Sanctified: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (Branded Book 1)

by David Bussell

  ‘I wasn’t. I found it accidentally while I was looking for the tin opener.’ He waggled the dagger at me. ‘So, come on then, what’s it for?’

  ‘It’s… um… a present…’

  ‘For who?’

  ‘For… for you, silly!’ I couldn’t let a normal know the truth. Christ, did I just call my boyfriend a “normal”? Very nice, Abbey.

  ‘Who’s it really for?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, I bought it for you. And now you’ve gone and spoiled the surprise.’

  ‘You bought me a big knife?’

  ‘Yeah! I know how you like all that swords and sorcery crap, and I thought it would make a nice paperweight for your writing desk.’ In fact, writing desk was a bit of an overstatement. Neil’s workstation was a titchy IKEA thing in the box room with a folding chair underneath. ‘Plus, it’s good for self-defence,’ I went on. ‘You never know what’s going to go down on the mean streets of Thamesmead.’ I was kidding, but given that I’d just had to fight for my life out there, not kidding at all.

  Neil considered the dagger and offered a half-smile. ‘Well… thank you then,’ he said. ‘It is really nice looking, and it will go great with my collectible Hufflepuff wand.’ He gave me a hug. ‘Thanks, I’ll go put it on my desk now.’

  My stealth mission had backfired spectacularly. I needed that dagger if I was going to be the Nightstalker. I couldn’t have it collecting dust on Neil’s tiny desk. Served me right for only thinking one move ahead, now I’d trapped myself.... unless…

  ‘Oh, would you look at that,’ I said, snatching the dagger from Neil at a speed that surprised even me, ‘right there, on the blade, there’s a mark.’

  ‘I don’t see a mark,’ said Neil, trying to retrieve his present, which I’d since jacked up behind my back.

  ‘Yup, a great big mark,’ I said. ‘Can't have that. Going to have to take it back to the shop and get a replacement. Right now in fact.’

  ‘It's fine, really. I didn't even notice it...’

  ‘That’s nice of you to say, but it’ll play on my mind. What kind of a shit gives a dinged dagger to the love of her life?’

  I backed out of the door. ‘See you later,’ I said, waving goodbye with my free hand.

  Neil looked back at me, utterly befuddled. ‘Wait… you never said what you were doing back from work.’

  I pretended to misunderstand him. ‘Probably won’t be back until late,’ I said, tapping a pretend watch. ‘Don’t wait up.’

  And I closed the door behind me.

  10

  By the time I stepped off the train in Bethnal Green, I was questioning every person I saw.

  These people, didn’t they have jobs to go to? Didn’t they have things to do? What were they doing strolling around the streets at that time of day? Were they people like me, or were they something other? Who was human? Who was a vampire? Was I about to be set on again? If I turned my back, would I feel another hand grab me by the hair and tug back my head? Would a vampire’s claw slice through the soft flesh of my throat and ink the pavement with my blood?

  ‘See you soon, Abbey,’ I recalled pinstripe saying.

  My pulse quickened and I broke into a jog, which quickly turned into a sprint. I felt as though death was coming in at all sides, stabbing me from every direction. Eyes straight ahead, I ran a half-mile to the industrial park, ducking the chain link fence and racing full-tilt for the gas tower, throwing myself through its entrance—

  And crashing pell-mell into Vizael.

  For a little old man on a walking stick, he took the collision remarkably well, whereas I was sent sprawling to the ground. Though he looked brittle as old bone, Viz was rock solid. I hadn’t appreciated it when he told me about his vampire fighting days, but cannonballing into him gave me a good sense of his martial prowess. The old man was a tough nut, no doubt about it.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, calm as a cucumber. Cool, I mean. Cucumbers are calm by default.

  ‘...Being chased,’ I panted, stabbing a thumb behind me, ‘...vampires everywhere…’

  But there was no one there. I’d run all this way, fuelled by nothing more potent than paranoia.

  Viz placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled warmly.

  ‘Come on in,’ he said. ‘Let us begin.’

  Gendith was there too, sat in a tatty armchair and eying me coolly as I entered.

