by T. E. Hodden
The tour guide threw himself at me. I caught his shoulders to hold her back, and knocked the shade out of him with a lash of my thoughts. He slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. The shade boiled into the air above me, a writhing mass of smoke and tendrils. It shot away, down the hill. I chased the ethereal being, bounding down the steps. I burst out onto the side street, into a shopping street.
An old man in a regimental beret took a scything chop at me with his walking stick.
“Stand still and die!” The veteran screamed.
I ducked the walking stick, and kept out of reach of the old man. A small crowd gathered to watch as he chased me, hacking away with his improvised club.
“What's the hurry?” I asked.
“I have no desire to waste another moment in this insufferable world of petty mortals!” He snapped.
The truth clicked into place. I smiled and shook my head. “No. That isn't it, is it? You don't have a portal any more. It must take a lot of effort to reach here, across the Loom. Even for a being such as yourself.”
“A trifle of magic,” the old man grunted. “You underestimate our strength.”
I caught the elderly gentleman as gently as I could, and shook the Shade free from his mind. I glanced up and down the street, and spotted a boutique store with a few mirrors in the window, printed with old railway posters, stylised images of the Forth Bridge. I ducked into the store.
I only had to be alone, with the Shade of the Vampire for a few moments.
“Coward!” The shop assistant, a middle aged woman, vaulted her counter to try and punch me.
I was too slow dodging, and a fist like a roast ham hit my cheek and loosened my back teeth. I blocked the next punch and twisted her arm behind her back. A mental bolt scattered the wraith from her. She gave me a dazed look, as I pitched her out of the shop and slammed the door behind her. The Shade coiled up into a corner. It had a choice of me, or the mirrors.
I took out my knife.
The Vampire tried to punch a way into my head first. I braced myself and threw the weight of my mind against it. The Vampire's mind bounced off my own, and regrouped. It plunged into the mirror with the railway poster printed on it.
I wrapped spells around my blade, as I plunged it into the mirror. I felt the jolt of lightning through my fingertips as the spell took hold, and passed through the knife to the silver of the mirror. My knife kicked back in my hand.
It took Lord Anthras a few seconds to realise he was trapped. His gaunt, pale, sneering form was caught within the reflection. He turned on me and lunged at me. The mirror bounced on the shelf, as he bounced off the inside of the glass. He tried again, and again, his patience running dry. He broke into a fury, hammering at the inside of the glass with scarred hands and talon nails.
“What...” The shopkeeper cleared her throat. “Did I just punch you?”
“Ah.” I smiled at her. “It's my fault. I'm annoying, English, and have one of those faces. I would like to buy this mirror.”
The woman blinked, and tried to make sense of my words. She gave up, and rang my purchase through the till.
The Vampire was wording something silently in his little reflected world. I dropped the mirror in a plastic bag, and carried it away back to my hotel room.
*
I warned you, Maysan purred over my shoulder. In the corner of my eye I could see her holding the mirror with the Vampire trapped within it.
I was in an office tucked away in a remote corner of the hospital. A computer had been left unattended by an administrator on a lunch break.
“You did, thank you.” I broke into the mainframe, and began searching for the people who the Vampire had head-hopped between. I doubt that was a diagnosis the doctors would reach, so I wanted to make sure they were getting the right care. “I trust the Court will know what to do with him?”
We will ensure the Tribe holds him to account. Maysan leant close to me. You are well?
“A little bruised, but I will recover,” I promised. I found the files for Lisa. She was being treated for stress, dehydration, and exhaustion. She was doing well.
That is not what I meant, Maysan chided me.
Of course it wasn't. I don't tend to get a good night's sleep at the best of times. Since the shop, and after my scuffles with the Vampire and his Shade, I had not slept at all, and had struggled to find any peace in meditation. My mind was knotted and twisted, and whenever my thoughts wandered, they dragged me to places I did not want to revisit.
I did not answer Maysan.
