by Al K. Line
"Okay, thanks, Stanley. Come on, Kate, it's time to go see Rikka, see what he's uncovered, and what he's been up to." We stood and I had to ask, but Kate beat me to it.
"Um, Stanley, what's with all the craziness?" She indicated the riot of color on every surface, every piece of furniture. It's so out of character, not what you would expect from Stanley at all.
"I like disco."
"Oh, okay."
"Nice, isn't it?" We studied him, not knowing what to say. This is a man I have always thought of as a throwback to more gentlemanly times. He's always so proper and polite, if rather odd. But his home was full of brightly painted walls, a mismatch of color and very gaudy furniture, a complete mad riot in fact. There were disco balls and lava lamps, framed Abba pictures, signed by the look of it, and, well, this was Stanley.
"Um, lovely," I said.
"Very... colorful," said Kate diplomatically.
"Would you like a cup of tea? I don't think Govan drank all the milk."
"No thanks, we have to go. About the cat, Stanley?"
"Yes, what about him?"
"Never mind. See you soon."
"My door is always open, and I am sure I shall see you at the morgue soon enough."
We left. I wondered if he meant I would see him as I often end up there in my job as enforcer, or, you know, because I'd be dead and he'd be staring at my brain before he plonked it on the scales and began rooting around inside me for my liver.
Seers! They do your head in.
As we walked from Stanley's, and let our eyes adjust to what suddenly felt like a very drab world even with the sun shining brightly and everything alive for a brief spell, I felt so deflated and empty. What a waste of time that had been.
"At least we know she's alive," said Kate.
"Eh? He didn't tell us anything."
"You men, you are all the same." I didn't get it at all. "You would have missed it. But I was watching, and when he talked about a wedding, his eyes lit up. She's alive, Faz, I'm sure of it."
"What, and he's going to be my granddad-in-law? Great. The day just keeps getting better."
"That, or it was wishful thinking. But the way he looked, the hint of a smile, I'm sure she's alive."
"She better be. Right, let's go see Rikka, and get a car from him too. We need wheels as I get the feeling this will be a very long day."
Kate put her arm through mine and pulled me to a halt. She turned her head up and kissed me, wet and warm, full of promise. "We'll find her, don't worry."
We went to see Rikka, the Boss. Head of all things magical in the UK, and not a man to take lightly an old friend being taken by vampires.
"What was with the cat?" asked Kate.
I shrugged. When you've been around as long as I have, little surprises you.
To the Gym
Rikka is a powerful man. Fat, too. He is the Head of the UK Dark Council, and the UK Hidden Council. Dark Council for Hidden humans, Hidden Council encompassing all Hidden.
Actually, come to think of it, all species, or humans with specific abilities, have their own Councils too. It's politics, and it's the same for us as for Regulars—stupid, confusing, often contradictory, and ultimately pointless. But at least we don't have much paperwork, so that's something.
Bucking convention, and always with an eye on money and his business interests, Rikka set up his headquarters in the back of a hardcore gym exclusively for Hidden, behind a magic-infused door at the rear of his fitness center. Most Heads have a suitably large, and exactly what you would expect, setup, like Taavi, but Rikka is Rikka and you don't argue. It's always seemed to work for him, so maybe he has always known best—he probably has, he is eight hundred odd years older than me anyway.
We got out of the taxi at the entrance to the fitness center, imaginatively called Rikka's Fitness Emporium, and waded through the heavy air, thick with the smells of the city. Half-blinded by the sun reflecting off every surface, we headed to reception, grateful to get into some shade.
I should have thought to take sunglasses with me, but it's not exactly a habit when you live somewhere where an umbrella is the first thing you grab as you walk out your front door.
The new girl wasn't behind the counter at reception, which was a bit odd, but when she came screaming down the lobby at us it didn't seem so odd after all.
Her eyes were wide. She was freaking out human clients, and when she saw me and Kate she ran straight for me with arms so wide I thought she was gonna try to rugby tackle me.
