by Al K. Line
Time to go back to work. But smart trolls? Yeah, right!
Rest and Recuperation
Magic isn't all glittery and energizing. For our species it hurts like hell to use and leaves you sick, wasted, and in agony as it does its best to return to the Empty where it belongs.
It's not our birthright. We steal it. Take it and make it do our bidding if we are lucky, but there is always a price to pay.
For true Hidden, creatures born solely of magic, then there is no payback—it's what they are. Every job I go on, every time I summon this addictive power, I pay with pain. Nine months ago, I'd been involved in a serious job, followed less than a week later by even more trouble, resulting in my house getting wrecked by an ancient vampire, my boss Rikka, and me, as we fought.
Events spiraled further, resulting in the vampire headquarters being gutted by fire, Rikka losing almost two hundred pounds of body fat because he used a spell to escape a sticky situation, while I was left victorious but broken.
My body turned on me. I wasted away for months no matter how much food I consumed or how much rest I got.
As promised, Rikka signed over the deeds to the lovely house in the country I moved into after just a few days staying at Kate's. She's the hot vampire with sweet-smelling blond-brown hair, blue eyes, and the love of my life. She also has a very nice bottom.
We'd dallied around our feelings for each other for years, ever since I saved her from death after a vampire attack, and although she fights the inevitable it has changed her. But I love her, and thankfully the feeling is mutual.
To our utter surprise, we found ourselves moving in together, somehow even making a go of it. A dark magic enforcer and a young vampire, definitely the odd couple and with bells on, but you take your gifts when offered, and Kate is more than I deserve.
Slowly, I recovered, her too. After all, a vampire usurper had almost killed us both at her old home, and without each other I don't know what would have happened.
Life settled down, I got better, got stronger and was happier than I have ever been, ever thought I would be.
But my old life called to me, and I missed it. It's who I am, what I do. I help Rikka and a few others deal with those that abuse the power they have obtained. My special skill makes me hot property. I can suck the dark magic right out of Hidden and send them screaming back to their old life, a Regular, no magic remaining. Just a person, same as almost everyone else. For true Hidden it gets more complicated, but I can weaken them, and they are seldom the same again.
This is my life. My people are the Hidden. We walk amongst you but you will never know us. We have this tiny bit of magic always shrouding us. I'm the no-man, the person you look at but forget in an instant. Nobody in the Regular world knows me—I'm a ghost, entirely forgettable. True Hidden have something similar. So a troll may look like an overweight man wearing a bad tracksuit to you, an imp may appear to be a rather odd looking cat, a gang of goblins like rather scrawny and mean people in tight fitting and out-of-date fashion, but to me they appear as they truly are.
Me, I like smart suits, and after an "accident" I now have short and fading bleached-blond hair, which I kind of dig now I've got used to it. I've kept it short, foregoing my old style of long and black like I'd had for a century.
I've always loved Cardiff, the capital of Wales, the sticky out bit to the left of England, a place that is out of the way but the center for the Councils, and it sees more action than you can imagine. It's small, easy to navigate, and although it's gone through some serious regeneration it still maintains its history and integrity.
I was out of the loop, though there was little choice. I had to recover, lie low, and besides, I was too caught up in my blossoming relationship with Kate and our battle with the acre that came with the house to care much about the world I used to live in.
However much I tried, I still missed it though. I'm drawn to the magic like an imp to Marmite, and it called me like I'd run out without paying the bill—incessant, nagging, something missing from my life even though I'd been given the chance at happiness I ached for.
Yeah, I know, I should count myself lucky. But that's the point, isn't it? Magic is my world, the only life I have ever known, and my body craved it. Anyway, I couldn't even deal with a chicken, so I had to get back in the game before I lost my unique set of skills.
I'm beyond mere enforcer, anyway. Often I'm more detective than wielder of magic, and I hoped that Rikka's job would be more cerebral than physical. Wishful thinking, but if nothing else I am a positive kind of guy.
