by Hopkins, Amy
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Author info
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
About the Author
Barrow Fiend - sneak peek
DREAM STALKER
Book One of the Talented Series
by
Amy Hopkins
Copyright © 2016 Amy Hopkins
All rights reserved.
ASIN: B01APEPT4M
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Chapter One
At exactly one hour after sunrise, Lenny and I opened the doors to my shop. A flick of my wand and the room filled with light. Pax and Tox, two of my demigoblin customers, were already waiting outside.
"Good morning Lenny, Emma." Pax gave Lenny a scratch behind the ears as the two of them entered.
"Morning," I said as I went to place my street sign out. I followed them inside, Lenny settling in his usual spot by the door.
"You hear the news?" Asked Tox in a brusque, gravelly voice.
"Another attack," added Pax.
I cursed. "Who was it? Did they...?"
"No survivors. It was Keelie, that young witch what lived with her pa down by the river. Found her dead in the wee hours he did. Shame. Her curse stones were the best around."
I frowned. I didn't like curse stones or the fact Keelie would sell them no questions asked. Still, dead? She was the fifth half-blood Talent in two months. We lost a few of our ranks every year - bad deals with the fae, burnout or misfired spells and the occasional feud with a Talent Lord. These were different. Someone was targeting us; I was sure of it.
Tox looked at me concerned. "You're not gonna shut shop and run are ya? Your speedin' tea is the only thing that keeps me faster than the Balrogs when I go huntin'"
I shook my head. "Not a chance Tox. Did you hear anything else?"
"Nay Lass. I'd tell you if I did. You know you've earned your place here and you've looked after us. We'll keep an eye out." I knew he meant it - Otherworld creatures took things like honour and loyalty seriously... even if they didn't have the same respect for concepts like ownership or personal boundaries.
Pax and Tox handed over their chips, the currency of the Otherworld, and I busied myself getting their orders ready. The tea I sold was enchanted - one box each of speed, agility and stealth for each of them. I made a quick note of the sales in my ledger and waved goodbye.
Outside I heard the screech of tyres, a car slamming on its brakes. I looked up to see a nine-foot tall half-giant waving a sheepish apology to the car she'd nearly stepped in front of. Despite the vehicles having been around for over a century, the Otherworlders still struggled with the basics of road safety. Mavis waited for the car to pass, then headed into the shop.
"Mavis, I haven't seen you for weeks! Is everything well?" I wasn't sure how else to phrase the delicate question.
Mavis, hunched over to fit her large frame into my tiny shop, blushed. "Yes, m'lady. I'm with child. Three, actually."
I flew around the counter to embrace her. Having brewed various teas for the local Giant clan for a while, I'd been surprised to get a request such as hers. Mavis, being a mixed-breed of two different clans, had been having trouble conceiving. A standard human fertility tea would have helped somewhat, but I'd tweaked the spell I'd used on it to account for the slight variance in giant anatomy. I hadn't been sure if it would work. "Three? Is that typical?" I didn't think it was.
"No, m'lady. If all goes well and they survive, I'll be able to gift one to each of the major clans. I'll be looked upon quite favourably after that." Despite my discomfort at the child raising customs of the giants, I was happy for her. She spoke little of her personal situation, but I'd gathered her place in the giant hierarchy was quite low because of her mixed birth. That was something I was painfully familiar with.
The morning continued, all manner of creatures visiting my little tea shop. London was a busy place, a central hub that acted as one of the major thoroughfares between the Otherworld and our world. Though this made for an interesting mix, we generally existed together in peace. Generally.
Trouble came a short while before lunch. I was greeting one of my customers and a kobold by the name of Hent was just about to leave, ducking his head as he reached for the doorknob. A piske, probably running an errand for its master, flung the door open with a spell. It caught Hent in the face. He grabbed the piske with lightning fast reflexes but was immediately blinded by a sparkling bomb to the face. He roared, letting go of the smaller creature, and stumbled around trying to swat him out of the air. This did not bode well for my shop. The piske, determined to fulfil his orders, didn't leave. He zipped around, staying just out of Hent's reach as he lumbered around the tiny, enclosed space. Hent swung an arm and I ducked to avoid being hit by it. He crashed into a shelf of boxed teas, and I screamed as it came crashing down, just missing my head. I raised my wand, but noticed Jacoby, my other customer, had his drawn already. I waited, my own defences at the ready.
His spell took about a second and a half to trace. Both the Otherworld creatures dropped to the ground. They were conscious but woozy, and neither could stand. Jacoby wheeled his chair over to them and looked down. "You both have about twelve seconds until you can walk - or fly." He looked at the piske. "At that time, it would be best if you both left, in a calm and orderly manner. My next spell may not be so gentle."
True to his word, the two were shortly up, and out of my shop. Jacoby turned discerning eyes my way.
"Thank you so much," I said. "I may have been able to stop them myself, but not before they caused more damage. I'm in your debt."
