by Al K. Line
Pain built in my body as the Empty came to collect what was due, ripping away my peace and sense of invincibility, taking torment as its payment for my abuse of something not mine. A thief who draws magic when he has no right to do so, not born to be magical, but to use it because he can't stop, won't stop.
I tore that distress aside, refused to give in to it, the technique honed in my solitude day after day, month after month, excruciating minute after minute, when I felt like I was losing my mind and the Empty was the only safe place I could be. My only friend and my worst enemy all rolled into one irresistible ephemeral package.
The sickness that crept through my skin receded, but with a promise it would return and I would pay double for my refusal to succumb. I stood tall, arms wide, and said, "I'm taking it, all of it. No second chance. Your blood magic is no more." And I sucked in deep, fat tendrils of magic pouring out of their mouths as they tried to scream while their bodies faltered, the repair job unable to complete because their corrupted magic was coming to me.
Icy numbness took hold of my mind as the vampire poison hit. Their nature was my nature. I was cold and uncaring, empty of emotion or compassion. Any sense of empathy for another human being evaporated like the steam hissing from their eyes as their tears burned their cheeks. The more diseased magic I took the less I cared what I was doing.
These vampires would kill me and feel no remorse, and their essence was now mine, their belief in their own superiority imprinted on my soul, so I sucked and I did what I do best, what makes me such a sought after enforcer. My specialty. I drained the magic right out of them. Took it for myself, became like them, lost to humanity and a cold-blooded killer.
I was high on vampire blood magic and with it came the freedom to unleash dark magic on my enemies, and as I saw another vampire come at me from the side I casually raised my hand and with my index finger I pointed at her. Power as white as a newborn Yeti's belly split the air with a sound like chalk scratching a board as it sliced her ear off. A warning. I caught her eye for a second and she knew, so backed off, looking to the others for direction. They all averted their gaze, moved away from me and their fallen comrades as the magic emptied from them and filled me and the air—a bubble of danger they dared not try to puncture.
The five bodies shriveled before my eyes as the last of their vampire nature was drained, turning them from healthy looking humans to what they truly were. Their real age crept over them like death come calling, skin tightening, mottling, flaking and splitting as impossible years clawed back lost time.
They were a lie, their lives only possible by the death of others, and now they were simply human and no human can live to be that old without magic inside of them. Traces of vampire poison were all that remained, and then even that left as their systems shut down, vital organs burned and now withered as I took the last little spark of their essence.
Pain came visiting again and I bent forward, gasping, but not ready to repent for what I'd done. I pushed away from my knees with cramped hands and stood, breathing hard and fast in a massive outpouring of relief as the coldness left and corrupted magic returned to the Empty where it would be pure again.
Again and again I choked and coughed as my chest rattled and thick, lumpy globules of the tainted energy dispersed in a rush, taking all hate with it.
Over and over in wave after sick wave the magic was purged, leaving me with my own nature once more, until it was gone, the five vampires drained and dead on the steps, bodies in weird positions, desiccated as time caught up with them.
Then they were dust and I could smell the ash, taste it like when you lick a battery as a dare as a kid and then do it again and laugh as your friends do the same, unable to control yourself because it's so damn funny. And that's what I was doing. I was laughing uncontrollably, all the frustration expunged as I lost control and sat on the steps while a gentle breeze blew the dust that was dead vampires over me, sticking to my eyes and my mouth as I laughed so much it hurt, but the freedom and the release of tension meant I couldn't stop.
My eyes blurred, but I sensed I was safe and the blackness receded. Still laughing, I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and discovered with some shock that reality was back to normal.
It was just me, out of control, laughing as dead beings blew away into the beautiful clear blue sky and the other seven vampires hurried off without a word, more scared of the seated dark magic enforcer laughing his head off, clearly out of his mind, than when I stood tall and blasted their kind with the dark arts.
Yeah, okay, I lost the plot for a while, but I'd had a bad year, and besides, they ruined my suit.
