by Lee Isserow
“It shouldn't be about siring.” Ana said. “It should be about love―that's probably why you're firing blanks, you disgusting little troll.”
“Oh, please!” Bunkle scoffed. “Love has never had a place in magick. . .“
Ana turned to Rafe, “You know the one thing that concerns me right now?” she muttered.
“What's that?”
“He's being very Bond villain about all this, y'know? Telling us his plan, his motivations, and whatever.”
“You think he's stalling?”
“Damn right I'm stalling!” Bunkle declared, throwing the box at the two of them. He arced his hands out, fingers pirouetting through the air as he cast. A massive crack appeared in the centre of the room, as if a mirror had been smashed in mid-air.
With another gesture, another splinter in reality appeared by the door, and a third right in front of him. Ana and Rafe were trapped in the living room by the cracks in the realms―and in an instant, the room was flooded by water surging out of each of the fractures.
There was no time for either of them to take a breath before the water washed over their heads―they would have to make do with what they had in their lungs.
Rafe grabbed hold of Ana, trying to swim to the top of the room, grab the last gasps of air before it was gone―but they were too slow, and the current was too strong.
The three cracks in reality were creating a whirlpool effect, the strong flow of water throwing them across the room, spinning them round and round with an intensity they couldn't fight.
Ana's lungs were burning in her chest. She desperately needed air. Her fingers tried to make some kind of sigil―but the strength of the current kept pulling her hands apart.
She tried to fight it with everything in her being, but darkness was vignetting her vision, fading in from the edges like an old silent movie. She had to inhale, had to gasp for breath in the midst of all the water.
And then, as she gave in to the aching desire to breathe, Ana had a moment of serenity. Clarity. And she let the darkness take her.
Chapter 47
Constant movement
In the darkness, Ana could feel herself floating. She couldn't breathe, couldn't even think, she just hung there in the air, in a blissful quiet void.
But she was not alone.
From somewhere in the shadows, footsteps approached, a figure coming towards her.
A man.
He looked down on her with bright green eyes that seemed to glow forever and ever into the depths of the dark abyss. But she could not make out his face. It was as if the face did not want to be remembered, features shifting and sliding around in constant movement, causing her to forget as soon as she saw it.
One thing that was clear, was that the man―whoever he was―was smiling.
There was something about the constantly shifting curve of his lips that was somehow familiar. It brought a warmth to her entire being.
The man knelt down, taking hold of her floating form in large, strong hands. As he leaned towards her, her lips parted of their own accord, as he breathed life into her chest.
In that instant, Ana Brooks realised just how much power she had at her disposal.
Chapter 48
The force of the tide
Ana's eyes burst open. She was still being thrown around the room full of water by the current, whipping back and forth with all the furniture trapped in the whirlpool that used to be her living room.
This man, Bunkle, he was one of the adepts Rafe had talked about, controlling elements from other realms or whatever―Rafe―she realised he was somewhere in the flow of all the objects swirling around, objects that now had no meaning to her. Not if she lost him. . .
Trying to swim against the mighty gush of the water, she ducked out of the way of lampshades and cushions, books and a clock―and caught sight of him. His body spinning around, thrown by the force of the tide as if he were just another lifeless object.
A pit hollowed in her gut, a hole ripping in her heart, an emptiness inside at the thought of losing the man that had saved her, that had introduced her to world in which she truly belonged.
She would not let that happen.
She wasn't going to lose anyone else due to Bunkle.
Instinctively, Ana threw her arms out to either side of her. The water rippled against her skin, as if she were exuding a force that was equal and opposite to the deluge thrusting everything else around the room, stopping her body from succumbing to the surging flow of the current.
The water continued to wash past her, but she was fixed in place, and through the undulating waves, she could see Bunkle's face. Shock fell upon it. His tiny frog-jaw dropped, eyes going wide.
Bunkle didn't hold the expression for long, it gave way to intense concentration, as he threw everything he had into making the current harder, faster.
The speed of the water, the force of it spinning around the room had no effect on Ana, not with her new understanding of just how much power she had at her fingertips. She continued to float in place, lifting up her hands in front of her, her left palm flat and open, right on its edge. Pulling back the right hand, she made a chopping motion against her palm―and as contact was made, a crack formed in reality, right at the centre of the room, over the top of the crack Bunkle had created.
The tear splintered out slowly, thin lightning bolts that forked from the two feet tall slit in time and space. She pulled her right hand back, slamming it against her palm again―the crack in the centre of the room became larger, four feet tall, an inch wide now, as if she were hitting a window with a rock.
She grit her teeth, the lack of air burning in her chest, and threw her hands together one final time. As the skin met, the crack became taller and wider, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, almost two feet wide. The water was being sucked into it, out of the Natural World, into some void between realities, off to another realm full of reflections and refractions, the likes of which Ana could barely even begin to imagine.
