A Game of Witches (The Order of Shadows Book 3)

by Kit Hallows

  Mother? Wow, I’d never thought of Haskins as having parents. I’d always assumed he’d been a foundling scooped up from the muddy banks of some murky river.

  “There you are!” Mrs. Haskins said as she pointed. “You were hiding from me!” She sat opposite Haskins, tutting loudly as she did so.

  “No, you went off to the john.” Haskins sighed.

  “I did not!” Mrs. Haskins glanced up at me. “Who are you, dear? Are you Francis’s friend?”

  Francis. Today was fast becoming a day of revelations.

  “Yes, I’m Morgan. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Haskins.”

  “Pleased to meet you too.” She smiled. “I’m so glad Francis has finally found a friend. He’s never had one before.” She shook her head and her smile faded. “He was such a lonely boy. No one to talk to but his dolls.”

  “They weren’t dolls,” Haskins said. “They were action fi-”

  “Isn’t Mr. Morgan handsome, Francis?” Mrs. Haskins said and her smile returned. “Very handsome indeed.”

  “Sure.” Haskins squirmed in his seat. “Here,” he pushed a plate with a large chocolate chip cookie across the table. “I got you a nice snack. I’ll be back in a minute then we’ll go see the elephants. Okay?”

  “Oh yes,” Mrs. Haskins said. “I want to see the elephants. And the geese. And the mice. We must see the little mice before you take me back to that terrible old home.”

  “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Haskins,” I said. When she glanced up at me her eyes had clouded once more and her brow furrowed. It seemed she’d already forgotten who I was.

  “Come on,” Haskins said, leading me through the crowd. He seemed deflated, his shoulders hunched, his head down. I actually found myself feeling sorry for him and started to wonder if the home his mother had mentioned was the reason for his constant ravenous hustling for cash.

  We left the clamor of the dining room and paused outside near the windows. Haskins glanced around, pulled an e-cig from his pocket and took a deep draw. He looked sheepish as he blew the smoke down and back, then fumbled to stash the device under his coat. But as his eyes found mine, they hardened. “So what’s so urgent? You know, this is the first day I’ve had off in weeks?” His voice was back to its usual gruff tone.

  “What can you tell me about Raphael Nagle?”

  “Nagle? He’s a piece of shit. The kind you can’t get off your heel. He’s worth a fortune though. Buys off city officials and judges. Has all the top PD brass in his back pocket. It was his old man that built up the family fortune. He started out selling meth and then moved up to dealing high grade heroin to people with more money than they could ever count. Hence the protection the family now has around them, both from his goons and the upper crust. Anyway, why you got a hard-on for Nagle?”

  “He’s selling the black spice.”

  “Black spice?” Haskins asked. “You mean the crap that freaky artist was on?”

  “The very same. I’m surprised you didn’t know its street name, detective.”

  “I don’t need to know its frigging name; it’s not a problem now. Seems whoever was pushing it withdrew it from the market. And just so you know,” Haskins took another surreptitious puff of his e-cig, “I’ve got more important things to deal with right now than some hokey new drug. In case you hadn’t noticed, this city’s going to hell, and I can’t help but feel a lot of it’s coming over from your side of the fence.”

  I glanced through the window to where his mother sat. She looked lonely, confused. “I don’t doubt it, Haskins. Look, I don’t want to keep you from your day off. I just need to find Nagle. Can you tell me where he’s at?”

  Haskins glanced at me, and for a moment I thought I saw a glimmer of concern in his hard stony eyes. “You’re goin’ after Nagle? You better make sure your packing more than that gun and whatever other spooky stuff you’ve got hidden beneath your ratty old coat.”

  “I’ll make sure I’m well armed.”

  “Good. Nagle’s place is out at Highlands Row just north of the city. That huge estate near the mountains. The place is heavily guarded. So much so that even if the whole department had the will to take him out, we’d struggle. It’s like a fortress and outfitted with all the latest gadgets and toys, plus the grounds are basically a deathtrap, and there’s infrared cameras everywhere. Biometrics to get in and out, break detectors on every window, fog screens, motion sensors up the-”

  “I get the picture. I’ll go prepared.”

