by Keziah Hill
Roper wasn’t as lucky as Norma. A low-slung baseball cap couldn’t hide his diseased skin, crusty warts and piggy nose. As far as otherkin went, Roper was one ugly bastard.
“He says I owe him money.” Norma’s voice was like dark treacle in my ears; rich and sweet. I didn’t know Norma myself, but she knew my boss, Gideon, and his business well enough to be on the lookout for Roper; she had sent Gideon the tip Roper would be here tonight.
“He asks for too much,” Norma continued. “My debt to him is half what he claims. He would take everything I’ve worked so hard for. He tells me if I don’t pay, he’ll tip off the authorities in Harken City with where I am.”
I heard the hint and made a show of thinking. As well as a pimp, Roper worked for Joseph Daleman, a loan shark nicknamed The Hacksaw. If Roper disappeared, Daleman might come looking. That wouldn’t have been a big deal in itself; trouble was I owed Daleman money and who wanted to remind him of that?
My fingers absently traced the familiar grooves of the carved goat-head at the top of my cane. The brothel was in the Bang Phlat district and I could hear the pulse of the city outside: spluttering tuk-tuk’s, bright laughter of tourists and street vendors calling to them.
“I could discourage him.” I shifted my feet to take the weight off my lame right leg. “For an extra fee, of course.” While Gideon had rules about how to conduct business, I had never had a problem with making some extra money on the side.
“Of course.” Norma stood alongside me and I swallowed as her perfume engulfed me like a poisonous gas. “What’d he do?” she asked in her slow voice. “To get the attention of Blackgoat Watch?”
“Client business.” I tried to discreetly block my nose. Roper’s crime was stealing a satchel from someone with enough wealth to fund my trip out of The Weald. The satchel contained things of sentimental value, and the client was happy to pay whatever it took for its return.
“I heard you like to be called Chopper now days,” Norma said.
My smile melted and my fingers clutched for the charm that usually sat around my neck before I remembered it was broken. I bit back a curse. I’d heard the nickname too and wished I knew who had started it. I’d been assisting at an exorcism a month ago, and it had ended very, very badly. I mean, behead just one client and suddenly everyone’s a comedian.
Sensing my mood, Norma changed the subject. “But tell me, how fares life in Harken? I hear tales of more violence than usual.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I narrowed my eyes at her and Norma’s aura flickered in the dim light. A flame of orange blinked around her head; it tasted like a bitter pepper on my tongue. She was an anxious woman, hiding secrets.
Throwing her an easy smile, I flashed my dimples. I reminded myself she was a valuable snitch and to be nice. There weren’t many citizens of The Weald living in the Outlands, where the modern world beckoned with conveniences like electricity, phones and emails.
“How long have you been here now?” I narrowed my eyes again. “Eight years?”
Norma’s aura flushed forest green as she prepared to lie. I blinked a few times, clearing my vision. I didn’t need to know much more about Norma. I’d gotten what I’d come for.
“Maybe more like five.” She raised a hand to smooth her hair. “Had me a little pie shop in Applecross. Got into some trouble with the law, so I moved here. I blend in easy enough, which is a blessing.”
I didn’t ask her to elaborate. Her story was common enough. The Outlands were a common hiding place for criminals from The Weald. “Business as usual in Harken,” I said. I watched as Roper tried to turn on the charm, a sickly sweet smile on his face, and continued. “I heard the Council of Ten are trying to pass a bill to legalise steam technology again.”
“That old chestnut.” Norma shook her head. “The old families will never allow it.” There was a pause, then she asked, “Did you hear about the Regulator who did all that killing in a beserker rage? Rumours say he fled to the Outlands.”
“You sure hear well, for someone hiding out,” I said absently. Roper was now trying to convince his woman of his prowess. Maybe he thought she should pay him. The woman didn’t look convinced. I hoped she was going to kick him in the balls and save me the trouble. Norma didn’t answer me, so I just shrugged. “I read something about it in the street press. Don’t know much else. Regulators have nothing to do with me.”
