Bound

by Alan Baxter

  Alex stopped dead, spun on one heel to stare the young man in the eye. ‘What did you say?’ His entire body trembled, engorged with power. ‘Come on, you fucking parrot. Give me one reason to rip that ridiculous hairstyle clean off your fucking scalp!’

  The punk’s eyes widened and he took a step back. ‘All right, mate. No need to be aggressive.’

  Alex laughed. ‘Aggressive? You haven’t seen aggressive yet, fucker.’ He wanted to kill this young man. He wanted to tear the guy’s face off and feed it to his friends. He wanted to be in the middle of the group as they tried to attack him and he would shred each and every one of them limb from limb. And he knew he could do it. With a cry of despair he shoved the man out of his way and strode across the road. Car horns blared and tyres screeched. The hollow pop of impact and a tinkling shower of headlight glass receded in the distance as he jumped over a pedestrian fence on the opposite pavement and turned down a side street. He ignored the raised voices behind him and turned into the welcoming warmth of a pub doorway.

  Quiet this early in the day, it seemed safe. He walked to the empty bar and sat on a stool. ‘Give me a double whisky,’ he said to the barman’s raised eyebrow. ‘In fact,’ he put his wallet on the counter between them, ‘give me two and keep an eye open for empty glasses.’ He had never been a drinker, but needed something to calm this rage.

  The man shrugged and poured the drinks, putting them on the draining tray without a word. Alex handed him a twenty-pound note and sank the first in a single gulp. As the barman put his change beside his wallet on the scored old oak, Alex sipped at the second drink.

  He sensed her come in, his mind still wired. As she walked casually through the pub to sit next to him, he concentrated on locking down his shields. The booze helped. He waved, holding up the empty glass, staring at nothing but the oak bar.

  ‘Give me the same,’ Silhouette said, though it sounded a thousand miles away.

  The barman delivered the drinks, helped himself to Alex’s money. Alex sipped again, breathing, sipping, breathing, sipping, letting thoughts drift across his mind’s eye like a movie screen. He ignored Silhouette, ignored the pub, ignored everything. He was a warrior, this is what he did. He remained calm in desperate situations. The voice of his Sifu drifted across his mind. You must be aware of your emotions, but not a slave to them. You must be aware of the emotions of others and use them to your advantage. Throughout it all you must remain calm. Anger, fear, doubt, these things will ruin you. They will stiffen you and you’ll snap in the winds of adversity. Control them, control yourself, bend in the wind like a willow.

  He began to settle, his mind his own again. Since he had raised his knee to take down Peacock’s door, he realised, he had been barely in control. At any moment he could have gone berserk. He was thankful he’d managed to hold on to himself as much as he had. The warm, soft glow of inebriation played along with his breathing exercises. The crowing of the book had dulled. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Alcohol, the great control destroyer he’d always avoided, working in his favour now.

  Silhouette laid a hand on his shoulder, her palm hot. ‘You back with us?’

  Alex nodded, saying nothing. He still had very mixed feelings about her, but at least she knew exactly what had been happening. He took great comfort in knowing he wasn’t completely alone in all this.

  ‘You’re a remarkable young man, Alex,’ she said, her voice low, seductive.

  ‘I wish I wasn’t.’

  ‘You said that before. But you are. Nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘Fuck.’ He sipped.

  She squeezed his shoulder. ‘So. What now?’

  ‘What now? I’m going to have a couple more drinks and then I’m going to destroy this fucking book and stone, that’s what now.’

  8

  Silhouette left her hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring, as they drank. Alex knew getting drunk was a bad idea in the long run, but it seemed to be dulling the insistent presence of the book in his pocket and the Darak against his chest.

  Welby lay dead in his own house. Peacock lay dead in his shop, murdered by Alex’s hand. Silhouette drank the blood from a dead man’s eye socket. These things in his possession had turned his life upside down. What next?

