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

by David Bussell

  A hangman’s gallows.

  And a whisper...

  Do it, Abbey. Do it before they do it to you. Put your head in that noose and leave this world on your own terms. Take your life before it’s snatched away.

  I saw the brand on my palm glow dimly, then I heard the braying howls of the vampire beasts gaining on me and the brand sputtered out, snuffed away by the drench of my sweat. Fear stole into my mind like a deranged thief.

  I was scared out of my mind, but my feet started moving anyway. I ran, past the gallows and down a fresh path of the maze. Stone walls raced by me as I hurled myself forwards, desperate to outrun the murderous creatures at my back. I took a corner, then another, bouncing off the hard stone with my shoulder as I threw myself this way and that—

  Only to find myself back at the centre of the maze.

  It couldn’t be, and yet it was.

  The gallows creaked and the noose swung tantalisingly before me.

  Do it, Abbey. Do it now. Do it before it’s too late.

  I tried to extinguish the voice in my head but it carried on, insistent, deafening.

  They’ll be here soon, Abbey, and when they get here, they’ll tear you to pieces. Don’t let them have the last say. Go quietly. Step up to the gibbet and do what needs to be done.

  My legs broke beneath me and I collapsed to the ground. I was all out of running. I tried to gather my senses, but fear crowded out my thoughts. Crowded out everything. Whichever path I took through that maze, I’d always return to the hangman's noose. My only choices were to die at the end of a rope, or perish inside the gnashing jaws of those relentless hellbeasts. No soul had made it out of this terrible place, I was certain of it. Not with their heart still beating.

  I looked to the gallows.

  And upon those gallows, transposed over the image, I saw something else.

  I saw the rafter of a wooden shed knotted with a length of garden twine.

  I saw someone hanging from that twine, hanging by the neck.

  I saw Mum.

  Just like me, she’d tried to outrun her demons, and just like me she’d failed. When Dad walked out on us, she tried to keep it together, but after a while she just couldn’t hack it anymore. She gave up. Stopped taking her medication and hit the bottle. There was nothing anyone could do about it, least of all me, I was just a kid. She’d made up her mind, and there was no turning her around. And now there was no turning around for me either.

  I sheathed my dagger and forced myself upright on trembling limbs. The gallows beckoned, and I responded to the call, stepping up to the gibbet, my feet leaden on its wooden planks, but driven by purpose. I’d made up my mind. I was going to follow in Mum’s footsteps. I was going to put an end to the pain, once and for all.

  I placed my head in the hangman’s noose and drew the knot tight to the nape of my neck.

  ‘Sorry, Neil. I can’t do this anymore.’

  I wasn’t the Nightstalker. I was no one’s saviour. I couldn’t even save myself.

  The trapdoor beneath me sprung open and I plummeted through the hatch.

  Crack.

  The rope snapped taut and I found myself unable to breathe.

  There was no pain though, no discomfort. I was just hanging there, drifting away. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.

  At least for a little while.

  As I swung from the yard-arm, my bowels cramped and gave a terrible liquid wretch. I felt both exhaust ports twitch, set to a hair trigger. My body was doing everything in its power to expel my lunch from both ends, just like I’d told Gary it had when I phoned in sick to work that day, only this time, the sensation was very much real.

  Except... was it real?

  Like, really real?

  A giant maze and a bunch of monsters chasing me around like Pac-Man? It definitely didn’t sound real. It sounded like a dream. Like a nightmare.

  The rope of the noose dug deep into my throat, cutting off the oxygen to my brain. Whatever was happening to me, I’d die if I didn’t do something about it.

  The noose dug deeper still, seemingly alive, as though it were obeying the tune of some homicidal fakir. The rope drew even tighter, pressing down on my windpipe like a pair of thumbs, strangling me, choking me like the vampire who invaded my office and tried to take my dagger away. The vampire who forced his fingers into my mouth, whose fingers slithered between my lips, whose graveyard flesh I could still taste in the back of my throat.

  That fucker.

  Fuck that fucker.

  Fuck all of these fuckers!

