Evil Spark

by Al K. Line

  "I guess." I was shellshocked. How could I have said something so dangerous? It was the stress, I knew it. Too much had happened too quickly and I wasn't myself.

  "Look, you lot, will someone please explain what is happening? Was that really a faery? Wow!"

  "Yes, and pray you don't meet many more. They come when there is trouble, or to punish you." I thought about how best to explain what had happened. "Okay, you do not say what I said to a Hidden, a true Hidden. Purely magical creatures like Intus. It's a solemn promise and it's backed up by the fae. It's the Law. If I break my promise, call Intus, you-know-what, and I mean ever, then she'll be back."

  "And what, tell you off?" laughed Kate, amused now she was over her sickness.

  "No, Kate. She will click her fingers and I will be gone. Dead."

  "Haha, shut up."

  Dancer had recovered by now and was leaning between the seats, breath of death clouding my mind further. We looked at her, waiting for the penny to drop. "You're all serious?"

  "You don't mess with fae, Kate," said Intus. Boy, she was going to have to steal a huge number of socks to get her mischievous nature back. She'd been serious for way too long.

  All I could do was nod.

  "You are, you're serious."

  "Deadly. Be warned, Kate. I ballsed up big time. Never say it. Ever. Now I have to remember never to say that to Intus again or it's curtains." I sliced a finger across my throat. Visions of a sexy as hell faery, with magic earlobes you just want to lick, swishing a sword in front of me crowded my mind. If she clicked her fingers I would be gone. Dead. Vanished for breaking a promise to a true Hidden.

  "Never make a promise to a Hidden, ever. That way you can't break it. Okay?"

  Kate knew I was serious. "Okay," she agreed. "Wow."

  "Intus, which way?" I started up the car. Intus jumped down Kate's top, and I watched with envy as I saw her blouse wiggling about. The mischievous imp popped her head back up and winked.

  I smiled. At least she was back to being herself.

  I looked at my feet, just to make sure my socks were both back on, checked my mirrors, then pulled out to go meet the gnomes.

  Gnome Home

  I fought a threatening tide of magic sickness as I drove to the gnomes' home base, feeling disgusted with myself and letting dark magic repeatedly rise, called unconsciously as I fumed over the disappearance of the two people in the world I thought most of as family. I hope Kate will be family too, but in a different way.

  The whole thing felt personal, but I knew that was just me thinking about myself, which made me angry too, and drew more magic, so I got sicker still.

  My tattoos were crawling about and distracting me as I drove, hands clutched tight to the steering wheel, itching and burrowing and leaping, primed for action that was all in my mind. I had nothing to direct my hurt and anger at. Or my guilt.

  I'd holed up in bed when I should have been helping. But Kate was right, I would have done more damage than good. This world, this life I live, these choices I have made, I often wonder if I have made a terrible mistake, gone down completely the wrong path. But then I think of the life I have led and think maybe it isn't so bad. This dark, wondrous magic, it gets a hold of you, and it's more addictive than any drug, maybe even more addictive than love.

  Thoughts darkened, and my draw on the Empty increased, making me urge, eyes dark, silver sparks flashing. It became hard to see, like when the road is wet then the sun suddenly shines brightly, bouncing up and blinding you.

  I needed an outlet. I wanted to blast those that took Grandma, and craved the opportunity to obliterate the creatures that had taken Mage Rikka. My teacher, my friend, the man I have always felt of as a father although he can never replace my dad. But that was so long ago, memories that no longer hold the same pull. Replaced with Rikka, the man that has always been there for me since I was a teenager.

  I would find him, find Grandma, and there would be no forgiveness for those that dared take them.

  Snapping back to attention, I found I was driving down a bumpy and very muddy dirt track, the SUV actually feeling useful for once. It was weird having company in the car, as I felt like I was on an enforcer job. It wasn't the usual way I would operate, as I work alone, no help wanted, or usually needed. This was different though, and I couldn't object.

