by Lee Isserow
Magickians across London heard the screams on the wind, as the plant's heart stopped beating. If they had looked in the direction of the church, they would have seen the glimmers of light that shot through the ether, as the effect of the coin hitting the water pierced through the realms, and a rainbow of light poured out of the stained glass windows for only those of a magickal disposition to see.
And as with the previous churches, by the time the Circle knew what had happened, it was already too late.
Chapter 27
The price
Jules hadn't eaten for days, and as much as he knew he should be in hiding before it was time to go to the final church, at Ana's insistence, the three of them went to a noodle bar down the road from Sloane Square. It was her favourite place to eat, secreted away down an innocuous set of stairs, which opened out into a beautiful courtyard and a little stall that sold simple, yet delicious, Vietnamese food.
As they were served their starters, Ana realised the environment, as attractive as it was, dulled her appetite. The courtyard was surrounded by greenery, vines hung down from the buildings around them, potted plants were dotted around the tables. It felt as though the mis-en-scene was designed solely to dig the knife in deeper, make her hurt all the more for what they had been forced to do to help Jules.
“Couldn't we have done it last?” she asked, barely even aware the words had left her lips. “Gone off to the safe then doubled back to the apothecary. Let it have a better chance of surviving?”
“Rituals don't work like that,” Rafe replied. “You know that. There's a pattern, a rhyme and reason written into reality.”
There was a ringing in his periphery that distracted him from the conversation.
“Shana?” Ana asked, as she observed him look off the to side, then kill the call.
He nodded.
“She's been trying to get through to me since we left the Bloomsbury, Tali too.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“Not much to say, not like we're going to answer, not yet.” She shrugged, and toyed with her pho chay, moved the mushrooms around in the bowl, and found herself feeling sorry for them.
“I'm getting it done,” Jules said. “I promise”
Ana's gaze shot over to him. He was on call.
“The Circle came after me and I couldn't do it alone. They don't work for them, they're freelancers. . . I. . . hired them. . .”
He stood up from the table and began to pace the courtyard as the kidnappers talked in his head.
“I didn't have a choice―I'm going to do what you asked―”
Jules stopped dead in his tracks, and tears began to well in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Ana asked.
“We need to go,” he mumbled, “back to my house.” He lifted his head back up as a portal of shadows exploded into existence directly in front of him.
The stall owner squealed in fear, but none of the three cared enough to mesmerise him.
“Why? What did they say?”
He wiped away the tears and turned to Ana.
“They said. . . If I screw with them, it won't just be my son that pays the price. . .”
Chapter 28
Making him pay
Jules stepped through the portal into the hallway of his home. A silence hung in the air, broken only by the footsteps of Rafe and Ana as they followed him.
He tore away from the others, searched the living room then the kitchen, the dining room, ran up the stairs and checked each of the bedrooms. He returned to the hallway, out of breath, tears streaked down his face, and clambered past Ana and Rafe to get to the telephone that was attached to the wall by the front door. Beneath it was a small, slim shelf, upon which a myriad brightly coloured post-it notes had been plastered. He searched through them all until he found the one that had Akif's number, and frantically dialled it into the handset.
It went straight to voicemail, and he slammed the phone back down on its cradle.
“He's not here,” Rafe said, as he peeked his head into the living room. The coffee table was at an angle, papers that had been left on top of it strewn across the floor, the television remote all the way over on the other side of the room by the fireplace. “Signs of a struggle, or at least an attempted struggle. . . probably mesmerised him before he could give them much of a fight.”
Jules leaned back against the front door. His jaw hung open, eyes welled with tears as he stared into middle distance and slowly dropped down to the floor.
“They. . . have his husband too?” Ana asked.
Rafe nodded. “Double the collateral,” he whispered, in the hope that Jules wouldn't hear him. “Because we're an unknown quantity. He was gonna toe the line because his son's life was at stake. . . us being involved has screwed up their plan, they don't know us, don't know what makes us tick.”
“So they're making him pay, giving him more to lose. . .” Ana couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for Jules going through more pain. She walked over to him and dropped to her knees, took his hands in hers, and began to console him with words that she knew were just platitudes.
Rafe watched her try to corral him back into action, but he seemed close to catatonic at the notion of having lost the only two people he had ever truly loved.
But he hadn't lost them, not yet. And he wouldn't lose them. Rafe vowed that to himself, and knew that words weren't going to help in that moment, especially not words that he felt he could say with Ana present.
The more he watched her, the more Rafe realised that it wasn't just Jules's pain and Ana's empathy that had made him agree to take this unethical, morally dubious job. . . it was his own.
He wanted revenge, for not only himself, but for every parent that had ever lost a child, every man and woman that had lost a loved one. He was going to make those bastards pay, make them suffer, for every single human being's love that was cut down in its prime.
Chapter 29
Strong magick
Ana and Rafe helped Jules get back to his feet, but were only able to get him as far as the couch. He was still unresponsive, his eyes refused to meet theirs. A constant tremble rocketed through his extremities, and the tears flowed thick and hard, with no effort made to restrain them, let alone wipe them from his cheeks.
