Uncanny Kingdom: An Eleven Book Urban Fantasy Collection (Uncanny Kingdom Omnibus 1)

by David Bussell

  ‘Joe, seriously, what’s wrong with you? We were having a nice time.’

  ‘Yeah, it really seemed like we were.’

  I stood and rummaged for my wallet, pulling out enough to cover the meal.

  ‘Sorry, no dessert, I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Joe?’

  ‘Just, a big monster thing to deal with that I forgot about, sorry.’

  I headed for the exit, eyes straight ahead as a confused Annie called after me.

  8

  Yeah. You don’t have to say anything. I know I messed that up.

  As I approached my flat, moving like I was trudging through treacle, I realised that what I’d experienced was some sort of mild panic attack. Paranoia had crept in and had its wicked way with me. The hurt I was still feeling from what had happened with Chloe had sent me off into some creepy fantasy land.

  Well, that was me and Annie over with anyway. Over with before it had even begun. There was no way a woman like Annie was going to put up with her date turning into a sweaty, unstable mess, and running out on her like a panicked animal.

  Well done, Joseph.

  Well done, Janto the dumb-dumb warlock.

  I tossed my keys on the sideboard as I entered my flat. I could hear the TV was still on.

  ‘Hey, Fox.’

  ‘What?’

  The Fox was gone. In his place, sat Eva, who looked back from the couch, a giant bong between her thighs.

  ‘Jesus, Eva, you scared me.’

  ‘Did you just call me a fox?’

  ‘What? No. I did not.’

  ‘Pretty fucking sure you called me a fox.’

  I peered around, but it seemed like my furry friend had made himself scarce, a scattering of empty crisp packets the only clue to his having been there.

  ‘Listen, I know I’m hot-to-fucking-trot,’ said Eva, ‘but if you call me a fox again I’ll tear off your balls and make you wear them as earrings. Understand, love?’

  ‘One-hundred percent. Absolutely.’

  I flopped on the couch next to her, utterly demoralised.

  ‘Jesus, what’s up with your mush, idiot? Realised what a piece of shit you are again? Yeah, that’s gotta be rough.’

  ‘No. Well, actually, a bit, yeah.’

  Eva huffed at the bong and twirled her hand in my direction, gesturing for me to elaborate.

  ‘Just. Remember Annie?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Sold her soul to a demon.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘Sold her soul to lots and lots of demons.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Eva. ‘Yeah, no, nothing.’

  I sighed and grabbed the bong, taking a huff of my own to try and relax.

  ‘Well, we were on a date and I just messed things up. Properly messed things up. No doubt for good. That’s all.’

  ‘Jesus. You give up easily, eh? You never used to. That was one of the best and, in the end, worst things about you. You skinny fuck.’ Eva, clearly off her nut even by her standards, ruffled my hair and grinned.

  ‘I think the whole Chloe thing may have given me some teensy trust issues.’

  ‘Right. And Chloe is?’

  ‘Okay, now you’re just messing with me.’

  Eva shrugged and grabbed the bong back. ‘I’ve had my own dating fuck ups, you know? Once this girl told me she would meet me at eight and didn’t turn up until ten past. I got so pissed off I turned her into a frog.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. And then I couldn’t work out how to turn her back. A dog ate her. Can’t help blaming myself for that one.’

  Moving right along...

  ‘Annie did nothing wrong and I just got paranoid and had a little breakdown in front of her. Ran out of the place. I’m such an idiot.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Yeah, I got that.’

  ‘A big idiot.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And a toss-pot. Wanker. Fucking arsehole bastard—’

  ‘I get the idea,’ I said.

  Eva slumped down further, her hooded eyes watching the TV. It was an episode of Quincy. It was always Quincy with her. Or Columbo. Or Diagnosis Murder.

  ‘What is it with you and these detective shows, anyway?’

  ‘You don’t need to talk to me about trust issues, Janto,’ she said.

  It’s fair to say the atmosphere in my flat had dropped a few degrees.