  ‘Look who returned to the fold,’ said Viz, brightly.

  Gendith nodded in my direction, eyes half-lidded. I’d expected her to shoot daggers my way, but instead she regarded me with the jaded indifference of a house cat, which was at least a step in the right direction. Clearly, she and Viz had had a sit down since my last visit, and reached some kind of understanding

  ‘I’m not promising I’ll join the cause,’ I said, ‘but so long as you’re offering training, I could stand to lose a few calories. Cheaper than the gym anyway, right?’

  I was putting on a show, feigning an air of nonchalance. The truth was, I was scared and desperately needed their help to learn how to defend myself.

  I told them about the man in the pinstripe suit who attacked me, and the angels nodded along as though I were presenting a 9 a.m. slideshow.

  ‘I’m sorry, am I boring you?’ I asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ Viz replied, ‘it’s just… well, we already know this story.’

  ‘How?’

  The old man hesitated a moment, cleared his throat, then spoke. ‘I was there,’ he said. ‘During the incident.’

  ‘What?’ I cried. ‘You were stood by watching as I was being chased through Thamesmead by a vampire?’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been shadowing you, Abbey. I needed to keep tabs on the dagger. We couldn’t afford to have a thing like that falling into enemy hands.’

  It seemed to me that my life was worth less to these people than the hunk of metal in my backpack.

  ‘And you never thought to step in and help?’ I asked. ‘Even when you saw I didn’t have the dagger on me?’

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t see the need. You acquitted yourself very well, Abbey. My assistance was unnecessary.’

  I was pissed off to the core. ‘I could have been killed,’ I spat through my teeth. ‘The vampire who attacked me, he was jumping around, blinking from place to place...’

  ‘Yes,’ Viz replied. ‘One of his powers. Vampires of the Judas Clan are known to possess a host of different abilities. Thankfully, you have skills that are more than a match for theirs.’

  ‘Powers? Like what?’

  ‘You already know, don’t you?’

  I understood what he was saying. ‘The brand, it makes me strong. And fast. And I can see things too. Things I couldn’t see before.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Viz replied, pleased at my observations. ‘And you have many more powers besides, though it’s only through training that you’ll learn to harness them properly.’

  ‘Okay. Powers. Actual powers. That’s pretty cool.’

  ‘Pretty cool,’ replied Viz, smiling.

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ I asked. ‘Let’s do this. Train me up, Miyagi.’

  He nodded and looked at me with the calm eyes of a monk. ‘Show me the dagger.’

  We started off in the dojo. At least that’s what Vizael called it. In reality, the “dojo” was a portion of the gas tower that had been converted into small training room, complete with a free-standing punching mannequin made of high-strength rubber, a heavy bag strung to a rafter by a chain, and a compact target range.

  ‘Put the dagger in the bullseye,’ the old man instructed, pointing to a round, pockmarked target at the end of the shooting alley.

  It wasn’t far away, five metres at most, but I still didn’t fancy my chances. ‘I’m not much good at throwing,’ I confessed, remembering my disastrous try-out for the high school netball team.

  ‘Of course you are,’ Viz insisted. ‘You’re the Nightstalker.’

  I looked at the big N on my hand.
‘Right. Yeah. Of course. I’m the Nightstalker. Okay.’

  I drew a breath, pulled back my arm, and brought the blade up to the side of my head. Focussing on the concentric circles of the target, I took aim at the middle spot, ratcheted my arm back to its rearmost point, and sent the dagger flying. The metal scythed through the air, turned over once—

  —and embedded dead centre of the bullseye, shivering with spent energy.

  ‘Holy shit!’ I said, leaping off the floor and doing a fist pump. ‘Take that, Mrs Thompson!’

  ‘Who’s Mrs Thompson?’ asked Viz.

  ‘Old gym teacher… doesn’t matter…’ I stabbed a finger down the target range. ‘Did you see that shit? I’m a bloody natural.’

  ‘I did see that “shit”, as you say.’ He pointed to the dagger planted in the bullseye. ‘Now pick it up and show me again.’

