The Prince of Darkness (The Freelancers Book 3)

by Lee Isserow

  “I'm sorry,” Rafe muttered to her.

  “For what?”

  He rolled his eyes, and tried to work out the best way to put it, and settled with “For being a dick. . .”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Good. Now shall we get back to this waste of time, or is our investigation interrupting your entertainment?”

  “Oh hush, it's adorable,” she said, as she grabbed her wallet and fished around for some change.

  “Don't bother. . .”

  “Why? It's not a 'talent' as such, but it's fun! Guy deserves some change for his trouble.”

  “Little fella's only gonna spend it on booze. . .”

  Ana turned to him with a firmly raised eyebrow. “I can't tell if you're kidding or not. . .”

  “You're standing opposite one of the most important magickal sites in the city, do you really think a marionette here is just going to be a marionette?”

  “Is. . . the puppet puppeteering the puppeteer?” she whispered.

  “He's geppettian, it's what they do. . .”

  “Geppettian, like Geppetto?”

  Rafe nodded. “Skinsack attacked to a wooden boy, just like in the movie.”

  “That's not what happened in the movie. . . and I'm starting to wonder if you're trying to ruin every Disney classic for me.”

  “It's best not to watch them anyway,” Rafe said, with a motion designed to beckon her back towards the churchyard. “Disney films are hypersigils designed to siphon the 'happy ever after' from the viewer, using all that positivity to line the company's purse.”

  “I. . . what?”

  “Don't, y'know, say that publicly or anything, you will get sued.”

  “Good to know. Thanks for ruining my childhood, all over again. . .”

  They crossed the church yard, and Ana stared at the church with consternation etched on her brow. “So go on, why doesn't this one look anything like the others.”

  “Hawksmoor didn't put his name on this church. He realised that four monolithic buildings signposting all the Wellsprings in London was kinda a bad idea. . . Designed it under a pseudonym, mesmerised the guy whose name's on the plans to think it was his own design.”

  “That's awfully well documented for something he didn't want people to know about.”

  “What can I say, foresight is twenty-twenty.”

  “You're thinking of hindsight. . .”

  “If he had used foresight, he'd have known it wasn't worth wasting his time with the mesmerising, because people would figure it out.”

  Ana rolled her eyes. It felt like Rafe was talking down to her again, as he seemed to do every time there was a case that required a lot of back-story, and she was getting tired of the exposition.

  “Go on then, what's this one. . . We've got a prison and market, safe and pockmarked-fairy”

  “Apothecary. . . And this is the bank.”

  “Of course it is. So, two of these places are full of expensive things, one has medical supplies, one has. . . weird stuff, and one has felons. . . You'd think he'd at least try and steal something along the way, right?”

  “Why?” Rafe grunted, as he turned from the church and walked back down the path. “He's just after the wellsprings.”

  “If you're going to break into places with valuables to get at something buried underneath it all, you'd think you'd dip your hand in the cash register, right? If you were a nefariously minded criminal type. . .”

  “You think this shadow man might just be a nice guy in a jam?”

  “Shana seemed to think so.”

  “Shana worked with him on a single damn job. As much as she wanted to speak for character, she practically only met him the once. As much as I'm sure he gives a good impression, he did attack her.”

  “He didn't hurt her though. . . and he could have, pretty damn easily, it sounded.”

  “Please don't side with the bad guy on this one. . .” Rafe muttered, as Ana called a door.

  “Where we headed?” she asked.

  “Library. . . need to work out why the hell someone would want to focus the power from the wellsprings.”

  “You don't think the Circle is already on that?”

  “The Circle is a bureaucracy that's so far up its own arse, pretty sure they'd rather sit around a conference table throwing notions and theories back and forth just to hear themselves speak, rather than open a damn book and get some facts. . .”

  “They're up their own arse? You have to pull the stick out your own arse about them. . . Shana seemed lovely. Tali too.”

  “Ask them when they last opened a book and checked the damn lore,” Rafe growled as he tugged the door open and ushered Ana off the street.

  He was reluctant to admit it, but knew she was right: he held a number of preconceived notions and biases about the Circle. . . And as much as he wanted to leave this whole mess in their hands, couldn't shake the idea that they wouldn't get the damn job done.

  Only they, as freelances, could see the wood from the trees. But it was a little worrying that even before meeting the guy responsible for sullying two wellsprings, Ana was seemingly ready to believe that he somehow he might be an innocent in all this. . .

  Chapter 11

  Close to invisible

  When Jules woke up, the living room was still dark., Akif still fast asleep in his arms. Try as he might, he couldn't get comfortable on the couch and return to slumber. He felt wired, needed to move, to act.

  Despite everything in his heart telling him to stay there, to be there when the man he loved woke, to feed him some story about taking Natan off to school early so he wouldn't freak out all over again, he found himself acting, rose to his feet and summoned a portal of shadows. It was a day earlier than he was meant to go to the next church. . . but he couldn't take it any more, he needed to get this damn thing over and done with.