  ‘I used to trust you unthinkingly. Absolutely and completely. With my life. With everyone in the county’s life. You broke that.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But that wasn’t all you broke.’

  If I didn’t know better, I swear Eva’s eyes were welling up.

  ‘Eva,’ I started, but she leapt to her feet, sending the bong tumbling to the floor and spilling nasty brown water all over my best rug. Well, my only rug.

  ‘Hey, they opened a new vodka place in Workington. Let’s get over there and drink until the world disappears, what d’you say turd-face?’

  ‘Turd-face says okay.’ I stood up. ‘Let’s make morning me hate night me.’

  It was while we were at said vodka bar, as the place was closing around two in the morning and both of us were getting ready to find a convenient alleyway to vomit into, that I got the call from Detective Myers.

  We were needed.

  In no fit state to drive, we collapsed into the back of a taxi and headed over to Hobbes Farm. Detective Maya Myers did not seem at all impressed when we staggered out of the car and swayed over.

  ‘Well isn’t this nice,’ she said, wafting her hand in front of her face. ‘Christ, how much have you two had to drink?’

  ‘All of it, I think,’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah we have!’ said Eva, doing a little dance, almost falling over, then pulling a can from her coat pocket and continuing to drink. I swear she must have some sort of magic coat with black holes in its pockets. No matter where she was, there always seemed to be an infinite number of drinks secreted in the thing.

  ‘This is an official investigation,’ said Myers. ‘This is my job. If you two are fucked, you can get another taxi and get out of here, understand?’

  ‘Understand,’ I said, taking a few mouthfuls of the cold night air and trying to centre myself.

  ‘Don’t worry, Detective,’ said Eva, ‘I’ve never been more focused.’

  ‘I’d be a lot more convinced about that if you weren’t crouched in the dirt, urinating.’

  ‘Don’t look if you don’t like it.’

  After Eva was done, we headed into a stable, set behind the house, to find the latest scene of slaughter. Six horses, dead. Like before, they hadn’t been stabbed, or bludgeoned over the head, they’d been ripped to pieces. It was like their bodies had erupted, exploded.

  ‘There’s no way a normal person is capable of this,’ said Myers.

  ‘No shit,’ replied Eva.

  ‘Are aliens still off the table?’ I said, trying not to gag at the sights and smells contained within the blood-spattered stables.

  ‘It’s some sort of monster, or monsters, right?’ said Myers.

  ‘Right,’ said Eva. ‘Though what for? What’s the point in this?’

  ‘Maybe it’s just a crazy monster without any purpose,’ I suggested. ‘Monsters can probably just snap, too. Can’t they?’

  Myers was breathing a little heavy, her face paler than usual.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine, I’m fine.’

  She really didn’t look it.

  ‘Do you need to sit down?’

  She waved me off, a little irritated. ‘Migraines or something. They come and go. I’m fine.’

  Deciding it best not to prod any further, I made my way to the nearest horse corpse and crouched, willing the magic inside the barn to flow into me. I placed my hands on what was left of the poor creature, and commanded the magic to show me the horse’s final moments.

  ‘Well?’ asked Myers.

  I grimaced, willing the ma
gic to work, but just like with the sheep, I was getting nothing. Just a tingle of static that prickled my hands, prickled my mind.

  I grunted and gave up.

  ‘Okay, this can’t be a coincidence. I’m getting nothing again.’

  ‘Which means?’ said Myers.

  ‘Which means that something is purposefully hiding itself from us,’ replied Eva, her face set into a grimace. ‘Something that knows what Joseph can do and doesn’t want to be seen.’

  9

  What Eva had said immediately made me think of Annie. Perhaps I wasn’t being so paranoid after all. Was she involved in the animal slaughters somehow? Was she playing me for a fool and using magic to cover her tracks? To make it so that I wouldn’t see her, recognise her, stop her?

  It was all a bit vexing, which is not a word I drop very often.