  We were only a half hour from the city center, but Cardiff is small and the countryside is large—it's part of the attraction. All the Hidden with any sense set up operations where the Councils were based, and the gnomes were no exception. They aren't big on traditional houses of the human kind though, and seldom interact with us, or any Hidden for that matter. They have their own Council, although they have a member on the Hidden one too.

  I've had dealings with them several times over the years, and I even teamed up with a gnome enforcer to deal with one of their wayward own that had caused a serious headache for them and for Rikka—we dealt with it satisfactorily in the end. For us, not for the troublemaker.

  That was a nightmare job from start to finish. The enforcer dude was foul in every way and I was glad when it was over. As far as I was concerned, my 'partner' was more of a blight on the world than the gnome we dealt with. They are, and I mean no disrespect, very ugly. That's fine, but they are so damn rude and mean-spirited too, which isn't fine.

  Mention gnome and people think of cute little guys with red hats, maybe green dungarees, a permanent smile, and a white face. A proper happy chappy, maybe with an Irish accent—although that's leprechauns and, trust me, they are not fun either.

  No, gnomes, Hidden gnomes—not the statues you will find broken in your garden at some point when they get around to calling on you and smashing them to bits in disgust—are not like animated versions of the garden ornaments they so thoroughly despise.

  They are small, yes, but still three to four feet, although the way they act you would think they were ten feet tall and as tough as trolls. They are weirdly lumpy, with heads like rotten and misshapen vegetables, do not wear dungarees—only imps do, and have more buckles on them than in an incubi's dungeon.

  Gnomes wear jeans, brown t-shirts and heavy boots, male and female alike, and have squished noses, tiny angry eyes, and are always dirty.

  Oh, they do wear the hat though, which I think is kind of cool.

  *

  We got deeper into the forest, weaving our way through the trees, following a dirt track that was potholed and softer than a zombie's favorite food. The gnomes have a strong presence in Wales, although you can find them all over the country in various sized groups. Their numbers vary, depending on the excuse they can use for their presence.

  Gnomes reside in the world the same as many Hidden creatures do, and that means they need somewhere to live. They are traditionally burrowers, but that comes with problems, mainly of the human and dog kind.

  Like many other creatures that were once seldom, or ever, seen by humans, as we conquered more and more of the planet, and dug deeper and disrupted more of the countryside and places once home to Hidden, they became displaced. It was adjust or perish.

  As humanity spread across the globe, so gnomes gradually morphed from being underground creatures to living on the surface in makeshift hovels. They fared well until society advanced and many parts of the world took to living in brick or stone constructed buildings and no longer had dirt floors and baked mud for walls. The gnomes had to adapt, so they did. If nothing else they are enterprising, always finding a way to survive so they can moan about something.

  They have always had the ability to be seen as different to their true nature, the same as all Hidden, the same as me, projecting what they need to in order to fit in to some degree with society. But they cannot seem to survive in the modern world of houses and cities and all it encompasses.

  So, over the years, they have taken advantage of whatever disguise they can to allow their lives to continue mostly undisturbed. Currently the group we were visiting, much like most others in the UK, h
ad taken to the alternative scene, living in makeshift communal villages, sometime just a few dwellings, sometimes large groups in the hundreds.

  For Regulars, they look like eco-warriors or alternative types, those on the fringes, leading lives outside of the norm—which I can totally relate to. With dreadlocks and unconventional clothing, living in wigwams, yurts, and all manner of makeshift constructions, they pride themselves on forging a new path. Some even call them hippies, or outcasts.

  But that's just lazy thinking for those too entrenched in the rigid rules of society where ties are a must for work and everyone looks to their neighbor for the right way to live their life. Gnomes are different, and I admire them for their rage against the machine if nothing else. A life on the periphery, and usually illegally encamped in the countryside.