"Nonsense my dear," he said. "A simple spell. Cast in my own interests, I might add, as I don't have my own order yet."
"The usual?"
"Please."
I packaged up the same tea he ordered every week - one for pain. It made me sad that this man, one who was, I guessed, a Talent Lord, had been reduced to using a half-blood charm to manage in his daily life. Though I abhorred most of the full-blooded Talents for their elitist, bullying ways, Jacoby seemed different. He was always polite, and never looked down his nose at me. The mere fact that he was here was unusual. Most of the Lords from the Inner City thought themselves beneath shops like mine, and sent servants like the piske to collect their goods. As he left, Gibble came in. He growled at Jacoby.
"Nasssty," he said.
"Gibble! Be nice to the customers." I said. Gibble could be off-putting - he was a boggart after all - but he was generally polite. Or at least, not outright rude. Gibble had been helping in the shop since I'd opened it, and this was the first time he'd had such a strong reaction to a customer that wasn't out to cause trouble.
The day progressed, and my shop got busier. There was a good mix - half-blood Talents like myself, and regular mortals who were brave enough to be seen associating with our kind along with Otherworld creatures and Fae. Shops like mine were gaining popularity with m
ainstream Londonites; rather than taboo, we were now just a little risqué, something to brag to their friends about. My morning was busy and productive, but I couldn't keep my mind off Keelie and the other half-bloods that had recently died.
"I'm going out. Can you grab me a basket?" I asked Gibble when we hit a slow period. He didn't look up, just grunted, retrieved a wicker gift basket from the top shelf and settled himself in a chair. He would handle the shop while I was out.
I grabbed the basket and filled it with teas - Heartsease, Sleepiness and some plain old black English tea. I whistled for Lenny and he followed me down the street. We headed to the grocery strip first. I bought some bread and eggs to add to my basket, then set off to Keelie's house. When I got there, it was roped off with police tape and her father waited outside, talking to two officers. Other people traipsed in and out of the house.
I stopped a short distance away, not wanting to interrupt, but one of the officers noticed me. He said something to Keelie's dad, who turned and motioned me over.
"You're a friend of Keelie's?" he asked. He didn't remember me.
"Yes. Well, we knew each other. I just wanted to see if you needed anything." I held out the basket and he took it distractedly. One of the constables, introducing himself as DCI Greyson, drew me aside.
"How well did you know Keelie?" He asked.
"Not that well, to be honest. She kept to herself, mostly."
"Are you... that is to say-"
"Yes, I have Talent. I own the tea shop on Lattersby Road. Can you tell me anything?"
"I'm sorry, I can't." Greyson schooled his expression.
"Look, you know as well as I do that the Talented community outside the walls is being hunted. The Lords in the city don't care. The police - no offence - can't handle this. There's magic involved and no-one seems able to protect my people."
"It's a police matter. We've got it under control."
I shook my head in frustration and started to walk away when he called after me. "Lattersby, was it? I might drop by sometime. You know, for tea?" I nodded back at him but kept walking, Lenny trotting behind me.
Gibble was swamped with customers when I got back. I jumped behind the counter to help and had the rush under control fairly quickly. Most days I only opened the store until two, but it was closer to three when I finally closed the door. Gibble sighed, and settled back into an over-sized chair in one corner as I tidied up. He pulled out a small book, thumbing through it until he found the page he wanted. I joined him once I'd finished, flipping open today's copy of The Protector, a local rag that helped to pass news to the half-blooded community. News of Keelie's death was on the front page.
It didn't tell me anything I didn't know, or hadn't guessed. Keelie had been found dead in the small townhouse she and her father shared. He'd been sleeping in the next room when it happened. He hadn't heard a damn thing. He wasn't a suspect, simply because he had no magical Talent and Keelie... well, her death hadn't happened at mortal hands. If she'd been found like the other victims, she'd have been completely drained of blood, with a slit, like a knife wound, somewhere on her body. There was no non-magical way they'd found to inflict a wound like that without spilling any blood.
Artur's death had caused an uproar in the mortal community. Once word had gotten out that a magical killer was on the loose, people had been terrified. Sadly, more victims had shown up over the following months, and it was made clear that the only targets so far were half-bloods... like me. While our small community lived in terror of this threat, the mortals relaxed. They weren't in danger, so the task of finding the killer became less urgent. I threw the paper aside in disgust. Even if the police were trying, they weren't equipped to deal with this. The Talented who were simply didn't care enough to send resources. Meanwhile, my people were dying.
Gibble glanced up from his reading but didn't comment. He knew what I thought. I felt helpless and scared and I hated not being able to act.
Eventually, I stood. "I'm going to go and restock. Let me know when you leave?"
Gibble nodded. I went into the office, behind the store front, and assembled my equipment, taking my inventory, my wand and a pile of new, flattened tea boxes. After a few minutes of preparation, I set to work enchanting batches of tea with various spells. We'd been busier than normal and turnover was up. That was good for business, but it took a lot out of me to keep up with the demand for product.
