The Prince of Darkness (The Freelancers Book 3)

by Lee Isserow

  Rafe held the door open as Ana, the librarian and Shana walked through to a street in New Orleans. He tried his best to keep his scowls and grumbles on the inside, but it wasn't going as well as expected. Shana caught the rumble of an exasperated sigh as she stepped out onto the street, and glanced back at him.

  “They talk about you, you know?”

  “They?”

  “Other operatives, those that have been there longer than I. That worked with you.”

  “Sure they say great things,” he grunted sarcastically, as he slammed the door shut, and it withdrew back into the brickwork of the house it had emerged from.

  “They do. You are thought of as a great agent, there is much sadness at how. . . your career ended.”

  “Torn to shreds and left practically mundane?”

  She took a breath, and tried to work out how to phrase what she was trying to say. “They do not think of you like that. You are respected.”

  “Tell that to the folks that call me 'magitard'. . .”

  “I have never heard anyone use that phrase.”

  “You're eight feet tall. . . Bet nobody dares say a bad word anywhere near you in case you take offence and step on them.”

  “I am not that easy to offend.” she muttered, apparently taking his statement more literally than he had intended.

  The librarian took them to a small pink and blue house, and proceeded to knock on the door.

  “They say you were asked to stay. . .” Shana said, not taking the cues from Rafe that he very much did not want to be involved in the conversation. “Asked to take up a consultation position?”

  “What?” Ana blurted. “You never told me that.”

  “There's lots I haven't told you. . .” Rafe grumbled.

  “Don't I know it.”

  “I wasn't going to take some consolation prize of a fake job at the damn Circle. They wanted me there as a constant reminder, of what happens when ego gets the better of an operative, when they don't work as a team. . . and I wasn't going to be a damn poster child for 'the worst that could happen'. . .”

  The click of a latch broke the awkward silence, and a soft, silken sigh came from the door as it swung on the hinges. Bright eyes stared inquisitively through thick glasses at Rafe, then Shana, to Ana and to the librarian. As soon as the elderly woman in the house caught sight of her old comrade, wrinkles creased across her ancient face as a large, toothy smile stretched out wide.

  “Lovely to see you darling,” the librarian said, as she embraced her friend and whispered in her ear, “sorry about the. . . circumstances.”

  “Ain't never a bother, y'know that.” the woman said. She glanced at the others, and the smile began to shed swiftly. “Guess y'better come in, huh?”

  She pulled the door open wide, and ushered them inside, forced the smile back to her lips as each of them entered. Surreptitiously, she read their auras, and the smile became genuine. They meant the boy no harm, not truly.

  As much as she was not looking forward to the conversation that was going to ensue, she would tell them everything they needed to know. It was the only way she could insure his safety during these troubled times.

  Chapter 15

  Nothing he wouldn't do

  Jules took control of the shadows that held the four agents, and instructed them to encase each of them in turn. With reluctance, he flipped through to the Shadow Realm, took them with him, their extremities still bound by the shadows as they emerged on the other side.

  “You'll never get away with this,” one of the agents grunted.

  Jules rolled his eyes and shadows slapped across their mouths, to cease any further pointless outburst. They would only serve as distractions, and he needed all his thoughts focussed, as he communed with the Realm.

  It would not be enough to simply leave them there. The light adept might be able to gain some kind of momentum and flip over to her realm, and once free, form some kind of rescue party to reclaim the others.

  He took a breath, inhaled from the darkness that filled the realm, let it course through his body in the hope that it would understand his situation. He beseeched the shadows for assistance. They seemed to believe that they owed him for allowing his arm to be lost, that much was proven when they replaced it with a limb of shadow.

  The darkness flowed out of his mouth and nose, and he could feel the Realm's reluctance to help. Despite the hesitancy, it also conceded that given the gravity of the situation, it would acquiesce. He relinquished control of the shadows that held the Circle operatives, and yet the darkness still bound them tight. They would not be going anywhere once he left the Realm, and it would return them to the Natural World as soon as he had put a stop to their ability to teleport after him. And that would be no easy feat. It would require him to infiltrate the lair of one of the most powerful beings in the world. . .

  Despite the daunting task, he was prepared to do it, and whatever else was thrown at him during these trials. There was nothing he wouldn't do for the people he loved.

  Chapter 16

  Another world

  The four visitors sat on a couch upholstered with fabric that pictured a myriad interconnected vines and flowers. It felt to Rafe as though the images suited their situation all too well, them as the brightly coloured blooms caught amongst the constriction of the job that they found themselves on. He knew that was just him projecting his own issues with the 'favour' for Slugtrough. . . Ana seemed to be all in on getting to the bottom of the why of it all, to the point of demonstrating compassion for the offender, even though everything he had done so far indicated that he was the mastermind of a scheme that required more magick than Rafe had ever seen pulled together in all his life.

  “Wellsprings, huh?” the old woman said, as she adjusted her glasses. “Ain't talked 'bout them for the longest time.”

  “It's the one in London we're interested in. . . that this guy is interested in.”

