by Kit Hallows
I passed Urban Finery, a local overpriced boutique and the last shop before the residential neighborhoods. Its well-lit window was decked out with a new display and my attention leapt to the thick black writing on a banner that read ‘Halloween Harlots!’ The vignette had been adorned with obligatory cobwebs and fat brown paper spiders, creating a frame for the three tastefully dressed witches poised around a bubbling cauldron. Their long dark gowns were accented with gleaming orange and black beaded sashes.
Halloween was just around the corner. The one night of the year that the blinkereds acknowledged any aspects of the truth of the worlds around them. The one night they chose to part the curtain and peer beyond the veil while disguising themselves as the very things they most feared.
It was never an easy night. First there were the trick or treating kiddies to look out for, as the darker, more desperate members of the supernatural community ventured out browsing for keepsakes. Then the partying adults, usually drunk or high and dangerously unaware that some of the monsters around them weren’t wearing masks at all.
The previous year had been the worst I’d ever seen. I still bore the scars I’d gotten when I’d had a major confrontation with an unholy triad hell bent on giving the blinkereds a night to remember them by.
This year… this year I had no idea what to expect, but I knew it wouldn’t be anything good.
A dry rasp of leaves danced across the sidewalk as I climbed the steps of the large Victorian house I called home.
The hallway inside was bathed in darkness but a dim sliver of light welled up from the stairway that led to the basement and soft, rhythmic music played while magic sparkled and teemed in the air. Diana, the tenant that lived down there, was a goodhearted librarian with a penchant for Wicca and it seemed she was conducting a ritual. Nothing heavy, thankfully.
I moved on and crept up the stairs to my apartment like a teenager, doing my best to avoid the squeaky treads. I was tempted to tap into the fresh stream of magic wafting up from below so I could use it to cloak myself, but it seemed late enough for my lovely, yet erratic, landlady to be sleeping. Or so I hoped. I was almost certain I’d made it past her apartment when I heard the soft click behind me.
“Mr. Rook?”
I turned to find Lyra Fitz standing in her doorway. Tonight, for some reason, she was wearing a fuzzy pink dressing gown and a pair of navy-green Wellington boots. I almost asked why, but stopped myself. “Evening, Mrs. Fitz.”
“I’m glad to see you, Mr. Rook.”
“Is there a problem?”
She sighed.
I glanced to the ceiling. Had she heard the cats again?
“Well indeed, there is a problem.” Mrs. Fitz gave a pregnant pause, making me feel like I’d done something terrible to disappoint her; a far worse proposition than facing the demons and witches I was at war with. “You know Mrs. Fossbinder, don’t you, Mr. Rook.”
Yes, I certainly did. Hattie Fossbinder, a delusional, retired actress whose halcyon days had been in the mid-seventies. She’d been cast as the starlet in a sci-fi show called Stranded. From what I understood the show centered around an erratic group of self-confirmed morons inexplicably stranded in the long lost city of Atlantis. I’d never made it past the opening credits of the first episode, and I may well have been missing out on something truly groundbreaking, but I was fairly sure that wasn’t the case. “Yes. You’ve introduced us a few times. Is she okay?”
“No. She’s lost another one.”Lyra sighed. “Gone! Poof!”
“Another boyfriend?” Or another marble?
“Yes, a kind gentleman friend. Dirk. Such a lovely, lovely man. Even if his eyes were slightly too small for my liking.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Indeed. But I thought you might be able to help. You know. Like how you cleared up those problems I had before. Remember?”
How could I possibly forget the alcoholic poltergeist she’d somehow drawn to her wine cellar, or the manically depressed banshee I’d booted out of the attic? “Sure.”
“Well,” Mrs. Fitz placed her warm bony hand upon my wrist, before looking down and pulling it away.
“Sorry.” She lowered her voice. “I know you don’t like to talk about your gifts, Mr. Rook, but I’m in dire need once more.”
“How can I help?”
