by M. V. Stott
‘Watch me play, Stella. It’s so, so beautiful.’
The attack was not fast. He blocked any chance of escape and took his time to break them down. To give them hope that they could turn the tables, then smack them down again. Near the end, the witches of London struggled to meet each other. Dragged their shattered bodies across the floor, leaving trails of dark blood behind them. I could see it in their eyes now, the certainty that this was it. They’d done what they could and it was all about to be over. I felt the tears rushing from my eyes, soaking my cheeks.
‘Aw, it’s almost over. Still, we can watch it again, and again, and again…’
‘Please. Please don’t show me...’
I wanted to die. For him just to kill me at last and have it all be over.
But then—
Oh!
Then I saw something. Something wonderful.
As the dark shape approached them, my witches held hands and did not fight, did not run. Instead I saw their lips move as one, saying the same words. Words I recognised. Casting a spell only my witches could have created, and only when working together as one.
I began to laugh.
‘Stop.’
I was hysterical now, great gales of laughter that hurt my stomach.
‘Stop it!’ said Mr. Trick.
The coven whipped away like a cloth being yanked from a table and I was back in the forest. Mr. Trick had rocked back on his heels, confused.
‘Is this madness? Have I broken you so easily?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s just, you’re making a habit of this.’
‘Of what?’ He studied my face, my smile. ‘Making a habit of what!’
‘Well, first you let me live when you really should have taken care of me right away. You don’t let a loose end run around. Then there was the lack of smell in the pretend coven earlier. Not a details person, are you Mr. Trick? A little too arrogant for that. Too sure of yourself. But this one? This one is a big boo-boo.’
‘What? Tell me!’ His voice roared out, the trees shaking, my hair blowing back, but I didn’t shield myself from it. I walked forward, walked towards Mr. Trick. Now I saw fear in his eyes.
‘Don’t you see? They left the door open for me to walk in.’
‘Your witches? They are dead. Dead! I killed them, tore them apart, left them as nothing more than meat rags on the floor! I swallowed them down, ate their spark! I did that! Me, me, me!’
‘Yes, but not before they left me a gift; and thank you for letting me see it, because otherwise I probably wouldn’t have noticed.’
Mr. Trick blinked slowly.
‘What did they do? Tell me what they did.’
I smiled.
‘It’s something my masters created, called the Achilles Curse.’
His lips twitched.
‘No. No, no, no... That’s not.... Not possible.’
‘A weak spot. A chink in your armour. Know where it is and even a two-year-old sorcerer could take you down.’
Mr. Trick backed away, ‘Where is it? Where?’
‘Now, those who cast the spell can’t take advantage of it. Magic has rules, it can be a right bitch like that. But me? I can use it. They left it for me. One last job to take care of for them.’
Mr. Trick screamed and raised his hands, ready to throw everything he had at me.
‘Hush,’ I said. He froze, unable to cast the spell that would surely have killed me.
I slowly walked towards him, savouring his terror.
‘Now it’s you that can feel fear. That can know what it’s like to beg for your life. I feel you struggling against me, but it’s no good. There’s no point. I know where your weak spot is, and I’m focussing my magic on it. You can’t stop me.’
‘You think you can put an end to me? You think I can just be—’
‘Oh, please shut up. I’m going to kill you now. For my witches, and for David. Goodbye and fuck you.’
I placed the right words together and a flaming sword appeared in my hand—
‘No!’
‘Oh, fucking, yes—’
I thrust the sword into Mr. Trick’s chest and he screamed, his mouth growing ever larger until I thought his head was going to split in two. Magic erupted from him in great flaming torrents, forcing me to stagger back.
He shook violently, like he was having a fit, and shapes began to burst from him, tearing his flesh open to escape and circle around us. They were the sparks he’d taken, the souls he’d eaten. It was clear he’d feasted often and for many years, and I knew my witches must be up there among them somewhere.
‘I did it,’ I said. I hoped they could hear me.
Mr. Trick’s body fell to the ground and something dark and wet began to crawl out of him. Began to crawl out of David. This was Mr. Trick’s true form. His true body. Dragging itself out of David’s corpse.
It looked drained and withered, foul back goo dripped from it. I wondered what it had been, how it had become such a horrific creature. It looked up to me, its face smooth and featureless apart from two giant, yellow eyes that met mine, imploring.
‘Beg all you want,’ I said, ‘You won’t find mercy here.’ I reached out my hands, fire shooting from my palms, reducing the thing to ash.
Mr. Trick was dead and gone.
I’d done it.
I’d started this whole episode seeing impossible things, and now I’d done something impossible myself. I’d destroyed the most powerful creature I’d ever met.
‘Stella...?’
I whirled round to where David’s body lay. He wasn’t dead! Not quite, but he would be. I ran to him and cradled him in my arms, fussing at the open wounds that covered him, the giant gaping hole that Mr. Trick had crawled out of.
