Twisted Potions (Hidden Blood Book 2)

by Al K. Line

  Mithnite asked if he could help but I told him no, that I'd deal with this. I felt bad, but I wasn't comfortable with him being in too much danger.

  Maybe it was because I knew who he really was, that he'd managed to slip between the cracks of this world and the afterlife and become a fine young man. I didn't want to risk him dying and returning there, or, and this is hard to admit, maybe I didn't feel quite as comfortable with him now because of the lies he'd told and because he wasn't what he appeared to be.

  We'd done a few minor jobs together over the past month and there was a definite edge. We were slightly remote from each other even though what we'd been through should have brought us closer together. Our relationship wasn't broken, far from it. I thought of him more as a son, as true family, than ever before. But I was wary, concerned he might die, and worried something else would come out of his past that could cause problems. A mother's anguish, the need to protect at all costs.

  I drove mindlessly to my last appointment, hung around outside a pharmacy and listened to the crowds talking. Strange men in masks, their faces all plastic, wearing ill-fitting clothes, had stormed in, freaked out the staff and customers, then simply emptied the shelves into duffel bags and left.

  All they left behind was a stink. I could still smell it.

  The Chemist was definitely up to something, and knowing him it wouldn't be anything subtle.

  There was no doubt I had to find him, and soon, but I was dead on my feet so drove home carefully, grunted a greeting as I raided the fridge, then went straight to bed and snuggled up to Faz as he snored soundly.

  I had bad dreams.

  Language

  "Stupid fucker," said Faz after I'd filled him in on what had been happening.

  "Faz!"

  "What? He is. What does he think he's playing at? This won't end well, for him or his ghouls."

  "He's just insecure."

  "Then he should wash more often. This is extreme even for him. He's done some crazy stuff with his potions, hell, I've used enough of them, but this. Ugh, I'm so tired I can't even think straight."

  "Then take it easy. Why'd you get dressed anyway?" Faz had come downstairs half an hour after I'd woken mid-afternoon, dressed in his usual smart nineteen-sixties slim black suit, crisp white shirt as no blasting was required of him, and he even had a tie and his damn winklepickers on.

  "Because I've got standards and the sooner I get back to full health the better. This helps."

  "Where'd you think he'd be?" I mused, at a loss where to start the search.

  "Could be anywhere. Could be in ghoul land or whatever it's called, but I doubt it. He may be a twisted Elder figure but he's still the Chemist, and the Chemist is trapped here. Whatever he's done to himself, whatever power he has, I bet he won't be able to eradicate that. His insides are too messed up, his magic is too warped because of all the potions he's consumed, so he'll be conducting business from here somewhere."

  "That's what I figured," I said, trying to sound like I knew all that already. Faz just looked at me with a raised eyebrow. We both burst out laughing. "Okay, maybe not, but I'd have got there. I don't know him like you do, haven't got the history. Hey, what's his real name?"

  "I've wondered that over the years too, even asked him once. He said he didn't remember. I don't know if that's true or not, but when you've been around as long as he has, it wouldn't surprise me."

  "It's such a shame. How could he have done this to himself, to everyone? All this trouble he's causing, it's ridiculous."

  Faz shrugged his shoulders. "Because he could. It's as simple as that. He was unhappy with how things were, always being looked down on by other Hidden, so he did something about it. Granted, he took it too far, but he's a messed up guy. Don't be too hard on him."

  "Too hard! I'm gonna smack him into the next century and I'll be there waiting to smack him right back again."

  "That's my gal," said Faz with a smile.

  We chatted, ate, drank coffee, but I couldn't relax, not with this hanging over us all. All too soon I was dressed in my unofficial work clothes, out the door, and driving back to the city on the off chance inspiration would hit.

  A Lead

  More chasing around the city, more signs of ghouls. He was getting adventurous, his minions no longer focusing on bodies or lab equipment. There were raids on jewelry stores, tobacconists, even several clothes stores had been ransacked, and he definitely had a thing for towels. Why would he need so many towels?