“I need you to find poor Dirk. Hattie said he vanished into thin air. Vanished from her very bed, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Right in front of her? She saw him disappear?”
“Well, no. But she woke that morning to find him gone without a trace. Not even a dent left upon the pillow to mark his passing.”
“How much did she lose?”
“What?” Mrs. Fitz raised a painted eyebrow. “The whole man of course. All of him. Gone!”
“I meant money. And valuables. The two things usually coincide in disappearances of this nature.”
“Well I don’t know, Mr. Rook. Hattie and I don’t discuss money. But she’ll pay you for your services. She’s desperate to discover what sort of diabolical force has been stealing her gentlemen friends.” Mrs. Fitz lowered her voice as she added, “She’s not ruling out supernatural entities. Or visitors from afar. She’s been reading up on all sorts. You’d be surprised how many people go missing each year, abducted from their very beds. Or from other people’s. Hattie said… oh!”
A surge of light filled the hallway. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from Hellwyn’s necklace. I zipped up my coat, but it still looked like I was hiding a string of light bulbs under my sweater.
“Well I’ve never seen a necklace like that, Mr. Rook. It’s amazing what they can do these days.” Mrs. Fitz grinned and her eyes filled with delight. “Remarkable!”
“Indeed. But I think it must be faulty. Please, excuse me while I…try to switch it off.” I started up the stairs and turned back. “I’ll call you and set up a time to look into Mrs. Fossbinder’s problem as soon as I can. In a week or two, maybe.” Or a month perhaps, or better yet, never.
“Hattie. Call her Hattie. She knows you-”
“Right. Well please tell her to take care. Particularly when it comes to her valuables. Maybe put them in a safety deposit box or something.” I continued up the stairs as the light blazed around me.
“I will, Mr. Rook. And thank you-”
I bound up the rest of the flight as another wave of light burst out from under my coat. I checked the magical locks on my apartment door. They hadn’t been disturbed, and yet I was filled with a deeply alarming feeling that someone or something had breached the place.
Or was about to.
And that they were waiting for me.
8
Slowly, carefully, I opened the door and stepped into the living room.
Thump thump thump
What the hell was that? I glanced to the window to find a mob of cats staring back at me. They looked angry, like I should have been here to let them in hours ago. I ignored their narrowing eyes as the pounding started up again. It was coming from my bedroom.
I pulled my gun and inched around the door. The room was clear. I double-checked the corners and looked under my bed.
Bang bang bang
I flinched as I realized the din was coming from the large mirror in the corner of my room. It sounded like someone was on the other side, hammering their fists against the back of it.
“Shit.” I had no idea how to open the portal, or if I even wanted to. As I reached out and touched the glass it flashed bright blue. And then I saw through it.
Astrid and Samuel gazed back and struck the glass. Behind them was an expanse of darkness with tiny points of light that flashed like stars. It was the space leading to the Hinterlands.
Astrid mouthed something, her expression caught between fury and panic. “I don’t know how to let you in!” I called, and then I stared past them as a colossal form blotted out the little lights at their backs.
A gloaming ghast. Sailing right toward t
hem.
Astrid pressed the palm of her hand against the glass and nodded for me to do the same. I placed my hand over hers as Samuel screamed, the easy smile he’d worn the last time I’d met him gone.
I closed my eyes and imagined the barrier wasn’t there and… and then I felt her warm hand fall into mine as a cacophony of screams and curses flooded the room amid a harsh blast of static.
“God’s teeth!” Astrid cried out as she clutched the frame of the mirror and pulled herself through before sprawling onto my bedroom floor. I offered my hand to Samuel as he reached into the room. He grasped it hard and the top of his bow struck the frame as he tumbled in behind her.
“You took your time,” Samuel said, but I barely heard his words because they seemed to be coming from a hundred million miles away.
I gazed into the mirror as the two inky black pools drew toward me. The gloaming ghast’s soulless eyes. Endless. Irresistible. Hungry to feed.
