Guilty Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 4)

by Al K. Line

  This was hard for her, I knew. Making cool viral videos for clients can seem a little mundane when you know the truth about how the world works and about the things that go bump in the night, but as far as I was concerned that was all the more reason to ensure she spent as much time as possible in the Regular world.

  She promised she would, and I could tell she was missing her old life. A simple life where she knew nothing of the true horrors, the extremes of pleasure, the utter ruthlessness of humans and ex-humans, and what it was like to kill a man.

  We skirted the subject, but it came up and our mood soured. But I promised her that it wasn't her that had done it, and once again apologized for the way I'd behaved. With some distance I could take a cold, hard look at myself and understood that I was all too quick to judge because of my own lack of self worth.

  I didn't deserve someone as great as Kate, so I found a reason to explain why she would be interested in me. Because she was more flawed than I was. An excuse for my own failings—she was a helluva lot better than me.

  We cooked dinner, laughing and joking while we pottered about in the kitchen. Her efficient, me asking repeatedly where this or that was, the kitchen having been rearranged in the intervening year.

  Such a great time, me washing salad and pouring too much olive oil, her cooking an amazing pasta dish that she knocked up in record time so we could relax.

  We ate, we talked, we listened to a few choice selections from my vinyl collection, and then we got comfortable on the sofa after I lit a fire even though we had no need for one. Then we cuddled up, watching a movie, moaning about the unrealistic portrayal of emotions and the wooden acting and thoroughly enjoying ourselves.

  I could almost forget about tomorrow.

  Almost.

  Intus is Depressed

  I left Kate asleep in the living room in front of the TV and went to sit outside for a while. Lots of people lived like this all the time, didn't they? Relaxed evenings, never for a moment having to worry that some creature or other would blow up their world, or they'd be running for their lives. No wondering if they'd soon be getting a call to go chase a wayward wizard, or rein in a starving ghoul that had got rather carried away at the cemetery.

  People just had their dinner, loaded up the dishwasher, lazed around and then went to bed. Peaceful.

  I knew I wouldn't be able to stand it, so who was I kidding?

  The air was fresh, cool yet not unpleasant, and the purity, the scents of nature and of animals, settled my emotions. Creatures of the night scurried around in the forest, called from the trees, and dug in the earth—we all just got on with the business of being alive in our own way.

  I sat outside my house for an hour, still, quiet, making the most of the gift I had been given—the chance to understand how lucky I was. I'd seen so much, done even more, and lived longer than many would say I deserved.

  Then the air turned noxious and I turned to the source of the contamination. "Hey, Intus, how you doing, buddy?"

  "Been better, how about you?" Intus' ears were flat against her head so she definitely wasn't happy.

  "Oh, you know, just making peace before I probably die tomorrow."

  Intus hopped up onto the back of a chair so we were almost at eye level. "Don't be daft. You'll be fine, you always are."

  "That's what I've been telling myself but this time I think it might be different. Anyway, enough of my problems, what's up?"

  I shouldn't have asked—Intus was practically bursting with pent up emotion.

  "I can't handle it, Spark, it's this damn promise I made, that the faery forced me to sign for. It's driving me nuts. It's all I can think about. Because I'm not allowed to do you-know-what it's all I want to do. Right this minute I'm finding it almost impossible not to go up to your room, open your sock drawer, and hide loads of them in all the best places I've learned about over the years. Honest, I've got some great hiding spots. You wouldn't find most for years and you'd be all amazed and hardly even remember you had them at all. Ugh, stupid faeries and their Laws."

  Intus deflated and sank onto her haunches, tail swishing back and forth dejectedly.

  "I know what you mean. Ever since I made my promise to you about never saying, er, the thing I'm not allowed to say, well, whenever I see you I want to say it." It was such a burden. I know it sounds stupid and very silly that because you weren't allowed to do something you really wanted to, but everyone is like that, aren't they? If your parents, heck, even a sign, tells you that you aren't allowed to do something, even walk on the grass or loiter, anything, then you really want to, right?