Intus brought me back to reality with a tap on my nose with her very sharp claws. "Eh? What?"
"Hello? Anybody home? I said, have you seen any fae lately?" Intus glanced around the kitchen nervously. The last time we'd met one, things had not gone well. I can still see her ears. Oh, those lobes, they make my insides go funny. I want to lick them and tickle them and... Let's just say faery ears are nice, and leave it at that.
"Sorry, I was miles away." Everyone was staring at me, as if I had a chicken on my head or something—no, I didn't pat my hair, although I was tempted.
"I said," Rikka gave me one of his "looks." That's nine hundred-year-old mages for you. "Are you up for it? Or do you need even more time to rest?"
Dancer snickered like a kid. I turned to him and said, "You do know I'm going off you again, don't you?" He wobbled his head—a strange mannerism—but I knew he liked the fact we were something akin to friends now. I never would have imagined it, but he'd shown himself in a different light the previous year. Even Kate had grown fond of him.
"Of course I'm up for it. I'm Black Spark, Dark—"
"Spare me, please." Rikka held up slender fingers, something I'm still not used to, even now. Ever since I was a child, he was fat, incredibly obese, so seeing him as a slim man, apparently in his early forties with long brown hair and looking, I hated to admit it, great, was freaky as hell. It just wasn't right. He even had a chin. I'd never seen his chin in my life, and it has been a very long life so far.
"What about..." The question was left hanging and an awkward silence filled the airy kitchen, the sweetly scented breeze wafting in from the herb garden Grandma had helped us perfect.
I was at a loss. "What? What's going on?"
"They mean me, Faz," said Kate, looking cross as hell.
"Okay, spill it you guys. What's Kate got to do with this?"
Dancer and Rikka exchanged glances and Dancer smiled. Intus paused her licking of the open Marmite lid—I didn't even see her put it on the table—and piped up, "They want to know if you have permission to go out with the boys, haha."
It dawned on me. I hadn't even thought about it to be honest. I'm an Alone, I work best solo, can't handle groups of people for too long, and do my best work when functioning on my own. But now there were two of us, living together, and it was great. But I hadn't considered needing to ask if I could go on a job. Did I have to? No, I was an enforcer, and I didn't ask permission of anyone, for anything.
"Um, can I?" Okay, I bottled it. Do not judge me, this was all rather new.
"Lightweight," said Dancer.
"Under the thumb," laughed Rikka.
"Big girl's blouse," said Intus.
"Hey, you're a girl. Well, female anyway," I protested.
"So. At least I'm my own boss. Anyway, it's not sexist, I'm an imp."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Um, not sure, but don't go trying to squirm your way out of this." Imps, you can never win.
"Faz, I know now isn't the time, what with us having company, but you don't have to ask. This is who you are." Kate enjoyed watching me suffer, I could tell by the twinkle in her eye and the smile on her gorgeous lips.
Me, Black Spark, sat there in my grubby vest, muscles actually bulging—okay, my boiled egg biceps were slightly less like fried eggs—ink covering my body, able to call dark magic at will, feeling abashed at having to ask to go out to play. Look, relationships are compl
icated, don't tell me you wouldn't be the same.
"Um, right. Thanks. Er, so, I can go?" Damn, I really was losing it. Time for action.
"Yes," said Kate, exasperated. I got the feeling maybe she would be happy to have some time to herself.
"Now that's settled," said Rikka, rising and finishing his tea. "Let's go."
"What, now? I'm not ready. I have to deal with the chicken, and my clothes are all dirty."
"I'll deal with the chicken," said Kate.
"Guess I'll have a quick shower and get changed then."
"Don't be long," warned Rikka. "The trolls are getting seriously out of hand."
I headed upstairs, smile on my face. Nothing like imminent danger to cheer up an enforcer. I decided to wear a tie. It would be nice to be smart after so long wearing clothes suited to doing the gardening.
