The Prince of Darkness (The Freelancers Book 3)

by Lee Isserow

  With a heavy sigh, she took a few steps back and heard the crack of a fracture in reality. She turned stepped into the hole between realms that Ana had made for her. In the Mirror Realm, she took one last look over her shoulder at the three that remained within the white void and stepped through another crack that opened, that led back to the church above.

  She was not happy with this arrangement. Knew that it would be seen as a dereliction of duty, and yet she acquiesced. Despite the power she had at her fingertips, and as much as she had been trained in every adept, two of the three that she stepped away from were the most powerful magickians she ever met. She alone was no match for Jules, but Ana most definitely was. And as they had said, he wasn't going anywhere.

  She dialled the Circle to update them on the situation, but before she could say a word, a knot tied itself in her throat. Jules might well have been trapped, but there was still one way in which he could escape. . . if the freelancers were somehow swayed by his story, and decided to let him out of their own free will.

  Chapter 23

  Whatever it takes

  “I need to do this,” Jules said, as he tried to hide the desperation that was doing its best to creep across his expression.

  “You need to screw up some fountains?” Ana scoffed.

  “I need. . .” He couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth, couldn't dare risk the betrayal. “There are only three more, just let me do this, I'm not going to hurt anyone. . .”

  “Tell that to the operatives that no one has seen or heard from for a while,” Rafe grunted. “Let alone Three―how the hell did you manage to overpower them anyway? That should be damn near impossible.”

  Jules sighed. “I didn't have to overpower them, they came with me of their own volition.”

  “Don't believe that for a second.”

  “Getting off topic here, grandpa,” Ana mumbled. “We kicked Shana out, you probably hurt her feelings in the process―nice going there―How about you lay out the sitch?”

  “Sitch?” Rafe found himself asking, from the incredulous look he received in response, he wished he hadn't.

  “Situation, duh.”

  “I know what it means, I'm just not sure when you started abbreviating words that aren't all that long to begin with. . .”

  “I abbreviate words as and when I feel like it.”

  “Really, you think now is the time to have this discussion?”

  “I'll have this discussion when I damn well feel like it.”

  “I do feel like we're getting stuck in a loop here. . .”

  As the couple squabbled back and forth, Jules's eyes began to prick with tears. It reminded him of the playful banter he and Akif had when they first started dating all those years previous. . . When life was easy. . . When they didn't have a care in the world.

  Where he was, in that moment was a world away from that blissful, innocent time. It felt so preposterous a comparison, as if it were just a fantastical story he had told himself, like the bedtime tales he regaled to his son each and every night. . . A fantasy of another time, another place. Other people, other lives.

  But this was all too real.

  He grimaced, as they continued their jovial back-and-forth. Reality was starting to set in. He knew what would happen if he spoke to them, if he told them why he was doing what he was doing. . . And yet, for some unfathomable reason, that he couldn't even begin to comprehend, he felt like he needed to tell them everything.

  The girl could be trusted, he knew that with ever fibre of his being, despite having no earthly reason to believe it. But of course, he reminded himself, what the hell are 'earthly reasons' in the world of magick. . .

  “They have my son,” Jules said, as he interrupted the playful banter. Unable to meet their eyes, his gaze skirted the opalescent floor.

  The wry smiles fled from his captors faces, their conversation came to a halt instantly. The unshaven man and the young woman turned to him, and as their body language shifted, it seemed to Jules that there was no question in their minds as to whether to believe him or not. But as the tears welled in his eyes, all he could think of was that the saying was proving itself untrue: the truth did not set him free.

  “They took him. . . while we slept.”

  “My gods,” Ana said, under her breath.

  “When I went to get him up in the morning, he was gone. . . coins left under his pillow. . .”

  “Like some. . . evil tooth fairy?”

  Jules's gaze shot over to her “What?”

  “Like, it decided it was easier to take all the bones, rather than just grab a tooth at a time. . .”

  “Not the time. . .” Rafe muttered. “You're saying someone's making you do this?

  “They called me, told me where to go, what to do in what order, what to say to activate the coins. . . told me not to say a damn word to the Circle, to anyone.”

  “Why you?” Ana asked.

  Rafe took a breath, and suddenly realised why this man and his skill set seemed so familiar. He took slow steps towards Jules, looked him up and down. “Because of who he is. . .”

  “Who is he?

  “We've seen him before. . .”

  “Doubt it,” Jules muttered, breath weak in his chest, a tingle of fear washed over his body

  “He was on the news. . . Circle dialled it back though, right? On the south bank. When London was tearing itself apart.”

  Jules said nothing in response, his eyes returned to the ground beneath his feet. But his silence spoke volumes, and Ana suddenly realised that she knew him too.

  It was her that pointed out the news coverage to Rafe, and shouted with glee when she saw the spectacle on the television at Day Drinkers, begged to go down and 'help'. He refused, said it wasn't their concern. . . and then by the time night fell, the world seemed to forget that magick had been revealed to one and all. There was a collective amnesia that had swept the land, no memory remained amongst the mundanes that a bridge across the Thames had been destroyed, that the London Eye had come crashing down, and that light and fire and gods know what else had been thrown back and forth between the three magickians that did battle.