  He knew Peacock’s death was his own desire, yet there was more to it than that. Would he really have acted so defiantly, so violently, without feeling as though the book and the stone were urging him on? He wondered how much control he had. How much he knew his own mind. He had skills others couldn’t imagine. He had learned more about that in the last couple of days than he would ever have dreamed possible. And those powers were exponentially increased with this shard around his neck. But at what cost? And how connected were these items? He truly intended to destroy them both, but deep down felt certain he wouldn’t be able to. It wouldn’t stop him trying, but if he couldn’t destroy them, then what?

  He needed help and the only people he knew who might have a clue were dead. My thoughts are going round in circles. He looked disdainfully at the glass in his hand. Help and hindrance in one tiny package.

  But there was someone else who could help. Silhouette. Devastating and terrifying, young and old, sensual and animal. His only ally. A monster. Alex turned to her, taking his eyes off the bar for the first time since he’d sat down.

  ‘So what are you really?’ Alex asked.

  She smiled, a predatory baring of teeth at once alluring and frightening. ‘I told you. I’m Kin.’

  Alex nodded. ‘Then I suppose the question is, what are Kin?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re some freak animal that lapped up the blood from a dead man’s eye. Beyond that I daren’t consider.’

  ‘Really?’

  Alex sighed. ‘I’m starting to think I’ve lived my whole life blind. I’ve seen magic, I think I’ve used magic. I fought two fucking gargoyles! So I’m not sure I can really get my head around what you might be.’

  Silhouette stroked his cheek. ‘You’re doing pretty well.’

  ‘You drank his blood, Silhouette! Your eyes turned black.’ She nodded, letting her hand slip away. He frowned. ‘But you say you’re not a vampire.’

  ‘I’m not. I would have eaten his flesh too, but that would have been too confusing for the police who might find him. A bit of smeared blood is less … incriminating. But being a vampire is a lifestyle choice.’

  ‘What?’

  She gestured over her shoulder, out the door of the pub. ‘Those punks you nearly tore to pieces out there. They dress and act a certain way. They choose a particular style of being, right?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Same thing with my people and vampirism.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘No, no. Just because someone chooses to act like a vampire, that doesn’t make them one. You’re more than playing some twisted role.’

  ‘I told you, I’m not a vampire. Just like you’re not a punk.’

  ‘Yeah, but I could be a punk if I chose to be.’

  Silhouette finished the last of her drink. ‘And I could be a vampire. Some of my people dig the whole gothic thing. I’m not a fan.’

  Alex sipped, buying time to think. He couldn’t really think of anything. ‘But you drank his blood.’

  ‘Like I said, it was too good to miss. Such adrenaline and fear. Delicious! It was so hard not taking a bite too.’

  ‘How is that not being a vampire?’

  Silhouette turned on her stool to face him, took his hand in hers. ‘I told you I had a history that might not sit well with you. I figured the easiest thing would be to show you outright. Plus, I couldn’t resist. I’m not a vampire, but I do feed on people. My kind feed on people, and not just on their blood, but flesh, bones, the whole thing.’

  Alex swallowed hard, a rocky lump of bile rising in his throat again. She sat there admitting a hideous truth and he still found her so enthralling. He was drawn to her, desperate to explore every centimetre of her.
She looked at him with soft eyes, her earlier casual cheeriness giving way to a seriousness she didn’t seem comfortable displaying. ‘What the fuck?’ was all he could manage.

  ‘Humans always have to categorise and pigeonhole, Alex. Vampires and werewolves, demons and angels. We’re all of those things and none of them. We are Kin. We’re the monsters under the bed, the bogeyman in the closet, the fear in the dark.’

  ‘Humans?’

  She reached out for his cheek again. ‘You’re human, Alex. I’m not. At least, not entirely. That’s what makes me Kin. My people don’t generally mix with yours. If you see us, you don’t live long enough to talk about it. That’s where the vampire and werewolf legends come from. And all the others. Some of my people got into the idea and started to live out the human perception. They like that, get a thrill out of it. Sometimes they settle into that way of being for decades, even centuries. Sometimes they bore quickly. But we’re all Kin. You’re human. But I’m a bit different. I’ve always had a soft spot for people.’