She lay her finger on my shoulder and squeezed. I closed my eyes for a few moments. When I opened them again, she, and the mirror, were gone.
I made a quick tour of the hospital, checking each of those caught in the wake of my investigations. I did not let them see me. I was worried they would have questions that could not be answered.
It was best I slipped away, and back to London, without drawing any more attention to myself.
A Hanged Man
The drizzle followed me home to London.
On Thursday morning sleep still had not found me. I rose from my meditations and nursed a mug of coffee on my balcony, watching the mist ebb and flow through the rooftops. My head was fuzzy, and my bones felt too heavy. It took me while to build up my enthusiasm for the day, and to clear the fuzz and cotton wool from my skull.
There was a cough from the next balcony. I glanced across and saw Emily leaning on her railing in her dressing gown, making the most of a cigarette. She raised an eyebrow at me, expectantly.
“How's it going quitting those?” I asked.
“It went fine.” She held out the cigarette and grinned at me. “For about a week.”
“What happened after a week?” I asked, sipping my coffee.
“I met a knew guy.” Her chuckle was all smoke and whisky. “Which means I got nervous, so...”
She put the cigarette back between her lips and drew on it with a sigh. Emily was a curvy, friendly woman, with a bright smile, and an easy manner. She worked as a nurse, and could find the right joke to make anybody laugh. Her hair was raven black, her skin dappled with freckles, and her eyes an emerald green.
“You met somebody?” I asked.
“Jason. He's some kind of an accountant. It's only been a few days, but... you know how it is when things move along. I mean we aren't dating, we are friends, but I really, really, want to be more. Just as soon as I work out how to ask him, without shoving a size twelve boot down my own throat.” She grinned. “Oh, you were away a few days. Business?”
“Nothing exciting. I was investigating the needs of a client in Edinburgh. Did I miss anything, other than Jason?”
“Nah.” She rolled her eyes. “Hey. How about we catch up some time?”
“I...” I smiled. “I will see what I can do.”
She nodded and stubbed out her cigarette. “Well, I better go get ready. It's good to know you are back. You know?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “It's good to see you too.”
*
I spent the morning doing my rounds of the city.
London is one of those places where reality is stretched thin, and the Loom does not bubble far beneath the surface. There were Sylvans in the park, ghosts in Highgate, a murder of Omen Crows on the Isle of Dogs, a High Priest of Ancient Egypt with a second hand book shop in an indoor market, and a flock of faeries that had taken up residence in the Underground.
I stopped at a charity shop, and took a number of the young adult books off their shelves. I didn't look at the subjects, or the titles, but instead chose the books with the broken spines and dog eared pages that had been read and reread as favourites. I bought enough to fill a carrier bag, before I braved the drizzle once more.
It was well into the afternoon by the time I made my way to Flint Mews, one of the narrow, cobbled passageways that had once been home to the stables that kept London's cabs running. The stables were now home to some boutique shops, selling home made cupcak
es, antiques, or interesting tat. At the end of the passage was a plain looking door that did not quite belong to any of the shops. I let myself through, into a steep stairwell. The air was cool, and full of echoes. The sound of running water babbled somewhere down in the vaulted tunnels. I descended the wrought iron stairwell into the gloom, to the arched brick passageways beneath the streets.
The River Fleet was one of London's lost rivers, buried under the growing city, long ago. The tunnel had been built to house it, around the same time as the sewers.
Franja did her best to ignore me.
She was a small, mousy creature, who was at first glance a girl no more than sixteen, with a skew-whiff smile, a few spots, and glasses, beneath her mop of lank hair. She wore a floral print dress that had never quite been in fashion, an anorak, and combat boots, as she sat beside the running water, reading a story of baby sitter detectives, in the dark.
It was only on the second glance that you noticed her skin was not just pale, but slightly green tinged, with a hint of scales and slime. Her teeth were too many, and not quite the right shape. The colour of her eyes was constantly changing through shades of moss, slime, and khaki.