"He's gone, he's gone. Everyone's gone. The place is trashed. I don't like this job any more. I just wanted some extra money while I got my license, but I quit. This place sucks."
With that she released me, smiled at Kate as Kate has that effect on you—she's a vampire and it always pays to be nice to ex-humans that suck blood on a regular basis—then ran out the door and didn't look back.
"Um, that was weird," I said, standing there not knowing what to do. People were staring at Kate, and almost staring at me, but they don't really see me. I'm the everyman, totally forgettable, shielded behind a touch of magic that is always with me. Already they were forgetting I was there and I wouldn't even be a faint memory to the Regulars—my world is not yours, and it's better that way, trust me.
"I think we better go see what spooked her. What did she mean, Rikka's gone? What was she so upset about?"
"No idea, but you can bet it isn't good." It seldom is.
I think we both got the same sinking feeling, knowing it was tied up with Grandma's disappearance, but we went to find out anyway. We wouldn't be very good Hidden if we didn't go to investigate the chance our Head had gone missing.
Okay, maybe not Kate's—the vampires refused to acknowledge the Dark Council—but Kate is still fresh to vampiredom, and anyway, Rikka is nicer than Taavi. He's less bitey, less of a look-into-my-eyes-and-I-will-own-you-for-eternity kind of Head, which is always a bonus in my book. "Let's go find out."
The door to the gym is a special door. It can't be opened by Regulars, and just as well, as normally it is full of Hidden pumping iron on equipment that makes it look more like a torture chamber rather than any gym you are ever likely to have seen. I grasped the handle, let the hint of magic that was needed flow through me and into it, and the lock clicked open.
"Great, this is just what we need."
"Blimey. Is it usually like this?"
I turned to Kate to see if she was joking. She was, but she wasn't. This was her first time in Rikka's headquarters, and I guess it was hard to tell what was just a modified squat rack for trolls and what was, well, seriously messed up.
The fact there were dwarf exercise hammers, goblin leg curl machines, ghost cable crossover pulleys—don't ask, it gets very complicated, the grips are a bitch—and more plates scattered around the rubber floor than you could shake a dumbbell at, made it obvious something had gone on. Normally, every plate and piece of equipment was put back in its place after use. Rikka won't stand for a shoddy environment.
Worst of all, and what made me sure something bad had gone down, was the box of cream cakes on Rikka's desk as I stood beside his oversized chair. They were nearly all still there—Rikka would no more leave cakes than a gnome would go out without its hat.
"Just what the hell is going on?"
"Maybe that has something to do with it?" I turned to see what Kate was looking at. There was a hole, a very large and very troll shaped hole, in the wall beside some seriously mangled equipment.
"Could be," I said, carefully stepping over pieces of metal bent like they were children's straws. Shows the mess I was in to miss such a large section of pulverized wall, but the equipment was so trashed it kind of hid it. Okay, I got fixated on the cakes.
"Where is everyone?" Normally the place is packed, overflowing with magic creatures pumping iron, challenging each other to lift heavier and heavier weights, or just soaking up the atmosphere. The gym is usually so testosterone-ridden your muscles grow just by being in t
he room.
"Hard-Head no catch ninjas." The troll blocked the hole perfectly. It was clear who the culprit was.
Oh yeah, things were about to turn ninja-tastic.
You know, for over a century I've dreamed of being a ninja. Dressing in black and creeping about on decorative rooftops in those cool black sandal things they wear. Whipping nunchucks around, making the whoosh-whoosh sound, spinning shuriken at my enemies whilst acting all nonchalant and kick-ass. Who hasn't? It's not just me, right? C'mon, own up.
But I never thought, not even in my wildest dreams, that a bunch of ninjas would steal the most powerful human user of magic in the UK from a gym full of trolls, shifters, dwarves, gnomes, ghosts—although fair enough, they wouldn't be much use—and the odd wizard, necromancer, and a mage from Russia who had come for the castles and had decided to stay a few centuries.
"Ninjas?" I said, coming out of my shock and reverie.