“Ouch!” I recoiled as the side of my face smarted, and turned as Astrid pulled her hand back to slap me again. “What the-”
Then the gloaming ghast's anemone-like fingers unfurled toward the portal. “How the hell do I shut it?” I cried.
Samuel grabbed my jaw and turned my head to the opposite wall. “Look away, break the connection and the portal will fade. Hopefully sooner rather than later!”
I did as he said and flinched as the mirror creaked like a lilting ship and a huge thud shook the wall. I screwed my eyes shut, and willed the mirror to close. Slowly the sound of the ghast and the static void surrounding the Hinterlands faded. When I mustered the will to turn back I saw my own reflection. The portal was gone and Samuel and Astrid were busy examining my room.
“Um.” I reached down, snatched up a pair of boxer shorts and threw them into the laundry basket, before straightening out my unmade bed. “How long were you guys out there?” I asked, as casually as possible. The thought of them, or anyone being able to see through the glass, like it was some seedy two-way mirror, was starting to freak me out.
“I don’t know, probably four or five minutes,” Astrid said, “but it felt like ages. Don’t worry, we weren’t spying or peeping through your windows. The portal was blacked out until you made contact with the glass.”
“Yeah, your modesty was preserved. Thank the nine,” Samuel said. “So now that your mind’s at ease, can we move on to a matter of dire importance? We need ale. As soon as possible. And the more the merrier.”
“Sure.” I watched Astrid as she lingered by my bed, studying the alarm clock like it was some sort of strange relic. She sniffed it, set it down and muttered to herself. “Come on,” I said, leading them to the living room.
I lit some candles, opened the fridge and paused as an odd fug filled the air around me. It was a peculiar odor, almost like a sweet tobacco smoke lingering in an old-fashioned reading room. I turned to find Samuel leaning over my shoulder, eyes bright and wide like I’d just opened an unimaginable treasure trove. “Interesting device,” he said. I opened a bottle of beer and handed it to him. He flinched. “Why’s it so cold?”
“That’s how we drink it here. Try it.” I opened two more and offered one to Astrid, along with a glass.
She grabbed the bottle and her brow furrowed as she took a long deep sip. “Unusual. But not too terrible.” She took another sip and glanced around the room. “Why's there a coven of cats outside your window watching us?”
“They’re waiting to be fed.” I slid the window open. Five cats of various breeds leaped through and padded across the floor past Astrid, like there was nothing unusual going on at all. I fed them and offered Samuel and Astrid the sofa while I took the armchair beside them. Before I could say anything, Samuel pulled out his pipe and lit it with a click of his fingers. He took a long drag and blew out a steady stream of ash-blue smoke, filling the room with a not unpleasant scent of peat and vanilla.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked.
“When we met in the Hinterlands, you said you’d help us.” Astrid paused and took another sip of beer.
“I did. And I will if I can.” I glanced at Samuel. “Your dagger saved my life.”
“Well, the dagger wasn’t exactly mine, but I’m glad to have been of help all the same. This ale’s rather tasty by the way. Even if it is as cold as a winter’s grave.”
“So how can I help you?” I asked Astrid, as a large Russian Blue cat called Boris leaped onto my lap and nosed my beer bottle. I felt oddly domesticated as I sat back and stroked the cat, noting the spatters of mud and blood on Astrid and Samuel’s rough leather boots and cloaks.
And as I watched these relative strangers, I began to wonder exactly what sort of new complications I’d just invited into my life.
9
“So what’s going on?” I asked, waving my hand to dispel a cloud of Samuel’s pipe smoke.
“We’ll tell you,” Astrid said, “because we need help. I just hope you won’t betray our candor.”
I held my hands out. “I won’t. Scout’s honor.”
“I don’t know who the scout is, or about their honor, but I’ll take you at your word... when we encountered you in the Hinterlands, we were searching for Kaspar Endersley, a very dangerous man.”
“To say the least,” Samuel added.
Astrid gave a solemn nod then continued. “Endersley’s found a way to communicate with the restless ones. As well as a means to lead them.”