  “I don’t know what tricks you have up your sleeve, Rook, but whatever they are, they better be good.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Right. You just going to talk to him, or are you taking him out?”

  “Talk if I can, take him out if I can’t.”

  “Well I won’t shed any tears. That piece of shit has his fingers tangled up in every rancid pie this city has to offer.”

  “Thanks for the heads up.” I reached into my coat for my wallet.

  “No,” Haskins shook his head. “This one’s on me. We’ll get back to business as usual soon enough. If you’re still around that is.” He gave me a curt nod and started back to the food court.

  I was about to head out of the zoo, find someplace less hectic to gather my thoughts, when a glint of light shone in the shadowy entrance to the reptile house across the way.

  Someone was watching me, a tall figure with a long tan coat and hat. I turned away as a blaze of light gleamed from above his shades, and made like I hadn’t seen him. Then I glanced into the food court window and waved to Haskins’s mom as an excuse to check the reflection.

  Yep, it was Rhymes.

  The realization hit me like a brick and the world seemed to darken around me.

  29

  Why the hell had Rhymes followed me here? Had Underwood sent him? Unlikely. It must have been the Council. What had he seen, and how long had he been tailing me? Did he have my home address? No, that was impossible. No one knew where I lived, not even Erland, but somehow that spooky bastard had found me, and I needed him on my trail like I needed scabies.

  I walked along as if I hadn’t seen him, past the amusements where a mini rollercoaster full of screaming children shot past me, and a Ferris wheel slowly spun with its captive audience.

  There; a Hall of Mirrors. The attendant, a tall awkward-looking teenager with stoned eyes glanced at me. “Ticket sir?” he asked, his voice breaking as I met his gaze.

  “Yes, I’ve got one right here.” I handed him a business card. “There you go.”

  “Er, right.” He tore it in half and waved me inside. Kids and parents shuffled around, arms held before them like sugar-addled zombies. Excited screams echoed across the ceiling and a snot-nosed toddler slammed her face into a glass wall and began to squeal, a most helpful distraction. I slipped past the ensuing hubbub and took a turn in the maze of mirrors.

  A young sun-tanned couple stood in one of the dead ends surrounded by their reflections, They posed and pouted their lips as they snapped photos of themselves with their phones. “I see the cult of Narcissus is still alive and well,” I said as I passed. They didn’t give me a second glance.

  I turned down another corridor and found my reflection striding toward me. I looked old, battered, exhausted. I needed a break, but I wasn’t going to get one anytime soon. Then the overhead lights flickered and went out.

  Someone screamed.

  Rhymes was here.

  I grabbed a crystal and was about to cast a spell to render myself unseen when I realized it wouldn’t work, not with Rhymes. Not with his all-seeing, blazing, fiery freakish eyes. Instead I used the magic to create an illusion, one that transformed the mirror before me and made it appear black and scorched. Like I’d used it to make a portal and passed through to somewhere else. I crept into another corridor of mirrors as the lights flickered back on and the screams drew closer.

  Rhymes wouldn’t hurt anyone, he had no need to, but the sight of him was clearly messing with the he
ads of anyone that got in his way. No doubt their dreams would be full of dark, shifting things for quite some time. Rhymes turned onto the hall with my altered mirror and slowed. Light blazed behind his shades and a thin smile curled upon his lips. He was enjoying each and every moment of this pursuit. He paused to examine the scorched glass, placed a gloved hand upon its surface, and leaned in. “Where are you, Mr. Rook?” he said, before licking the charred surface.

  I shivered with revulsion and rushed down the corridor as a sound of crackling came from the area I'd just left and wild blue lights flashed upon the ceiling. He was trying to unlock the mirror, to get to whatever lay behind it. Nothing in this case.

  It wouldn’t take him long to discover my deception.

  A boy stood ahead blocking my path. He turned his freckled face my way and narrowed his slow weaselly eyes. “What you doing in here, mister?” he asked.

  “Looking for the way out. You know where it’s at?”

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” the kid said. He shot me a vague look of disgust. “You’re too old for this place. What are you, a pervert?”

