by Al K. Line
When I bought the place for cash many years ago, I was well ahead of the times. It was cramped and made up of a series of poky rooms. I got rid of the lot. I took down every wall apart from the ones that actually made it a house. Gone was the wall that separated the hallway from the living room. Then I knocked through into the dining room and then the kitchen, and as the years have gone by I've modernized as new technology arrives and I'm happier with it now than I've ever been.
Stripped, polished and stained oak floorboards, the originals. A large galley kitchen at the far end overlooking the garden Grandma helped me plant and advised me on. Two large, comfortable-but-modern leather sofas either end of a rug probably worth more than the house. A huge TV on the wall, gray blinds at the bay window to the front, and a matching roller blind at the rear. Various cupboards and chairs from the forties, fifties, and sixties. It's paradise. It's mine. It's quiet. It's home.
Airy, light, roomy, and relaxing. Perfect.
"Sweet pad, Spark. Need a roomie?" asked Intus.
"Absolutely not. I like my privacy and my alone time. You ask that every time, anyway. Don't pretend like I don't remember." I tried not to shudder as Intus might take it personally. But could you imagine?
"Did I? Have I?" Long-lived creatures like Intus forget more than you would think. Or, sometimes, choose to forget on purpose. "Hey, what's this?" Intus jumped up onto a long, and very expensive forties Danish sideboard and lifted a plastic lid.
"Whoa! Don't touch it, it's set up just right. It's delicate." Intus paused with one tiny hand just about to touch the weight on the end of the needle arm of my turntable.
"You sure you don't want me to touch it. Just to be sure?"
"Sure of what?" I asked suspiciously.
"Um, to be sure it works. How does it work?"
"Never you mind. If you want that sandwich minus the bread then please don't touch my stuff."
"Fine." Intus acted seriously offended, but disappeared in a puff of smoke and reappeared on the kitchen counter, then vanished again. We heard it clattering about in the wall cupboard that held the Marmite, lost at the back where the nasty stuff remained until it began to gain sentience.
Kate shrugged and wandered down to the kitchen area. She opened the door to find Intus heaving against the jar larger than itself. Why it was in my house I had no idea. I'd certainly never bought it. One mystery that will never be solved, I guess.
She picked it up with the imp sat on the top, and I got bread out of the drawer. It was from the day before so still pretty fresh, and while I sliced, Kate got the goodies from the fridge.
"Hey, a little help here?" asked Intus, spinning the lid but not getting it off.
"I thought you were like a million times stronger than your size dictates?" I asked.
"Hey, that's sizeist. Don't be insulting me, Spark."
"What! I wasn't. Here, let me." Intus jumped down and I took off the lid and tried not to retch at the foul smell. I got a knife, loaded it up, then placed it on a plate.
Intus tucked in happily, sighing with satisfaction.
Kate and I prepared a more sensible lunch of cheese, ham, mayo and mustard sandwiches. I was starving.
Bang, bang, bang.
"What the hell is that?" I gathered the Empty, half a sandwich in my mouth, and Kate became a blur.
She was across the room quicker than you could say, "Run, vampire, run," and peeking through the blinds as the hammering at the door got louder and louder. It sounded like a troll collective had come for lunch, and I didn't expect the door to hold out much longer.
"I'm found," moaned Intus from the counter, before ducking down behind the Marmite.
"Who's found you?" Like this was what I needed now.
"Illus. You have to hide me. I've got things to do. I need a break. I need my Marmite."
"So this is why you came to see me? To hide? What's going on, Intus? I'm not in the mood for trouble today. I've got enough problems as it is."
"I thought I'd be safe with you," the cowering imp moaned, trying to whisper but its crazy imp baritone would easily be heard the other side of the door. I expected it to smash down any second. I'd just painted it, too.
"I can hear you in there, Intus. You better open up or I'll smash it down and drag you out. We have babies to make."
Kate dashed back to the kitchen and we turned to Intus. "Babies?" she said.
