by Al K. Line
I glanced down at Oliver. He'd been a fool while alive. I wondered how his afterlife was treating him.
"Time to say goodnight, Spark," hissed Yrjo as his mouth opened, revealing a foul pink tongue and canines larger than any I'd ever seen. His goons moved forward. Their eyes snapped to black with dark magic and I noticed tattoos peeking out beneath their jacket sleeves.
This was how they took Rikka. They used magic as a disguise. This was bad, as vampires don't go in for magic like wizards do. Maybe things really were different over in Finland. Any moment they would spring into action and there was no way I could cope with them all at once.
I watched, unsurprised, as Yrjo casually bent and bit out the neck of Govan. The kid was still unconscious, so at least his passing was quick and painless. Stanley had a lot to answer for, and for the first time in a long while I was actually angry at Grandma.
People have this misconception about magic, that if you can use it then you are indestructible, but there are limits, and degrees of power. I am just a guy who has a lot of knowledge and control, but my expertise is focused on taking away magic from others, not summoning up demonic forces or turning into a nether creature and stomping my way to freedom.
So I gulped, and as I sank back into sickness and let dark magic envelop me I still had no idea what I would do apart from try to run or go down fighting. Neither really appealed, as the end result would be death. I had no desire to join Oliver.
The power of the Empty took me deep until I was nothing but anger and the instinct for survival. I would fight, and I would kill them all.
One of the goons came at me, fast as a snap of the eyelids, but I was ready. Without thinking, I stepped to the left and my right arm came up parallel to the floor. The vampire had moved so fast he couldn't stop until he slammed into my forearm.
My tattoos burned through his clothes and flesh as my arm pumped magic of my own special kind into his body. I forced my flesh deep inside of him until he was practically sliced through. One thing vampires can't do is come back from the dead, and this goon was definitely of the soon-to-be-dead goon variety.
He screamed, black mouth without a tongue making the sound strange and otherworldly. I stared at Yrjo as my chest rose and I sucked in the blood magic that escaped from the dying vampire like a last breath.
My body vibrated as I took on some of the vampire's essence for a moment, snapping forward like frames were missing from the world. I was closer to Yrjo. I was going to kill them all. I was evil, vampire and enforcer, but even as I grew colder inside the blood magic left, returning to the Empty where it belonged.
Disgusted, I let it wane. I couldn't stand the foul stench of that corruption inside my body. Dark magic is one thing, blood magic without being a vampire quite another. I had a hint of the pain involved for the vampires when they killed and took on such evil, knowing it would corrupt me, maybe even turn me in my current state. Letting it go was the only option, and as I did I thought of Kate.
My head shook and the bitter taste of vampire was gone. "I'm gonna make this bad for you, Yrjo, real bad." I beckoned with my hand. Yeah, I know, cliche or what? But I was in the flow and it didn't seem so corny at the time.
The other goons stepped forward, but I could see their confidence had left like a troll once you say you are out of goats.
Drugi Doles shouted, "He's mine," and I watched as Yrjo smiled with what I guess was amusement. He nodded as Drugi Doles turned to face me.
Oliver was dead, in bits, and the vampire goons seemed to have gone from manic to wary after I'd shown what I could do. Yrjo remained exactly as he was—old and freaky as hell. What was with these ancient vampires? I wondered why they even bothered with their games and their constant striving to become the Head. Maybe it's all they have left? They certainly don't seem to care about anything else.
No time for contemplating the empty hearts of vampires. Drugi Doles took a step forward. He didn't look happy.
Great, so the vamps were going to hang back while I dealt with an angry goblin.
"Drugi Doles, in case you haven't noticed this is not the best time to pick up our fight from yesterday. Plus, you lost. Remember?"
"Drugi Doles forgets nuffin', Spark. Drugi Doles is 'ere to sort everything out."