As the fluids were sucked out of the room, the furniture, her belongings, all fell to the floor, as did Rafe's body.
But she did not.
Ana was still floating on the air in the room, a light emanating from her skin, holding her aloft.
She could hear Bunkle's grunts and growls, as he continued to throw everything he had into trying to send more water to drown them―but any fluids he could conjure were instantly sucked up through her tear in reality.
Sweat poured down his already sickly shiny face, the breath heavy in his chest, as he tried to fill his lungs whilst exerting himself. The fat old man fell down to his freakishly thin knees, staring up at her as she continued to hover in the air above him.
She wanted to have mercy on him, wanted to be that good a person, the kind of person that could forgive him for the death he caused, for the suffering. But she was not able to find it in herself to be that good a person.
Throwing her hands in front of her, the intent for pure unadulterated revenge rippled through her entire being. Bunkle's eyes opened wide. He tried to scream but found there was no voice in his throat. His skin was ribbon, spiralling from the flesh, his blood turning to a diamond dust that flew from his raw veins on a wind of Ana's making, his bones turning to ash, organs liquefying and being sucked into the ether―his entire body torn into billions of microscopic pieces, scattered throughout the realms, never to be coalesced ever again.
Ana felt relief wash over her as she watched the man who caused her so much pain disappear into the ether. The glow left her skin, and her feet found the floor once again. She turned to Rafe, his body motionless, eyes fixed, frozen in time with no breath in his chest. She was not going to let that be how the day ended. She could not abide any more death.
Throwing her her fist through the air, as if banging on a table, a fountain of water gushed from his mouth, and he lurched upright, gasping for breath.
A smile came to her lips, as his eyes met hers, an unspoken recognition, th
anks, for saving him.
As he sat himself up, she felt herself falling. A lightheadedness that gave way to a massive weight. Time slowed as she dropped, her fingers shaking, the tremors winding their way up her arms, a flutter in her chest, a chill down her spine.
She knew she hit the floor, but could not feel it. All Ana could hear was Rafe, calling for her from some far away place.
But knew she would not get to see him for some time.
Chapter 49
A bed that was not her own
Ana woke in a bed that was not her own. Sheets softer, duvet thicker, but mattress harder than any she had ever laid on. It felt as though this was the bedroom of someone who wanted to make their back suffer as they slept. She was in a dark room, the only light the glow of yellow and orange flames from the far side, a roaring fire in a fireplace.
As her gaze navigated the room, she saw him sitting on a chair by the fire. His stare fixed on her, eyes bright, glistening in the light of the dancing flames.
She tried to speak, but no words came. Her throat was dry, coarse like sandpaper, and he jumped to his feet, coming over to her side with a glass of water for her to sip.
Ana sat up, and he shied his eyes away instantly. She looked down, and her nipple was poking up over the top of the duvet. Glancing under the covers, she realised that she was completely naked, her clothes sitting on a rack, drying under the warmth of the flames―but it looked like they had long been dry.
“It seemed smart to get you warm without the wet clothes,” he said, still facing away from her. “But. . . y'know, redressing you afterwards seemed a little. . . assaulty.”
“You're going to have to show me this dictionary of yours,” she coughed over a scratchy throat. “In which undressing is gallant and re-dressing is tantamount to rape. . .“
He instantly took steps away from the bed at the use of that word. She held the bed covers to her chest and leaned round to try and catch his face, seeing a fear in his eyes. Her hand reached for his, tugging him to turn around, and she smiled, reassuringly.
“I'm sure you were a gentleman and didn't grope me at all in my sleep.” Her sarcasm did not seem to improve his mood. “Oh, bloody hell! I'm trying to thank you!”
She could see the relief wash over him, his body easing up, and after a moment, he took a seat on the foot of the bed. “I should be the one to thank you. . . Whatever you did, it saved us. . . even if Bunkle did get away.”
“I don't think he got far. . .” she said, looking away, not wanting to admit what she had done, let alone try and find the words to share it with him.
“I'll let you rest up,” he said, jumping to his feet, as if the awkwardness of a moment's silence was too much for him to bear. “Do you want something to eat? Something to drink? Something to read? Something to. . . watch? Something to―”
She laughed, grabbing his hand again as he tried to leave. “Thank you.” she said, making sure his eyes were on hers as she said it. “I mean it.”
She held his hand tightly in hers. As she squeezed it, he felt a tingle across his entire body and tried with all his might to suppress it. He shot her a smile back, squeezing her hand, and taking his leave to the kitchen. As he toiled away in the other room, Ana tried to find the words to tell him the truth of what happened―with Bunkle, with her, as she died and returned to life, with the power that she knew she had deep inside her.
But at that moment, Ana couldn't even begin to imagine how to access it again. It had come to her at a time when she needed it most, when the intent was flowing through her veins, radiating out with every cell of her body. It didn't feel like she would ever have that level of intent ever again.
