Dead Spark

by Al K. Line

  "What's a recky?" interrupted Mithnite.

  "A reconnaissance, to check it out," I explained. "Damn, you really are still a total noob, aren't you?"

  "That's what I'm here for," said Mithnite happily. I think he was having way too much fun with all this madness. Ah, the joys of youth.

  "As I was saying. I'll go check it out then come back. If it's a vamp stronghold then there's no point trying to get Amber now, it's asking for trouble. Can you find somewhere quiet to pull in, Kate?"

  "I don't like this," said Kate. "You should let me go. If it is vampires then it's better if they see me than you."

  "But they won't see me, that's the point. Please?"

  "Fine." Kate drove off slowly and within minutes we found a small lay-by with a signpost showing walkers the routes they could take around the surrounding countryside. Perfect.

  I knew there would be more arguments, so before anyone could object further I jumped out the car and said, "Be back soon. Wait here and do not follow me. The last thing we need is for us all to get into trouble. Okay?"

  There were grumbles and several very good reasons as to why this was a terrible idea, but I think my outburst of earlier and Dancer's agreement that I was better on my own had hit home. My reputation preceded me and they all knew I got the job done one way or another.

  So, trying not to smile despite the severity of the situation, anticipating being alone now I had my sense back—at least a little—I stepped away from the car and was swallowed whole by the darkness of the British countryside.

  There is something immensely satisfying about being alone in the dark, even though it's scary when you know for sure there are nasties lurking. You lose yourself, you test yourself, and you discover more about yourself than any doctor could ever tell you.

  Darkness, true darkness, brings to the surface all your fears and insecurities. Your mind plays tricks on you, every sound amplified, and you become hyper-alert to danger and the unexpected. You have to battle these fears head on, to acknowledge them and then dismiss them or you'll be frozen. Or, worse. Lost and manic as you crash through the undergrowth in a desperate attempt to get away from the scariest thing in this world. Your own mind.

  I was old enough and wise enough to know this heightened state of being gives you an edge, primes your body for danger and for reacting to said danger, so I allowed just enough magic to enter my system for my eyes to switch to Hidden mode. Allowing me to see where the hell I was going.

  I followed a well-worn path through a sparse wood, past random picnic benches and a small play area for children that contained a zip line and other cool looking stuff I fancied a go on but resisted because I'm all about the job. Soon enough, the path led away from the direction Kate had told me to go and I headed cross country through the scrub, emerging in just a few minutes onto the boundary of an open, freshly plowed field.

  The smell was strong. My guess was that manure had been spread earlier that day and the sweet, cloying mix of fertilizer and damp earth made me wonder how on earth Kate and Persimmon could distinguish anything else over such an intense assault on the old nasal cavities.

  The land rose slightly, the view shortened, lit only by the moon and my own improved vision. Everything was washed out, gray and cold, like the world was covered in a fine layer of ash with all landmarks softened beneath a haze of truth revealed by Hidden sight.

  With senses remaining on high alert I kept to the edge of the field, ignored the nettles and the hawthorn that snagged my suit, doing its best to reduce the already ruined material to little more than rags.

  The hunger took me a few times as I walked, and I had to do all in my power to resist simply turning around, running hell-for-leather back to the car, and munching on my clandestine compadres. But I beat it by focusing my will, by remaining steadfast in my goal. Yet there was an understanding, almost an agreement made between me and the hunger within—come dawn, come the new day, and come the sun, it will be time to feast.

  At the top of the rise, I looked down on what I'd least expected to discover. I'd imagined some spooky vampire stronghold, a large gothic building with an imposing gate and impressive grounds. Patrols, and dogs, and all the usual stuff I'm used to with the vampires.

  Nope, none of that. Just what appeared to be a holiday park. The kind of place I would avoid like the plague if I was to go camping, although I'm not big on vacationing in fields as it plays hell with my suits and the showers are usually cold.

  Amping up my Hidden sight I took in the layout of the place. A well-maintained road wiggled off into the distance then was lost behind hills. Probably joining one of the larger roads that would have a sign directing the holiday makers to their destination. One of those annoying signs that are half hidden in a bush and about an inch away from the turning so you have to drive for miles before you can find a place to turn around. And then there's no bloody sign on the other side of the road and you end up well annoyed before you even arrive.