Trust me when I say that of her many and varied forms, the amiable young woman who liked to pass the time with some easy to read books, was probably the one you wanted to encounter. Franja, Lady Of The Fleet, was the guardian of the busiest thoroughfare between this world and the Loom in London. The Fleet was a pathway to many doors, and many realms. She saw all who passed into, or out of, this world, and she had been known to bar entrance to the ne'er do wells she did not like the look of, in... somewhat more ferocious forms.
She put the book aside and perked up.
“Bobby!” She squeaked.
“My Lady Franja,” I bowed before her and offered her my carrier bag. “I am sorry to intrude but-”
“You brought me some books?” She tore the plastic bag from my hands, and inspected her new prize. They were soon secreted, impossibly, into the pockets of her anorak, with appreciative cooing sounds and tuts. “Where have you been?”
“Edinburgh, in Scotland.” I waved her concern away. “There was a missing girl, and a Vampire.”
“Vampires,” she made the word sound flat. “I knew one of those once. He was an interesting chap, but always full of the most improper ideas. Ah!” She held up a horror story about teenagers in danger at a summer camp. “An underrated classic!”
“I was hoping you might be free for a little chat, My Lady,” I said.
“Of course, you did!” She clapped her hands together. “You want to know what you might have missed while you were away?”
“If you could be so kind, My Lady.”
“Well, let me see.” Franja span on her toes, and was suddenly in her late thirties, her hair streaked with silver, her features handsome and refined. She wore the loose smock, and many skirts, of gypsy dancer, her feet naked but for a string of charms around each ankle. She waved an unimpressed hand, as she paced around the edge of the river. Her face folded into sharp frown, her long thin eyebrows furrowed. “The regular messengers passed my way, here and back again. There was a magpie looking for a crow it held in contempt. Bragle, the wolf-kin passed on his way to the Twilight Markets. A ghost passed this way hoping it might be her path to whatever comes next, and...” She clicked her fingers. “One of your lot whom I promised not to tell a soul about.”
I made a mental note to visit the Twilight Markets and find out exactly what trouble Bragle, the wolf-kin had brought with him this time.
“One of my lot?” I asked.
“A member of the Autumn Court, no less.” Franja chuckled and put a finger on her lips. “She is sneaking out after curfew for an adventure.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“I don't know.” Franja is, if nothing else, a terrible liar. “She did not happen to mention a name, but the point is, she is likely to wind up in mischief, not trouble.”
I straightened, and felt my suspicions kick into gear. Visitors from the Autumn Court were my responsibility, and if they were there for illicit reasons, without permission, or if they got themselves in trouble, it would fall at my feet.
“Where was she going?” I asked.
“Oh, you know... To see the sights, to meet people, to let loose...” Franja tapped her lip. “I don't know where. But her mind was like yours, but full of brighter colours, louder music, and more...life.”
I tried not to frown at that. I was too busy thinking of all the safe houses of the Autumn Court scattered around Greater London.
“Did she carry a mark?” I asked.
Franja took my left hand and showed me the knotted leafs. She smiled meaningfully as she caressed the mark with a feather light finger.
“Does this make her family?” Franja asked in a whisper.
“Not exactly,” I said.
Franja shrugged. “Oh, well... This was her mark.”
That unsettled me.
Franja looked at me, expectantly.
“And may I ask something else?” I enquired.
“About?” Franja sang the word.
“Is your sister...” I felt my cheeks turn red. “How is Cylder?”
“Lonely. She would wish for more conversations with you, if she were not so worried about you crossing the divide.” Franja gave me a thoughtful look. “Are the books for me, or for her? Really?”
“You. Of course.” I dug my hands in my pocket, and tried to avoid her electric gaze, full of sparkles. “If there is anything I could bring for your sister, please let me know.”
“Oh, I am sure she would adore to hear that.” Franja wriggled her eyebrow. “Should I tell her you are back?”