  Intus and I had made promises to each other, and for Hidden that is a permanent oath. We'd signed the papers and everything, although only because a faery made us. So now we were stuck with this weight hanging over us for the rest of our lives. For Intus that was pretty serious as she had eternity for this to fester and grow out of all proportion.

  "Spark?"

  I think maybe Intus had been talking but I'd missed it. "Eh? Yeah?"

  "Know what would be nice? Kind of fun?"

  "What?" I asked warily. Imp fun and human fun are usually very different.

  "Look, before I say, you have to promise never to tell. Anyone." Intus squirmed and fidgeted, actually looking a little embarrassed, no easy thing for an immortal demon enforcer.

  "Whoa! I am absolutely not making a promise. You know what kind of trouble that gets us into."

  "You know what I mean. You don't have to say it, just, er, make sure you don't tell. Okay?"

  I was rather nervous about this but I said, "Okay."

  "Sweet, you're gonna love this, Spark, it's so cool." Intus disappeared and then was back, with a pair of very old leather gloves of chestnut brown. They were well worn, looked to be of amazing quality, but had a few gaps along the seams. "Wait here, won't be long." She was gone again, then returned with a little basket she set down carefully. She opened it to reveal an assortment of needles and thread.

  "Sewing? I don't get it."

  "It's me giving back. Us imps spend so much of our time messing with you humans that now and then, not often," she said hurriedly, "I like to do something nice. These gloves are a prized possession of an old man that is right now asleep in his bed. He's poor and lonely and can't afford to buy new ones even though he will need them when winter comes as he has no heating, and, well, I thought it would be a nice surprise." Intus beamed at me, crazy wild slit of a mouth exposing her pointed teeth.

  "You big old sneak. All these years you act like your mission is to drive us all insane and you spend your spare time helping people."

  "Don't you dare tell! And don't go calling me big, that's sizeist that is. And I'm not old, I'm immortal. There's a difference. Don't go trying to force your outmoded concepts of time on me. How would you like it if I went around calling you your age? I'll have you know that—"

  "Pass me one. And a needle and thread."

  We spent the next few hours repairing a stranger's gloves.

  *

  Two hours of silence in Intus' company was a bizarre experience. Her nimble imp fingers—even with the claws—never once stopped, seemingly having the opposite effect on her mouth.

  I don't think I'd ever been with her for more than a few seconds without her saying something. She's hardwired that way.

  It was nice. What I needed. She always knows what to do, my friend.

  "Do you miss them?" asked Intus, finally breaking the silence.

  I put aside my finished glove next to hers and said, "I'm not sure. I think maybe I miss the idea of them more than anything else."

  "You want a family, that's understandable. Although they can be a right pain."

  "Haha, you have met Grandma, haven't you?"

  "Oh, she's a lovely lady. A little scary at times." Intus looked around in a panic. "Don't tell her I said that."

  "Don't worry, I feel the same."

  "So you miss the idea of your parents, rather than them?"

>   I thought for a moment, unsure. "It's hard to explain. It was so long ago, I was a different person. They weren't like me, Intus. Sure, they dabbled with magic, but they didn't crave it, need it like I do, like other Hidden humans do. And they didn't want this life for me. I guess I would have liked to have known what it's like to grow up having parents watch over you. Love you."

  "Then they died."

  "Yeah. I know that's hard for you to understand, but it changed everything. I do miss them, yes. I miss having a real mother and father, but I have a different kind of family now, and Grandma and Rikka have always been there for me. One thing I do know is that I will have revenge. The person who took them away will pay."

  "Even after all this time, you still want that?" Intus looked confused. Maybe such things are purely human.

  "Yes, it's what keeps me going, maybe it's what defines me."

  "Well, good luck," said Intus brightly, like we were talking about something completely different. The subtleties of human emotion are definitely lost on her.