  There was a lodge at the entrance. Then there were other large buildings dotted about, probably leisure facilities, swimming pools, that type of thing. Maybe even a place for evening entertainment and overpriced drinks. And row after row of identical trailers, or what did they call them, mobile homes, static caravans? Something like that. Prefabricated oblongs that many people owned and used regularly throughout the year to escape the cities and get back to nature. Others rented out for a day or a few weeks to holidaymakers.

  They were lined up at regular intervals over maybe five or six acres, and it was busy as all hell.

  I took my time to get closer, but still maintained a very safe distance. It told me little, as the view from higher up the land was better, so I retreated, and watched the comings and goings for half an hour while I tried to figure out the best plan of attack.

  It was impossible to know where Amber was being held, or if she was still here. Yet, somehow, I knew she was. Knew she was inside one of the buildings.

  What did they want with her?

  Guess I'd find out soon enough.

  A Break In

  Once I made it back to the car, I filled everyone in on what I'd found and suggested we go back to town and, more specifically, to Amber's. We dropped Persimmon at the alley and she picked up the bike then followed us to the strange, otherworldly place known as suburbia.

  We had a few hours until dawn, but I still felt ridiculously conspicuous as we—a wizard, one in training, a necromancer, a vampire, and a shifter—walked casually up to Amber's front door and I used a little of the old magic to mess with the lock then flushed, grateful for the dark, when I remembered that it wasn't locked.

  Inside, we retired to the living room and sat in silence for a while, just digesting the events so far and trying not to get overwhelmed by Amber's rather odd choice of home decor.

  Mithnite was like a kid in a sweet shop. Unable to keep still, constantly asking questions about this or that. Poor lad was more used to his old teacher's rather antiquated sense of interior design, heavy on the oak paneling and musty books, with a rather disturbing penchant for all things stuffed. And from the little he'd said of his life before his introduction to magic, I guessed his parents had been somewhat conservative to say the least.

  Amber's place was like an Aladdin's cave of the bizarre. He stared in awe at lava lamps, sniffed at strange candles, and marveled at the rag rugs. Then he found the dope.

  "Is this some kind of exotic spice? I've never smelled anything like it before. Is it oregano?"

  We all exchanged a worried look, not because of what he'd found but because it showed how closeted his life had been. Poor lad really had to widen his life experience.

  "No, dude, it's dope. Marijuana. Wacky backy. The stuff you use to make a joint to get high."

  Mithnite lifted a large, fat bud up to eye level and licked it with the tip of his tongue. "Tastes nice. Can we smoke it?"

  "Um, don't think that's a very good idea. The last thing we need is a Cheech and Chong style
escapade with us running around on the hunt for munchies. Dancer and I already have the munchies bad enough and I don't think this will help."

  "Aw, you guys are no fun."

  "Look, tell you what. Once this is over, and it will be soon, I promise, we'll go do something cool. Anything you want. But smoking dope is not a good idea for a wizard. You need to keep your wits about you and you need to stay firmly rooted in reality."

  "But you said Amber was high when she got rid of the zombie virus. Most of it, anyway," he protested. He had a point.

  "Different strokes for different folks, but now isn't the time." To change the subject I said, "So, if you could do anything at all, and it's on me, my treat, what would you like to do? What do you think you've missed out on the most?"

  "Girls," he said without hesitation, then blushed.

  "Girls. Hmm. Er, well, I can't really er... Um, I suppose we could go to a... No, that's not a good idea. Give you the wrong impression about the fairer sex. How about something else? You'll have to figure out how to meet nice girls on your own time."

  "Well, there is one thing I've always wanted to do," he said sheepishly.

  "Yeah, what?"

  "I've always wanted to go to an amusement park. You know, where they have roller coasters and those rides that spin you around and the ones where you go down water slides in a boat shaped like a log."

  "You got it," I said, pleased to have something, anything, to take my mind off what I knew had to be done.