  He stepped through the darkness, emerged in an alley in Bloomsbury, and walked towards St George's church.

  As he stared up at the massive stone columns, he felt a pit hollowing in his gut. This, of all the buildings, was one he did not want to enter. It was laden with memories, personal memories, ones he had long tried to lay to rest.

  This was, after all, where his son had been born.

  Jules stopped dead in his tracks, as he stared beyond the columns. There were figures that stood in the doorway, not quite visible, as if the light passed through them with the slightest of refractions, but even though they could barely be seen, they were certainly there.

  A phrase crossed his mind, something said in the midst of his short time with the Circle, referring to the tactical gear they had as being able to make whoever wore it 'close to invisible'. This was them, Circle operatives, on guard at the entrance to the church, waiting for him to make the error of walking right through the front door.

  He turned around, all too aware that he had been staring at them in plain sight, and flipped through the realms. In the Shadow Realm he could see them slightly more clearly, but only slightly, they were still shrouded. Two men and two women represented by dark outlines that shimmered and shifted, as if shadows passed through them just as light did.

  As he watched them, they seemed to watch him in return, and appeared to move into action, as if they had additional enchantments applied to their tactical gear that allowed them to see him in the Shadow Realm.

  He cursed under his breath as he saw the one at the lead reach into the air to cast. He couldn't risk being caught, not now, not so early into his damn task.

  Shadows tore themselves from the night, and blocked off the entrance to the church, absorbed the arcs of light shot in his direction from the Circle operatives' castings that were intended to incapacitate him. Jules threw his hands up and around, created a massive dome of shadows around the church. They weren't going to be able to get through it, not unless―

  A blazing sun's worth of light seared through the dark barrier he had created, and burned the shadows away as if they were nothing m
ore than a slight inconvenience.

  Jules felt his jaw drop, his body freeze in place. . . they had a light adept, and even though the church was in a massively public place, they apparently weren't afraid to let the freak flag fly.

  The light tore across the street in his direction, ripped through the realms. He began to run down the street, threw a portal up ahead of him and returned to the Natural World. The light adept was damn powerful, and even in the Shadow Realm he wouldn't be safe. . .

  He burst out of the portal and continued to run. The agents were hot on his trail. The was nowhere to hide, nowhere that was safe. He would have to run, dart through portals across the city, in the vain hope that he might, at some point along the way, gain the advantage.

  Chapter 12

  Got a lead

  “Where are the books on wellsprings?” Rafe grunted.

  The librarian raised an eyebrow and stared at him with incredulity. “It's lovely to see you too Rafe, I'm fine, thanks for asking.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Rafe muttered. “Wellsprings.”

  “Have you done something different with you hair?” Ana asked, as she tried not to stare at the birds nest of twigs that the librarian was wearing as a crown.

  “Why yes I have dear. Turned out a family of robins had been living in it for a while. Decided to make it more comfortable for them.”

  “That's very thoughtful.”

  “Wellsprings. . .” Rafe muttered.

  “Like grumpypants said, could you possibly tell us where to find books that might mention wellsprings?”

  “Oh, they'd be all over. . .” the old lady said, with a gesture to the floors upon floors of the library around her. “Depends which aspect you want to know about, mythogeography, mystiobiology, mythophysics, realmathomatics―”

  “We get the point,” Rafe sighed.

  “Do you dear? Because I've got about forty other categories in which wellsprings might be featured, and more that just mention it in passing.”

  “Great, guess we'll start with mythogeography and go from there. . .” Rafe spun around and began to head towards the spiral staircase that led up to the second floor.

  The librarian cleared her throat to garner his attention. “This about the rumours I've been hearing?”

  “Wouldn't dream of commenting,” Rafe said, with a brief glance over his shoulder.

  “Word on the grapevine is two of London's have been sullied.”

  “Sounds like idle banter to me,” he shot back, as he started up the staircase.

  “Black water?”

  Rafe stopped dead in his tracks, spun around and walked back to the librarian's desk. “What do you know?”

  “Told you what I heard. . .”

  “That's what you heard, but what do you know?”

  The old woman shrugged, the birds nest woven into her hair jostled about as she gave him a wry smile. “It's not the type of thing they put in books. . .”

  “Why?” Ana asked.

  “Some things are too dangerous to put in books,” Rafe explained.

  “Or, some things are old. . . From before there was the written word.”

  “How old is that?” Ana asked Rafe under her breath, so as not to appear naïve.

  “Six thousand years, give or take,” the librarian replied, before Rafe could give an even more vague estimate.

  “You know what happened, the last time?”

  She shook her head. “Heard the stories, but I don't know for sure.”

  “Guessing you might know someone who does. . .” Rafe said, with little attempt to hide how annoyed he was at the librarian's cryptic responses.

  “That I do. At least, I think I do.”

  “Care to share?”

  The librarian shot him a glare.

  “Please? Will you please share who might know whatever the hell might be going on.”

  A smile graced the old woman's lips, wrinkles forked all across her face, as if she was taking great joy from annoying Rafe.