  I danced on the end of the rope, my feet frantically pedalling the air as I reached for my dagger. Getting it from its sheath was harder than I’d anticipated. My brain was scrambled from a lack of air, and my hands were numb and turning blue. My forefinger grazed the weapon’s handle a couple of times as I swiped for it, but the dagger hung at an awkward angle and I failed to get a grip on the thing. Finally, after my third or fourth try, I managed to close my hand around the dagger’s hilt. It caught in its sheath on the first couple of pulls, until finally, with one last, desperate flail of my arm, I yanked it free of its holster and sliced the noose in two.

  I landed hard on the ground. Hard enough to have knocked the breath from my lungs if I’d had any left.

  The gallows were gone now—vanished into thin air—but a new threat had emerged.

  Appearing from the many paths of the maze came the vampires, their dagger-like teeth eerily incandescent in the darkness. I was surrounded, frozen to the spot, breathing hard and trying to refill my lungs while my limbs trembled with exhaustion. The monsters advanced on me, some of them moving slowly, deliberately, others scuttling along the walls of the maze in a chaotic spider crawl.

  Too late, Abbey. You could have taken the easy way out, but they’re here now. Here to rip you limb from limb.

  The voice in my head again. Telling me the end was nigh and that there was nothing I could do to stop it. Unravelling my mind. Trying to drive me mad. Trying to send me off my rocker, just like Mum. Just like she was before she went to the garden shed and strung herself up to that rafter.

  But I wasn’t her. I was built of stronger stuff. When Dad walked out, I kept it together. I made my own way then and I’d make my own way now. I was getting out of that maze, even if I had to make my own exit to do it.

  The vampires formed a pack, coalescing into a teeming, toothy mass. My thighs twitched, fighting the impulse to whirl around and sprint off in the opposite direction. No, this time things were going to be different. This time I was facing my challenges head on.

  I took a step toward the monsters and they froze in place, watching with a mixture of horror and anticipation. I slid the dagger back into its sheath and balled my fists. Fury swept through me in ferocious waves, and the brand responded by burning bright, so bright it caught on fire, coating me in a flickering tongue of blue flame.

  The monsters took a couple of steps back as I ignited, their snarling faces lit by cobalt fire. They were angry, but I was angrier. I was anger itself. I’d embraced my inner psycho, swallowed my Pac-Man Power Pellet, and now I was going to eat my ghosts whole.

  Jaw set, I gritted my teeth and charged the chattering mass.

  The vampires howled and bared their claws, but I blew through them like a one-woman wrecking crew. Like a big, blue fireball, burning up everything in its path. The monsters screeched in dismay as I cannonballed through their ranks and sent them scattering, not stopping, not letting up, even when I hit the wall of the maze and smashed through that too, busting through stone as if it were peanut brittle. I powered on, picking up speed, blasting through another wall, and another, and another, until I was clear of the labyrinth’s bounds and floating.

  Floating in a sea of white.

  My vision adjusted to the light and I felt my body go heavy.

  I was back in the white marble room.

  Back with Judas.

  The ancient vampire reeled backwards a couple
of steps, his expression both annoyed and impressed. I’d fought his mind game and won. Refused to give in to his deception. Chased away the dread and found my way back to him.

  ‘Very good, Abbey,’ he said, his words loaded with acid. ‘But you should have taken the noose. Soon you will be dead, and your lover too. Come dawn, his blood will be syphoned from his body and delivered down one of these tubes; another donation to my glorious cause.’

  The withered old bastard was acting like he’d already read the script and knew how the movie was going to end. It pissed me off. It pissed me off something fierce.

  ‘You know,’ I said, ‘there are a few hours left before this night’s over.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I’m the Nightstalker.’

  I whipped out my dagger, showing Judas its silver gleam, reminding him what its metal was made of.

  ‘Have your thirty pieces back,’ I told him, and went to plunge the blade into the vampire master’s heart—

  But with a casual wave of his hand, Judas banished me from the marble chamber and dumped me right back where I started.

