that it had been rendered with insane abandon. One indication, perhaps, of the desperate broken mind that must have created the abomination.

  Looking upon it was like a punch to the gut. The portal, was real.

  Two men stood below it. They'd clearly been in deep conversation before I'd entered the room, now their attention had turned to me.

  One was Prentice Sykes. His hand strayed into his coat as
he glared at me.

  The other was a ghostly shadow of a man. A shade.

  He wore a merlot-colored frock coat and a dingy white frilled shirt. Raven black hair fell to his shoulders, framing his long pale face and the shadows that pooled in his eyes as he regarded me. He looked like the ghost of a poet, some demented, addled spirit from another century. A phantom with one foot in this world and the other in some distant dimension.

  A walker between worlds.

  Like me.

  A pang of horror crept across my flesh.

  Was this the man Lyra Fitz had dreamt of? The gatherer of shadows...the black force that smashed the planets to dust?

  The shade drifted towards me, stopping short of the square of light upon the floor. He nodded. "And you are?" His voice was soft and well spoken.

  "Morgan Rook. And I'm here to kill you, although it looks like someone's already done most of the job for me."

  "I'll deal with him." Prentice Sykes pulled his sword from its sheath. The shade turned to him and whispered. Prentice lowered the blade and regarded me with a sardonic smile. "My name is Rowan Stroud. I have a feeling we've met before. Where-"

  "Why did you kill them?" I bolted forwards and stood in the center of the light.

  "Kill who?" Stroud asked.

  "Tom and Hellwyn."

  He glanced back to Prentice, and then to a side door I'd failed to note. Was the assassin lying in wait? Did this ghost need protection?

  "Why did I kill them..." Stroud placed a finger on his chin. His eyes gleamed as he glanced back at me. "Vengeance I suppose. Once they'd killed me and slaughtered everyone I'd loved, their cards were marked."

  "You're the cultist-"

  "Cultist? Yes, I suppose a lesser mind might describe me thus. Who told you our story? Tom? Hellwyn?" He cocked his head and stared at me, as if trying to work out what I was.

  "You should've stayed in your grave." I brought my sword up and advanced but the shade drifted back towards the painting.