"Babies?" I said.
"Babies," Intus said, nodding a pale red head as it peeked around the jar.
"Who's at the door? Who's Illus?"
"My betrothed. Um, we got married."
"What!? What the hell is happening? Imps don't get married, do they?"
"Of course they do. How else would we make babies?"
"Well, you know, the same way humans and all other animals do."
"I know how to do it, thank you very much. I am immortal. I've had loads of practice, but I haven't made any yet. We can't, not until we get married. But I changed my mind, it's too... It's too—"
"Too what?" said the imp I assumed was Illus, as the angry creature squeezed through the letterbox. Seemingly, it finally remembered it was an imp, and disappeared then reappeared beside Intus, hands on hips, scowling at my terrified friend.
"Come in, why don't you?"
"Sorry about that, um, human? But we have babies to make. We're married."
"Oh, right. Er, Spark, you can call me Spark."
"Hi, Spark," said Illus. "So, this is who you've run off with, is it? Some kind of 'person.' Not good enough for you, am I?"
Intus practically shriveled before our eyes. Kate nudged me like I should do something, but I was at a loss.
"Um, who's the husband and who's the wife?" They both scowled at me like I'd asked the dumbest question ever.
"Don't be stupid," said Illus.
"Right, sorry. Daft of me to ask." They nodded in agreement. "Now, look, you, er, can't just come in here and..." Illus was seriously putting me off. The feisty imp was way too intense. I could see why Intus had done a runner.
"Yes? You got something to say?" said Illus.
"Um, no. As you were."
Intus looked at me with pleading eyes. The tail was down, ears flat to the head, and it hadn't even finished the Marmite.
"I need a break," said Intus. "It was a mistake and I'm sorry, but I'm not ready for this. It's too sudden."
"We've been engaged for seventeen centuries," said Illus.
"Like I said, too sudden. I haven't had time to prepare."
"Prepare what?"
"Um, you know, things. Married type things." Intus waved the notion away as if it were obvious such a short engagement would never result in a happy marriage.
"I think we better leave them to it," said Kate, nodding to the garden.
"Good idea."
We strolled out into the sweet smelling garden and shut the door behind us. Man, imps are loud.
After a tour of the plants, and the call of our sandwiches too much to stand, we headed back inside.
"Oh my god, oh my god," screamed Kate.
"Ugh, gross. Stop it, stop it."
It was the stuff of nightmares. All I could see was a red bottom pumping up and down at incredible speed. All blurry and red, and impish. And nasty.
Tails flew about wildly. Arms thrashed and clawed at backs and bosoms—I think they were bosoms—and moans loud enough to cause avalanches rattled the windows, and would no doubt disturb the neighbors, as the pumping got faster and the moans grew ever louder and higher in pitch.
Then it was over, and after some considerable fumbling with their brown leather dungarees and assorted buckles and bits and pieces, two imps stood and stared at us. Intus said, "What?"
"You were doing the dirty next to the Marmite. On my kitchen counter. I'll have to buy bleach!" I moaned.
"You humans are so weird," said Intus. "Can I take the jar?"
"Eh? What?"
"The Marmite?" Intus tapped the jar.
"Um, ye
ah, sure. Call it a wedding gift."
"Result!" said Intus, punching the air.
"Yes!" said Illus, screwing on the lid and balancing it on its head.
"Be seeing you," said Intus, waving and beaming like an imp that had just... Well, you know.
"Um, bye, then."
"Bye, humans," said Illus.
With a little puff of smoke they were gone.
"Which one was doing what?" asked Kate.
"I don't know, and I don't want to know." I stared at the forever-tainted counter and moved over to my sandwich. It had a tiny imp bumprint in the bread. "I'm not hungry."
"Me either."
Some things are scary, some things are terrifying, but there is nothing that will haunt me more than the sight of a tiny red bum going at it on my counter and ruining my lunch.
"At least they took the Marmite away," said Kate.