"What! You think you can..." I trailed off as Drugi Doles' mouth contorted. His accent sounded weird too. He smiled, and there was that wink again. Then the weirdest damn thing happened. His blackened green carapace split like a cocoon and as it did so the image of a mean goblin wavered and shimmered as the magic I had sensed earlier spread to envelop not only me but the room as a whole.
Everything lost focus as dark magic poured from the Empty into my once tranquil oasis of normality. Drugi Doles grew and grew, bigger and bigger.
"Rikka?" I said, surprising myself with how calm I sounded as the phantom goblin warped and the split skin morphed into the image of Rikka. But was it? It was kind of like him, but not totally him.
He was slim. A skinny Rikka. I never thought I'd live to see the day. My boss was a man reborn from the chrysalis of a damaged goblin. A mage with a slim body, brown corduroys, tan boots, a simple black vest and there were even muscles. He looked about early forties, a full mane of long brown hair, strong features with two-day stubble and he practically glowed with vitality.
"Spark, how do you feel about teaching some vampires a lesson?"
"Um, good, I guess." I didn't ask what the hell was happening. This was Rikka; that was all I needed to know. For now.
Rikka stepped beside me, and I had to look again. It was him, everything told me it was him, but damn, he looked good. Side by side, we faced the vampires.
Yrjo didn't look so cocky any longer and his goons had stopped their advance. They turned to their boss for orders, unsure how to act after the turn of events that had surprised us all.
What the hell was happening?
And how the hell had Rikka lost so much weight so quickly? Visions of becoming a rich diet guru flashed before my eyes, interrupted when the vampires moved in a blur and I felt the breath of death at my neck.
Time to Move
Rikka hardly even lifted a hand, but the two that had come at me were back across the room faster than he used to eat a slice of pizza. And he ate one seriously fast.
"Watch the floor," I moaned, as Rikka blasted them again and my meticulously cared for floorboards blackened and curled up under his onslaught.
"Sorry, Spark, but it's been so long since I was in a proper fight. This is going to be fun."
"Yeah, whatever." I glanced at Rikka quickly—he really did look like he was enjoying himself. He was smiling like a madman, and I can't tell you how weird it was to see him like that. Or to see him slim!
"Kill them both," ordered Yrjo, sneering with a bravado it was obvious he didn't have.
"Haha, what's the matter goons, feeling a little outclassed?" My goading had the desired effect. They came at us as I knew they would. Rikka has taught me well, and I know that reacting to such insults is a sure way to get yourself killed, and fast.
The goons did that "here one minute, gone the next" thing vampires do that is so disconcerting, but we were ready. Side by side, our arms came up fast, forearms touching, our ink multiplying each other's power as they connected through dark magic that bulged along black lines and exploded in all directions, keeping us safe at the epicenter.
All four goons slammed back against the walls of my home as though a bomb had gone off. Once the dust settled somewhat, and the plaster stopped falling, that was exactly what it looked like.
I raised an eyebrow at Rikka but he was lost to battle. The four bodyguards righted themselves and this time they moved slowly, cautiously closing in, ready for anything.
Almost anything. When I suddenly shouted, "Hey," at one, then turned quickly to another and blasted him with a jet of magic so thick it coated him like tar. He clawed at his face like it was melting. To be fair, it was melting. The magic swirled around his bo
dy but he remained on his feet. I kept sending the magic, but twisted it in my mind, so the black turned red and the heat grew so fierce we had to take a step back.
Rikka spun in a circle and muttered a spell—he does like to do it the old-fashioned way—and a pale blue light circled us. A protective shield, I guess you could call it.
The goon continued screaming so I decided that if Rikka was going old skool then so was I. I mumbled a spell I hadn't said for half a century or more. It wasn't needed, but it made Rikka happy and as I slapped my hands together a blot of magic as slender as one of Rikka's new fingers, but as sharp as a faery's tongue, shot across the room and took out the top of the burning vamps head.
The screams stopped—amazing how loud you can scream even without a tongue—and the vampire toppled sideways from his position on his knees into a pool of his own gore.