It worked better to enchant the tea in small batches; the spell seemed to stick better, giving it a longer shelf life. With each small pile, weighed and measured, charmed and then packaged into neat little boxes, my weariness grew. About an hour into my task a hollow sensation gnawed at my gut and a dull ache had formed behind my eyes. I'd need to start working in the mornings before I opened to keep up. It only took me a few hours to recover from minor spell-casting like this, but it was tedious work and the strain built up over time. Still, it was a sign of my growing success so I couldn't complain too hard.
I was almost done when Gibble knocked at the door. Lost in concentration, I waved goodbye and he left.
* * *
It was almost a week later that I got a break of any description. I'd been working the shop and had just closed. Gibble had taken off as he was sometimes wont to do, having mentioned a stop at the local book shop. I'd just slipped into the back room to create some more stock when there was a knock at the door.
"Gibble? Is that you?" I called. No answer. I stepped out into the empty shop. I went to check the door and it was locked. Gibble usually did that for me, knowing I'd be so absorbed in my work that I'd forget to check. I unclipped the bolt and peeked outside. A fat, yellow envelope sat outside my door. I looked around but not a soul was in sight. I grabbed it and went back in, locking the door behind me. A quick peek revealed the contents and I hurried upstairs to my flat.
I quickly cleared off my kitchen table, then spread out the contents of the envelope. Photographs and documents stared up at me, forms, reports and images of dead people. My initial excitement at having the information I needed was struck down by the reality of what I was looking at.
Six people. I knew every face, every name. Two were friends. One, I'd only seen from a distance, only knew by sight. Three were acquaintances like Keelie, who I'd stop and greet on the street. It broke my heart. Someone was targeting my people and it seemed like no one cared.
Someone did though. Someone had dropped the envelope at my door, hoping I could help. It must have been the officer I'd spoken to earlier. Why had he shared this? I assumed it would get him into trouble if anyone knew, or he'd have given me more information when I spoke to him earlier. Grateful, I made a silent promise that if he ever ventured into my shop, he could have anything he wanted at no charge for the rest of his life.
I sorted the papers by victim. Keelie's file was rather sparse, hopefully only due to the recentness of it. I didn't want to believe they'd given up. Really though, the police had very little information. The mortal procedures used, finger printing, DNA, other forensics they'd applied had shown nothing. There was no sign of struggle, no witnesses, no anomalies in the victims’ bloodwork. I had to call them that; I couldn't put names, names I knew to these horrible reports.
Each of them had been found in the morning, one or two knife wounds and completely emptied of blood. I knew there'd been no blood at the scene, but completely drained? That was... different. On four occasions, there had been someone else present in the house. On three - both times when the victim had been home alone, and in Keelie's case - the knife wound was consistent with one that was self-inflicted, based on the depth and angle of the incision. That was interesting... one of the other three had taken the wound in the back, so it was impossible that the victim - Carmel, who'd been a close friend - had inflicted the wound upon herself.
Looking at the time, I was surprised to see it was coming on 7pm. I'd call the police station in the morning and try to talk to the officer I suspected had left this with me. I needed to get
a look at the bodies to see if any magical residue had been left, something that might grant a clue as to what was happening. The shop was only open Tuesday to Saturday, so I had a couple of days free to investigate.
Once I'd gone back to read through each file, noted any inconsistencies and similarities, gone back through to check for anything I'd missed... hell, I almost had the damn things memorised by the time I was done. It felt like something was missing, some nagging thought that I'd overlooked. Not from the files - I couldn't put my finger on it though. Finally giving in, I packed them up, put them safely in a drawer by my dresser, and went to bed.
I crawled under the blanket, put my head gently on the pillow and let the tears fall, until I sank into a restless sleep.
Chapter Two
I stood in a room - stark, with pale blue walls that that made my bones ache with cold. A sharp, unfamiliar scent pricked the back of my nose. There was a small white bookshelf to one side and a rug under my bare feet, thick and luxurious but somehow flat and empty of comfort. Carefully stepping forwards my feet met cold, hard floorboards. The grooves between them felt rough and the wood sent tiny cracking sounds through the room as my weight shifted, small noises made loud in the oppressive silence. I moved toward the bookshelf, crammed with old books and trinkets that were blurry and out of focus. My brows creased as I squinted, trying to focus but failing. I reached out with my hand. My fingers found an object slipped between two books and pulled it out. It was a knife. Long and bronze, my eyes focused on it in perfect detail - it was intricately engraved adorned with rubies, with a solid handle and what looked to be a terribly sharp blade. But wait, it wasn't really sharp, was it? It was old and worn with use. Slowly, I lifted it closer to my face to examine the sharp, sharp blade. But, not sharp enough to cut? Surely... yes, it was quite blunt, safe to handle. Deep in thought, I lifted its point to my sternum and pressed it lightly. Oh, right, it was sharp. I cocked my head, trying to catch the thought fluttering by... Caution tickled at the back of my thoughts insistently... something was off... something was very, very wrong.