  "I think I'll need it."

  And with that she was gone.

  "Oops, nearly forgot," she said moment's later, grabbing the gloves, the basket, and then disappearing with a wave.

  I hoped the old man would stay warm this coming winter.

  Back to Black

  After Intus departed with a twinkle in her eye at the thought of the old man finding his gloves come winter and being overjoyed, and a little confused, at the excellent repair job, I put out warm milk for the hobs and shouted out into the darkness, "Sorry it's late, but I figured you would rather drink in private."

  There were a few mumbles from the woods but they understood. Hobs are strange creatures, no doubt, but to be honest the strangest of all are us humans.

  True Hidden are more straightforward. They have magic inside of them, and it frees them from many of the contradictory aspects of being that plague humanity. They accept who they are, what they are, understand they have limitations and are destined to act in certain ways, and never try to change that. They are content with what they are and don't fight it.

  Us, we rant and rave, rally and fight against what we know to be right, to be true. We are never happy with how things are, won't accept our limitations and always push the boundaries. Boundaries of decency, morality, friendships, enemies, of life itself. We always want more, or we want less, never content to just be. To accept who we are, admit out failings and our strengths, but are always chasing something that may not be attainable.

  I guess that's what makes us human, what singles us out as the driving force behind much of the Hidden world.

  It also means life sucks at times, but what can you do?

  Leaving the hobs to it as the groans from the undergrowth got louder, I said goodnight and went inside to check on Kate. The TV was still on and the room had cooled somewhat with the damp evening air. I stoked the fire and put a medium-sized log on then settled it into place so it would burn slow and keep the room cozy through the night.

  I tucked Kate up under the blanket and turned the TV volume down low. Not the best of company for her if she awoke, and I was tempted to join her, sleep until my time was up and be done with it all.

  But I'm a human being and we are stubborn, and sometimes that's a good thing.

  I would fight. I usually do.

  Upstairs, I took a long, hard look in the mirror. What a life. I'd lived through two world wars, seen exactly what depths humanity would stoop to, even fought for years for my country and the freedom that was put at risk by the Nazis, using magic to change the tide of the encroachment onto UK soil, working underground with many races and creatures in foreign countries to gain our freedom, and what I saw has probably made me the man I am today. Nobody comes through war, real war, uncorrupted.

  You understand only too well what people are capable of, and it's the scariest thing in the world.

  I studied my features, still rather youthful, plenty of potential life left in the old dog yet, as long as I didn't let anyone beat me down into submission. I'd watched the world change around me, seen the rise and fall of industry, of politicians, tastes in music and clothes, endless fads and no end of technological advancement, and I liked it. I wanted to carry on living, see what we made of ourselves, what heights we would reach, maybe lows, too.

  I splashed water on my face, sprayed myself with my favorite aftershave, and put on a nice suit.

  Putting on my winklepickers in the kitchen, I laced them then spent a while just wandering around, touching things, opening and closing drawers and cupboards, turning the tap on and off for some reason—I guess the sense of the familiar was what I was after. The mundane, stuff that made sense.

  The dishwasher had finished so I put everything away, gave the sink and counter a wipe down then sprayed them with a cleaner that made the room smell of pine, and tidied the chairs by lining them up neatly under the table.

  Standing back, I checked everything was nice for Kate when she got up in the morning then I took a piece of chalk from the little shelf beneath the board for making notes, and I wrote I Love You.

  Then I left.

  Empty Streets, Crowded Mind

  The city was sleeping.

  I drove around aimlessly, enjoying new car smell and listening to a local talk radio station, laughing now and then at the late night callers joking with the host, him doing his best to rile people up so they'd keep calling.

  Only a few cars were on the roads, it was mostly just me and the streets. Past familiar haunts and unfamiliar buildings—the city seems to be constantly evolving and I'm not sure I like it. Progress, I guess, nothing you can do to stop it.