Extra Greasy, Please
Madge's is the name, greasy fry-ups is the game. I was in heaven. If you are ever in Cardiff and fancy escaping the rain—it always rains—then head to Madge's Cafe for the best, and cheapest, plate of food you are ever gonna taste.
I stood outside on cracked paving, staring at blistered paint, steamed-up windows, and the long-faded sign, inhaling traces of fried foods and the fumes of trucks.
Madge's is a bit of legend throughout Wales, but it's a well kept secret. Just for those in the know. And those in the know comprises Hidden of all description—human and myriad other species—along with Regulars like truck drivers, factory workers, and students who flock to her place in term time like trolls to bridges with the promise of a school outing crossing some time real soon.
"You coming in?" asked Dancer, popping his head back out the door, the sound of Madge shouting at her kids from inside a reminder of how much I'd missed the place. I say kids, not one is under two hundred.
"Yeah, sure." Dancer disappeared and I caught the door before it closed. I entered the mysterious world of Madge's Cafe.
The smell of a million, and soon to be one more, fry-ups assaulted my nostrils. I sighed with contentment as I stared at the greasy stains on the flock wallpaper and walked across sticky linoleum. Madge was behind the counter, familiar scowl as predictable as time itself, as she sneered at customers and shouted at her poor kids some more. I delighted in the look of her gray frizzy hair that hasn't changed for as long as I can remember.
Madge is a four-hundred-year-old witch, and she knows just about everything that goes on in our world, but she's strictly business. No magic, as far as I can tell, just runs her cafe until two in the afternoon every day as she has always done, then I assume she goes upstairs and practices her menacing facial expressions in the mirror, ready to unleash them on customers that happily come back for more time and time again.
I was one of them, although I hadn't been around much lately. What with me nearly dying from fighting vampires, and generally running around the city like a thing half-crazed because of more mind-boggling goings-on than I want to get into right now.
Heads turned as I joined Dancer and Rikka at the counter. There were a few dwarves up from the mines for some business, a lone goblin, which was rare, the Chemist was there, which was strange as usually he was still asleep after a busy night doing his stand-up or involved in his other hobby—alchemy. Most surprising of all were the two trolls sat at a table with what looked suspiciously like books spread out in front of them.
Rikka saw me frowning. "They're all getting library cards and reading. Can you believe it?"
"What? Seriously?"
"Yes. Some of them are taking courses, others have suddenly begun talking in French. French! Why would anyone want to speak French?"
"Um, because they live in France, or because it's the closest country to us. Or, maybe they want to go on vacation. Anyway, you speak it." Rikka speaks just about every language there is, but he's had plenty of time. Over nine hundred years, actually.
"That's not the point. They're trolls, and trolls don't go on holiday. They do troll things, like stand around being big and made of rock, hide under bridges, chase goats, scare kids, that sort of thing."
"When you have quite finished," said Madge giving us the evil eye. "I've got better things to do than stand around while you gossip. What do you want? Make it snappy, chop-chop."
"Hi, Madge, you are looking as delightful as ever," I said, giving her my best smile. One day it will work, I'm sure. "Have you had your hair done?"
"Shut up, Spark. I've a good mind to ban you."
My stomach somersaulted at the thought. "What!? Why? What have I done?"
"That's the point. You haven't been in lately, and I've got bills to pay." Yeah, right, like she had bills to pay. She's a witch, they don't pay bills.
"I've been recuperating, and I moved. And, well..."
"He's shacked up with Kate. He's in love," said Dancer, wiggling his eyebrows.
Madge sighed. "What do you want?"
"Three large fry-ups, please, Madge," said Rikka, generously handing over the cash. " And three teas, too."
Madge took the money—no change given—and sploshed tea into three chipped mugs from a battered metal teapot, the liquid so thick it poured like time had stood still. We thanked her, added our own milk and sugar, then took a table.
I watched the trolls suspiciously while I slurped the dark goodness and tried not to think about how many mouths had been on the chip on the rim. Madge wiped the counter with the same rag she always used, another thing that never changes in the best cafe in the world.