  “Y'all know who he is?”

  Rafe shook his head. “Not yet.”

  The smallest of smiles graced her lips, then vanished in an instant. “Bet he ain't doin' this 'cos he wants to.”

  “Don't care why he's doing this. . . need to know what he's doing. What kind of ritual needs wellsprings sullied.”

  “Ain't sullied, I reckon. Y'say the water's dark?”

  “Yeah, held in some kind of stasis.”

  “Now that sounds familiar. . . Learned 'bout that back at the Dee Institute.“ She broke off eye contact and gazed into her lap. “There was a time, long ago, when those wellsprings were linked. . . ritual connecting them, connecting the magick from the earth itself.”

  “Siphoning it?”

  “Y'know about that kinda thing, I'm guessing?” Her eyes shot up, and seemed to pry at Rafe.

  He looked away, found himself overcome with guilt from the times he had borrowed magick from nature to replenish his own short supply. . . he had meant to pay it back one day, but had never had the opportunity.

  “Ain't like that. Think of it less like borrowing, an' more using the soul of the planet to channel y'own magick.”

  “The planet has a soul?” Ana whispered to Rafe.

  “Puttin' it in simple terms, girl. And it ain't polite to whisper, if your daddy were 'round when y'were growin' up, y'might know that.”

  Ana arched an eyebrow, and was prepared to launch into a tirade about how she didn't know a damn thing about her absent bastard father, but stopped herself―as she realised her lack of patriarchal figure wasn't something this stranger should even know about in the first place.

  “Save y'anger for another time,” the old woman said with a sly smile.

  “What happened, the last time the London wellsprings were. . . connected?” Rafe asked, as he tried to get them back on track.

  “Was a while back, before London was London. . . The magick from the wellsprings was focussed to pierce the veil to―”

  “Another realm?” Shana asked, her query interrupting the woman's sto
ry.

  A scowl appeared on the ancient brow in response. “Realms are all over the show, darlin', this weren't no realm. . . He used it to pierce the veil and create another world.”

  “What do you mean, another world?” Ana asked.

  “What it sounds. Realms are geographically identical to the Natural World for the most part, with representations of everything that exists in this plane over there. What he did was make something new, with only one entrance and exit. . . even though there are different doors t'get there. . . and he used it to hide some a'the most powerful magick the world had ever seen. Magick that no man should witness, let alone wield. . .”

  “Why would someone want to open the door to that world?” Ana asked, but it wasn't the only question on the tip of her tongue. “What would they get out of wielding this thing, this weapon, is it? Magickians can damn near shape the world into their own image, why would they want more power?”

  “Some men ain't happy just being men,” the old woman said, all traces of levity receded from her withered face, which made her look older and more frail than she had appeared when in good spirits. “Some men want t'be gods. . .”

  Chapter 17

  Meeting his maker

  Darkness exploded in a hallway constructed of ancient stone, and tentacles of shadows wrapped themselves around the flames of the everlit candles slotted into golden candlesticks installed in the walls.

  Jules's footsteps pounded on the cobbled floor, splashing through the water that pooled around the cobblestones, as he strutted down the corridor. He used the tendrils of darkness to see ahead of him, probed this way and that, to ensure that no Circle agents were hidden in plain sight.

  The last time he had walked down this path, he could recall it taking close to five minutes before the hallway opened out―but on this occasion, it felt as though it barely took a minute of winding and weaving through the tunnel until he arrived at a large, dark chamber.

  The shadows came from the walls, crissed and crossed the grand temple-like space, to create a velvety black spider's web that hung in the air, ready to ensnare anyone that dared to interfere with what he was about to do.

  Three men stood at the centre of the room, facing one another. Each of their arms was spread out, fused to the shoulders to their neighbour, flesh melded from birth, the lines of their interlocked shoulders created a perfect equilateral triangle. A pit of fire blazed away between them, and Jules quashed the flames with the darkness.

  “Three. . .” he said hoarsely, as he forced the conjoined triplet's name out over a lump in his throat.

  “Hello Jules Nicholls,” it said, the words came from each of its mouths in perfect harmony, each of their three voices acting as one voice.

  “I. . . I need to take you somewhere. . .”

  “We know.” All three heads turned to him, their eyebrows expressive and compassionate, as they stared at him with closed, fused eyelids that hid hollow sockets.

  Jules could never recall anyone, blind or otherwise, look at him in such a fashion. Even though they did not have sight as such, he knew in that moment that they could see him. In fact, it felt as though they saw him more honestly than the eyes of any man or woman, magickian or otherwise.

  “We will not fight.”

  He nodded, not having the words to express how grateful he was for their cooperation, and began to pull the spider's web of shadows around himself and Three, and encased them in darkness.

  “They will not like this,” Three said, as the last glimmers of light in their cavernous lair disappeared. “They will come for you, even if they do not have our assistance to teleport them.”

  “I know,” he said, as he flipped them all over to the Shadow Realm.

  “But you are not alone.”

  He scoffed. “I'm nothing but alone. . . Even if you were offering to help, I couldn't accept it. If you know anything, you know that.”