  Alex shook his head, trying to keep up. ‘So you like to butter the cow up before you eat it?’

  She grabbed his chin, tipped his face up, planted a kiss on his lips. It was hot and passionate, arousing him instantly. ‘I don’t tend to eat the people I befriend.’ She sat back with a wink.

  ‘So why have you befriended me?’

  ‘I’m weird like that.’

  He laughed in spite of his confusion. If he ignored the fact that she was not entirely human, and that she fed on humans, she was actually pretty cool. He laughed harder at the ridiculous chain of thought.

  She grinned at him. ‘You’re a bit weird too, aren’t you? Maybe that’s why we’re getting along.’

  Alex’s laughter faded as reality swung back in front of him. ‘I need help,’ he said, casting his eyes down at the floor.

  ‘I know. And I don’t think I can really give you the help you need, but I can be there while you try.’

  And there it was again. The only reason he wasn’t completely alone in all this. He knew he looked past the mind-bending revelations of what she actually might be primarily because of that. And because she was smoking hot. More than anything he needed someone to cling onto while the world fell apart around him. ‘I need to try to destroy this stone and this book,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I think the stone is fairly safe. It’s a tool. And a powerful one at that. I don’t think you should give it up so easily. The book is another matter.’

  His eyes searched hers. ‘You think I should destroy the book?’

  ‘I think you should try. But I don’t think you’ll be able to.’

  ‘And then what?’

  She shrugged. ‘The offer still stands to talk to my Clan Lord. If you earn the right to speak to him, if you survive, he might be able to help you.’

  Alex swallowed the last of his whisky. He picked up his wallet, leaving the few remaining coins on the bar, and stood. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘First we’ll get a cab to Welby’s for my stuff. And maybe some of his.’

  A man and a woman, sharp corporate dress and expensive shoes, stood looking down at the corpse of Peacock. Blood dried in a sticky patch around his head, congealed on his cheeks like a frozen flood of dark scarlet tears, smeared by something.

  The man clasped his hands together, steepled index fingers gently tapping his lips. The fluorescent light from above reflected off his pale, completely bald head. ‘Well, Ms Sparks,’ he said eventually. ‘It would appear that our friend Mr Peacock really upset someone this time.’

  The woman smiled, long blonde hair half covering a coldly attractive, severe face. ‘Indeed, Mr Hood. You have to admire the handiwork.’

  Hood nodded, looking up at the doorway to the shopfront, the wooden frame splintered with bullet holes. ‘Whoever did this avoided extremely close-range gunfire and didn’t waste any time completing their objective.’ Peacock’s gun lay in his slack palm. Hood tapped it with his toe. ‘Either our miserable little bookseller was truly useless with this, or his assailant was very fast.’

  ‘Maybe a bit of both,’ Sparks said thoughtfully. ‘Not to mention avoiding the various protective wards.’ She crouched, looking closely at Peacock’s ruined eyes. After a moment’s silent contemplation she stood, smoothing her tight, dark skirt. ‘So, looks like we won’t need to continue trying to negotiate with Peacock for all this.’ Her hand swept the room, taking in the bowed shelves of grimoires and scrolls. ‘Instead of trying to convince him to give us a price we can turn a profit on we can take it all and clear a very healthy margin.’

  Hood nodded absently, still staring at Peacock’s corpse. His index fingers tapped away at his lips, eyes narrowed.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Sparks asked. ‘I’m sure Peacock pissed off plenty of people. This was inevitable really, given enough time.’

  Hood lowered his hands. ‘Certainly. But think about it. This kind of targeted, ruthless violence doesn’t come from a simple dispute.’ He pointed to the bullet-riddled doorway. ‘Someone destroyed the front door, came in while Peacock squeezed off several shots. They covered this distance and killed him without any unnecessary activity. And then they left.’ He pointed at a book on Peacock’s desk. ‘Look at that. Very valuable that is. And the stuff on the shelves is untouched. Why didn’t they take anything? Why not ransack the place?’

  Sparks looked around, shrugged. ‘You think this was about something else?’ Hood nodded. ‘Something specific?’ Sparks asked.

