by Kit Hallows
A GAME OF WITCHES
BOOK THREE OF THE ORDER OF SHADOWS
KIT HALLOWS
A Game of Witches
By Kit Hallows
Copyright © 2017 by Kit Hallows. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
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To Mum, Aunty Strange & Nanna, good witches all
1
Dark heavy clouds gathered above me like ghostly galleons as I crouched low upon the edge of the tenement roof. I was right on the border of the magical quarter and the blinkered world, which meant my jurisdiction was questionable. But really, when wasn’t it?
The spotter on the roof below was still preoccupied with his phone, his profile silhouetted by the soft blue halo of light that spilled from the screen. He stood transfixed, even after the heavens opened and hard shiny hail spattered the pebbly asphalt around him and rattled off the skylights. Within moments the alley below, which separated the two buildings, had become a hard white line of icy stones.
I took two crystals from my pocket, used their magic to cast a makeshift spell and made myself unseen. Then I backed up along the parapet to the far side of the roof, gave my shoulders a slow stretch and ran hard. My shoes crunched through the hail as I raced toward the edge. I leapt, hurtling over the gap.
My coat crackled like a tarp as I flew through the air and hit the rooftop below. The spotter looked up in time to catch my fist as it smashed into the side of his face. He fell hard and as his phone skittered toward me I stomped on it, relishing the shattering of its display under my heel.
I grabbed the handle and shoved the door to the stairwell with my shoulder. Locked. I had plenty of picks but not enough time. I backed up and booted it hard. It crashed open, striking the wall with a heavy metal clang.
Not exactly my stealthiest moment.
I ran down the concrete steps, my limbs still aching from the venture in Copperwood Falls. The fact that I was not quite back to my old self was getting to me. In reality, it had only been a couple of weeks since I’d fought my way out of that deathtrap. Somehow it felt like a different lifetime.
A cloud of grey tobacco smoke hung in the air around the two thugs who stood on the landing below, their cigarettes hanging from their mouths as endless reams of bullshit spilled from their lips.
One glanced up, just as my too hastily cast invisibility spell flickered.
“What the f-?” Slow comprehension spread across his tattooed brow.
I dived down the stairs and took them both to the ground with me, punching them before they could recover. My fingers throbbed as I wrenched a pouch of zombiefication dust from my pocket and blew it into their faces. They growled, swore and scrambled to stand, but slowly the light in their eyes dimmed and their mouths fell slack.
“Follow me.” I led my new recruits along the murky corridor. Heavy muffled bass reverberated from behind one of the closed doors and the trailing stench of takeout food and rancid grease laced the air. The apartment I was heading for was at the very end of the hall and I steeled myself against the potential minefield that laid along the path.
I glanced up as the door to my left opened and a stringy, acne-riddled man emerged. His eyes skittered over mine and he reached for the gun in his waistband. “Eliminate,” I commanded, pointing as I passed, and continued down the hall. The sounds of the scuffle echoed around me as one of my zombified goons tackled the guy. I almost winced as I heard something snap and a howl of agony swirled through the corridor, followed by a crack and another piercing cry.
I strode on with my other soldier of misfortune shambling along at my side like a drunk. I flinched as gunfire exploded behind me. Another would-be-badass stood with his door open, his gun trained on me. “Cover me!” I shouted.
My autonomic goon turned and stepped behind me, then his whole frame shook as the bullet tore through his shoulder. His face registered no pain, only slow, perplexed fury. I grabbed his other shoulder and used it to steady my aim as I fired back, taking down the shooter with a single round to the chest.
The door at the end of the corridor flew open and my target, Jamie Knox, emerged shirtless. He had a Glock by his side and a staff in his hands. His bloodshot eyes swept over me and his brow lowered. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Someone looking for answers.” I strode toward him, my shuffling zombie guard so close I could smell the blood that trickled from the bullet wound.
Knox raised his staff and began to mumble. Bright crystalline-green flames roared from the tip as the runes inscribed along the length of it glowed. He cried out, shouting words I couldn’t understand, then a powerful surge shot through the staff.
I grabbed the zombified thug and shielded myself against the blast of power as it lit up the corridor like a Christmas tree. He fell hard, his arms and legs flailing in a mad dance as his face withered and turned to ash.
“That’s no way to treat your friends,” I said, as I closed the distance between us. Knox tried to slam the door, but I caught it before it closed.
A loud heavy beat blared from two studio speakers, overwhelming my senses. I put a bullet in the sleek chrome amplifier and the music droned to a static halt. “Silence is golden. Don't you think?”
Emerald green fire blazed from Knox’s staff, lighting up his pockmarked face. I stalked toward him and kicked the foot of the weapon, discharging a powerful blast into the ceiling that scorched and blackened the pristine white paint.
Before Knox could recover, I ripped the staff from his trembling hands and broke it over my knee. It hurt, but I hid the pain. “Back off!” I pulled the Glock from his belt, released the magazine, ejected a round and threw the gun at a large gilded mirror, smashing it into hundreds of silvery slivers.