“Restless ones?”
“The dead who walk.” Astrid took another long pull of beer and set the empty bottle down. I got them both another as she continued. “The plague started by way of an accident. The shade you mentioned, the one that ordered the assassination of my mother, Stroud, was once a man. Many years ago, he summoned a powerful entity from the underworld and used it to cast a spell that brought the King’s daughter back from the dead. His necromancy was an astonishing success, but the princess began to turn. She attacked her servants, and anyone she could get her hands on. People went missing, word got out and the King’s subjects grew restless. The palace guards were forced to…terminate her resurrection. But the sickness she’d developed, while being both alive and dead, had already spread. It soon took hold and decimated a great many of our people. By the time the plague was defeated, it had laid claim to many thousands of lives, each of them suffering through both a first and second death.”
“Except it turned out the plague wasn’t fully eradicated,” Samuel said, “It’s returned, and it’s worse than ever.”
I thought back to my first time in the Hinterlands, and the family I’d encountered in the deeps. The father who had been forced to end the lives of his infected children; and the mother, a zombie I’d had to slay. “I’ve seen it myself, when Hellwyn brought me to the Hinterlands.”
“I’m not surprised,” Astrid said, “many people managed to flee our lands before the disease could be contained, some were likely to have been infected. We sealed off all the portals between Penrythe and the otherworlds, but the ones leading to the Hinterlands were so numerous, it took more time.”
“Penrythe?” I asked. The name sounded so familiar.
“Our realm,” Samuel said. “Do you know it?”
“Maybe.” The name woke memories that flickered deep inside me and brought forth the visions I’d had in Copperwood Falls. I’d discounted most of them for delirium but suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. “So people can get to the Hinterlands from Penrythe?”
“Yes,” Astrid said. “Traveling to the Hinterlands is a simple matter for anyone with a drop of magic in their veins.”
“So how can you contain the disease?”
“Sentries. We’ve convinced people to keep watch along the Hinterland’s byways,” Samuel said, pausing to take another sip of beer. “Mostly by paying them with lots of gold that used to belong to…other people.” He smiled as he drummed his fingers on the remote that was perched on the arm of the sofa. “Unpleasant people,” he added, then he leaped up a
s the television switched on. A loud explosion issued from the speakers and a soaring fighter jet shot across the flickering screen.
“What in hell’s balls is that?” Samuel pulled a dagger from his belt as Astrid jumped to her feet.
I grabbed the control and turned the television off. “It’s okay, it can’t hurt you.”
Samuel sheathed his dagger and gave the remote a deeply suspicious glare.
“So,” I said, after gulping down the rest of my beer, “why does that bring you here?” I had a good idea what the answer was going to be, but desperately hoped I was wrong.
“We think Endersley’s trying to reach this world. Although we’re not sure why, exactly” Astrid said, “but we have theories. I’ll get to that later.”
“But how can he get here if the Hinterlands are sealed?” I asked.
“In theory, he can’t,” Samuel said. “There were a few sacred places that allowed people to walk directly between worlds, but they were sealed. Well, destroyed really. They’re nothing more than ruins now. But the people we believe are perpetuating the plague have plenty of power at their disposal.”
The talk of sacred places brought back a vivid dream. Of the cave in the mountain side, of Tom, and the soldiers in golden armor that had chased us through the forest. “So can anyone who gets to the Hinterlands come here?” I asked.
“Yes, but” Astrid took another sip of beer. “only if they’ve been here before. Or if they’ve been actively drawn here by someone from this world. Which is how we found you,” she absently fingered the necklace round her throat. “That being said, there are only a few portholes in the Hinterlands that could allow such travel, and for now, we have all of them under watch. So far no one’s seen Endersley, but there’s a slim chance he might have slipped through before we got things under control.”
“When we first met,” Samuel said, “you mentioned Stroud had escaped this world via a portal. Is it still open?”
“No. I’m pretty sure I destroyed it.”