‘David. Oh God, David, you’re going... you’re going to be…’ I couldn’t finish the sentence, because he wasn’t going to be okay. His wounds were too severe, he was seconds from death. I thought he’d died once, but this time he really would. This time he was really going to die…
...unless…
I looked up at the sparks still swirling around in a confusion of magic. It was forbidden, I knew that. It was the dark arts, black magic. It was especially bad for a thing such as me to use it, and maybe it wouldn’t work anyway. But...
I stood and lifted my hands to the sky, head thrown back, looking up at all of the sparks rushing around like a tornado. All of those Uncanny souls.
Was there enough? So much magic in one place, for this moment only, but would it be enough? Would I be enough? Would I be able to harness it and channel it correctly, or would it burn me up and leave me a husk on the ground?
‘Sod it,’ I said. ‘Let’s do this...’
The forms shaped in my head. The forbidden forms. I felt the energy in the forest change. I was a lightning rod, a thing of pure focus. I tensed, tried to ready myself, but as the first spark rushed into me I heard myself begin to scream. All the Uncanny sparks, the souls, entered me one after one; I could feel my bones burning, my flesh twisting; they were tearing me apart.
No-no-no-
You will… do what I want… I… I control you… I demand it... I... demand...
I felt the dark energy I was tapping into, and it terrified me. Whether it worked or not, there would be a price. A Familiar like me can’t play with this side of magic, not without paying a toll further down the line. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. All that mattered was winning; was pulling one life back from Mr. Trick.
Throat raw from screaming, I lowered my arms and looked at David on the ground before me. I knelt beside him, my body on fire, and I gathered him into my arms, his head lolling back.
‘...Stella...I think...I think I’m going to...’
‘Shh now, David. Everything is going to be okay.’
I leaned down and placed my lips upon his and I blew into him. The power, the sparks, the dark magic, rushed from inside me and into him. He jolted from my arms and hung in the air in a brilliant ball of light, the trees a
round us catching flame, David screaming at the centre. The whole world was screams and fire and blinding light and it was too much, too much, too much—
And then, it was over.
He fell with a thump to the ground, the sparks gone, the dark magic gone, and all was silent. I slumped back, every part of me in agony, trying to catch my breath. I was alive. I’d managed to harness all that magic, tap into the dark plane, and somehow I’d survived.
But what about...?
‘Stella?’
I rolled over and crawled towards David, my head coming to rest on his stomach.
‘Yes?’
‘That really, really hurt.’
I smiled, ‘You’re welcome.’
29
A month later, back at the London Coven. Back at my home. My body had just about recovered from everything, though I still walked with a bit of a limp. I’d stopped coughing up blood in the mornings, too, so that was good.
For a while, it felt strange to come back to this place. To decide I was going to live there still. But it was my home. I wouldn’t let Mr. Trick win by forcing me out. This was my place. This was where I belonged.
‘Hey,’ said David as I entered the kitchen. He put a mug of coffee down before me. He’d recovered much quicker than I had. All the dark magic that had saved his life had fixed him up pretty well. I wrapped my hands around the mug and not for the first time wondered what the price would be for my harnessing such black magic. There was always a price. I looked up at David and knew I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
‘Hey, have I thanked you yet for saving my life?’
‘Only about ten times a day for the last month.’
He patted my shoulder and sat opposite me. He’d described what had happened like a sort of dream. He was aware at times that something was inside him, willing him to act in certain ways, but he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. At other times, he hadn’t known anything was wrong at all. Mr. Trick had only used him for brief bits of time, until he’d staged his disappearance. From then on, until Mr. Trick had crawled out of him, he’d been completely cut off and unaware of anything. Like he was in a deep, dreamless sleep.
‘So today’s the day?’
‘Today’s the day,’ I said, nodding.
‘You’re sure? I saw you pretending not to limp as you walked in here.’
‘London has been without its witches for too long. Without the protection and order of this coven. Well, I might only be a little Familiar, but I’m of here and of them, and until someone better comes along, I’m going to carry on doing what I was created for. Keeping the Uncanny of London in line.’
‘With me by your side, right? Remember, this is my city too. Now I know all of the spooky stuff that goes on, it’s my duty to make sure people are safe.’
I smiled and nodded. Truth be told, I could do with the help, and he knew things that I didn’t. People, places, ways to go about investigations. What to look for and how to fit clues together. I needed him. Not that I’d say that to him, he had a big enough head as it was.
‘Stella Familiar and Detective David Tyler,’ he said, ‘taking on anyone who tries to upset our city. This is going to be fun. Me and you, a crime-fighting duo. Ooh, like Batman & Robin! Bagsy I’m Batman.’ He whistled and began cracking eggs into a pan.
There was another reason I wanted David close by. Well, another two reasons. He’d been the home of the most powerful creature I’d ever come across. Was Mr. Trick gone for good? Would David now become a weak link, the creature’s way to crawl back into this plane? There was no way of knowing. And then there was the fact I’d used black magic on him. Who knew what the long-term effect of that might be. No, I wanted to keep my eye on him. To protect him. Maybe protect others from him.
‘It’s not going to be an easy ride,’ I said. ‘The Uncanny world is a dangerous one, as I’m sure you’re already very aware.’