“Fuck-”
Before he could finish I grabbed him by his sweaty jaw, turned his head, and slammed it against the wall. As I shoved him away, he stumbled into a coffee table piled with black crystals and smashed through it amid a cascade of glass, and ebony and purple stones.
“What do you want?” The bravado was gone and his voice cracked as he tried to stand.
“Elsbeth Wyght.”
“What the hell does she have to do with me?” He screamed as I stood on his hand.
He sounded like a petulant child. “Wyght’s got a thing for black crystal and you've got a thing for selling it. In vast quantities. Word is she’s back in town, so I’m touring the local dealers. You were number one on my list. Lucky you. Now, either you talk or I’ll trash the rest of this place. The ball, Mr. Knox, is firmly in your court.” I glanced at the huge 4K screen poised before his black leather sofa and grabbed the baseball that was resting on the mantelpiece. “But I’m prepared to put it through your screen.”
“I don’t know where Wyght is,’ he said. “I swear!”
I reached down, pulled him to his feet, and stared into his eyes. They were wide with panic and I watched as his mind whirled. He was lying. “Bullshit!” I gave him a shove. He scrambled back, lost his footing and toppled into the window, falling through in an exp
losion of broken glass. I grabbed his feet before he could drop any further.
“Fuck!” Knox screamed. The street below was a good thirty feet. We both knew he didn’t stand a chance.
“If you're going to hold out on me, why should I hold on to you?” I loosened my grip for a split second. He slipped a little until I grabbed him once more.
“Alright! Let me up. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know.” I barely heard a word he said as my gaze fell on the figure standing in the alley below.
At first glance he looked like a fat teenage boy with long red hair and a gleaming ring in his lip. Until I saw past the cloak to the equally fat young ogre concealed behind it and the rusty old knife he carried wherever he went. Wisps of red hair waved in the wind over his cannonball-like head, and his feral grin grew wide as his tiny gimlet eyes met mine.
Osbert, my fellow agent. What the hell was he doing here?
My eyes jolted to a peripheral movement ahead of me and found Ebomee Hyde, positioned in the window of the building across the alley. She was dressed as smartly as ever, her elegant suit the same carbon black as the sniper rifle in her hand. The sniper rifle that was trained squarely on me… She glanced up, winked and mimed taking a shot.
I hauled Knox in and dropped him onto the floor. It seemed I had bigger fish to fry. I glanced back through the broken window as Ebomee adjusted her aim.
And then a hoarse, terrified scream rang out through the corridor behind me.
2
Knox’s door was still open, but barely ajar. I moved toward it and peered through the crack. A man lurked halfway down the murky corridor, his features indistinguishable below his wide-brimmed hat. And then I saw the shadows slithering across his face.
Mr. Rhymes.
I’d only encountered him a few times before, while waiting for assignments in the Organization’s downtown office, and he’d always struck me with a strangely hypnotic sense of dread. One that seeped into my very core. I had no idea what kind of entity Rhymes was but suffice to say he wasn’t human. And I’d gotten the distinct feeling that making inquiries would be reckless, at best.
And now he was here, calmly pinning one of Knox’s goons against a wall with his black gloved hand as he reached over his own shoulder with the other and pulled a knife from his back. He handed it to the man as rivulets of blood cascaded down his long tan coat. “I believe this is yours,” he said, punctuating each ‘s’ with a soft hiss.
The man squirmed against him, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “No!”
“Take it.” Rhymes closed the man’s fingers around the knife handle. The thug’s face gleamed with sweat as he glanced down at the weapon.
“Thank you. Now take another stab at it. This time with a little more…gusto.”
“N…no!”
Rhymes inclined his head and I could see one of his eyes. It burned like a tiny comet. “Very well then.” He leaned forward, in what at first appeared to be an almost tender gesture, and took the tip of the man’s nose in his gleaming white teeth. Then he yanked his head back, tearing most of it away and spat it on the floor. As he released the screaming thug, Rhymes took a napkin from his pocket and dabbed at his lips, like he’d just taken a sip from a tea cup. The thug backed away, face ashen, eyes wild with horror, blood gushing down his chin.
Rhymes ignored him, turned toward me and began to walk. His tread was light and leisurely and his eyes burned like twin suns amid his shadow-drenched face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rook,” he said, his voice cordial, the smile dancing on his lips less so.
“What are you doing here?” I pulled my gun but kept it by my side.
Rhymes shook his head. “Put that away, Mr. Rook.”
It was only when he was almost upon me that I realized I’d been mesmerized. The recognition was enough to break his spell, and I began to back away.
“Come, come, Mr. Rook.” His grin grew wider, then he dissolved into filaments of shadow, and the corridor was empty but for his bleeding, whimpering victim.
Within moments a terrible cold darkness filled the space behind me as Rhyme’s shadow fell upon the wall.
I ran. Hard. Fast.