There was a foul yet familiar odor of rotten eggs and I turned to see a welcome face smiling at me from my shoulder, more teeth than can be comfortable to contain in the thin-lipped slit of a mouth. "Hello, Spark, you busy?"
"Hey, Intus. Um, no, not really. Where you been, buddy? I missed you."
"Sorry, but they don't let us go into the prison just in case we steal the keys."
"Guess that makes sense."
"Hey," said Intus brightly, the little imp demon beaming up at me, hope in her eyes. "Fancy a chat? We can catch up."
"That's sounds perfect. You know, you're the only one that came to see me now I'm released."
"Well, that's because nobody else knows. Cheer up, could be worse."
"I don't see how."
Then I threw up and my world turned to pain.
Intus vanished then reappeared next to me, watching silently as my body went through the familiar torture.
Old Friends
I focused on the practice I thought—mistakenly—I'd perfected during my incarceration and clamped down hard on the sickness that returned like an old friend. The one you hate but can't seem to avoid. Drawn to it because something about it has what you need, to make you feel whole, to complete you. I pushed it away, rejected it, breathed deep and basically told myself to get a grip.
Okay, it's not the most spiritual of techniques, but I learned before I was arrested that the hurt fades once you reach a certain point in your life as a practitioner, and it's as much a mental game as physical. You have to acknowledge that it hurts, but you also have to have confidence that it won't be debilitating, that you can deal with it. Accept it and let it wash over you and leave, paying your dues but without the crippling intensity and spasms that make you want to die, or at least have a nice lie down on a bed of nails instead.
"Better?" asked Intus, ears flattened to the side of her head in concern.
"Much. Now, why don't you tell me what you've been up to since I last saw you. I really have missed you."
"Stop it, Spark, or you'll have me in tears, and you know imps don't cope well with water."
"Sorry, but it's great to be out." I got to my feet and checked for any incoming vampire activity. All clear. Time to get away from the prison. "Come on, let's walk. I can't believe I haven't even got a ride on my day out."
"Don't be so grumpy. You've had a nice rest and I can see you are stronger, so what's the problem?"
We moved away from the prison while I let my head clear, Intus back up on my shoulder, voice too loud as usual, me trying to angle my head away so she didn't burst my eardrum. "The problem is that I have three days to find a way to get out of this mess. If not, then it's the big heave-ho."
"Oh, is that all?" Intus seemed remarkably unconcerned about my impending death sentence.
"Yes, that is all. It's quite a big deal for humans, you know, the whole being killed thing."
"It's a stupid idea. I don't know why you go along with it. Us demons don't die, what would be the point?"
"Intus, it's not like we have a choice. I know some of us are quasi-immortal, but I've only had a little over a hundred years and could live for thousands more if I'm lucky, which is looking rather doubtful, but in the end we all die. It's not an option, it's how the cycle of life works."
"Not for us."
"But you're a demon." I sighed and gave
up as it was an argument I could never win. Immortal beings just don't fully grasp the whole death thing. Living forever means it's impossible to understand that most life is transient. It's not how their minds work.
"What's first? What are you going to do with this wonderful freedom?"
"I haven't had chance to think about it. I was expecting to be given notice before I was let out. Kate's probably gone off somewhere as I made her mad and she doesn't know I'm out, and, um..." Then it came to me, what I wanted more than anything, apart from to see Kate and hopefully make up.
"You want to eat, right?" Intus patted her protruding belly, hidden underneath the leather dungarees all imps wear, regardless of gender, and something you try not to talk about if you can help it. "I had something last year so am still rather full. Got to watch the waistline."
"Eating would be great. Seeing Kate would be better, but I guess she will be home later."
"Ah, you want to practice making babies with her, don't you? You should actually have babies, rather than all that moaning and sweating with nothing to show for it."
I stopped and held out my hand for my little friend to jump down. My ear was ringing and I'd lose its function if I listened to her up close for much longer. "It's fun, I like it. And children are not on the cards. That reminds me, how are the kids? How's Illus? And, er, how many little ones do you have now?"