‘Hey, danger is my middle name.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face.’
‘I am pretty much shameless,’ he replied with a grin.
‘Oh, and David?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’re definitely Robin.’
The witches of the London Coven might be dead.
And I might not be a fifth of the Uncanny they were.
But it didn’t matter. I’d walked into Mr. Trick’s world and taken him out, and I’d do whatever it took to see off anything looking to take his place.
That was my job.
My whole reason for existing.
My name is Stella Familiar.
Created by the witches of the London Coven.
And this city will be protected.
The End
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Ghosted: Fresh Hell
Here’s a SNEAK PEEK at the first Ghosted book, another series in the Uncanny Kingdom
A skinned woman floating in a canal.
A demon on the loose.
Somebody has to take it down, and that somebody is me.
Just one problem... I’m already dead
1
It was half past midnight when the screaming started.
The cry came from the east bank of Regent’s Canal, not far from Camden Lock. The person who called it in said they heard a commotion outside their narrow boat and pulled back the curtain to find a figure running along the towpath, screaming at the top of their lungs. The witness said they couldn’t understand why the screamer was making such a racket; not until they slammed their palm against the boat’s porthole and painted it with a big, red handprint.
The victim didn’t have any skin.
They’d been flayed from head to toe, peeled like a prawn, yet somehow they still had it in them to flee—literally barefoot—from the scene of their suffering.
The victim carried on running after that, but didn’t make it far before they took a tumble and toppled face-first into the canal. It won’t shock you to hear that they were pronounced dead on arrival.
When I picked up the message from DCI Stronge that the Marine Policing Unit had fished a flayed corpse out of the drink, I took an interest right away. Things like this—bizarre, gruesome murders—they’re right in my wheelhouse. All my life I’ve had a preoccupation with the macabre: the creatures in the shadows, the lurkers beneath the floorboards, the monsters in the closet. Believe it or not, back in a past life I used to be an exorcist (although I’d prefer if you did take my word for it, otherwise this story is going to be a real tough sell).
So, why an exorcist? Fact is, I was born with The Sight: an ability to see the spirits of the dead that stay walking the Earth. Ghosts, phantoms, spectres, whatever you want to call them. It made for a pretty challenging childhood, but it set me up great for a career evicting spooks. It’s a job I did for a good few years, waving burning sage about and cleansing haunted properties, at least before I died and became a spook myself. Yeah, I’m not blind to the irony. Since I croaked, I’ve taken a bit of a U-turn on the whole issue of ghosts and their rights. Matter of fact, I’ve become something of an undead activist. Live and let live, I say.
Well, to a fashion.
Most ghosts find themselves marooned on the physical plane because they died a traumatic death and need closure to move on. Not me. I solved my murder – had my chance at the afterlife but passed it up. Well, that’s not entirely true, The truth is, I did a runner from the pearly gates. I didn’t feel I was ready to face the Big Man at that juncture, not after the life I’d lead. Not after the things I’ve done.
So, I found my way back here, back to the physical realm. Now I live somewhere between the two worlds, tucked in the middle and out of sight, like
a g-string up an arse crack. I move invisibly in this realm, a rumour drifting through a world of facts. Tell you what, let’s stick with that last one, it’s got more of a ring to it than the arse crack thing.
You’re probably wondering how I wound up dead in the first place. Well, you know that expression, “Die young and leave a good-looking corpse”? I managed to get the “young” part right. The “good-looking corpse” part, that’s a whole other story. The quick version: I succeeded in pissing off the wrong person and ended up cut into four chunks, so... not exactly good-looking.
Anyway, my death’s a story for another time – we’ve already got one sliced-up corpse bobbing in a canal, let’s not muddy the waters with another. The reason I mention it is to remind you that, as a bona-fide “goner,” I don’t have a body. Most of the time I do just fine without one, but seeing as I was about to meet with the police and they wouldn’t be able to see me in my spook state, something needed doing. If I wanted to talk with DCI Stronge, I was going to have to make a stop first.
2
I found him sat in the booth of a late-night bar with his arm around a woman he wasn’t married to. He was ordering table service. Of course he was, he’d always been a wanker. His name was Mark Ryan and I’d known him since we were eleven years old. Since we were at school together. We didn’t run in the same circles. His circle was all sports trophies and hand jobs behind the bike sheds, while mine—thanks to him—was the kind Dante wrote about. No matter what I did to avoid the guy, he’d always find a way to seek me out and give me shit: barging me into my locker, kicking footballs at me, tripping me over in the corridor. Boosting his ego at my expense. Mark Ryan was the first person to really make my life hell, and I’ve been closer to the place than most.
One time he bought a pair of handcuffs into class and manacled me to a radiator while the teacher was out of the room. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? Some people pay good money for that. Yeah, he over-tightened the things, but that was too be expected. Besides, that wasn’t what really hurt. The real pain came when the heat conducted by the cuff made its way to my bracelet. That was a new kind of pain. Mark and his crew did nothing to help me – just stood back and laughed as I thrashed around, helpless, howling in agony.