  History had been rewritten, reality reshaped. It was as if it had never happened, and yet those of magick blood could recall it.

  “Prince of darkness!” she squealed, eyes wide as she remembered the name the news cycle gave him.

  Rafe huffed, and tried to hold in the embarrassment he felt at how much of a fangirl she was for the guy.

  “Don't call me that,” Jules grunted.

  “You killed a man. . .” Rafe shot back. “Tore his damn body apart, ripped it to shreds―”

  “He was going to kill me. . . kill every magickian―”

  “Don't make it right. . . There are ways to deal with guys like that. This, for instance, containing you. Stopping you from finishing your ritual and risking cracking the world in half.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Didn't they tell you?”

  “Tell me what!?”

  “These five wellsprings were linked before, used to create another world―”

  “That's not possible, nobody has that kind of―”

  “It happened. And if you don't have the same kind of juice, you might inadvertently destroy this world in the process. Rip every damn realm to shreds, kill billions.

  “That can't be their endgame. . . Why would they want to destroy the world? They live in the world. What would be the point in―”

  “Do you guys want to shut up for a second?” Ana shouted over the top of them, annoyed at the raised voices in the plastic prison, that reflected sound a little too efficiently. “Let's get back on track, who has your son?”

  “I've already said too much. . .” He walked away from Rafe began to pace, breath short and sharp. “They told me not to tell a soul.”

  They could see that he was terrified of risking his son's life, and yet with every turn of his heel, and strut in the oppos
ite direction, his stride slowed, as though he was coming to the realisation that not only he had already told them more than he should have. . . but that this place was of Ana's creation, and the prying eyes of those that had his son could likely not invade it.

  He stopped, and glanced between the two of them. “I don't know who they are. . . They were shrouded in their communications.”

  “Have you tried to get him back?” Ana asked.

  “How? I've never met them. . . Whoever they are, they're dialling me up to give me instructions. If they had come to me, threatened my family to my face, I'd have. . .” He trailed off, not ready to put into words what he had fantasised of doing to the men that took his child.

  Silence hung in the white room, broken only by Jules's deep, angry breaths. He wanted to fight, to break free of the plastic prison and get back to the task at hand, But he couldn't make himself do what needed to be done. Even though he was fairly certain he could break the man in two with barely any thought. . . the empathy that radiated from the young woman was calming him, helping him think straight. The familiarity he felt around her forced a cooler head to prevail.

  “We'll help you.” Ana said, a reassuring smile on her lips.

  “We'll do what?” Rafe baulked.

  “We're getting his son back.

  “The hell we are―we don't know the first thing about this guy―”

  “We're doing it,” she spat.

  Rafe could see a fire burn in her eyes. He wanted to argue, wanted to be able to say something―anything―that would make her see reason. But he couldn't bring himself to say a damn word.

  If this man was telling the truth, if his son had indeed been kidnapped as Ana seemed to believe, he knew there was nothing that would stop a grieving father from doing whatever it took to get his child back.

  He had been there, in the man's shoes. And as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him didn't want to dredge up the memories by going down that road again, even vicariously. And yet, he couldn't say no to Ana's resolution. And he wouldn't just stand by and let this man go through the same hell he had suffered.

  “We'll do it,” he grunted. “Whatever it takes to get your boy back.”

  Chapter 24

  Gone

  Ana withdrew the light that had engulfed the cave, the plastic sheen dissipated slowly, and the cavern returned to the muddy and light-devoid state it had been in when they first entered and laid their trap.

  She strained to see in the darkness, and noticed that Rafe was drawing out a sigil on his belt. The leather began to contort, folded out and down his leg, wrapped around itself into a shape that Ana thought looked like a holster or sheath, with a latch or catch at the top. He flicked it open, and light filled the murky basement, as he withdrew an everlit candle and held it aloft.

  Jules reached back into his pocket, and took hold of the coin in his palm once again. He wrapped his fingers around it and made a fist. With trepidation, he glanced back over his shoulder to the two of them.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, “for trusting me.”

  “Don't trust you, mate. Not 'til you've given me a reason to. . .” Rafe spat back. “I trust her, and her judgement,”

  Jules brought the coin to his lips.

  “No disappearing, no going off on your own,” Rafe continued, all too aware that anything he said was going to delay the proceedings, and annoy Jules in the process. “We're going to see this through to the end together.”

  “Yes, that's fine. Can I do this already? They're on a damn schedule.”

  “Nobody gets hurt.”

  “I haven't hurt anyone so far. . .”

  “It's only a matter of time.”

  Jules turned, glared at Rafe, but kept his thoughts to himself. As much as he hated to admit it, and as much as he had done his best to make sure that nobody got hurt, the man was right. . . It was only a matter of time before the Circle ramped up their efforts to take him down, and knowing them as he did, they would likely give him no choice but to retaliate.