  The three heads nodded.

  “And yet still, you are not alone,” said the first of Three's heads. It spoke by itself, without the chorus of its brothers.

  “When the time comes,” said the second head, “you will understand.”

  The third head smiled. Without eyes, it was hard to tell whether the lilt of its lips was a kind or cruel “Either way, we will meet again before this is over. . . and then you will meet your maker.”

  A shiver ran down his spine as all three eyeless faces of the conjoined magickian stared at him. He took a step back, then another, unable to look away from them. A thousand thoughts ran through his head about what they could possibly mean. As much as they seemed benign, and even accommodating in their temporary incarceration, the words, the implication of 'meeting his maker' made him fear that they knew no matter what he did, no matter how far he went, or how many lines he crossed in an attempt to complete his task, there was only one way this could end.

  With his death.

  And as shadows exploded around him and created a portal back to the Natural World, he had a sudden realisation that he was okay with that idea. As long as it meant everyone he loved got to survive, he would gladly live up his life.

  Chapter 18

  Side-effects

  “Can't help notice you didn't tell off for using 'god' rather than deity. . .” Ana grumbled, as they left the old woman's house and took a door back to the library.

  “She's older than most dinosaur bones, you really don't want to piss off that generation of magickians.”

  The librarian cleared her throat and stared at him with incredulity.

  “Plus, they're, y'know, wonderful people,” he blathered, in an attempt to take back the insult to her and her peers. “Kind and considerate, thoughtful and caring, nicest people in the whole wide world, and definitely not the kind of people that would turn your blood to molten lava, and flip your skin inside out just for the hell of it. . .“

  With a scoff, the librarian rolled her eyes and returned to her desk.

  “Nice save,” Ana chuckled.

  “Thank you.”

  “Although, if anything, you've probably just given her ideas of how to torture you if you say something insulting on a different occasion. . . which will definitely happen.”

  Rafe barely heard a word she said, his eyes were off to the side, brow furrowed as he listened to a voice in his periphery.

  “How the hell would you know that?”

  “Know what?” Ana asked, as she realised she was out of the loop.

  With a wave of his hand, she was connected to the call.

  “Got a man on the ground,” Slugtrough explained. “Said a bunch of Circle-jerks been chasing him all over the gods damn world, 'til they lost contact.”

  “Lost contact? What do you mean, 'lost contact', anyone see what he did to them?”

  “That ain't the half of it―”

  “He has kidnapped Three!” Shana told them, moments before Slugtrough told them the same thing.

  “We'll call you back . . .” Rafe muttered, and he killed the call before the words had barely left his lips. “How?”

  “He kidnapped three of what?” Ana asked.

  “Three, capital T,” he explained. “It's the name of. . . How would you describe him?”

  “A trinity of magickians born conjoined, the combined magick flowing through their collective circulatory system.”

  Ana stared at her blankly, and turned to Rafe. “So, three of what?”

  “Men, think Siamese twins, but triplets.”

  “I think you're meant to call them conjoined―”

  “Now who's being pedantic?” He arched his eyebrows to mock her for the briefest of moments, before he regained his composure and returned to the matter at hand. “Have reinforcements been sent to Bloomsbury?”

  Shana nodded.

  “Any adepts amongst them?”

  She thought for a moment, shrugged, then dialled Tali to get the information, and stepped away from them whilst she inquired.

  “He wouldn't be dumb enough to go b
ack to the same church, would he?"

  “It's not a matter of dumb, thing about rituals is they need to be performed in a specific manner. . . Get it wrong it might not work and you have to start all over again―”

  “Like at the market?”

  Rafe nodded. “Or worse, there could be adverse side-effects.”

  Shana ended her call and turned back to them. “No adepts available to send over to Bloomsbury, but we've got two stationed at each of the other churches. They're calling in reserves, pulling in favours, asking retired operatives to step back into service―”

  “One way or another he's hitting Bloomsbury next. . . Best get all your adepts teleported over there.”

  “Easier said than done without Three. . .”

  “Door them, whatever. . . Jesus, why isn't Faith running point on this damn show? Shouldn't be down to me to tell you people how to do your damn job!”

  Shana nodded in polite agreement, and walked away to call her superior out of their earshot.

  “You're good at this taking command thing,” Ana scoffed. “Surprised you gave it up. . . way you're acting, ordering troops, planning strategy and whatever, seems like you were made for it.”

  Rafe huffed. “You have to have a certain mindset to want to be in command. . . Be an authoritarian, or have a desire for power. That's never really been me.”

  A small smile came to Ana's lips. She had often heard the phrase 'power corrupts' bandied about, but until now had never met anyone that had the opportunity for power, or at the very least bureaucratic power, and let it go of their own volition. It made her respect Rafe all the much more.

  He caught sight of the lilt of her lips, and realised his own were curved into the most subtle of crescents to match it. From the moment they started to walk down this path, starting with agreeing to help Slugtrough with his 'favour', it seemed that bit by bit all the fun had been sapped out of their working relationship.