  The city was close to lockdown, the authorities believing a criminal gang were carrying out their dastardly plan to steal anything of value.

  I knew better, but what was I going to do, go into the local police station and tell them what was really going on? Luckily, we had people in various positions inside the force, so it was handled a lot better than it could have been, but it still caused major disruption to the city and left a lot of store owners scratching their heads at the oddness of the raids and the shuffling masked men who took what wasn't theirs.

  Dancer had enforcers out scouring the city for any sign of the Chemist or his ghouls, trying to capture someone and get them to talk, but so far nothing. And besides, we all knew that even if we got a ghoul they could slink off back home any time they wanted, human magic never enough to contain a true Hidden creature when the call of home was strong.

  With a full tank of fuel, and a quick bite to eat of the bread and ham kind—more's the pity, but I'm a good girl—I circled the city in an ever-widening radius, moving out from the dense heart to the ring roads, the shortcuts, the lesser used routes on the outskirts, keeping my eyes peeled and my senses on high alert. If the Chemist was still stuck here then he'd need a place to lie low. Somewhere away from the crowds, where prying eyes couldn't see the comings and goings so he wouldn't get caught because someone had called the police.

  He'd opt for somewhere private but still close, his business still focused around Cardiff and the strong magical forces that gathered here. His game plan was still an utter mystery, but I believed I knew him well enough to understand that his transformation would be tied to the place he'd called home for so many years.

  Back and forth, around and around, zig-zagging across the city in every direction I could think of, I found nothing but the after-effects of their thievery. Small graveyards attached to churches showed signs of disturbance even though the ground had been returned to normal, Regulars unable to tell the difference, but I could smell the bodies they'd consumed, the stench of ghoul subtle but lingering.

  At the coast, there were mounds of rotten fish, the water foul, a darkness slowly spreading as it mixed with the salt water, footprints in the sand. But they'd gone.

  The various parks were quiet at this time of year, everything calm, plants cut back for the winter.

  Then, driving north, I caught sight of a large van abandoned on the side of the road. There was something about it that made me stop. Maybe how beat-up it was, faded blue paint and the grubby nature of it making me think instantly of the Chemist. Could the other ghouls drive? Maybe, if they were given some power, or just some sense, by a new Elder. I pulled up and got out. The cab was empty apart from a lot of rags and mud over the driver's seat and steering wheel.

  With a vampire tug, the back doors yanked open and the stench hit. Again, no ghouls, just half-rotten rags and a lot of mud, but it was undoubtedly used to transport ghouls, and probably their loot. Where could they be?

  Stepping away, I took several deep breaths, the noxious car fumes preferable to the cloying smell of ghoul and putrid flesh that coated my throat and burned my nostrils.

  "Where are you? Where have you gone?" I wondered out loud, staring around at the houses set back from the insanely busy road.

  They could be anywhere. He could have hijacked a house, found an empty warehouse, or any number of places to hole up. But he'd need space, and plenty of it, if he was to keep the ghouls close or store what had been taken.

  My eyes were drawn to the
distance, to the densely wooded hills, and there, bright against the trees, was Castell Coch, as the Welsh called it, Castle Coch to us interlopers.

  "Gotcha."

  To the Castle

  The castle's turrets and spires shone pink in the afternoon sun as it peeked out from behind gray cloud before beating a hasty retreat. Then the rain came down, that fine drizzle that seems harmless enough but soaks you through in seconds, leaving fine droplets on your hair like on a spider's web. The wipers worked overtime while I drove through slowing traffic as headlights switched on and everyone cursed the Welsh weather—a favorite pastime not only here but throughout the country.

  I turned off the main arterial road and wound my way up through country lanes passing fields full of morose cows and soggy sheep, the lanes thick with damp, fallen leaves. Another turn and I was in the grounds of this strange Victorian castle-cum-folly, commissioned by a man with immense wealth who fancied somewhere rural when he wasn't living at the main castle in the city.