The taking of his son was an awful, incomparable experience, but the hate and the anger had kept him going. The desire for vengeance fuelled the furnace of his task. But to lose his husband too. . . that was one tragedy too much. And it had begun to dawn on Jules that if what his companions were saying was true, that the kidnappers had intentions to tear the world apart, then there was no point fighting. The world was going to end. The only two people he loved were going to die either way. And worst of all, it was all his fault.
Ana was kneeled down in front of the couch, held his hand, and tried again to will him back into action. She realised that she somehow she understood what he was going through, not by any means of magick, let alone personal experience. It was somehow being imparted to her, as if through skin to skin contact. There were no words she could fathom to explain it, in some ways it was similar to the connection she had with Rafe, her touch able to replenish what little magick flowed in his blood. Yet, it was also different. As if she, and this man she had never met before, were on the same wavelength. Without any effort on her part, his emotions flowed through to her, and based on that she knew the words he needed to hear.
“It's not your fault. . . These guys needed a shadow adept, they would have probably picked you one way or another. . . And if not you, then some other guy, perhaps someone who wasn't going to be so. . . judicious about who got hurt.”
Slowly, cautiously, his eyes navigated to meet hers.
“With everything you've been forced to do, everywhere you've been forced to break into, hundreds of people should have got hurt, or killed, or worse. . .” She didn't know what could be worse than death, but figured that with reality manipulation being their skillset, there must
be something worse than death. . .
“It's better for the world, for the people in it, mundane or magickal, that you were chosen. Someone with a heart as big as yours, who cares about life, who holds it precious―”
Shadows tore from beneath the couch, coalesced as they thrashed across the room. A massive fist of shadows slammed into the wall, plaster exploded out from the hole it made, and caked all three of them in a thick white cloud of dust.
“I'm not going to let them die,” he growled. “I'm not going to let them end the world, I'm not going to do another damn thing for them. . .” His gaze shot over to Rafe. “But I am going to kill them. Make them suffer. . . how did you put it? 'Rip them to shreds from the inside out at the molecular level'?”
Rafe nodded, and tried his best not to let Jules see how perturbed he was at the shadow adept's change of attitude and sudden lust for blood.
“That's what they're going to get. . . but slow, painful, hours upon hours of torture. Days. Weeks. They're going to know suffering the likes of which they'd never be able to imagine.”
“First. . . we need to find them,” Ana offered, equally as disturbed as Rafe. “Then we can decide what kind of punishment they deserve.”
“How? How do you track down people that are able to shroud themselves in damn calls?!”
“I know someone,” Rafe said. ”But it's not going to be pretty, it's not going to be easy, if anything it'll probably be damn painful.”
Ana glanced over to Rafe. “Who can track calls? Reva? She just makes soups, and as much as they're disgusting, they're not painful. . .”
Rafe shook his head. “Not Reva. . . tracing a call will take more than just a tracking casting. . . It takes strong magick, blood magick. And the only guy I know who can do that is a hell of a lot worse than Reva. . .”
Chapter 30
Deadly wards
Jules created a portal that took them to the location Rafe had given him, but as soon as they arrived, it didn't seem even remotely correct. Even before they stepped through, they could feel the air radiate out from the dark doorway, thicker than it was in London, a scent wafted on a light breeze that reminded Ana of the fumes from a tail pipe. On the other side, it was hot, a dry heat, and they found themselves in the middle of a road. Cars careered past them with barely any concern as to whether the three people at the centre of the street might end up as new and bloody hood ornaments.
“Is this right?” Ana asked. “It doesn't look right. . .”
Rafe waited for a massive SUV to quit honking its horn to reply. “It's right. Can't get any closer. . . whole neighbourhood is warded.”
“Your friend warded a whole neighbourhood?”
“Yeah. . . but calling him a friend is a hell of a stretch.”
They discovered that the traffic was reluctant to ease up to let them cross, Rafe grunted to himself and threw his hand around in a circle. His fist punched straight through it, middle finger raised to draw out a sigil before he pulled his arm back. Momentarily, his elbow cocked, before he fired the fist through the circle again to seal his casting. His thumb shot out and hung below, scraped behind the hand as he raised his first and middle fingers, and pointed dead ahead. There was a screech of brakes that seem to roll all the way back up the street and beyond, echoing across the black ribbon of highway that disappeared off into the distance.
He put an arm out, and gestured for Ana to across the road. Jules trudged behind them with a scowl carved into his brow. The mix of emotions, from anger and hate, to sheer terror and heart stopping anxiety, was still rocketing through his system. He wanted to lash out, to hit something. But he clenched his teeth and held it in. Now was not the time to lash out. Soon, he would have that chance, and he would relish every second of it.
The three of them were the only people that walked on the street. It seemed as though nobody walked in this town, a city in which man had evolved beyond the use of their legs, or at the very least become too lazy to put them to work beyond slightly leaning them on pedals.
Rafe led them off the main street and turned into a rundown neighbourhood, their path snaked around the block to the left then back to the right.
“Are we walking a sigil?” Ana asked.