"Yeah. I'm gonna take a shower."
Tattoo Reveal
A foul stench launched itself at my unprepared nasal cavities as I closed the bathroom door, took off my jacket and unbuttoned my shirt. It permeated the room and overpowered the air freshener. It was me. I stank. I had the same clothes on as the day before, and assumed I hadn't washed since then either. My clothes were more wrinkled than a mummy's bandages.
Nasty.
Putting, or trying to put, images of tiny imp bums out of my mind and just have peace for a while—some me time—I stripped off the rest of my abused suit and kicked it all into a corner of my large bathroom.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I traced the lines of ink that covered my body, tattoos given long ago when I was little more than a kid. I couldn't help wonder what he would make of me now, that child. Would he be pleased? Disappointed? Awed? Probably just laugh about the imp thing, knowing me.
The tattoos are really a single tattoo, an unbroken line that starts at my left wrist and goes for a walk over my entire body. You can trace the whole thing if you want, but it would take a while.
I'm not one for runes, artifacts, or unnecessary paraphernalia for my art, but the ink is important. It matches perfectly the power lines that run through my body—some would call them chakras—that channel my energy and that of the Empty.
The combination allows me to become something more than I ever could otherwise. These are mine, personal and a part of me. The ink allows me to be who I am, and it's dangerous.
For years I fought with them. They had a life of their own, were hard to control, prone to anger, and activated at inopportune moments. Or they got carried away and sucked up more power than I needed, or made me discharge more magic than was strictly necessary—I got into a lot of trouble for my wild acts.
But over the years I gained control, and for normal lifetimes now they have been as much a part of me as breathing.
I sucked in my stomach as I examined myself in the mirror. I looked pretty good, actually. Slim, but toned and with enough muscle to be attractive, but not too much, as that would mean spending more time in the gym at Rikka's House and unofficial Council headquarters. I went a few times a week when it was quiet, just to stay in shape, and that was plenty.
The blond hair was a shock. I'd half-forgotten quite how pale I'd dyed it, but I could get used to it, and it's nice to have a change now and then. I turned on the shower, let it heat through, then stepped into the cubicle.
My thoughts moved too fast and I couldn't keep up. The day had been too intense, with too much happening. It was more than I usually saw in a week, sometimes months, and I needed some down time to gather myself back together. I knew now wasn't the time.
Once I was clean, I got dressed in a nice dark suit and the usual red shirt. Wondering what on earth could happen next, I went back downstairs.
The TV was on and Kate was sitting forward on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen.
I joined her and we sat there for ten minutes, her flicking through the news channels and both of us smiling the whole time. She'd done it. Kate had saved me.
There is no telling how happy I felt, how relieved. I had seriously panicked that I would be put down for what I'd done. Neither Rikka nor Taavi are known for their forgiveness, but if the news was anything to go by then I was well and truly off the hook.
The Grandmaster had shocked the morgue with his sudden awoken state, so straight away the news focused on what went wrong at the hospital, rather than me killing him. There were endless clips of the doctored footage Kate had let loose, and the whole thing turned more into a comedy really. The news anchors dismissed the whole incident as a prank, and the latest in a long line of manufactured-to-be-viral, online videos.
My terrible act was lost in the melee. And besides, the footage of me was far from perfect. I was almost my usual everyman, meaning my magic had still been hiding me to some extent. Nobody would recognize me if I was stood right in front of them. That's not to say the magic didn't look real, it certainly did, but so did what Kate had done. You couldn't tell what was fake and what was genuine.
I felt silly for panicking and thinking I would be picked up from the footage, but at the time I hadn't known what I was, or what I was capable of, so I forgave myself. Almost. The Grandmaster would still die, and I have to live with that. He is the first innocent I have ever killed, and it's inexcusable. And it's a shame about the hair, too.
Click.
Kate turned the TV off. We'd seen enough; I was saved. "Looks like you're in the clear."
"It sure does. Thanks, Kate. I owe you big time."