  27

  I found myself standing outside of Pinstripe’s stately dwelling, a few metres back from his mashed-up Mercedes Benz. The front end of the vehicle poked through the smashed brick wall surrounding the property, crumpled like a balled paper bag. A crowd of passers-by had gathered around the wreck, taking photos on their phones and posting the snaps to Instagram.

  I saw Gendith with her back to me, looking on helplessly at the demolished vehicle.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, putting a hand on her upper-arm, ‘I made it out.’

  She jolted and whirled about at me, eyes wide with shock. ‘What? How in the hell…?’

  ‘Pinstripe. He blinked me away. Blinked both of us away.’

  ‘A teleporter. That’s interesting. We’ve not encountered a vampire with that power before. Something new for Vizael to add to the bestiary.’

  ‘Something else you might want to let Vizael know about: Judas Iscariot.’

  Gen looked at me curiously. ‘What of him?’

  ‘He’s alive,’ I told her. ‘I’ve seen him.’

  She snorted. ‘Ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s true. When Pinstripe magicked me out of that car we went hopping all over the place. When he finally managed to shake me off, I ended up in some kind of room, or tomb, or something, and he was there. Judas was there!’

  ‘No. I’d know. Vizael would know…’

  ‘I’m telling you it’s true. I saw him with my own eyes. Judas is alive and he’s getting stronger every second. The Clan are feeding him, and when he’s good and full, he’s going to climb out of that tomb and fuck shit up.’

  Gen’s stared into my eyes, looking for any hint of a lie. Of a mistake.

  ‘I’m telling the truth, Gen. He’s alive. Judas is alive.’

  Finally, she blinked, gritted her teeth, and swore. ‘If what you’re saying is accurate, we’re in even more danger than we thought. The Clan are dangerous enough, but with Judas leading the charge…’

  She trailed off. For the first time since I’d met her, Gen seemed uncertain. Scared even. I checked my phone. It was almost four in the morning, and my weather app told me the sun would be coming up at just after 8 a.m. Dawn was closing in, and with it, Neil’s death.

  ‘Four hours,’ I said. ‘Four hours and Neil’s done for.’

  Gen nodded. ‘Okay. We need to find out where he’s being kept captive.’

  ‘Pinstripe is still our best lead, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but he could be anywhere right now.’

  I thought back to our conversation with my crotchety neighbour, Mr Munford. ‘Oh! One of the other vamps who took Neil, he had a birthmark on his face. Maybe we could track him down?’

  ‘A birthmark? Not exactly a lot to go on.’

  ‘It’s something at least!’ I said, the frustration almost bending me double.

  ‘Wait...’ Gen’s face brightened. ‘Maybe it is. I think I know someone who might be able to help us find him.’

  ‘Alright!’ I held my hand up for a high-five, but it remained decidedly un-fived. ‘No? Okay.’

  ‘Give me your phone,’ Gen insisted.

  I gave her my mobile and she ordered us another Uber, and within a space of minutes a cab was shooting us through the empty roads to Whitechapel.

  ‘Just here,’ Gen told the driver.

  The cab slid up to the curb next to an all-night cafe, ingeniously named Cath’s Caff.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ I asked. ‘Is this where the person we’re meeting is?’

  ‘You really ask a lot of questions,’ said Gen, as she stepped out of her door and made off into the greasy spoon.

  I thanked the cabbie and chased her inside, following her across the linoleum floor to an empty table.

  The cafe was about as East End as it got; a grubby stop-off for cement-caked builders and late-night lorry-drivers. The furniture was cheap and laminated in easy-wipe vinyl, the decor simple, worn, and, perplexingly, decorated with posters of West End musicals that its patrons wouldn’t be seen dead at.

  Ambling over to our table came a sixty-something woman with crumpled features, peroxide hear, and mascara like two tyre skids. ‘What’re you ‘avin’?’ she asked, her voice as rough as a badger’s arse.

  Gen glanced up at a nearby blackboard, browsed the menu, and ordered two fried eggs, baked beans, and a double-helping of bubble and squeak.

  ‘What about you, love?’ asked our waitress, who I assumed was the titular “Cath”.

  ‘I’m not really hungry,’ I replied.