“Nephilim.” Norma spat on the floor. “Filthy beasts.”
Silently agreeing with her and wondering why she would spit on her own floor, I watched as Roper started fumbling with his zipper. “I’ll need some privacy.”
Norma moved away, velour thighs making a swishing sound. “Try not to get blood on the carpet. I have to pay the cleaners extra for that.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And those side tables weren’t cheap. If you’ve got to break something, use the lamp.”
“Fine.”
With a humphing sound and more rustling of cheap fabric, Norma left me alone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I smoothed back my hair, admiring my new clothes in the reflection of the two-way mirror before me. I had managed to squeeze in some shopping and Bangkok was perfect for my tight budget. The spoils included a pencil skirt with a sexy leg slit and a white blouse with a sweetheart neckline. I tried not to notice the straining buttons on the blouse, or the fact the skirt was a little snug. I was broad-hipped and busty, but had always managed to keep a respectable weight with a diet of gin and cigarillos. I knew my size, and there was no way I was going up. A small voice reminded me I was a stress eater and that the last month had not been kind. I told the voice to shut up and sucked in my stomach, adjusting my work-belt. It was made of leather and loaded with pockets that housed the various tools of my trade, complete with a throwing knife sheathed discreetly at the crook of back. A second throwing knife sat in a slim sheath inside my bra. I viewed knives the way I did shoes: a girl could never have too many.
My hair was a startling snow-white colour, which I had pulled back in a braid. The ensemble was complete with a pair of velvet brocade boots that had cost more than I’d ever admit to. You’d never find these clothes in The Weald. Back home, the fashion was corsets, long skirts and lace gloves. I mean, lace gloves. Honestly. Don’t keep your fingers warm and impossible to get blood out of.
Squaring my shoulders, I approached the door that accessed Roper’s room. There was a chance I was going to have to knock him around some. If he were really stubborn, I’d have to break some bones. It meant tapping into the bitch inside of me, and she did love to come out and play. I twisted the handle and stepped into the room. Roper was sitting on the bed with his back to me, the woman kneeling in front of him. The door shut behind me with a click. The woman looked up from her unfortunate task, her flat eyes knowing the score. She wiped her mouth and slithered out the door like her stilettos were greased with butter.
“What—?” Roper turned and saw me.
Narrowing my eyes, I focused on Roper’s aura. It flickered dimly around his head, the colour of piss with spikes of purple: a weak man prone to violent acts. I blinked the aura away and tried not to grimace. Roper was even more ugly close up. Three stubs of horns mostly covered by greasy hair. His mouth was a little too wide and he had too many teeth for his jaw, some poking out crookedly from his lips.
Roper’s eyes clocked my hair and my duelling cane with its goat-head. His face went a shade of green and his mouth worked soundlessly. While I’d never met Roper, I was pretty sure he’d heard of me. White hair was pretty rare in The Weald.
“Hello, sunshine.” I gave him a cheerful wink. This was how I liked to greet most of my marks. Nice and upbeat and setting the tone. “Let me tell you how this is going to go, just so we can save some time. I’m going to ask you some questions. You’re going to pretend to be a hard-arse. We both know you’ll end up giving me what I want after a little slap and tickle. So how about we skip all that and you just cooperate
?”
Roper jumped to his feet. Pants falling to his ankles, his Mr Winky bobbed up and down like it was happy to be outside. I arched an eyebrow at him. “Looks like you’re feeling the cold, Roper.”
He struggled to pull his pants up. I moved across the room, swept up my cane and cracked it down on Roper’s head. He squealed and reeled across the bed, clutching his ear. “Whaddya want? Whaddya want from me?”
“A satchel, Roper. You stole it a week ago. Has a nice gold emblem on the front? I think you know the one I mean. Why don’t you hand it over and we all get to go home.”
His eyes slid to my cane, breath hissing out from between his crooked grey teeth. “You work for the goat.”
“A satyr, Roper,” I corrected him. “A satyr is half goat. That’s a considerable difference. And ‘the goat’ prefers to be called Gideon. Or Mr. Gideon to you.”