  The first chance I got, I decided to do something creepy that would get me fired if anyone saw me doing it.

  I went down to the mortuary to touch some dead bodies.

  Now believe me, dead people are not high on my list of fun things to touch. In fact—and I’d like to be crystal clear here—touching dead things doesn’t appear on my “Fun Things to Touch” list at all. Silly putty, I like to touch. Same goes for velvet and, on frequent occasions, myself. But not dead people. You can quote me on that.

  But I had good reason to make this grim room-call. After what had happened at the last two crime scenes, I had to find out if there was a connection between the case and my insight magic not working. Or whether I’d just lost a grip on how to do the thing entirely.

  I ghosted down the corridor, illuminated by the stuttering strip lights I’d been told to replace three days ago and hadn’t got around to. I poked my head around the door jamb to check the way was clear, and was happy to find the room empty. Empty apart from the corpses anyway. A quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one was heading in this direction, then I slipped into the mortuary and darted over to the cadaver drawers. I opened one at waist height and dragged out the body-laden trolley that lurked within.

  I ran back to the entrance and poked my head out—no sign of anyone—then back I went to the trolley and the full body bag that lay on top. A deep breath or two, then I pulled down the zipper to reveal the corpse within. It was a man; bloated, bald, and the colour of spoiled milk. His toe tag would reveal his identity, but I had no wish to be on first name terms with the poor sod.

  I closed my eyes and willed the magic in the room to swarm me. To wash over me, into me, to soak into my very bones. I sensed it respond to my command, felt the warmth of it as it became part of me. It was intoxicating. The more I did it, the more adept I became at controlling the magic around me, the more of a high I seemed to get off it. My pleasure receptors tingled, my senses sharpened, my certainty of my control over it grew stronger.

  ‘Show me,’ I said quietly, and then I placed my palms on the cold flesh of the dead man’s shoulder.

  It happened instantly.

  I wasn’t me anymore.

  I was inside this man looking out.

  His final moments had become my virtual reality; a virtual reality I had no control over. I was along for the ride, for the experience. No matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much I struggled against what I was seeing, I had no way of controlling things. This was a recording of a man’s final minutes. I was seeing the past, that’s all, and you can’t alter the past, no matter how much you might like to.

  And believe me, knowing my past, if I could, I really, definitely would.

  The view seemed to flare suddenly, bright lights blooming, crowding my vision. I fell to one side, then before I knew it, I was on the floor, reaching a hand to my chest, to my arm, as the colour drained from what I was seeing, static crowding in around the edges as the picture dilated down, down, down.

  I jerked back, pulling my hands away from the man.

  A heart attack. I’d just experienced his last seconds alive, as his heart betrayed him and sputtered to a stop.

  I looked down at him, he can only have been in his late forties. A life half lived.

  A noise from outside the room caught my attention. Seemed my luck had held on for long enough. I zipped the man up, slid him back into his drawer, and scampered out of the room.

  I sat on a wall in the car park after my shift, and lit a cigarette. Terrible habit, I know, but I never said I was perfect.

  I wondered some more about the perpetrator of the cattle murders. I knew for sure now that the lack of insight I was getting when I touched the dead animals was related to the crimes somehow. The man in the mortuary had given up his death to me the moment my skin touched his. So that was that. Theory confirmed. The animal killer was blocking me on purpose. But blocking me specifically, or anyone who had my ability? Were there other people with the ability to see the dead’s last moments? Eva couldn’t do it, but others must be able to, surely?

  I hoped so, because if that wasn’t the case, whoever was behind the killings knew me, knew what I could do, and that meant I might very well be in danger.

  Well, come off it Joseph, when aren’t you in danger these days?

  ‘Hey.’

  I almost fell off the wall as Annie stepped suddenly into view.

  ‘Oh, hi, hey, it’s you.’

  ‘It is me, yeah.’

  Well, wasn’t this a coincidence?

  Or was it?

  Maybe.

  Or…?