  “What? No! Listen, there’s a monster in here. Believe me. And I’m trying to get away. He’ll be here any second so show me where the exit is. Quick!” I repressed the full force of my don’t fuck with me stare so as not to scare the little punk too much.

  “I don’t take orders from no man.” He squared up to me. “You want out of here, you pay.” He held out a chubby palm.

  I didn’t have time to argue. “Here.” I handed him a five. “Let’s go.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty? Get the f-… hell out of here.”

  “No, you get the hell out of here.” He smiled. “Oh! But you can’t. Cause you’re too stupid to know how. What are you, senile?”

  The lights flickered and a low moan came from the labyrinth of mirrors behind me. If the kid felt any fear, he showed no sign of it. “Fine.” I handed him a twenty. Morgan Rook, supernatural agent, slayer of demons, remorseless assassin. And chump.

  “Right this way, grandpa.” The kid turned and walked through what looked like a mirror, only it wasn’t; it was a corridor, one I’d somehow missed. He turned at the end and led me down a short tunnel of flashing lights, then he pointed his fat sticky finger at the turnstile that marked the exit. “Now scram!”

  I bit back my response, scurried out and joined the meandering stream of people milling around among the rides. I glanced back for a sign of Rhymes but it looked like I’d evaded him. For now at least. I hurried through the zoo but instead of heading for the exit, which Rhymes most likely had eyes on, I took the safari trail.

  Hedges formed a wall on both sides, perfect for concealment, as the path wound its way through the dense foliage and large glass enclosures.

  Monkeys chattered from branches and one threw something which I at first mistook for mud. It splattered the glass that separated us. I was tempted to bow to my simian critic, but instead I walked on, pulling out my phone once I’d reached the elephant exhibit so I could call the armory. From what Haskins said, it seemed I was going to need some heavy duty weapons.

  The phone rang but no one picked up. I checked my watch. It was only three. Granted it was a Saturday, but someone was usually there until at least six.

  After giving it another full minute, I hung up, searched through my address book and dialed Bastion’s personal number. He had a pathological hatred of phones, but the Organization had required him to carry one. That being said, the chances of him actually picking up were slim to none, but I had to give it a shot.

  The phone rang and rang and I was about to hang up when the line clicked.

  “Hello?” Bastion’s voice boomed in my ear. Music blared behind him and someone gave a loud, throaty laugh.

  “Bastion?”

  “This is he, I am Bastion. If I wasn’t I wouldn’t have picked my phone up, would I? And who the blue bloody buggering hell are you?” His voice was as slow as molasses and beyond slurred.

  He was absolutely blitzed.

  “It’s Morgan.”

  “Morgan?”

  “Morgan Rook.”

  After a slow, pregnant pause I could almost hear the comprehension strike him like a wet fish. “Rook! Rooky Rook Rook! The Rookster. No, the Rookstar. You know, like rockstar. Yeah, that works. What the rooking hell do you want?”

  “I need to get into the armory. I called, but no one picked up.”

  “Yeah, well I might have shut the place a little early. It was dead today, and Bulgarian Tommy’s in town. So yeah, I’m down at the pub. If you got a problem with that you can lock me up, you spooky weirdo. I’ll go quietly, without undue protest.”

  “I don’t want to arrest you, I want to-”

  “Then join me for a pint, henceforth.” Then he burped so long and loud I had to pull the phone from my ear.

  The very last thing I needed right now was to try and drag him out of a pub. But I needed weapons, and if this was the only way to coerce Bastion into opening the armory, then so be it. “Sure. But I’ll need you to come downtown with me so I can stock up on ammo. Okay?”

  “I suppose. But you’re a frigging pain in the arse, you know that?”

  “I do.”

  “Right. Well come here now and buy me a refreshment, and then we’ll go and fetch your implements of death. Yes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Goodbye for now then, sweet prince.”

  “Bastion!” I shouted, causing a toddler with a face covered in ice-cream to jump. Her parents gave me a concerned glance and pulled her away. For a moment I thought he’d hung up, but as I returned the phone to my ear, I could still hear the muffled sounds of music and someone shouting.