"Illus is fine, busy as always. I don't know what it is but the imps seem to be causing me more trouble lately, so I'm very busy. And the children, don't talk to me about them. Driving me nuts."
"How many?"
Intus shrugged. "Lost count. I think I stopped at about a hundred. They won't stay still long enough to let me paint a number on them."
"Oh, right. Well, as long as you're happy." Intus is an imp enforcer, kind of like me but there are a lot of them, one for every ten imps, just to try to keep themselves in line. They live to cause humans trouble. That and have babies. Lots and lots of future sock thieves and hiders of remote controls.
Anyway, it was time to eat. Proper food. And there was only one place that offered that.
A Deep Hunger
As I stepped through the door, the air was so heavy with the ghosts of countless fried breakfasts I was half full already—I felt like I'd come home.
Aah, Madge's Cafe. The best place in the world to get a fried breakfast and a mug of tea so strong your spoon has a hard job breaking the surface. A place where the lino is as greasy as a mechanic's lunchbox, where the flock wallpaper has soaked up so much of the cooking you could lick it and taste sausage, where Hidden and Regulars alike come for cheap food and to be shouted out by Madge.
And there she was, a scowling angel with her brittle mop of gray hair, her permanent sneer, her ancient apron and even older rag that she wiped across the counter and you prayed she kept well away from your plate. I breathed deep, sucking down air that had bits in it. Tiny fragments of burnt toast, fried sausage, perfect runny eggs and hash browns, the staples cooked repeatedly over endless years.
This was what I needed, a familiarity, a sense of normality while all around me was madness and change. Madge's Cafe endured, timeless and priceless as the grumpy witch herself. And if this institution withstood the test of time then there was hope yet. Maybe not for me, but for my kind. For Hidden. For magic.
My stomach practically screamed at me to go order, but I just stood there as the door creaked closed behind me, shutting me into the cardiac arrest cafe. For over a year I had been given so-called "healthy" breakfasts—muesli and yogurt with orange juice—and I craved grease and dark, dangerous tea from a cracked mug more than a dwarf away from the mines craves gold.
I think my stomach must have become a little impatient as the few occupants all turned at the thunderous growl it made, open-mouthed and silent, staring at me as if I'd returned from the dead, which I guess in some ways I had. I certainly felt like a man reborn, as though the last year wasn't real, that the never ending days and the intolerable nights hadn't really happened to me, but to someone else, and I'd just been here yesterday, wondering if I could risk using the ketchup with thick congealed sauce around the rim that sometimes winked, and trying to drink my tea while avoiding the chips that contained enough salmonella to fell a troll.
I just kept on smiling, but then I got a bit of a weird vibe. It was morning, right around the time the place should be packed and Madge would be in full-on shouting and scowling mode, giving her poor kids hell and insulting her customers at no extra charge.
But it was quiet. A single troll stood in the corner, here for the atmosphere I guess, there were a couple of dwarves, thick beards covered in baked beans, and I'm sure I saw half a sausage poking out of a mustache. A shifter sat, looking morose, that would now be rare in the city, and there at the center table was Mithnite Soos and his cronies. Wizards in training, just kids really, but they looked so different to the last time I'd seen them—they were almost all grown-up now.
Gone were the copycat dusters, the long hair and the slouch. They weren't lanky, pointy-elbowed, pimple-faced kids any longer, they looked like men. I guess a year at that age is an eternity you change so fast, but boy did they seem different. Seems they'd found their look, their wizard look, and they had gelled short back and sides haircuts, hipster beards, or at least they were trying to grow them, some more successfully than others, and were dressed in variations of earthy toned—how can I put this nicely?—hippy gear.
They were all knitted sandals and clothes made from yogurt, that kind of thing. Greens and browns and natural colors, corduroys or dark jeans with simple shirts and satchels made from quality leather. It suited them, and at least it was a step in the right direction, although, of course, no match for me with my stylish suit, my red shirt and narrow tie. My hair lightly highlighted, just to make myself feel clean, as every time I stared at myself in the mirror in prison and my hair got darker and darker and long I felt dirty, like the magic that held me in my cell was seeping into my locks and weighing me down.