Rafe shook his head. “Avoiding the more deadly wards.”
“Deadly?”
“Carrogan doesn't like visitors at the best of times, certainly doesn't like the Circle sniffing around.”
“So he set traps?”
“If 'traps' flip your digestive tract, lacrimal gland and pulmonary system around, so you poop out your eyes bleed out your arse and cry out your peehole, then yeah. . . he set 'traps'.”
“I don't think I want to meet this man.“
“Nobody wants to meet him, but sometimes you have to go knocking on doors you'd really rather avoid.”
They crossed another street and doubled back on themselves, took a right and then another right. Rafe came to a stop outside a house right at the centre of a row of properties that were larger, newer, and better cared for. The house they stood in front of looked as though it should have fallen down of its own volition decades previous. Ana couldn't help but wonder if the building was being held together by magick, or just hope and spit. Dilapidated didn't even begin to cover it, and as much as it looked as though it were condemned and certainly not suitable for anyone to live in―let alone near, Rafe seemed certain it was the place.
He laid his hand on the rotten wood that surrounded the property, which looked as though it might have once been a white picket fence. The paint had long since peeled, the wood scarred and fragmented, as if worn away by time. Ana was a little concerned that Rafe would end up getting a thousand splinters, and perhaps pick up some awful disease in the process, as his fingers drummed against the ancient fence, and he tapped out a beat that looked as though he were playing a piano that no longer knew how to expel a tune.
The house seemed to ripple, and Ana realised that Rafe's drumbeat has deactivated a barrier around the ramshackle home. A snow globe of barely visible light warped and distorted the property within as it buckled, an archway formed around the gate, all the way to the front door to allow them access, and he gestured for her to walk ahead down the path.
She glanced at him with an expression, which was intended to convey that as much as she appreciated the chivalrous notion of her taking the lead―she sure as hell wasn't going to go down the path first. Rafe sent her a muted smile back and walked ahead. He rapped his knuckles on the door once, twice, a double-tap, and then a short and muted final knock.
He sighed as he waited for a response, and when there was none, knocked again. Then a third time, and then a fourth.
“Why isn't he answering?” Jules grumbled.
“He doesn't like guests, probably hoping we'll just go away.”
Jules scowled at the door. He could feel the shadows that lived in-between the cracks of the wood, they just sat there in the veins that permeated deep into the frail entrance, just waiting for his command. Impatience got the better of him, he grabbed hold of the darkness with his intent, and the door exploded into a cloud of sawdust and splinters that rained down into the dank and dark hallway within.
“Well that's one way to announce your arrival. . .” Rafe muttered under his breath, and he tried to ignore the glare that Jules shot him for his glib statement.
“Can we go in?” Ana asked. “Are there any more wards?”
Rafe scanned what was left of the door frame, cautiously peaked his head inside to inspect for any sigils or glyphs that might be hidden away. It appeared as though there were none, and hesitantly, he took a step beyond the threshold, whilst he prated silently to himself that entering without permission wouldn't result in him breathing through his bottom and sneezing himself to death whilst urine leaked from his nose.
It appeared as though the inside of the house had no such wards, and Rafe stepped deeper into the hallway, leading the others into the blood magickian's domain.
Wi
th every step they took along the corridor, it felt as though it was getting longer and longer. The door to the room at the end almost within reach, and yet always one step farther the deeper they got. Ana glanced over her shoulder, and they had barely got beyond the front door. She looked around at the hallway, the wallpaper peeled and stained, masses of cobwebs hung from the ceilings above, filled with flies and moths, and in one corner it appeared that a medium-sized tabby cat had been caught in the spider's web. Her eyes shot back to the door ahead of them, and she decided it was best not to investigate the ceilings again.
“We're not getting anywhere, are we?”
“No,” Rafe growled. “Need a change of tack.”
“Got anything in mind?” Jules asked. “Because I'd kinda like to blow more things apart. . .”
Rafe turned on his heel to meet the shadow adept's eye. “You have to calm down.”
“I'll calm down when I've―”
“You'll calm down now. You'll take a breath, let a cooler head prevail, because you're no use to anyone pissed off. I know you think it's helping, making you feel better, but all it's doing is marring your damn judgement―”
“They have my son! My husband!”
“And we're going to get them back―you're going to get them back. . . but not like this. . . trust me. . . going in to any situation where your loved ones are at risk with a heart full of anger and head full of idiotic violent intentions doesn't get you anywhere. . . And it gets the people you care about killed. . .”
Jules saw something in his eyes, something familiar, as if it was the face of his own loss and devastation that stared back.
“You lost someone? Like this?”
“Like this. . .” Rafe mumbled. “Because of my own anger, my rage. . . My own gross incompetence and ineptitude. . . If I was smarter, would have seen it coming. . . but I didn't, too caught up in my own crap.” He hoped more than anything that Ana didn't overhear, he didn't want to have that conversation with her―never wanted to have that conversation ever again. “Cooler head. But keep the anger bottled up. . . you're going to want to unleash it when we get our hands on the guys that did this to you. Make them suffer for every moment they've had you skating on the knife's edge.”