  He didn’t have to ask me twice. I started toward the target, but he barred me with his walking cane.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Pick it up from here.’

  ‘What? How? Wait, can my arms stretch like Plastic Man? Is that it? Stretchy arms?’

  Viz gave me a look.

  ‘Okay. I don’t have stretchy arms. Though that would be pretty awesome, just saying.’

  ‘The dagger and the brand share a bond. They belong together. You need only ask them to become one.’

  I was skeptical to say the least, but I figured there was no harm in giving it a go.

  I held out my throwing hand and concentrated on the dagger, willing it to return to me. Willing it to reunite with the brand.

  ‘Imagine an elastic band, Nightstalker. An elastic band connecting your hand to the dagger’s handle. Imagine it snapping back fast and tight towards you. Picture it. Feel it. Make it so.’

  I reached out, fingers twitching, teeth clenched. At first, nothing happened. I was about ready to give up, and that’s when I saw the jewel at the base of the handle judder slightly, and realised something was happening after all. Something I was making happen! I was so pleased with myself that I forgot all about the manifest properties of elastic bands, and almost didn’t notice the blade pulling free of the bullseye and winging its way back to me, fast as a bullet.

  I threw up a hand just in time, seizing the dagger by the handle right before it blasted into my face, halting its progress centimetres from the spot between my eyes.

  ‘Very good,’ said Viz, offering a single, small clap.

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ I replied, sweating, trying to ignore how close I’d just been to stabbing myself in the face.

  ‘Now let’s see how you do against a live opponent. Gendith, please assist the Nightstalker.’

  Gen came forward. She was wearing thick body padding, the kind K-9 trainers use when they’re bite schooling their animals. ‘Do your worst,’ she challenged.

  ‘I’m not chucking a knife at her!’ I told Viz.

  ‘What are you worried about?’ asked Gen, a mocking chuckle to her voice. ‘You really think you’d hit me?’

  ‘I hit that bullseye easy enough, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you sure showed that static target,’ she said. ‘Now all you need is persuade your enemies to stand perfectly still while you line up your throwing arm.’

  I very nearly gave her the finger. Two of them in fact.

  ‘Girls,’ said Viz, ‘let’s keep this civil.’ He positioned Gen to the end of the range and returned to me. ‘Gendith knows what’s she’s doing,’ he assured me. ‘All you need to concentrate on is hitting her.’

  I didn’t want to hurt her, but I sure as hell wanted to shut her up, and I supposed they must have known what they were doing. Besides, she was wearing an awful lot of padding.

  ‘Alright then,’ I said, and pulled back the knife. ‘As long as you’re sure.’

  I threw my hand forward and sent the blade winging Gen’s way. Despite the extra weight she was carrying, she moved out of my firing line and side-stepped the dagger effortlessly.

  ‘Nice try,’ she said. ‘Again.’

  I recalled the dagger to my hand. This time it was a reflex. I was learning.

  ‘Go on,’ Viz urged. ‘You heard her.’

  I hurled the knife at Gen a second time, and it tore right after her, straight as an arrow. Instead of dodging on this occasion, she whipped her morning star from her belt and smacked the blade aside, leaving it lodged in the outer wall of the tower.

  She yawned and rolled her eyes at me.

  Infuriated, I called the dagger back, caught it, and let it fly again in one smooth move. Gen tried to deflect the missile, but was caught off guard and ended up with the blade lodged in her shoulder.

  Shit.

  She screamed and tugged off the body armour, which fell to the ground with the blade still embedded in it. ‘Bitch!’ she screeched, as she put a hand to her shoulder and came away with blue blood on her fingertips. ‘I didn’t tell you to throw! I wasn’t ready!’

  She was marching towards me now, weapon in hand, murder in her eyes. I called back the dagger to defend myself, but no sooner had I plucked it from the air, than she’d grabbed my fist in her hand and smashed it against the wall. The dagger fell to the ground, along with one of my black-painted fingernails, which lay next to the blade looking like a shucked beetle shell.

  It hurt like buggery.

  I hadn’t meant to almost kill Gen when I threw the knife—at least I don’t think I had—but now I was ready to go the whole way.