  A few late night revelers were leaving the clubs even though they'd still be open for another hour or so. Taxis escorted the drunk and the comatose home, the drivers praying nobody threw up in the back, while foxes ran through the streets, making it their own, ever cautious, wary of every sound, hiding in the shadows and peering out at shouting humans until they passed.

  I parked up and wandered down the high street, noting all the new chain stores and restaurants, despicable coffee shops with their unknowable beverages.

  Then I was at the door and braced myself for what I knew was to come. With a deep breath, knowing it would be my last taste of fresh air for a while, I pushed the door to the Hidden Club open and battled through the heat and the smoke as I descended into noise and the overpowering fumes of alcohol, the stench of regret, and bizarre smell of human and preternatural Hidden.

  It was like coming home, it always is.

  "...said hey, I was born like this. Don't hold it against me, although you can if you want." The Chemist stared into the crowd, expectant, but he got nothing. Not surprising really—half the clientele were asleep, the other half either focused on getting unconscious, fighting, or simply ignoring him completely.

  He stormed off in a huff, but he should know better by now—never do your stand-up once everyone is so far gone. For a ghoul he does seem to take it all so personally, but he can't resist the offer of a gig, no matter the time.

  Brewster Bunker, troll, owner and bartender of the Hidden Club, was probably trying out the extreme hour to see if it would placate the drinkers, but it didn't appear to be working. He goes through phases like this every so often and even had live bands for a while until word got around you were very likely to get a dwarf hammer to the face if you played anything apart from grunge.

  Crayton Stephanus, Macdubhgall Carmine, and Sheiling Bumbescu were sat on a table drinking tiny cocktails with large curly straws they kept using to squirt Hidden on other tables, getting several serious scowls and mutterings but even they knew better than to mess with a pissed gremlin that was out for trouble. They look all cute and cuddly but would tear your face off with one nasty bite if they thought you were about to object to what they saw as a little harmless fun.

  A lone Barrack was at the far end of the bar and I nodded but he was dazed so I left him to it. Although
it seemed like we were maybe friends now, and I certainly owed him my life, he didn't look like he wanted a chat. I'd heard through the grapevine that ever since the massacre he'd taken to drink and was not good company when drunk. You couldn't blame him, he'd been through a lot and probably still was.

  There were others I knew or recognized, some unfamiliar faces as well, but to be honest it was hard to see because the air was so thick with the smoke of cigarettes, cigars, and weird contraptions the goblins seemed to enjoy immensely, puffing out great clouds of noxious smoke, the adjacent tables empty as nobody could stand it or what it did to your insides. The only place I knew in Cardiff where you could still smoke indoors—nobody would object, or if they did they wouldn't for long.

  There were humans, too, seeing Hidden as just rather odd looking people through the magic veil we all had so we remained unknown, but the last of them were leaving as I entered. They never gave me a second glance. The place does funny things to you, and Regulars are drawn to the club but can't stay too long. The vibe is too odd unless you are in the depths of drunkenness and hardly aware of what's going on around you.

  "Double, please, Brewster," I said, "and make it the good stuff."

  Brewster turned his head slowly in my direction then began to fix my drink in usual troll fashion. I saw trolls in a whole new light after what I'd learned of their role in the world, mostly silent observers down the ages, recording and storing away the whole history of the planet in their strange quartz minds. You can't look at them the same again after that, even if they do act like moving rocks with about as much personality as, well, moving rocks.

  Still, I got my drink, eventually, and let the fiery Scotch burn my throat.

  The stoic landlord had already moved away. I guess nobody was in the mood for talking at such an hour, I know I wasn't. So, this was it, the end of the line? I had nothing left to go on, no stones I could look under to see what was hiding in the dark. A final drink, a final farewell, nobody coming to wish me luck and not to give up hope? If I wanted that I was in the wrong place. Everyone had their own problems, and most weren't even aware of themselves, let alone that I was present.