  "Cool, you all gonna come?" He looked around the room, eager as an imp in a lost and found, but everyone averted their gaze. "Come on, guys, it'll be great."

  "Makes me feel sick," said Dancer.

  "Makes me puke," said Persimmon.

  "And I go green and then I fall over," said Kate.

  "What, on a water slide?" he asked, looking at them suspiciously.

  There were a lot of ums and ahs, so I said, "Okay, you lot, come on, give him a break. You'll come, won't you?" I met their gaze in turn, giving a slight nod, wanting them to give the poor lad something to look forward to. Heck, it might be fun.

  They mumbled excuses but I said, "I'll buy you ice cream," and smiled my most winning of smiles.

  "You need a shower," said Persimmon. "You too, Dancer. You guys stink of zombie grossness. Go get cleaned up."

  "If you all agree to come to the amusement park," I said.

  Once everyone agreed, reluctantly, Dancer and I left an excited Mithnite, already babbling away about how great it would be and asking if they could have hot dogs, and went upstairs to shower.

  We found towels, but I resisted the urge to snoop. This was my daughter's house. I wanted to know every single thing about her, but knew this wasn't the way to go about things. We'd already invaded her privacy, her private space, by being here, and although we had her interests at heart, and yes, our own as well—zombie stuff, remember—it didn't mean we had the right to look at her private life unless invited.

  And besides, the place had a very transient feel to it. Like she either didn't spend much time here or didn't expect to stay long. Just not like a proper home somehow.

  Dancer waited in the hallway while I showered and wrapped myself in a towel, trying not to look too hard in the mirror as the infection had left my body a mess of discolored skin, not to mention the wounds from the events that preceded the bitey finale.

  I got out quick and handed over the soap baton to Dancer who wasted no time cleaning himself up.

  For a while we sat, wrapped just in towels, in the living room, both of us less than keen to put on our ruined clothes.

  Silence descended while we all rested, everyone exhausted.

  Everyone came and went in slow motion. Poking about in the kitchen, using the bathroom, trying to be unobtrusive and moving quietly as if the longer we stayed the more we felt like invaders. Rude, like thieves of privacy as we sat in someone's home and used what was theirs without invitation.

  It was especially hard on Kate. Vampires can, and will, enter another person's home without an invite, but because of what they are it usually means only one thing: trouble. Vampires like to be invited in more from tradition than anything else, and this long-standing habit is so ingrained in the psyche it's almost like it's part of the vampire virus now. Part of the DNA they pass on to those they infect.

  I battled to remain awake, so had to move. Standing in just my towel, knowing I had to get going and having finally come to a decision about how this should go down, I said, "I'm gonna go get dressed."

  "Um, Faz, please don't freak out," said Kate, looking all kinds of concerned.

  "Why would I freak out? And I was about to say the same thing to you as I have something to ask you. Actually, we may as well do this now, while we're all here."

  "Okay, but, um, me first." Kate looked more nervous than a gremlin locked in an electrical store with fans of eighties movies, and I got a terrible sinking feeling about what she had to say. "Sit down, please."

  I sat.

  It was worse than I could have imagined.

  Me, a Hippie?

  "I found these for you and Dancer," she said, moving to a pile of clothes in the corner of the room and passing Dancer and I a bundle each.

  "Huh? What are these for?"

  "I can't stand the stink of either of you in your old clothes. You smell so bad. It's utterly gross."

  "She's right, you guys stank something awful," agreed Persimmon.

  "Yeah, like gross dead dudes," said Mithnite, agreeing with the ladies as he knew which was the winning side.

  "Traitor," I said, glaring at him. He shrugged and smiled—not as daft as he acts.

  "Kate, please tell me you haven't done something crazy?" I said, knowing this was bad. "You could have just stuck them in the washing machine or something." I glanced at the clothes on my lap then turned away before the full horror of the situation took hold.

  "They were ripped and covered in nasty things, and besides, no way would anything short of a nuclear explosion ever get them clean. So, I got you those instead. I feel kinda bad for going through Amber's things, but she had some men's clothes so I guess there must have been, or still is, someone in her life. Go on, put them on."