"Well?" asked Rikka.
"Well, what?" I hate it when he's cryptic.
"Are you up for this? You've been out of action a long time." Rikka held up a hand as I went to speak. "Yes, I know we had a lot of trouble with the vampires, not to mention the rest of it, and things still aren't back to normal, but you don't normally take so long to recover, Spark. A week or two at most."
"I'm up for it. But in case you've forgotten, I fought a two-thousand-year-old vampire, thought you and Grandma were dead, dealt with you-know-who the week before that, and you practically blew up my house."
"Don't exaggerate." Rikka licked his lips as Madge slammed a plate of food down in front of him then returned with mine and Dancer's a moment later. She threw our cutlery in our general direction and planted a bottle of ketchup on the table that looked suspiciously like the same bottle I'd seen months ago. I decided not to have sauce.
"Rikka, I appreciate the new place, I really do, and it's great to have money in the bank,"—I was loaded after selling my house. A little tip, buy and then sell ninety years later, it's the only way to guarantee a tidy profit on property—"but I needed the rest. I deserved it."
"Fine, as long as you are back now. It hasn't been the same without you, Spark," he said in a rare moment of emotion.
Rikka is like a father to me. He and Grandma practically raised me after my parents were killed when I was fourteen, and he has been in my life ever since. Rikka taught me about magic, I was his student, and I have worked for him and a few others as an enforcer ever since. But mostly him. He is the Head of the UK Councils, after all.
The Councils get confusing. Dark for humans, Hidden for everyone else, although the vampires refuse to acknowledge the Dark Council but dare not ignore the Hidden one—if they did they would be wiped out, and fast.
Rikka has been in charge for centuries, and you underestimate him at your peril. What took away almost every last ounce of my energy, and half killed me, did little more than tire him out for a few days, and that was with him using a strong Consuming spell to get out of a tricky situation by shedding his obesity.
"Anyway, eat up. I have something I want to show you once we're done here."
I looked to Dancer but he just shrugged. Seemed he was in the dark same as me. I assumed he had kept quiet about the favor I'd done him, in fact I knew he had, otherwise Rikka would be going off on one about me getting drained before I'd even begun work again, not that it was down to Rikka what I did.
; I bit into a crunchy hash brown and got busy with the heart attack on a plate.
*
"Aah, that was perfect." I leaned back in my chair and patted my stomach. Madge really does make the best fry-up in the world.
"Not bad," said Dancer.
"Not bad? Are you out of your mind?" said Rikka. "This place is an institution. Madge is a culinary genius. Even the goblins can't cook like her and they..." He trailed off as something caught his attention.
"Spark, you are gonna pay for what you did."
Uh-oh. You know, I should be used to this by now, but maybe I had got lazy with my time off.
"Not now, I'm busy digesting."
"I'll digest you."
All three of us looked at Mithnite Soos. "What does that even mean?"
"Shut up. Prepare for death."
"Have you been watching movies again? I told you before that someone with your limited brain cells should stick to cartoons."
"It's time to make way for a new generation, Spark."
"Just like old times," I said, pushing back my chair which slid easily along the greasy floor.
"What, like you?" He really needs some serious practice with his comebacks.
"Outside, now," I said to Mithnite Soos. He tried to sneer but it came out like a bad Elvis impression. He followed me to the door.
"Don't be long," shouted Rikka. "We've got things to do."
The moment the door closed behind us, the sound of Madge shouting lost to the rain and the wind, I called on the smallest amount of dark magic. I felt my eyes harden and darken, not enough to snap to black when I was deep into the Empty, just enough to bring my tattoos and my body to life—there if I needed it.
Keeping a careful eye on Mithnite Soos, I undid my jacket, and nodded for him to go around the back. No need to let anyone else see our business.
Bad idea.
Mithnite Soos smiled at me as I turned the corner and three idiot kids with long hair pounced on me and hugged me tight. One even had a stick like he was from Lord of the Rings or something.