  ‘I built Black Diamond Incorporated by sourcing the kind of things that most people don’t even believe in,’ Hood said. ‘I’ve made an obscene amount of money by learning to spot those items and find buyers for them. I notice details.’ He gestured at Peacock. ‘This situation bears the hallmarks of something very intriguing. I want to know who killed this despicable little man and why. Have the boys get around here and gather up anything of value before the police or some other busybodies stumble across it all. We can’t let an opportunity like this slip by. Any authorities will think it a simple robbery. There’s nothing to trace back to us if we’re clean.’

  Sparks nodded. ‘Yes, sir. And the killer?’

  Hood smiled. ‘I think we need to call in the Subcontractor.’

  Sparks’s face split in a wide grin. ‘Excellent!’

  ‘But first.’ Hood ran a long, thin hand through Sparks’s hair. ‘This whole situation rather thrills me. Bend over that desk, Ms Sparks. I have some excitement that needs releasing.’

  Sparks dipped her head coyly, her grin staying put. ‘Why, Mr Hood!’

  Alex and Silhouette stood outside Welby’s house, looking up through watery light at the stuccoed Victorian facade. ‘What do you see?’ Alex asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Describe to me what you see.’

  Silhouette looked the house up and down, at the others either side. ‘I see a mostly white, two-storey house. It’s kinda dirty, but looks in good condition. Tile roof, new windows. Pretty much the same as every other house along this street. What am I supposed to see?’

  ‘Look at the roof again.’

  ‘Yeah? Tiles, chimney. What?’

  Alex frowned at the plainly obvious third storey, windows with the curtains drawn. The house stood head and shoulders over every other home in the street. He laughed, shook his head. ‘Come on then.’

  Silhouette planted her hands on her hips. ‘What the hell? What am I supposed to see?’

  ‘It’ll be easier to show you. Come inside.’

  Alex paused as he shut the broken front door behind them, wedging it closed with its broken catch. He studied the devastation from his fight with the gargoyles. He fought for a living, but he’d never had a battle like that in his life. Hoped he never would again. Drawing a deep breath he started up the stairs, bracing himself for Welby’s corpse. ‘Don’t like, lick him or anything,’ he said.

  ‘Okay then. Just for you.’

&nb
sp; He led her to the first floor and stood with his back to the stairs leading to the third, secret storey. ‘You see anything you don’t expect?’

  ‘What are you going on about? What am I supposed to see?’

  Alex turned and walked up the stairs, feeling a shiver of magesign as he passed through Welby’s wards. Silhouette gasped behind him. He turned, looked down at her. ‘See now?’

  She laughed, wide-eyed. ‘Well, of course I can see now you’ve shattered the wards for me.’

  ‘They’re still here, I think. Can you follow me up?’

  Silhouette made a strange gesture with her hand then shrugged. She mounted the stairs and followed him. ‘Bloody clever,’ she muttered. ‘Certainly not Welby’s own work. He must have paid a lot for this.’

  ‘I don’t think money was much of an issue for him.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  In Welby’s study Alex started looking more closely at the books that lined every wall. Nothing made a lot of sense to him. There was a wealth of information here, not to mention massive monetary value, but it wasn’t worth the paper it was written on at this stage. What could he use? Silhouette walked slowly around the room, running one finger along the spines of the books.

  ‘This is amazing,’ she said. ‘Do you realise how amazing this is?’

  ‘Sure. But I need something to help me with my situation.’

  For hours they pored over Welby’s library, looking for anything that might shed some light on Alex’s dilemma. A small pile of books grew crookedly in the middle of the floor, all incredible, all containing unbelievable degrees of knowledge and magic. Tomes that mentioned anything about Fey history or curses or stones of power. Eventually, tired, despondent, Alex stared at the works they had gathered.

  ‘None of this is really helpful, is it?’

  Silhouette smiled ruefully. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything that can help you with your current predicament.’

  Alex spun on his heel. ‘Fuck this! I’m going to burn this book.’

  Silhouette trotted to catch up. ‘I’m not sure burning’s a good idea.’