"My pleasure."
We sat in silence for a little while, but I knew I had things to do so offered to take her home. She said she would come with me, but it wasn't a good idea, so, after a few quick bites of leftovers from the fridge, my appetite recovered, I took her home.
Oliver remained quiet in the car. I knew he was itching to get Kate closer to him—she is a catch, after all—but she is Taavi's, and it meant she was to be treated with the utmost respect at all times.
Kate ignored him—she likes him about as much as I do.
We said goodbye outside the door to her building, her knowing I knew she would be back out in minutes, unable to stay cooped up with blood magic running through her veins, me not mentioning it, trying not to think of what she might get up to in her current elevated state. I left.
Time to go see Rikka again, hope he had forgiven me, and find out more about the Armenian.
Undead and Dangerous
"You took your time. I'm bored," growled Oliver as I got into the car. He was angry. Good.
"Tough. Go home and have a sleep if you don't want to be here. I honestly don't care." He glared at me.
I called ahead and was told Rikka was busy but to hang on. A few minutes later he came on the line.
"Spark, well done for sorting out the mess. I must congratulate you on a job well done."
"Um, thanks, Boss." Right away I knew he wanted something. "It's not over yet though," I added hurriedly.
He ignored me in his usual way. "I wasn't expecting you to be available so soon, but seeing as you have cleared up your troubles then I need you for this."
Damn, should have called later but it was too late now. "What do you need?" I asked warily. "I do have the Armenian to deal with, you know."
"Yes, yes, plenty of time for that. This won't take long. We have a bit of a situation and I was just putting a team together, but you will be perfect. You and a few others."
"Okay, what is it though?" I hate it when he's evasive, it always means trouble.
"The zombies. It seems they have been a little naughty. We need to go have a word, make a few minor repairs, that sort of thing."
"Zombies!" I sighed. Too late now. "Fine. Usual place?"
"Isn't it always? See you there in thirty." He hung up.
"I hate zombies," came the voice of Oliver from the rear, spitting out the word like he was some kind of prize specimen.
"Don't come then." I glanced at him in the rearview. He glared at me but said
nothing. The only thing worse than having a vampire ride around with you is forgetting you have a vampire riding around with you—it makes you jump every time they open their nasty mouth.
Rikka's domain over the zombies comes with the job of being Head of the UK Dark Council—they are magic-infused beings after all. But they are so unorganized and rather forgetful that they would never think to arrange either their own Head or Council. Unsurprising, as they can't even keep their own limbs attached half the time, so what hope is there of that?
They are also a real pain and I've dealt with them on numerous occasions. I guess you could say they have a leader of sorts, although I use the term very loosely, just like their limbs and organs.
Well, I had no choice now. I was back in Rikka's good books and you don't turn him down. Ever.
Rikka is an odd guy. To look at him you just think fat, but he's a shrewd businessman, very intelligent, ruthless, more powerful at magic than anyone else I have ever met, but hardly ever uses it now as he has us for that.
He's over nine hundred years old, has seen more than I can possibly imagine, knows his way around magic like a true Hidden, and was even slim once.
Rikka is old skool in many ways, upholds traditions of magic centuries out of date, and when a young man he had his apprenticeship in a proper school for wizards back in Finland, where he wore robes and a pointy hat and even had a wand, so he told me. Those days are long gone. There are no schools now. Where would you put them? And kids won't be seen dead in a pointy hat because before they knew it it would be all over the Web and their mates would laugh at them.
Now it's all attitude and keeping up with trends, which is all for the good as magic is for the strong, not those who want to play about and turn cats into frogs or vice-versa. But Rikka remembers the old days, had serious training from many of those on the Dark Council—some much older than him—and I guess you could call the whole Council a bit of a boys club. That's right, no women.
Some traditions and institutions are a little slower to update, but the women have a strong presence on the Hidden Council and it won't be long before the wizards that dominate the Dark Council have to get with the times.