  They go on rallies and protests, maintaining their cover but also fighting a losing battle to keep the country green and stop the incessant spread of the urban sprawl that threatens their way of life. They are the leaders of a growing movement worldwide that tries to expose the blatant waste of supermarkets, where perfectly good food is thrown out because of arbitrary expiry dates. In other words, they survive on the very fringes of society.

  It is a noble cause, and when humans visit them they often find a lot to admire about their alternative lifestyle. Which is all well and good, and I appreciate their stance, but when they don't need to keep up appearances, when the veil of false identity is lifted, well, they are just three feet tall, very dirty, very ugly, lumpy-faced creatures with noses like damaged vegetables, permanent wicked or cross scowls on their faces, and, to put it bluntly, annoying as hell.

  "Let's get this over with," I said with a sigh as I pulled up at the entrance to their camp. The magic haze shivered and lifted as they morphed from the image they projected to Regulars to their true selves—I prefer it if they keep the veil up, but what can you do.

  "I hate gnomes," said Dancer. "They look like potatoes with legs and stupid hats. What's with that, anyway? Everything else they wear is brown and muddy, but their hats are always pristine and so bright. It's freaky."

  "Tradition, I guess," I said.

  "Maybe they just like them," offered Kate.

  "You got to have your look," said Intus. "Everyone needs an identity. It makes getting dressed easier too. Less choice." Intus vanished in a tiny puff of smoke and reappeared outside on a tree stump.

  The gnomes came from all directions, converging on the SUV. I prepared myself for a lecture on burning excessive fossil fuels.

  I could smell them even with the windows up.

  Necromancing the Gnomes

  Sometimes, when I have days like this, I crave normality. I've never known it, never lived a normal life, but I've dreamed of it. Just having a job, something quiet, maybe in a bookstore or my own little boutique selling retro clothing—don't laugh—talking to people who are just people. No magical abilities, no projected image to cover up the creature they really are. Just people, talking about books and clothes. Heck, even cars and football, kids and wives. Anything. Just normal.

  Then I remember what it has been like when I've tried to associate with the Regular world, and how I find it so alien, so strange, and how it's a lie.

  I want to grab people, shake them and shout, "Don't you know what's going on all around you? Don't you know there is magic everywhere? How can you live such a blinkered existence, without magic in your life? Don't you understand that there are imps and trolls, and that I can boil your eyeballs if you are rude to me again?"

  It's like Regulars are living just as much a lie as I am. Me, the no-man, the person you never recall, staying hidden from the normal world so I am never remembered or seen, just in case my magic world interferes and me being remembered would be a problem. Even my neighbors look at me with confusion sometimes, as if they forgot I live in the same street as them, even though I've been there longer than any of them have been alive.

  It is what it is, I guess. The life I chose, or had thrust on me. I'm never sure which. All I know is I've never tried to leave, not really, not with any conviction. Never attempted to integrate and be a Regular for more than a few days.

  It's just as fake and deceptive as the Hidden world, and life without magic, well, it's like you're denying yourself the best bits.

  As we got out the car, a donsy of gnomes gathered round—I once called them a lawn of gnomes, thinking that was right, and they were none too happy about my collective noun word choice.

  The forest was shaded, but the humidity was through the roof. Trapped moisture made us sweaty and instantly irritable. The air clung to our clothes like it was desperate to escape, and wanted us to take it away. I could feel the warm dampness pushing down on me, making me heavy and listless, darkening my mood, making me itch to get back in the car and revel in the cool air against my arms and head.

  We said hello, got a few grunts in return, and left Intus to it. Intus gets on quite well with them. Maybe it's the height thing, although they dwarfed her as she's about as long as my middle finger. Still, she stood on the tree trunk and bellowed her greetings to every one of them.

  If they could help then it would be worth the trip, but I couldn't shake the feeling I should be back in the city, banging heads, blasting people with dark magic, getting answers.

  "What're they doing?" asked Kate, clearly itching to get involved.

  "Not sure. Intus seems to be giving a speech, but they keep talking over her. Haha, still weird to finally know it's a she."