Roper’s face contorted in pain. “I ‘ain’t done nothing to you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Give me the satchel.”
Roper clutched his ear tighter and scowled some more. I tapped the end of my cane on the room’s thin carpet a couple of times, signalling my impatience. “Come on, Roper. I believe I’ve already given you my easy or hard way speech. I don’t give it twice.”
“What are you talkin’ about, ya crazy bitch?” Yellow spittle flew from his mouth, arching across the room. I stepped back, my upper lip curling with disgust. Roper was laughing now and it was a phlegm-like sound, bubbling up from his chest. “The only thing you’re getting today is dead.”
He gestured to me with his right hand. I froze. For a terrible moment, I thought he held salt and was casting. Then there was a mechanical snap. A gun shot out of Roper’s sleeve on a spring-loaded quick-draw rig. He aimed at my belly. “Put your hands high,” he said. “Don’t do nothin’ fresh.”
“Relax,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel. “Don’t make this worse. I just want what you took.”
Roper’s mouth twisted. “I knew you were gunning for me. I knew someone would come. You’re Gideon’s pet, the one who loves the Outlands. Who else was he going to send? People think Roper’s so stupid. But he’s not. There’s a bounty on your head, you know that? Benjamin the Bloody posted it. How about I turn in your pretty head instead?”
“You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret, now, do you?” I asked.
“Shut up.” His voice got all squeaky and indignant. “You just shut up!”
“I’m wearing very expensive boots, Roper. I don’t want to get blood on them.”
“I said, shut up!”
My stomach clenched as I realised the prick was going to make me show my hand and reveal my secret. I was going to have to use magic. Which meant I was going to have to get rid of the little shit.
“Relax, Roper,” I said. “Just relax.” We stared at each other for a beat. My heart kicked loud in my ears. Once. Twice. I threw myself to the right.
Roper gave a shout of surprise. I heard the crack of the gun and felt something bite my left ear. My shoulder hit the floor the same time my fingers slipped into one of my belt pockets, pinching some salt. I tossed it at Roper, just as he re-aimed his gun at me. I yelled a quick hex, my tongue tripping over the Sanskrit words. The air-born salt ignited with my will and the hex spat to life like a firecracker. Roper was thrown against the far wall, knocked clean out of his pants. He collapsed into a heap on the ground, heaving and gasping.
“Idiot.” I pushed myself to my feet and picked up my cane. “You stupid, stupid idiot.”
Roper lifted his head and drooled. He half-heartedly raised his arm to aim again. I crossed the room, drawing out the sword hidden inside my cane. With a grunt and a smooth golf swing, I sliced Roper’s arm off above the elbow. The limb bounced away with a fleshy sound, his fingers still twitching around the trigger.
“Shit! Shit!” Roper grasped at the bleeding stump of his arm. His heels rattled against the floor. “Look what you did!”
“Give me what I want.” I lifted the blade high and steeled myself. “Or you’ll lose more limbs.”
“Alright! Alright!” Amber-coloured blood was soaking the carpet under him. His head jerked to a crumpled backpack by the bed. “It’s there. It’s there.”
I lowered my dripping blade, walked to the backpack and checked it. My hands sorted through clothes and jewellery before finding the leather satchel at the bottom. I pulled it with a grim smile. Roper was staring at me, his face the colour of sweaty cheese.
“Is there anything missing?” I asked.
“You used the craft,” Roper whispered, mouth slack at the ends. “That’s impossible. No one can cast magic in the Outlands. No one. It’s one of the rules. Do you know what it means that you can cast out here?”
My knees popped as I stood, my bad leg giving a twinge of warning. I tossed the satchel on the bed, my lips pressed thin. Sure, no one was supposed to be able to cast out here. The medium of salt, combined with words of power, was a conduit to the provider of magic, the ley-lines. But the lines that fuelled the craft were thought to only exist in The Weald. Somehow, though, I was able to make it work here. One of my secrets, and it was one I didn’t share at any price. At least, not with the living. Roper might have survived the loss of his arm, but I couldn’t allow him to live now.