  I lunged at her, fingers twitching for her throat, but Vizael’s walking cane appeared between us.

  ‘Break it up!’ he said, staring us down like a lion tamer handling a pair of disobedient wildcats. ‘The forces of evil are arrayed against us, and you two insist on fighting like children.’

  Gen bared her teeth at me, then a new face arrived on the scene, breaking the tension.

  A squat woman stood in the dojo’s entrance, her face gaunt, her eyes gluey and pink from crying.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘You have to help.’

  11

  The woman wasn’t human.

  On closer inspection, it was clear she was something else entirely. Her teeth were pointed, but not like a vampire’s, more like a piranha’s – two rows of tightly-packed, pearl-white needles. Neither Viz nor Gen questioned this. Whoever the stricken woman was—whatever she was—they followed her without question.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, trailing behind them as they pursued the woman from the industrial park and out onto the streets. ‘Who is this person?’

  ‘A friend of ours,’ replied Viz, hobbling along on his stick. ‘An eaves.’

  ‘A what now?’

  ‘A race of Uncanny. They get their name for the talent they have for eavesdropping on conversations.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like much of a talent to me,’ I said, ‘earwigging on other people’s business.’

  ‘It is when you rely on that talent for sustenance,’ he explained. ‘The eaves exchange their knowledge for magic, which is a sort of food to them.’

  Before I could unpack that, the woman we were following arrived at a door set into the brick wall of a railway overpass.

  ‘In here,’ she said, ‘quickly,’ and pushed open the door.

  It led somewhere it shouldn’t have.

  Through the doorway, I could see an empty, cobbled alleyway in a part of the city I didn’t recognise. An outdoors on the inside. An impossibility.

  ‘Hop to it,’ said Viz, as he hurried me through.

  I stepped inside (well, outside, really), and the world warped out of shape for a moment. I felt my insides flutter as my foot set down on the cobbles, which were splashed with bright sunshine. It was a different time of day here. A different world. Behind me, I saw the doorway was gone – vanished into thin air. I’d seen some freaky stuff since I made the mistake of opening that old briefcase, but what I was seeing now would make David Blaine shit a brick.

  Gen saw my bafflement and gave me a withering look before
shaking her head and heading off after the eaves.

  Viz was a touch more understanding. ‘It’s confusing at first, I know, but just go with it for now.’

  And I did, following the eaves blindly towards a new doorway. This one opened out onto a rooftop that must have been a good twenty-stories up. Again, I followed, only to arrive at yet another doorway—a hatch in the ground this time—which led to a ladder that dropped into an underground sewer.

  Impossibility after impossibility after impossibility.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ I said, ‘but I’m totally lost.’

  ‘It’s by design,’ Viz replied. ‘When your stock in trade is telling tales, it behooves you to maintain a certain degree of obscurity.’

  He explained that the eaves liked to hide their nests where no one could find them, way off the grid, and accessible only through a complex and ever-shifting maze that they fashioned using the magic given to them in exchange for information. That way, even if a person had visited one before and thought they had its location memorised, in truth, they didn’t know jack.

  I followed Viz some more, his cane clicking on the cobbles with each stride, until the eaves woman arrived at another door. This one belonged to a dilapidated, two-storey Victorian house on an anonymous street in who knew where. Its front door was scratched and dented and marred by years of water damage. It bore a large brass knob dulled with age and greasy fingerprints.

  The three of us stepped through the door and followed the eaves up a flight of narrow, crooked stairs. The house looked like a crack den: a decaying slum that hadn’t known the sound of a vacuum cleaner in decades. The few sparse bits of furniture we passed were scuffed and moth-eaten. Only a few scraps of wallpaper clung to the walls, tenaciously refusing to disengage, despite the creeping damp beneath. It made my shitty flat look like a palace by comparison.

  The eaves led us quickly across the landing and into a large room that served as some sort of communal area. Piss-coloured light leaked in through ragged drapes and fell on warped walls, bellied inwards. Above us were sagging oak rafters, and beneath, a floor; jagged, lumpy, and glistening wet and red.