“If you could tell her I am at her service,” I said, trying to hide my feelings behind formality, “I would be obliged.”
I did not like Franja's smile. It was far too knowing.
*
The Emberleaf House was in the middle of a street of tall houses, caged behind wrought iron fences. I was always reminded of dolls houses when I saw them, the big square design, with a front door flanked by pillars, and regularly spaced windows on each floor, crowned by an arched window up in the roof. Each house had a short, wide, flight of steps up to the front door for callers, and a narrower flight of steps down to what would have once been the kitchen, scullery, and servant's domain, for tradesmen and the like.
These days the houses had all been carved up into desirable flats, that were, not exactly affordable, but no longer at the highest end of the market.
I hurried up the steps of the safe house, and considered the door. There were no visible locks, or even a knocker. There was a brass push plate to one side of the door. I placed my palm to the plate, and felt the tingle of magic. The locks cycled and the house let me in. I closed the door behind me and stood for a moment.
Maysan's house had always made me feel welcome. It was where I trained to be her agent, and one of the few places I had ever felt safe, but it had never felt like home. It was where I had learned the Court had decreed the man who slept with my mother was not my father. It was where I had learnt he was dead.
It was the closest I had ever been to the worlds of the Autumn Court.
I felt my Lady touch my mind, curious why I would be in her house. I let her feel it was for business, and she withdrew.
The hall was quiet. It seemed to have been carved from a single, flawless piece of white marble, without seam or join. The doorways, the staircase, and even the backing plate for the coat hooks, all flowed organically from the pristine white walls. There was a distant patter of light rain upon a skylight. I glanced up at the portraits on the wall. My (alleged) father, Maysan, and several generations of courtly officers and nobles, captured in rich oils, depicted with starched formality and operatic grandeur about themselves.
“Hello?” I called out.
There was no answer. I stepped through the hallway to the front parlour. Ajax, the guard dog, more like a fox t
han a hound, watched me from the sofa, with a casual disinterest. I was a familiar, welcome, visitor and posed no threat, so it went back to its bored pondering of the vase of scented pine cones in the fireplace.
There were empty wine bottles on the coffee table, and some used glasses. A dent had been made in a bottle of blended scotch. In the kitchen, there were empty cartons from a doughnut shop, with enough crumbs and debris to suggest somebody had made it their mission to sample the entire range.
I walked upstairs. One of the bedrooms showed signs of being used. Silk thin robes and dresses in the fashions of the Court had been draped carelessly over a chair. Shopping bags and shoe boxes suggested they had been replaced by something that would draw less attention in London. A sabre had, thankfully, left with the sword belt, hanging from the wardrobe.
I stepped away and checked the bathroom. There was one toothbrush by the sink.
The front door opened and closed. Somebody stepped inside. The dog barked, with a half hearted threat, and somebody assured it she was a friend, not a foe.
“Hello?” I called.
An uncanny silence fell upon the house, of the kind you only hear when somebody is trying very hard not to be heard.
I made my way down the stairs. “Hello?”
I stepped into the lounge. I was faced with a young woman, tall, elfin thin, with skin the colour of honey, regal features, and a bob of short hair, the colour of pearls. She wore a black sweater over a dark blue blouse, and tight charcoal grey jeans over brand new baseball shoes. Her silver eyes flashed to meet mine.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.” I showed her my Court Guard marking on my right wrist, as I gestured for her to sit down. “I just wanted to establish who was staying here, and ask a few simple questions.”
The woman frowned at me.
I softened my tone a little.“My name is Robert, and I-”
“I know who you are,” the woman seethed in an ice cold whisper.
“Oh?” I straightened and offered her my hand. “Then you have the advantage, ma'am.”
The punch was too fast to dodge, or block. It was faster than I could blink. I saw her roll back a little, and put my hands up to block, but her fist was crushing my nose into a bloody pulp before I could be sure what I had seen. My brain slammed into the back of my skull, my eyes almost popped out, and my knees went to jelly.