  “I'll need to speak to an old friend.”

  “Thanks.”

  The librarian picked up the book in front of her and returned to reading it.

  “Did I not imply that this was time sensitive?” Rafe muttered.

  “You did dear, I'm waiting for her to pick up the call. . . “

  Rafe rolled his eyes and tried not to huff too loudly. He had forgotten how magickians of a certain age had often moved beyond casting with their fingers for simple uses of magick.

  “I'll call Shana,” Ana said, fingers already swimming through the air to dial. Rafe grabbed her hand to cease the motion, then instantly pulled away.

  She stared at him with a scowl that almost seemed to fall on the side of curiosity. “We've got to bring her along. . .”

  “We don't 'got' to do anything.”

  “She's investigating this too.”

  “And I'm sure their investigation is going great. . . The only reason we saw Circle operatives at each of the churches was because they probably had a bunch of extra men and women with nothing to do. They're haphazardly guarding the places because they have no idea what the hell is going on either.”

  “Why are you so averse to helping them.”

  “You were there the last time we crossed paths with the Circle. . . they come in at the very last minute and act like they saved the damn day, but they're always late, always damn useless.”

  “Shana seemed nice.”

  “They all seem nice. Doesn't mean they're any damn good when it comes to the job at hand.”

  “You're just crabby. You've been mister crabbypants all damn day. It's not attractive.”

  “When have I ever aimed for attractive?”

  “Hey Shana, we've got a lead, want to come with us?”

  Rafe glared at Ana as she told Shana where they were. He had been so busy arguing that he hadn't noticed her fingers dance through the air to place the call.

  At least, that's what he thought had happened. A nagging voice in the back of his mind was telling him that he hadn't imagined it, she didn't use her fingers to cast for a call.

  He took a step back, glanced over at the librarian, then back to Ana. It wasn't possible, his mind must have been playing tricks on him. She was young, inexperienced, even with the lineage he assumed she had, it would be impossible for her to manipulate reality to that degree so early in her training. . . yet the thought pervaded.

  Chapter 13

  In harm's way

  Jules was short of breath, and short of places to take a portal to. He had darted back and forth across London for the best part of a half hour, gone via Nice and Gambia, Mexico City and Casablanca, but couldn't seem to shake the Circle operatives.

  The team of four was in hot pursuit, and they weren't working alone. Someone back at the Epicentre must have been helping them, he reckoned. Probably Three, the terrifyingly powerful conjoined triplet that coordinated The Circle's teleportation. They weren't following him under their own steam, that was clear. He didn't know any other magickian that could track him that quickly, let alone that efficiently.

  An awful thought meandered through his mind as he summoned a portal to take him across the planet once more. A thought that was abhorrent, an action from which there would be no coming back.

  But he knew all too well that there was already a chance he had gone too far. The market he could have got away with, it might have even been forgiveable. . . but the prison break could have got people hurt, he almost had to hurt Shana. . . and at the remaining three wellsprings there would likely be more opposition, more innocent Circle agents putting themselves in harm's way. . . and he would have no choice but to harm them. They wouldn't see reason, nobody would see reason.

  He was already an outlaw, already on the radar, so what was one more crime on his rap sheet. . .

  Jules slowed his pace, and ran into an alley. His terrible plan could not be acted upon whilst the Circle operatives were only moments behind him. He would have to deal with
them first.

  He came to a stop at the dead end, took a long, deep breath, and felt all the shadows in the vicinity that were at his disposal. The sun had begun to rise, darkness forced to flee, but there was still enough darkness for him to make this work.

  Three of the figures that had been pursuing him stepped into the alley. The two women and one of the men. The remaining man was missing. . . acting as backup, or teleported elsewhere in order to take him by surprise. But there would be no surprising him, not at his level of adept. The shadows were his eyes, and by looking through them, he saw the male operative on the roof of the building that blocked off the alley, making to cast.

  The shadows burst out from under the man's tactical gear, wrapped around his hands like thick, black tentacles, pulled the fingers wide apart to stop them from enacting any sigils. He tried to fight the pull of the darkness, but every time he did, Jules tugged the fingers just that little bit more. . . he would stop his attempt to cast of his own volition, and if he didn't, when this was all over, he would have to glyph himself better with broken digits. . .

  The shadows tore from the walls of the alley before the light adept could react, slammed her face first into the brick, held her fingers down to stop her from burning through the darkness. She was young, inexperienced, certainly not as connected to her innate ability as he was. . . very few magickians could say that they were ripped apart at the molecular level, and put back together by the Realm of their adept

  The remaining two operatives attempted to attack, but they too found themselves plastered to the walls before they could cast.

  Jules walked towards them, and sighed heavily. He had not attempted this as they chased him for good reason. As soon as he walked through a portal, his mind would be elsewhere, and his hold on the shadows would begin to dissipate. They would be free and back on his trail in no time. There was only one way to deal with them. . . And it wasn't a decision he would make lightly.

  Chapter 14

  Troubled times