  "Just don't say those words," she reminded me, like I can ever forget.

  "I won't."

  We watched as the gnomes gesticulated wildly at Intus, heard snippets of conversation, but were pointedly ignored other than the occasional stare now and then when Intus expanded on what she wanted. A few minutes later, with a final dismissive grunt or two, plus several scowls from the lumpy gnomes, they dispersed, leaving us alone.

  We crowded around Intus on the tree stump, who reveled as usual in being the center of attention.

  "Well, what did they say? Any clues for us? Are they going to come and help?" I asked.

  "They said they can tell you where to look, that we are idiots and that it's obvious. But if we are too stupid to have found what we are looking for then they will only tell us if we do them a favor. More specifically, Dancer here."

  "Me? What do they want with me?" Dancer shifted from one foot to the other nervously—he has a thing about the countryside. He was happy digging up a body, smiled as he bent over a corpse on a mortician's slab, but is never comfortable out of the city. Not without the knowledge he will be back home soon.

  The gnomes freaked him out because they looked like the vegetables he was sorely in need of consuming, and, unfortunately for him, it seemed he was the one they wanted.

  "Um, well, they had a tiny accident and one of them is dead. Apparently this idiot," Intus looked around in case she was being overheard, which, of course, she was—Intus has one volume, loud and a deep baritone, the same as all imps, "er, this fellow, decided to build a shelter beneath its wigwam. Seems they aren't as hot at the whole underground thing as they used to be, and they found the enthusiastic burrower two days ago buried in the dirt after the whole thing caved in on him. Or her, not sure. Don't wanna be discriminatory. But anyway," she said, brightening, "if you could just, you know, resurrect the gnome for a bit then they will help us."

  "No, absolutely not," Dancer protested, eyes darting all over the place in a panic. "I don't do gnomes. I do people, just people. Bringing other species back is freaky. Have you ever seen what the afterlife of humans is like? No, of course not. Well, for other species it's..." he shivered like a wet dog. "Ugh, it's too weird. Freaks me out." Dancer moved to get back into the car.

  "Dancer, please? Grandma is missing, and now Rikka. Don't you think you owe it to them to help if you can?" said Kate. She smiled at him, that perfect smile, then there was something more. She was holding his gaze, trying to glamor hi
m, bend him to her will.

  I grabbed her arm, maybe a little too sharply. She had a lot to learn. An awful lot.

  "What?" she asked as I turned her away from Dancer. It was no use. Dancer was right up in her face, livid.

  "Don't you ever, and I mean ever, do that again. Ever!" He whispered through a tight mouth, vicious and mean sounding—I didn't blame him one bit. "I'm not some Regular you can glamor and get your way with, Kate. I'm a goddamn necromancer. I deal with death and the netherworlds and angels and gods, and I will show you Hell itself and what eternity for the damned is like if you even so much as think about pulling a stunt like that again. Do I make myself clear? Do I?" Anyone else and I would have expected them to hit her, but Dancer isn't that kind of person, luckily for Kate.

  Kate was shocked, and turned to me, as if I would defend her from Dancer's outburst. For once, maybe the first time ever, I was on his side.

  There are some things you don't do, and what Kate did was one of them. Dancer had pulled something similar on me the previous week, trying to use his magic to make me do something, and I blasted his finger off for it. Kate was lucky he did nothing worse to her. He wasn't making an idle boast. He could use magic and creep into her mind, show her what he was capable of.

  "You better say sorry, Kate. You never do that, not to your own. Not to friends, not to enemies either, unless you're certain you can go through with it. Understand?" I felt bad for her, but she had to learn. At that moment I realized she needed to spend more time with her own kind. She'd fought it so long, but there were things she had to know if she was to survive for more than a few years if she was lucky.

  "I... I... gosh, I'm sorry, Dancer. I don't know what came over me. It's this damn thing inside of me. It makes me want to do things I don't want to." Kate fought a never-ending battle with what raged within, but still, there are boundaries.