*
As he walked through the apartment, Rafe wondered if he should tell her what he saw whilst he was unconscious, as he drowned. Tell her about the man that came to him with a shrouded face, who told him just how important she was. Rafe was certain that the mysterious man was her father―saving him, saving her.
But he wasn't sure if he should tell her that he had met him, or at least dreamed of meeting him. Because although Rafe couldn't see the man's face clearly, and never heard his name spoken out loud, a part of him was certain he knew who he was.
Rafe had heard stories of such a man, siring offspring, spreading his seed. And if the stories were to be believed, then Ana's father was possibly one of the most powerful magickians in all the lands. . .
Chapter 50
Sidekick
Ana stayed under Rafe's care for the best part of the week. Even though she was feeling better after a day or so, he insisted on looking after her, waiting hand and foot as her own personal butler. Given that she saved his life, it felt like the least he could do, and although she had reservations, did not object too much.
When she recovered to full strength, the thought of going back to her old life, her old job, was abhorrent. She quit with glee, happily telling Dean to go screw himself, and happier still to never have to bend over or undo a top button for sexually repressed men in middle America and the United Arab Emirates ever again.
“So, what are you going to do now?” Rafe asked, as they sat outside a cafe just off Shaftesbury Avenue.
“I want to do what you do.”
“Get punched every so often, and have a lot of people hate you?”
“Yeah, that and save people from evil things.”
“It's not a great way to spend a life. It's dangerous. . .”
“I'm sorry, who saved who on your last case?”
“I'm not sure your grandmother―your mother―would approve.”
“Never been one to seek approval, from my family, or anyone.”
“It's more complicated than that. . . I told you what happens to the women in my life. . .”
“You told me what happened to the female line of your family, that doesn't mean your partner is going to die the same way. . .”
“Partner?”
“Business-partner, not partner-partner.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Good? You'd be lucky to have me as your partner-partner!”
“Lucky? Remember how you almost stuck a condom on me that would have bit my dick off―”
“That happened like one time―”
“Sets a precedent.”
“Well it's certainly not going to happen again, I can assure you of that!”
“The lady doth protest too much.”
“Don't make me take back the offer of being on-hand to save your arse on a regular basis. . .”
He smiled, enjoying the back and forth with her. He had been on his own for so long, conversing with only the possessed objects in his house, the idea of a partner―a living partner―was actually quite exciting.
“Fine,” he sighed.
“Good. So?”
“What?”
“Find us a bloody case!”
Rafe found the smile still sitting comfortably on his lips, and realised just how rare it was for him to be smiling so much. There hadn't been a reason for him to smile for a long damn time.
Since embarking on his life as a freelancer, he had never had a sidekick, let alone a partner. But if he was going to have one, if it was going to be anyone, he was glad it was going to be her.
*
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*
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Keep reading for an exclusive preview of the next book in The Freelancers series!
Rafe and Ana return in
The Roving Death
Death comes for us all, but it rarely knocks first...
An unexpected dinner guest seems the most innocuous of occurrences – however this guest heralds something dark and powerful that is spreading across London.
When the case is dropped in their lap, Ana wants in. But the job has baggage in the form of Rafe's old partner, a man he doesn't want a damn thing to do with, who cost him his magic, and ruined his life.
Realising how desperate the situation is, Rafe begrudgingly teams up with his old friend, and
the three of them set to put an end to the plague that's stalking the city... But death is the only way to defeat death – and Ana never signed up for murder.
Turning her back on Rafe, Ana is introduced to another side of the magickal world. And as the spectre of devastation looms over London, she'll have to decide whether she wants to be a freelancer after all...
The Roving Death
Chapter 1
They would not rise with the sun
Night had fallen on London, the street lamps flickering to life reluctantly, cycling lazily through from dull red hues to orange glares. The lights in the windows of houses and apartments flicking on one by one, silhouetting those within. High in the skies above, a heavy blanket of cloud was settling over the city, harbouring thick, heavy rain that was just biding its time, waiting patiently to pelt down on the unsuspecting populace below.
In Highgate village, a quiet suburb in the north of the capital, the Miller family were preparing for dinner. Deep in the confines of their large house, right at the top of a gated community, Lily Miller, the youngest child, was laying the table. Steve Miller, her older brother, was laying down place mats and plates. Their father, Rob Miller, was helping his wife pull various roasting tins from the oven, and relocating the contents of saucepans to serving dishes. His assistance was much to the consternation and irritation of Mary Miller, for Rob got in her way just as much as he actually helped.
As the Miller family sat down to eat what would turn out to be their final meal together, the rain began to fall, crashing down mercilessly on the roof, slashing against the windows. The downpour was so loud, they almost didn't hear the three identically spaced knocks on the door.