  “Rook? Did you call me? Did I hear that, or was it merely illusion?”

  “Where are you?” I asked. “I need the name of-”

  “The Leery Leper’s Wife. Be here or be… I don’t know. Not here. See ya when I see ya, Rookstar.”

  I hung up, and glanced out as an elephant thudded its trunk against the partition. “Seems I’m off to the pub then,” I said, as I turned and left the zoo.

  30

  The Leery Leper’s Wife was a huge Tudor pub that occupied most of Hellixmore Row; a tiny dead-end street in the center of the magical quarter. I kept my head down as I made my way there and checked the windows and doorways for any signs of other agents or an Organization tail.

  It seemed I’d lost Rhymes. For now. But if he was on my case, there was a good chance the others were too. Lanterns blazed near the front door, throwing a warm, welcome glow over the darkening afternoon.

  I entered the pub to the strains of Bohemian Rhapsody, which was being sung by three dwarves, none of whom were Bastion. Taking the lead was a stout black dwarf with a great white beard and dapper clothes. He was accompanied by a woman with bright yellow hair and a round florid face as well as a shifty eyed dude with a knotted beard and a horribly revealing lilac and green shell suit.

  All three held massive tankards of ale that soon got slopped over the floor as they all went into the inevitable air guitar solo. The karaoke machine that towered above them was clad in brass, and one side had a round pane of glass that opened onto a ticking clockwork interior. The karaoke host, a curly haired man in a blue and lilac Hawaiian shirt, sat beside the machine carrying the bitter and bored air of a long-serving veteran of poorly sung songs.

  I scanned the crowd for Bastion but there was no sign of him. Some of the bleary faces scattered around the room were familiar, mostly for all the wrong reasons. I was about to make my way to the bar when someone kicked my ankle. “What the hell-”

  “Great aren’t they!” Bastion nodded to the dwarves as they hammed up the final verse. “Fucking great!” His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked me up and down. “Where’s your beer?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “I can see that. I possess eyes, you know. Two of them, actually. Sit!” Bastion gestured to a large round oa
ken table that was surrounded by a circle of dwarves just as drunk and rowdy as the ones on stage. One, who was as round as she was tall, raised a well plucked eyebrow and blew me a kiss. Beside her sat a tanned dwarf with a shiny white smile and lots and lots of gold rings gleaming upon his fingers. He looked my way, made a gun with his hand, aimed it at me and winked, in what I hoped to be a friendly manner.

  “That’s Bulgarian Tommy,” Bastion said. “A great guy. Of course he’s not actually Bulgarian, but he went there once as a child and got a very strong fixation to the place. Swears by it, the Gods love him!” He glanced up at me with a mixture of fondness and impatience. “Sit! I’ll fetch you a pint, you can get the next round, and the next one after that too. Seems only fair, after all the times I’ve had to cover for you, Rooky.” Bastion turned and staggered toward the bar.

  I followed him. “Look, I’m in a rush.”

  He rounded on me, sending his beer sloshing from his mug onto the wet stained floor. “You’re not going to join us for a drink?” He looked crestfallen.

  “I can’t. I’m after Elsbeth Wyght and I’ve got a lead.”

  Bastion stared at me for a moment, his eyes searing into mine. And then he nodded. “Right. Well, we’ll have to do this some other time then.”

  “We will, I promise. Just as soon as I get this shit cleared up.”

  “Really, Morgan? Will it ever be cleared up?” Bastion raised his tankard and took a long gulp. “Open your eyes, everything’s gone to hell. War’s coming. I’ve seen it all before. Which is why I say, drink and be merry while you’ve still got the chance! ‘Cause tomorrow…” he gazed at his beer and I could see he’d already lost his train of thought.

  “…is going to be the mother of all hangovers,” I said, “a true end of days.”

  “Won’t, I have a plan.” Bastion touched the side of his lumpy red nose. “I ordered water under the express instructions that it be delivered to my chair at midnight. Ordered it in advance… I said, barman, fetch me a pint of water so cold and pure it will revive the senses and refresh my very soul.”