The corridor jolted around me and a wave of darkness roared at my back. I reached the stairs and took them two at a time, thundering up toward the roof, like the devil himself was behind me. And maybe he was. I emerged into daylight and slammed the door against the tide of shadows that flooded the stairwell.
I was halfway across the roof when a bullet whistled over my head, so close I actually felt it pass.
A warning shot from Ebomee.
I took my chances and ran toward the parapet, leaped out and landed hard on the roof next door and came skittering to a stop before an angled skylight.
Two figures sat on a sofa in the room below. One was Osbert, cloaked as the red-haired teen. He grinned as he looked up and plunged his chunky hand into a sizable bag of cookies. An attractive older lady sat beside him, apprehensively eyeing the rusty knife that lay on the armrest by his side. Osbert patted the hilt, smiled up at me, and shook his head.
Would he really hurt a blinkered? Or was he just trying to get my attention? I couldn’t risk it. I was about to put a bullet between his gimlet eyes when the daylight suddenly withdrew.
And then I felt the gun at the back of my head.
“Holster your firearm, Mr. Rook,” Rhymes whispered, his breath filled with the coppery tang of blood. “Do it now, or I will shoot you. Believe me.” He stepped around me, his face alive with festering shadows while his eyes burned like magma.
I raised my hands over my head.
“Very good, Mr. Rook. Very good indeed,” Rhymes said. “Now, let’s get you back to terra firma.”
3
“Step lively, Mr. Rook.” Rhymes nodded to the stairs while pulling a pair of heavy black sunglasses over his burning eyes.
The stairwell was empty and silent, which emphasized the slip and tap of his shoes behind me, and the whispered conversation Rhymes began to conduct with himself. I had no idea what he was saying and I found his behavior so disturbing that ignorance seemed like the preferable option.
I felt a pang of relief when I pushed the stairwell door open and emerged into dreary grey daylight. The slushy hailstones that covered the sidewalk crunched under my feet as we walked. I considered making a run for it until I spotted Ebomee poised in a doorway across the street. Her sniper rifle was crossed over her chest, its barrel resting on her shoulder. She nodded to me, the gesture both respectful and foreboding. I nodded back.
Osbert stood on the verge of the access road that led to the alley. He was still cloaked and busy wiping crumbs from his flabby lips. He smiled at me. “Nothing personal, Morgan,” he said, his voice muffled by the remains of the cookies in his mouth.
“Sure,” I said, forcing nonchalance. While I had little more than contempt for the pair of them, I was painfully aware of my vulnerability. Especially with Rhymes at my back. And as a policy, it always seemed best not to overplay your hand with skilled assassins.
A car with tinted windows slipped around the corner and purred toward us. I didn't need to look any closer to know who it was.
“Your ride is here.” Rhymes grinned, revealing a gold cap at the back of his teeth. He pulled his glasses down just enough to give a wink of his glowing eye. “Behave.”
I turned away as the rear window slid down and Erland Underwood glanced up at me. “Get in, Morgan.”
There was no point arguing. I forced my boiling rage onto the back burner, and climbed into the car. It was clean, comfortable and warm, the dark glass a welcome barrier from the grotesques watching from the sidewalk.
Erland looked harried. Today he wore a bespoke powder blue suit, but he wasn’t wearing his customary hat and his strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a severe pony tail. His lilac eyes flashed over mine and I caught a glint of anger, and something else…fear? He leaned forward, tapped the translucent smoke-colored glass partition and called out to
the driver, “Take us to Eveningside.”
While she was pretty well obscured by the murky glass, I could see enough to conclude the driver was elven by the way the elongated tips of her pierced ears poked through her choppy dark hair. She nodded and the car pulled away.
I glanced through the back window to see the three agents receding behind us. Osbert raised a flabby hand and waved. I didn’t wave back. “So why did you sic them on me?” I asked, keeping my tone as measured as I could.
“I didn’t. You’ve been back in the city for at least two weeks and we haven’t heard a peep since you phoned in the coordinates of the crystal farm in Copperwood Falls.”
“And the Embersen house,” I added. “I’m sure the Organization will be pleased once they’ve seized their assets.”
“You should have come in when I asked, Morgan.” Erland stared through the window, but I could see the anger in his pale reflection. “Why didn’t you?”
“I’ve been preoccupied. I’ve got other things to deal with. Things that are more important than the Organization.”
“Listen,” Erland wrestled away his scowl as he turned to face me. “I appreciate what you accomplished in Copperwood Falls. From what I was told you faced incredible danger there. And you did so alone. It’s good to have a farm of that magnitude out of commission. It’s put a dent in the supply chain, and you netted some big fish.” His lilac eyes found mine and locked me into their gaze. “But there were also reports of the three dead women in the cells below the Embersen property. Women with silver spirals on their wrists. Care to explain?”
“One of the victims they were farming at the hillside lab was a witch from the Silver Spiral. She’d gone there to scout out crystals so she could rejoin the coven. I used her to lure Wyght to Copperwood Falls.”
“Without telling me.”