"Ninjas?" said Kate,
"Floating ninjas," said Hard-Head. He's more intelligent than most trolls. Most don't have such inspired, and belabored names. Yeah, I know. They aren't very inventive, even the comparatively smart ones.
"Floating ninjas!"
"And walk through walls. Impressive," said Hard-Head.
"Well, of course they do."
"Wizard ninjas, that float," continued Hard-Head.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"Um, Japanese. With big nose. Like goblin."
"Ah, right. So, what you are saying, is that a bunch of floating, Japanese, walk-through-walls goblin-wizard-ninjas came and took Mage Rikka away? Is that what you are telling me?"
Hard-Head nodded. "Yes. Me chase them, through wall," the troll lifted an arm thicker than my torso and pointed at the eight foot high, and just as wide, hole in the wall. A brick fell as it pointed.
"Oh, that wall." Look, it's hard not to be sarcastic around trolls, okay. They bring it out in you. Plus, you know, the ninja, goblin, wizard, walk-through-walls thing. It was a confusing time.
"Hello, did you see those wizard, goblin, walk-through-walls ninjas," came a deep baritone.
I looked down. "Oh, hi, Intus. How are the kids?"
"Don't talk to me about kids. We've got twenty-six now and they are driving me nuts. Nice to have some sun for a change, makes it feel a little more like home. Got any Marmite?"
"Not on me, no."
"Shame."
There was silence for a moment; another brick fell. Intus disappeared in a puff of smoke before he got crushed. He reappeared balanced on Kate's blouse, then "accidentally" fell in. Lucky bugger. "Oops," he said, smiling at me mischievously.
"Well, nice day for it," he said brightly.
"Perfect, just bloody perfect," I said, wishing I was an imp too, right then.
Actually, permanently seems like a good idea quite often, apart from the Marmite bit.
Hidden and Hostile
Intus is an imp and until a week ago I'd had no clue if it was a male or female. But after an incident when I saw more than I bargained for, I was convinced it was him with his devilish bottom pumping away—ugh, I'm not going over what happened again. So it became a he in my mind, whether or not that was actually the case. I could have got him mixed up with his wife, Illus, which would mean he was a she, but the gender choice stuck.
Whenever I try to confront the naughty imp about gender, and the ways of love and relationships, Intus always accuses me of being gender biased and tells me I shouldn't judge sentient species on their sexuality, or their sexual preference, and the next thing I'd be saying was I thought proud, red Hidden—meaning imps—were lesser creatures.
I've had countless conversations with it-him-her denying the accusations, but to be honest when a tiny creature keeps jumping down Kate's blouse and winking at me I can't help but think of it as male. Hey, if I had the chance I'd do the same.
But if I say anything I'll be admonished for being gender biased and asked why can't women admire the female form too?—which is a fair point—and anyway, it was an accident and he didn't mean to fall into her cleavage and get lost in her bra.
So, like I said, he'd become a male, of sorts, to me. A woman would come up with a better excuse than, "Whoops. I slipped."
With Intus now on Kate's shoulder, we followed the troll through the hole and out to the back of the fitness center. It was pandemonium.
I've accompanied Rikka to numerous Dark Council meetings, where it's strictly humans in attendance—but never a Hidden Council meeting, as they are for Heads only, no exceptions—and the chaos when you get a group of mages, warlocks, wizards, seers, closely watched zombies, and all manner of magic interested humans in attendance is nothing compared to the sheer chaos at the back of the fitness center. Rikka would have had a fit.
Stepping out into the sweltering heat was weird, especially after it had already felt like a sauna in the gym. The sun was so intense I felt out of place and time, almost convinced someone had transported us to another country.
I took my jacket off, and watched my tattoos wriggle a little just by being in the presence of so many magical creatures.
The gym must have been packed, I was right about that. I saw many familiar faces, some not so familiar, and numerous that could have been anyone—trolls, dwarves, gremlins, and many other true Hidden all look pretty much the same until you get to know them well and pick up on the subtleties. Never say that though. It's about as speciesist as you can get, and a lot of them are quick to anger. Um, don't mention that, either.