  "You're killing me here," I said, still hardly glancing at the "clothes" she'd provided.

  "Go on, off you go. Give us a fashion show." Persimmon gave Dancer a special smile—they were definitely getting closer.

  "Whatever," said Dancer, unconcerned by the fashion crime we were about to commit.

  See, this is the difference between him and me. He wears black suits and white shirts because it means he never has to think about what to wear—I've never seen him in anything different. I wear retro suits and have lots of different shirts and ties because I like to look smart and because it's part of who I am.

  This was almost sacrilegious. Scrap the almost, it was an insult to the clothing gods on an unprecedented scale.

  "Fine, but don't expect me to like it."

  We wandered off into the kitchen, Dancer with a lopsided grin because Persimmon was paying him attention again and kept looking at his torso and trying to peek under his towel, and I trailed behind feeling like a fool.

  When we emerged a few minutes later, Dancer murmuring approval, me trying to hide behind him like a shy girl on a first date, we were greeted with blank stares.

  "What? It's okay, is it? I was worried but you guys don't seem bothered." I stepped out from my hiding place and studied each of them in turn—nothing. Just flat stares as if I looked the same as always.

  Then the smiles began. Then the guffaws, and pretty soon everyone was doubled over with laughter as tears streamed down their faces.

  "I don't know what you're laughing at," I said moodily to Dancer. "You've got the same stuff on as me."

  "Haha, yeah, but I don't care. You should have seen some of the things I used to wear way back when. This is all right. Nice and comfy," he said, lifting his arms, the kaftan with its long, hangi
ng sleeves and laces that acted as buttons making him look like he was wearing a tepee. His trousers were a stupid design in bright green, with a saggy arse down to his knees. The legs tapered at the ankle as if he was auditioning for a Bobby Brown video.

  "I care. That's it, I'm taking them off. I'd rather go naked than be seen dead in this stuff." I began to slip out of the "shirt" but Kate interrupted.

  "Faz, come on, honey. We were just pulling your leg."

  "Oh, gosh, wow. You mean you have proper clothes?" Please let it be so. Please.

  "Um, no, I mean you look fine, just different. Right, everyone?"

  They all began laughing again.

  "That's it, no way am I wearing this crime disguised as cotton."

  "You've got no choice. This is all that would fit." Kate stepped forward and looked me up and down. "Very, um, unusual. Unforgettable, that's the word for it. And the color suits you, brings out your eyes?"

  "Yeah, and your tattoos," said Mithnite. "You look like a woodpecker that's fallen into a bottle of ink. Haha."

  Like my life wasn't in enough disarray already. Now I had to go fight vampires and rescue my daughter dressed like someone who'd stepped out of the sixties and was into flower power, not the Mod look I so cherished. Amazing how the same era threw out so many utterly disparate fashions.

  I took a personal moment and stared down at myself, trying to come to terms with the new look. I still wore my winklepickers, but that was about it as far as personal style went. On my legs were loose-fitting things some people apparently called trousers—as far as I was concerned if they didn't have a crease they didn't count as such. These were of a linen fabric in a faded orange, with drawstrings at the waist and ankles. Drawstrings! What was I, a bag for life?

  In place of shirt, tie, and jacket, I was now festooned in a t-shirt from a psychedelic nightmare. Someone's idea of color on a bad acid trip. Yep, that's right, the worst tragedy ever to hit the catwalk. Tie-dye. A blue and white, baggy, low-necked, tie-dye t-shirt.

  Oh, the horror.

  I was there when this "fashion" happened, and I've seen it re-emerge over the years, and in some people's minds it never went out of fashion. Wrong! It was never in fashion. It's like taking all that's wrong in a garment, deciding it's almost perfect, but then thinking, "Hey, I know how to make this cool-as-Hendrix t-shirt utterly ace. I'm gonna tie it up with string and dunk it in a bucket of water I've peed in." That's how they do it. Honest. And not normal pee, either. No, weird pee that stinks of asparagus, or the kind you get after not drinking enough water. Proper nasty wee just to ensure you stand out as a real individual.