  ‘So you sort of messed up that first date, hey?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, I suppose I did.’

  ‘Want to tell me why? Because I thought we were having a pretty nice time, then you came back from having a wazz like you’d seen a ghost.’

  ‘There’s no point in lying to you,’ I said, as I prepared to keep some of the truth from here, ‘I’m working on a bit of a weird case.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  Oh, did you now?

  ‘Yes, and I got this sudden, strange insight.’

  ‘While you were having a pee?’

  ‘Yes! Well, no, after that. While I was washing my hands.’

  ‘It’s good to hear you wash. Some men don’t, you know.’

  ‘I’m not some men, Annie.’

  ‘No, I worked that one out for myself.’

  She smiled, and Christ alive if I didn’t feel a few butterflies break loose in my stomach.

  ‘You can take me for a drink now, if you like?’ she said. ‘To make up for it.’

  What was this now? Did I trust her? I didn’t not trust her, and really, I had no reason to think she was involved in all this mess. What was my evidence beyond, “The last girl I fancied was insane and friends with monsters”?

  But still, better to be safe than sorry.

  ‘Sounds good,’ I replied. ‘I know a nice little pub in Keswick.’

  Mickey Finn’s was the local Uncanny pub. A place where magical creatures of all stripes came together to drink in peace, away from ‘normal’ people. It was a safe place to knock back a pint too, as it was protected by a magic-dampening bubble that stopped the worst, most damaging and life-threatening magic from being utilised within its walls. As I was currently unreasonably suspicious of the woman I fancied, I thought taking her there was a smart option.

  Of course, she could have offed me on the thirty-minute drive over there, but that only occurred to me as we parked up. I’m not always the sharpest of knives, it’s true.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, as I pointed to what, to her, appeared to be a brick wall.

  ‘Mickey Finn’s is located down a blind alley,’ I explained.

  ‘A what now?’

  ‘A sort of secret passage. The world’s full of them. It keeps certain places hidden from prying eyes. Especially from the prying eyes of non-magical sorts.’

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘Exactly. Muggles.’

  She grinned.

  ‘Take my hand,’ I said, holding mine out and waggling my fingers. I wasn’t
sure how to perform the spell that allowed someone to see the entrance to the blind alley, but I assumed I could lead someone through it physically.

  Either that or I was about to walk Annie into a solid wall.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Now, I’m trusting you.’

  I felt a little guilt peck at me as she said that. ‘And in we go.’

  You’ll be pleased to hear that I didn’t walk Annie face-first into a brick wall made of magic.

  A few minutes later I was placing a glass of wine in front of Annie and sipping at my pint as the two of us sat at a corner table. Now we were inside the pub’s magic dampening bubble, I could relax a little. The guilt did not relax though, even though I was sure I was only being paranoid. The chances of Annie being another Chloe were astronomical, completely unreal, and yet the piss-poor way I was treating her was very, very real.

  ‘So, this is where all the wizards hang out, is it?’ asked Annie, peering around the old-fashioned pub.

  ‘Yup, this is the place. Wizards, vampires, ghosts, trolls.’

  ‘Trolls?’

  ‘And not the annoying internet kind. I mean, I assume. I suppose they could be both.’

  As Annie snorted, I decided I was going to risk it. I wasn’t going to let my own stupidity ruin a good thing. I was going to get past this insanity and give myself a shot at romantic happiness, and she would never have to know about my twisted, unwarranted suspicions.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘want to tell me the truth about why you acted like a giant arse at the restaurant?’

  Well, balls.

  ‘It was nothing,’ I said. ‘Not really.’

  ‘I can tell you’re lying to me, Joe.’

  ‘No, you can’t. I mean… no I’m not…?’

  Annie arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Okay. It’s not my fault. Or yours. Okay, it is partly mine.’

  ‘This is about your ex, isn’t it?’

  She was perceptive. And had a hell of a memory on her. I think those were actually two of the things she’d sold her soul for.