Two more came at us, but Rikka was ready before I even had the chance to think about defending us. Not taking his eyes off Yrjo, Rikka whipped his arms out to the sides and I had to duck. Two fat balls of terror made of screaming demonic faces, edged with fractal nightmares that would cut to ribbons anything in their path, shot at the two vampires.
One of them ducked and the Demolition Demon—not a bad name for a magic spell, right?—slammed into the wall, chewed up the brick, then shot up to the ceiling where it spun wildly, eating up the plaster before popping out of existence. The other hit its mark and the unlucky goon stared down numbly at the gaping hole through its belly. You could see the blackened, damaged walls of my home right through his middle. It was like in a cartoon, apart from the very real goopy bits and the smell of seared lower intestine.
"This isn't over," snarled Yrjo before he did the vampire dance thing and was gone.
The remaining goon stared around wildly, unable to take in the fact he'd been abandoned.
"So much for loyalty amongst vampires," said Rikka, about as happy and excited as I'd ever seen him.
I stared at him like he'd gone crazy, which I think he had for a while. I half expected him to start bouncing up and down and asking me to guess how much weight he'd lost. Instead, he lowered his arms and let the forcefield dissipate. The remaining goon was gone. We heard the crunch as it appeared then disappeared out the front door.
My shoulders sagged as the sickness came to take what was owed. I sank to my knees and took my punishment.
I think I must have remained that way for ten minutes then somehow managed to lower myself onto the floor properly, where I curled my legs up tight and hugged my knees hoping for death.
Rikka seemed to get off with little more than the shakes for a minute, then whistled to himself absentmindedly while he waited for me to get over my prayers to be taken to hell, or anywhere, as long as the pain stopped.
Blood magic filled the room, trapped. The overflow too strong for it to dissipate quickly. At some point it must have though, and I found myself alive and able to breathe.
Miraculously, my fridge was still intact. Stepping carefully over warped floorboards and mangled bodies, I opened the door, pulled out a bottle of water and guzzled it, spitting out the dust of my home and the remnants of blood magic that tainted my lungs and my heart.
I may have collapsed again then, just for a while.
*
I looked around the devastation of my sanctuary. The floor was mostly gone, rugs, boards, the lot, all splintered or burned, revealing the cavity beneath. If there had been interior walls they would have been blasted to bits, but even so the side walls were a mess. Plasterwork and render was falling off, exposing the Victorian brickwork beneath, deep gouges in the ancient walls. The ceiling was hanging in places, other parts gone, revealing upstairs joists and a peek into my bedroom and bathroom.
My furniture was about as useful as my vinyl collection in a teenager's bedroom, and the chance of me being able to repair any of it was as likely as a goblin singing you happy birthday, giving you a cake, and not charging you for it.
It was definitely time to move.
"Hey, Spark," said Rikka.
"Yeah," I sighed, picking up a cushion and staring at it like it had answers as to why me.
"Did I tell you I have a job for you? Apparently a zombie has managed to get a position as an MP and he's been winning elections by eating the opposition. They want me to help clean up the mess and cover it up. Won't take long. You know what the undead are like, never very subtle. Should be a breeze. It pays well." Rikka waggled slim eyebrows at me and rummaged in the fridge. "I'm starving. Being a goblin is exhausting. Don't know how they do it for so long."
"Um, because that's what they are. Goblins," I added, feeling displaced and way too confused. "And, I quit." Rikka turned to me, a knowing smile on his face.
"Okay, I take a leave of absence, for a while. I need to find somewhere else to live. You messed up my home, Rikka. My sanctuary."
"Don't worry about that," he said, biting the top off a length of chorizo then staring at it suspiciously—I have no idea how long it had been there. "I've got just the place for you. You'll love it."
"I think I'll find something myself."
"It's got a big garden, and no neighbors. My treat. It's empty at the moment. I'll give it to you, the whole place. Sign over the deeds."
"Done," I said warily. "What's the catch?"