  Apparently he'd hardly ever used it, even though the eccentric architect had gone out of his way to build something wondrous, the interior lavish and over the top. Now it was a tourist attraction, something unique and bizarre to come visit if you had the cash. But the entrance to the grounds was free. They were a favorite of ramblers and dog walkers who wandered the narrow paths beside mossy rocks, through deciduous woods, opening out to magnificent views of the countryside now and then.

  I parked up and knew instantly that things weren't right. For starters, there weren't enough cars, and only a few were tourist rentals, obvious because they were full of the usual junk that accumulates about five minutes after you get them. The rest of the vehicles were an assortment of rundown vans and trucks, none of them modern enough to contain much in the way of electronics. I guess the Chemist wanted to keep things simple for his ghouls.

  I locked up the car and then stood, listening with heightened hearing for any disturbance. Nothing. I walked cautiously up the steep slope and stopped at the wooden bridge leading to the castle's entrance. Looking up, I couldn't help but be impressed by this oddity in the Welsh hills. What a bizarre thing to have built just as a getaway. I guess when you have money, and lots of it, it's all relative.

  Heck, we had money, plenty, sitting in a safe deposit box or two in gold form after a job Faz and Mithnite had been on. Our demon lodger was minted too, although you'd never know it by the way he "forgot" to carry cash. But spending it on something like this, something extravagant, it seemed insane. I wasn't about to blow my million on anything. Vampires and wizards have long lives, and our nest egg would see us through the years ahead without stressing.

  The main door was set between two circular turrets with steep roofs and spires atop, the stone tinged pink and gray making it the epitome of a fairy tale castle. You couldn't help but smile.

  My mirth soon vanished as I stepped onto the bridge and my senses sprang to red alert. It wasn't that there was anything going on, it was the lack of it. Where were the people ushering you in to pay? The jostling tourists? Anyone?

  I entered through the gate and found myself alone. A hint of ghoul filled the rooms, each more ornate, lavish, and downright ostentatious than the last. I wandered around, admiring the paintwork, the carvings, the way strange buttresses bisected windows and everything ran at angles only a truly experimental architect could even imagine let alone plan so it could be constructed.

  In one particularly extravagant room painted in bright, primary colors, I found out where everyone had gone. Cowering in the corner were three middle-aged ladies, a young man with long hair and the scourge of all teenagers, spots, and a couple in matching, oversized blue hats, waterproofs, and those plastic walking poles everyone seems to use nowadays even if they're just going for a stroll with the dog.

  "Get down, get down, before they come back. You have to hide and be quiet," whispered one of the old women before putting a hand to her mouth and glancing nervously at the door.

  "What's going on?" I asked, trying to force myself to be as present as possible.

  "There was a man, at least I think he was," said the tourist, his strong Liverpudlian accent making it hard to understand, and that's saying something when you live in Wales.

  "And what did he do?" I asked.

  "He told us not to tell anyone he was here, that we were to wait in this room."

  "Wait for what?"

  "He was a monster," shrilled the man's wife. "Had a big cloak with a hood, but his arms were all bent out of shape. And he was really tall, and there were these creatures with him. Like him but not. They stank."

  There were nods of agreement but I saw something change even as they spoke, saw the memories fade just as their memory of me did. The Chemist was here, or had passed through on his way somewhere else, and had simply commanded these people to do his bidding.

  "Which way did they go?" I asked, forcing magic through my ink to make me remain visible to them. It wasn't working, seldom does, and they stared at me blankly, like I was something they neither understood nor cared about.

  "WHICH WAY DID THE STRANGE MAN GO?" Voice cut through the haze of their perception, startled them from their mindlessness, snapping them back to reality with a jolt like lightning. They couldn't resist, had to answer me; this kind of power is scary. I seldom use it for this very reason. Having this much control over another human being is both intoxicating and terrifying. Who knows what damage it did to my mind, and theirs?

  "We didn't see."

  "He made us come inside."

  The others answered in a similar fashion. I left with a dramatic flourish of my coat just because I could and it made me feel more like I was on the case.