  However, with those two by his side, the mirror adept girl, and whatever the hell the guy was, he realised they might actually be able to get to the last two churches and get the whole thing over and done with, with no injuries or casualties.

  He nodded to Rafe, agreed to his last minute caveats to their arrangement, and turned back to the wellspring. The rough edges of the coin dug into his palm, and he tightened his grip, let it hurt him. He hated this, every damn second of it. And yet somehow, even though the new development might annoy the men that had his son, he felt as though it was the only way he could guarantee success.

  Jules brought the fist back to his lips, he whispered between his thumb and first finger, told the coin the words it had spent its entire life longing to hear, and threw it into the water of the Bloomsbury wellspring.

  Light tore through the dark, muddy chasm beneath the church. And by the time Shana returned with reinforcements from the Circle to arrest Jules Nicholls, the three of them were gone.

  Chapter 25

  Coming for you

  St Luke's of Old Street was next on the list, and of the five, it was the one that Jules had been dreading. It wasn't that the church itself was the problem―but what lay under it was more than just a simple apothecary for him. In it lay a wide breadth of memories that he wasn't sure he was prepared to return to, even at the best of times, and certainly not whilst under the auspices of nefarious forces.

  The three of them watched the grounds of the church from an alley, observed the refractions of light as they moved subtly at their posts. They had increased the number of operatives compared to Bloomsbury. It looked as though there were at least forty, or fifty, or more.

  Jules grit his teeth and tugged at the shadows, and began to form duplicates as he had done before. A hand rested on his, and Ana shook her head.

  “You did that back at St Wotsits, right?”

  “St George's, yeah.”

  “Really think the same trick is going to work twice?”

  “No reason why it shouldn't. . .”

  “What if they got smart to it?” Rafe asked, curtly. “Pulled in some light adepts to tear your shadow-men apart?”

  “So I'll make more of them, come at them from all angles―”

  “You're not listening, and you're not thinking smart.”

  “And you're not phrasing sentences properly. . .” Ana muttered.

  Rafe narrowed his eyes in her direction, but decided not to take the bait and find himself lost in a witty back-and-forth.

  “They're looking for a shadow adept, and are probably wearing goggles enchanted to see into your realm. Even if you come at them in the Natural World. . . They know who you are now. . .”

  “So?”

  “What he's saying,” Ana offered, translating. “Is that a big black man walking up to them, shadows or not, is going to get their guard up. . . They're not going to look twice at a brown-ish guy and they're certainly not expecting skinny white girl.”

  “You're not that skinny, not like model skinny, y'know, ribs everywhere like some kind of skeleton that―” Rafe cut himself off, his attempt at a compliment failed spectacularly, and had resulted in incredulous stares from the others.

  “Are you done?” Ana asked.

  “I meant it in a nice way.”

  “Sure you did. Have I ever told you that your skintone really goes with how awful you are at compliments?”

  “That feels like it's a little racist. . .” Rafe muttered.

  “Are you two done flirting?” Jules grunted. He wasn't looking forward to having to step back into the church, and their conversational quirks sure as hell weren't helping make him feel any better about it.

  “We're not flirting. . .” Ana huffed, as she tried in vain to hide the embarrassment of being called out.

  “He's right, head in the game.” Rafe said, as he put his hands to his face and shrouded himself. He gestured for Ana to do the same.

  “Is it really
worth it? Shana will know it's us, not like we were exactly subtle about kicking her out to conspire. . . “

  “The smallest modicum of plausible deniability can go a long way.” Rafe threw a glamour down his body, and disguised his all too easily recognisable Victorian cut coat. That, along with the tan boots, jeans and slim cut shirts in a variety of dark shades had been his uniform since leaving the Circle.

  Ana gave in, and applied a shroud and glamour to herself, even though she really didn't see the point. Jules was right, this was no time for arguments, serious or otherwise. They had a job to do.

  The two of them left the alley, and walked a circuitous route towards the church. Heading straight towards it might put the Circle operatives on edge. They might not be able to remember their faces, but if one of them even had the slightest inkling that a shroud was in use, they'd likely sound the alert.

  Jules watched from the alley, dialled through to the two of them, and prepared to give them updates on the movements of the deployment of the near-invisible agents. They had not moved from their positions, not yet, but as soon Ana and Rafe launched their assault, they would not stay placid for long. . .

  Rafe turned into the church grounds, as Ana continued to walk round the block. He kept track in his periphery of the light swimming through the air where the operatives were hiding in plain sight. His fingers danced by his sides as he prepared to act.

  “They're moving. . .” Jules said, “Not converging or anything, but you've certainly caught their attention.”

  “Well, if I didn't have their attention before,” Rafe muttered, “I'm certainly going to have it now. . .”

  He lifted his hand as the sigil was sealed, first finger pointed and imbued with his intent. Before the nearest operative could react, Rafe tapped him on the forehead, and the swirling light dropped to the ground with an unceremonious thump.

  “To your left,” Jules shouted, as he saw an operative start to cast, and the others all launched from their positions.