"Well, about these zombies. And let's not forget this little piece of unfinished business first."
I stared at Rikka like he'd gone insane. "Little piece of unfinished business! You go missing, Grandma went missing on purpose, Finnish vampires trash my home, now you want me to go after zombies, after we deal with Yrjo? Are you nuts?"
Rikka scowled at me, like I'd overstepped the line. I didn't care. It was as if everyone was playing a sick and twisted game but refused to let me in on the rules. "I understand you have had a rough few days, Spark, but remember who you are talking to."
"Let's get out of here. I can't stand to see the place like this. God knows what the neighbors will think."
"They will think nothing, Spark. Do you think I would come in here knowing what would happen and not put the right protective spell in place?"
Rikka was right. From the outside all would be nice and quiet. Normal. Another semi-detached on a nice street in Cardiff.
"Okay, let's go. We'll sort this mess out. But no zombies," I warned.
"That's my boy."
I got the feeling there was no zombie problem. Rikka was just goading me to keep my anger up and carry on. Make me want to fight. Hit something. Even if it was him.
A Drive
The door was gone, so I didn't even get the chance to close it behind me with a sigh and lament all I had lost. I'd painted it recently too! Instead, I stood in the shattered doorway and looked back on the devastation that had been my little oasis of normality for so many decades.
It was gone now. I couldn't remain there any longer. Sure, I could get the place repaired, would have to if I wanted to sell, but it wasn't my home. It had been violated. The memory of what it looked like at that moment would always be there. It was just a house now.
"Come on, no time to waste," said Rikka as he stood by the car, tapping a foot impatiently. His new slimline figure had done nothing to improve his manner.
"Fine, but you owe me an explanation." I turned my back on my old home. I never saw it again.
"Come on, what are you waiting for?" urged Rikka, fastening his seatbelt with ease. It was the final straw. Normally he'd be puffing and wheezing, doing my head in trying to get it over his fat belly.
"What am I waiting for? Are you serious! My house is trashed, Grandma went missing and apparently you blamed the vampires, but she was just helping out Stanley. Then you went missing, vampires just invaded my home and tried to kill me after pulling Oliver apart in front of me, you turn up, but you're a goblin, then you morph into a thin version of you, and we still have to chase down Yrjo and his goons and you want to know what I'm waiting for? I want to know what the hell is going on,
Rikka. No more playing."
Rikka looked at me and smiled a smile I'd never seen before—one that wasn't lost in folds of fat. "Spark, you know me, we go back a long way. Have I ever done anything unless it was the right thing?" He studied me, giving me time.
"No. But there's always a first. What has been going on? I need to slow down, know what I'm up against here. I was going to watch TV and have a beer!"
Rikka put his hands on his belly, looking down in surprise when they kept on falling and falling, the usual monumental mound no longer there. "This will take some getting used to."
"Yeah, about that."
"Okay, let's start at the beginning."
"Please. And if you tell me you planned this all along I'll scream."
"What? Why would I plan my own kidnapping?"
"Because that's what Grandma did."
"That's because she's a kind lady and wanted to help Stanley."
What is with these people? "You knew!" I accused.
Rikka looked at me with disappointment. "Spark, of course I knew. I'm a goddamn mage, Head of the Councils. I know more than you can ever imagine." He was right. I never really thought about it like that.
"Okay, spill it."
"I blamed the vampires after Grandma was taken as that's just what I would do. Had to keep it realistic. Plus I did get a little worried once there were vampires involved and dead witches in training, so it wasn't much of a leap anyway. Grandma didn't exactly fill me in on what was about to happen, but I have my sources."
"I bet."
"But then things got rather out of hand. Oliver, that slimy amorphous blob, he took me. Okay, to be precise I let him take me. Okay, it was Yrjo's goons, who are very strong with magic, I must say."
"Rikka!"
"Right, sorry. The fool couldn't arrange such a thing and hope to succeed against me, so I made his job a little easier for him. They had good disguises, even took me by surprise."