  Back outside on the bridge, I heard them moving about far above, the women wondering why they'd left their stations, the tourists continuing their tour like nothing had happened.

  At least I knew where the Chemist wasn't, now all I had to do was discover where he was.

  On the Trail

  Why the Chemist came to Castle Coch was a mystery, unless he had a thing about castles. For a moment I entertained the idea, as the Elders had asked to meet at the castle in the city, but then I laughed at myself—he'd have better things to do, whatever they might be.

  What did he come for, and why were some vehicles still parked here? I wandered back down to the parking area and stared in anger at the empty spaces—the vehicles were gone. That meant one of two things. Either he and his ghouls had hightailed it, or they'd been dropping things off and then left.

  I didn't know what to think, needed to clear my head, so I figured a wander through the woods on the narrow paths would allow everything to percolate, some peace and quiet rather than wandering through the city or getting stuck in traffic. I took to the trail, climbed up the steep muddy path, and was soon amongst the trees.

  Many were bare now, a few stubborn brown leaves hanging on to the branches. Underfoot was soft and smelled of decay, but the nice kind. Leaves slowly rotting, pulled into the earth by the worms. Moss shone bright, sparkling with the rain even through the dull day, and it cleared my mind, raised my spirits. The peace of nature was something I'd grown to enjoy more and more over the years, our time in the countryside giving me the space to truly come to terms with what I was and allow me to wander freely, think things through, be certain what I was doing with my life was the right thing.

  I'd had so many doubts, so many times that I wondered if it wouldn't be best to just end it all, do away with myself. Not because I hated life, far from it—I had a husband and a pleasant existence—but because of what I was. Am, what I am. Whichever way I looked at it, I was a vampire, and I fed on humans. Sure, there was the list, and I only killed those that deserved to die, but what right did I have to decide? We had laws that governed how society acted, what punishments they were due, and just because I took it upon myself to kill those who fell through the cracks didn't make it right or just, at least not in Regulars' eyes. If they knew what I did I
'd be locked up for life. I murdered, I was a killer. I am a killer.

  Should I put myself out of the picture so such crimes no longer occurred? What about when I was older? Would I have succumbed to the cold and the superior nature every single old vampire I had ever met embraced? What made me so special that I could fight this thing and win?

  Yet I can't, won't, do that. I will remain me, Kate, and I will not lose my humanity.

  My mood darkened with such thoughts, and that wasn't getting me anywhere, so I pushed them aside and focused on what I was doing. I emptied myself, stilled my mind and forced myself into the present. No thought of the past or the future, just me and the trees and the moss and ferns. Yet an air of melancholy remained, as death was all around me. Dead leaves, dead bits of tree, even the earth itself was made of dead things. Rotten matter that allowed the cycle of life to continue, allowed new life to flourish.

  The way of things. Death and rebirth. New from old.

  The smell of rot increased as I got deeper into the forest, following a trail narrower than the others, one the walkers hardly frequented. I brushed aside wayward branches and avoided puddles, the smell of the woods intoxicating. Suddenly I stopped, became aware that I was following not only the path but the scent. This wasn't just the smell of autumn, of bracken and leaves and disturbed earth, this was something much less wholesome, much less enticing. This was the stench of ghoul and their fiendish obsession.

  Rotten flesh.

  I looked in all directions but saw nothing, heard nothing, yet I became convinced that I'd been tracking them the whole time without even realizing it. The poor Chemist, how much pain he must have been in to have done what he did. Part of me hated him for the lies and deceit, for fooling me and my family like this, but another part of me understood all too well what he must have been going through to have decided on such drastic action.

  He knew his life would forever be one of ridicule, that even amongst Hidden he was different, neither human nor entirely ghoul, uncomfortable amongst both humans and his own kind. We had a lot in common. He'd found a way out, or believed he had, and had worked hard to see it through. Whatever his plan was, and I knew it wouldn't be good for anyone, including him, it was understandable because he was sick and tired of being what he was. Who could resist changing themselves if they had the power to do so?