These kids were almost mature adults now, and all while I'd been out of the loop, removed forcibly from the game. Out of my mind. The next generation, ready to take over as the old ones faded away, or more than likely killed each other with the dark arts. Not me though, I was a sprightly wizard of just a few years for our kind, and I didn't plan on going anywhere any time soon, no matter what the Hidden Council had in mind.
First, before I cracked heads and got my life together, I needed something to line my stomach and my arteries, so I saluted the youngsters, said, "We'll talk later, I'll tell you all about it," and headed to the counter. Mithnite and his pals didn't push it, just looked at me in awe.
I'd heard all about events in the world from my prison, I had occasional visitors after all, and apparently I was a bit of a legend. The first to kill a Head vampire that wasn't himself a vampire, and with magic that many, including me, thought impossible. I had become the sun, killed an immortal, and I had orchestrated the destruction of the Cardiff vampires, decimating their House, eliminating their ruler who had pushed things too far and committed genocide on the shifter communities, warped the minds of trolls, corrupted witches, tried to eradicate human Hidden. I rained down bloody hell on their heads and things would take a long time to heal.
So, yeah, I was legend. I was also damn hungry.
"You look stupid, like an albino mop," said Madge by way of greeting. I wanted to launch over the counter and kiss her, but settled for a smile instead.
"Great to see you, Madge. Is that a new shade of lipstick? Got a kiss for me?"
"Shut up you dolt. You look skinny, Spark, what have they been feeding you?"
"Muesli, and vegetables. Salads, lots of fish."
"Those bastards, have they no souls? No compassion for real men? Real men don't eat salad, they eat sausage and things you can stick in a bun. A buttered bun."
"Tell me about it. I've been looking forward to this since the day they locked me up and gave me cous-cous. Lay
it on me, Madge baby, give me the works. A fry-up to beat all fry-ups, with extra everything and don't skimp on the toast, if you would be so kind."
"You got it." I'm sure she smiled, or at least tried to, but I don't think her muscles work that way any more so it came out like she was constipated.
"How much? Bet prices have risen while I've been away."
Madge leaned over the counter, her ample bosom soaking up the spilled tea and milk. She got close, and whispered, "It's on the house," then put a hand to her mouth in shock. It was the first time she'd ever uttered such words, and no matter how quietly she said it, cutlery was dropped and gasps came from everyone present.
Madge moved back into her position of authority and brushed at her apron. "What you ugly lot looking at? Eat your breakfast or I'll charge you extra for loitering."
Nobody argued, and everyone got back to their business.
"Thanks, I appreciate it." It brought a tear to the eye, it really did.
"Don't mention it. Ever," she warned.
It was odd, we never had conversations, just her being mean, me taking it, never wanting it to change. So I said, "Bit quiet, where is everyone?"
She ignored me and shouted my order through to the kids in the kitchen. At least I assumed it would be, but a person I'd never seen before came out from back—you never come out from back—and said, "What?"
Madge rolled her eyes and repeated the order. Then the pretty young girl, full of attitude and sporting the same hair and glasses as Madge, disappeared.
"Who's she?"
"A distant relation I got dumped with after the kids left."
"What!? Where'd they go?"
Madge pretended like I hadn't spoken, just gave me a scowl as she sloshed tea into a mug with only a single chip. She even poured my milk for me. "Get your own sugar," she snapped, then disappeared to watch over her new chef.
What the hell? Would nothing ever be the same again?
Bad Timing
After the womb-like experience of Madge's, even with the changes that threw me, I knew I should go home, but I couldn't. Much as I craved being held in Kate's arms, I had to be alone first to get my head right. If I went before I had a semblance of a plan then I would never leave. And that wouldn't do me, or her, any good at all. So, I did what I always do when I'm at a loss about my next move—which is quite often—I people watched.