I bent over the decapitated arm, prying the gun loose from the rig. The weapon was a little Ruger LCP. Popping the magazine, I saw it was packed with nice shiny hollow point rounds. I punched the magazine back home and aimed the barrel at Roper’s head.
“How did you do it?” Roper stared up at me, eyes full of fear.
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of monster are you?”
“I don’t know,” I said again, then pulled the trigger.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Grease Monkey Jive by Ainslie Paton
When Alex was a kid, she gave herself a nasty electric shock by sticking a knife down the slot of the toaster to rescue her breakfast. As the electricity gripped her in the seconds before shutting off, every muscle spasmed and the air crackled and fizzed with blue sparks.
She was twelve years old, had burned fingers, and was in lot of trouble with Mum and Gran.
She was twice that age now and hadn’t forgotten the intensity of that electric zap and how wildly it made her heart beat and her thoughts fly, from the sheer physical surprise and the recognition that she was in serious strife.
There was no toast, no toaster, and no knife anywhere to hand, but the sensation that struck her body when she looked into his eyes was the same. Electricity pulsed through her nerves, leaped in her muscles, and fired inside her brain. She was in deep trouble.
All he’d done was lower his chin and raise his eyes, looking at her from across the room. That’s all. It barely counted as a movement. It was more a re-positioning, more an adjustment than a conscious action, but everything changed in that moment.
The breath sucked out of her; the room closed in. She felt energised and inspired beyond the bounds of her training and the encouragement of the music. There was nothing she couldn’t achieve. Her feet flew through the steps, her placement never more accurate, her leaps and kicks never higher, her body positioning and posture never prouder or more abandoned at the same time.
She danced on air, as a beam of sunlight might chase a shadow across the floor. It was physically effortless and without the need to think. She was carelessness and precision, passion and control, pure energy and heat. She was the blue fizz and crackle, she was the shock of power, and she adored it.
When she got closer to him she could hear him breathing hard, see the dark blue of his bright eyes and their expression of wonder. She caught fire. When she circled around him, she saw tension flick along the ridge of muscle in his back and across the breadth of his shoulders. The line of his jaw tightened and his lips twitched into a smile as he looked for her and the fire caught, flared, lifting her higher, giving her iridescent wings and divine purpo
se.
When the music stopped, the silence was hopelessly profound. Her body became her own again and she felt the old stiffness behind her left knee and the too tight strap of her shoe.
She looked at Dan, still standing where Trevor had put him, but studying her as though he’d never met her before. She looked at Scott – surely he’d noticed something odd just happened – but he only had eyes for Dan, critical eyes.
She shook her head to try to reclaim her scorched senses and when she walked across to the stereo, she thought her legs might give way on her and spill her on the wooden floor.
Dan’s eyes never left her and a flood of self consciousness coursed through her, replacing the earlier feeling of joy with embarrassment. That was too much inspiration for a trial run. She could’ve just walked it through; there was no reason whatsoever to have danced like that, not for Dan, he’d have no idea of the technique he was seeing. Scott might’ve enjoyed it, the freedom and clarity of it, but Scott would’ve been annoyed she didn’t dance like that for him.
“What do you think?” said Scott, but not waiting for her reply. “You’re a good physical match and he does look the part. Of course, you’ll have to do all the work, girlfriend, but assuming he can at least do what he did then, we might be able to pull this off.”
Afterwards, Alex would wonder what she’d said in reply; she was already thinking it might be better to abandon this idea before it took on its own life and required her to reorganise hers.
He felt like he’d been hit by a train.
The shock to his chest was palpable, as though something steel hard and lightning sharp had ripped through him, leaving him open and raw and aching hot with sensation. His jaw dropped, his lids lowered, his breathing was suddenly laboured, and every muscle was tense with anticipation.
And despite the impression that he’d been shoved backwards at a great rate, staggering from the sheer force of the impact, he was standing stock still, statue still, shop window dummy still, just like he’d been told to.