The usual shortage of dwarves were huddled together, talking loudly and fast, accents so thick it was hard to understand a word—they get like that when they are in a group and excited—but talk to one on their own and they are careful to speak clearly.
Ghosts, souls that won't give up their magic for one reason or another, floated around the periphery, stealing what magic they could, practicing lame attempts at scaring everyone—when they will accept this is not the best crowd for such antics I really don't know. The trolls just loitered, mostly immobile and in the way, looking angry and menacing, but that's their usual look so you shouldn't read too much into it.
There were various humans, or sometime humans, too, each with their own abilities. From wizards like me that are adept at anything from subtly manipulating objects, to those that could turn invisible at will, to a few I knew were involved in things too dark to mention.
I spied, and ignored, a few very dangerous and very disturbing men and women that specialized in summoning demons. It's a risky business, and so absolutely terrifying in what you can conjure that it's no wonder these characters have perpetually terrified expressions—yet they always go back for more.
There is as much pleasure as pain to be had when you gain access to the netherworlds, and takes all sorts I guess. Some would call them sado-masochists, I call them a bit loopy. Not to their faces mind you. You don't want any nasty surprises in the night, if you know what I mean.
Everyone and everything was in uproar. The noise was intense, the anger palpable, the magic almost overwhelming, and so strong it leaked worse than a punctured zombie dripping formaldehyde.
The heat was making many Hidden irritable, and others just plain angry. Nobody comes to Wales for the sunshine.
I spotted Dancer, so grabbed Kate and we made our way over, hoping to get some answers.
"Dancer, what the hell is happening here? Hard-Head was talking about a ninja attack by goblins that floated, tell me it's just getting a little excited and exaggerating." Even as I said the words I knew it sounded daft. Trolls are not known for fanciful embellishment. They aren't built that way; they're built of rock.
Dancer ignored me totally and tried to smile at Kate, but it was more of a leer than anything. I swear I saw him thinking about how to go about smiling. "Hi, Kate, you look very pretty today." Sweat glistened on his upper lip, making him look more creepy than ever.
"Hi, Dancer. You look, er, well?"
"Oh, I am, thank you. Well,
I was. Did you guys miss it? I guess you did." Dancer turned to me. "Hey, Spark. And no, Hard-Head was not exaggerating, as if it could. They took the Boss. They took Mage Rikka, right from under our noses. Can you believe it?"
I took a step back. I'd forgotten just how much Dancer reeks of death. A week away and it was like I'd never been close to him before. Being a necromancer means he smells of damp soil, bleach from hospital raids, and other things even more unsavory. It's a part of him now, like he uses the stench of corpses and places of death as deodorant. "Come on, let's get away from all this. You need to tell me what's been happening."
"Sure. This lot were useless anyway." Dancer spoke loudly, and got a lot of angry looks for his words, but nobody objected as such. They were clearly all feeling a little upset about the fact he was right.
We moved away from the group and sat on a grassy rise that looked down on the fitness center. The Hidden continued arguing and shouting at each other by the massive troll hole in the wall, casting blame and generally being ineffective.
We settled ourselves on the wilting grass and watched the humans and non-humans as they shimmered in the heat haze, still so uncharacteristic for a Welsh summer's day I felt like I was in a dream, displaced and my mind not quite where it should be.
I watched as a pair of teenagers walked around the back of the building, looking for a little privacy. The whole group morphed as the Regulars came close enough to catch sight of them.
One minute there was a group of Hidden as I see them, and the next there was a slight shift and for a moment I watched, mesmerized as always, as the magic in all of our kind kicked in and everyone transformed into how people in the normal world see them. Or don't, like me.
Gone were the dwarves, here were a group of swarthy men with bushy beards and hipster haircuts wearing torn jeans—that people apparently do on purpose!—and carrying leather satchels rather than the usual chunky bags for rocks, hammers, and gold.
Trolls were replaced with fat men and very curvy women in dodgy tracksuits and ill-fitting leisure wear. Those just looking like humans stayed as they were, but became entirely unmemorable, impossible to describe or ever recall.