  It turns out that being completely terrified for the life of your significant other sort of robs you of an appetite. Still, the hard look Gen gave me suggested I order something all the same. I scanned the blackboard, didn’t see anything I fancied, and briefly considered ordering off-menu. Something told me that asking if they served mashed avocado on rye bread would be answered by a swift smack in the mouth though, so I opted for black coffee and white toast instead.

  Minutes later, we were served our food along with a steaming jug of jet-black coffee.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I demanded. ‘You said we were going after Neil, now I’m watching you feed your face? We only have a few hours left.’

  ‘We’re here to meet Carlo.’

  ‘Carlo?’

  ‘He’s sort of our man in the street. He can come in handy.’

  ‘Well, where is he then? How long are we going to sit here waiting for your man while my boyfriend’s tied up somewhere and about to have his blood fed to Judas?’

  A couple of heads turned.

  ‘Keep your voice down, you idiot,’ said Gen. ‘Not everyone in here is like us.’

  ‘Well, excuse me if I lose my shit a tiny bit,’ I said.

  I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, taking in its warmth.

  ‘Just be patient,’ said Gen, tucking into her fried eggs. ‘We still have time to save your boy. All being well.’

  I took a sobering swig of coffee and gasped at a sudden recollection. ‘Did I really tell my boss to stick his job up his arse?’

  Gen smiled. ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘Great. Fantastic. Well, this is the worst night of my life, and I’m including the one when I got drunk for the first time and managed to puke and poop myself in front of Dalton Myers.’

  ‘Who is Dalton Myers?’

  ‘Only the best looking boy in school, Gen.’

  She nodded. ‘I see.’

  I groaned and buried my face in my mug.

  ‘There he is,’ said Gen, glancing at the door.

  I looked up to see a young man bearing down on us. He was skinny, dressed like an extra from an Eighties rock video, and wore a skunk stripe of white in his lank black hairdo. As he reached our table, he swept a lock of hair aside and I saw something on his forehead. A glowing letter J.

  My fingers closed around the closest weapon available, a stainless
steel butter knife, which I snatched up and thrust at the vampire’s heart—

  Only for Gen to seize me by the wrist and force my hand flat to the table.

  ‘This is Carlo,’ she explained. ‘We don’t kill Carlo, even if we sometimes want to kill Carlo.’

  ‘I thought you told me she was cool,’ said the vampire, backing off.

  ‘She is,’ Gen assured him. ‘Isn’t that right, Abbey?’

  I loosened my grip on the butter knife. ‘Why are we talking to one of them?’ I hissed. ‘I thought we killed them, not exchanged small talk?’

  ‘She’s a feisty one, eh?’ said Carlo.

  ‘He’s not with the Clan,’ Gen explained. ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘So what, he’s a snitch?’

  The vampire slid under the table beside Gen. ‘I prefer to think of myself more as a valued informer, your man on the inside, your Rosetta Stone, if you will.’

  ‘Sounds to me like you’re a prostitute without a pimp,’ I replied.

  Carlo considered this, then nodded. ‘Well, yes I suppose, but let’s not split hairs, eh?’

  ‘Why do you do it?’ I asked, pulling away from him. ‘Why do you sell out your own people?’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Have you met my people?’

  Fair point.

  ‘Carlo isn’t like the rest of his bloodline,’ Gen explained. ‘He’s... different.’

  ‘Unique, you might say,’ Carlo grinned. ‘Live and let live, that’s my motto. Just because you’re a monster, doesn’t mean you have to act like an arsehole all the time.’

  ‘He helps us out from time to time. Tells us things about the Clan.’

  ‘So, a Judas from the Judas Clan,’ I said. ‘That’s a bit bloody rich.’

  Gen shrugged. ‘So long as he carries on feeding us information we can use against them, we offer him immunity. Of course, if he should do anything to renege on that deal, you can stab him with that butter knife as many times as you like.’

  ‘You know, words hurt, Gen,’ said Carlo.

  ‘Yes, but not as much as a butter knife to the heart.’

  ‘On that note,’ he said, chuckling nervously, ‘how can I assist you lovely ladies?’