by Al K. Line
"Not if we win." Before he changed his mind he came at me, impossibly fast, and his hand was almost at my throat when I erupted into darkness.
Vampires think they have a handle on terror. Well, they don't. Wizards, mages, even necromancers, we and our kind know the true horror of what it is to work through magic. It defines us, it is us, and I am an enforcer. I channel it, I take it from you, I draw magic into myself and I do not let myself be intimidated.
I thought of myself in a bubble, a solid yet clear shield, impenetrable to magic or matter. He bounced off me like a ball hitting a wall and slammed into the ground, shocked and shamed. I felt the hurt of the magic use thunder through my veins and cloud my mind for a moment before it passed. A calm before the inescapable payback to come. Letting my anger and deeper emotions fuel me, I directed the Empty through sheer force of will, summoning knowledge and insight into the ways of magic and did what I do best. I sparkled black and silver as my years of training were unleashed.
A monstrous spout of pure, dark magic spasmed along my tattoos, down my left arm and out to his head with no subtlety whatsoever.
He was charred like a burn victim. Hair gone, features burned away, head steaming, blackened skin flaking as I drew my arm back to my side and with it his blood magic.
He fought back, using up bodily reserves to reverse the effect, and his usual features returned as his body visibly shrank with the effort—his torn and burned clothes hanging loose. But even as I and the others watched, he began to change again.
I sucked and took in a massive, deep breath, draining his magic, pulling it from him as his body convulsed and dark magic flashed from his withered frame like a reverse lightning strike, shooting into my mouth as I gulped it down like a hungry demon.
"Yum," I said, just to freak him out. It always works. "I'm the soul-eater. I will devour you whole and spit out the husk of your mind." Gotta have some drama, it makes the fight easier as they battle with the terror.
I was getting sicker by the second, and I'd made my point.
Using every ounce of willpower, never wanting to stop taking what was neither his nor mine, I slowed the flow, reversed my breathing, and gave a little back.
He looked truly terrible. Face wrinkled, skin a mess of blotches and blackened patches, but he took back a few years, gratefully.
It was enough. Killing him, or doing too much irreversible damage, would only cause trouble for me, Rikka, and the whole Dark Council.
I let him be.
The struggle not to fall over and cry at that moment was almost irresistible as the hurt was almost too much, but I let the magic flow out and away to where it belonged.
"Be... thankful... I... let you... live," I gasped, as I threw up foul black bile then stood tall, defiant.
With a body composed of nothing but pain and booze sickness times a thousand I stared down at the girl, who took one glance at the blackened, wrinkled old face of her friend and cringed like she'd been beaten as a child and didn't want to be hit again. I studied her, a moment of insight revealing what she really was, and why she put on the mask of insolence. Life is never simple, there's always something going on underneath that shapes us, a past that makes us who we are.
Understanding, I nodded. She grabbed her friend then was gone in a blur. I wondered how we looked if a Regular was spying on us. Our magic would mask us, so would we look like a bunch of drunks shouting incoherently at each other? Me flinging invisible punches, the magic only seen by us?
I turned to Oliver. "He'll live, but it will take him years to recover, if he ever does. And he will always be whatever age he truly is now. Your fault, Oliver, and Taavi will hear of it. Those kids will be squealing to your master right this minute. Ugh." I threw up again, but kept an eye on Oliver. I needn't have worried; he never moved a muscle.
My skin was on fire, my eyes felt like I'd been punched by a troll, repeatedly, and my emotions were gone, non-existent. No hate, no love, no sympathy. Nothing. The price of the magic.
It takes so much, gives back, too, but always at such a terrible price. Sometimes I just want to be left alone, go home, watch TV, and maybe do the garden, but I always come back for more.
This dark world of ours, it has its own special kind of power, and it isn't only the magic. It's the world, the people, the chance to be different. To walk in the shadows where humans challenge the very essence of life.
Yeah, I know, but we all have our flaws.
"Stay away from me, Oliver. Let me do my thing, and then go crawling back to your master and tell him I, not you, dealt with this problem. It's my job, and you better not stand in my way."
"Just like your parents. Always got to be the one in the right." Oliver flinched at his own words, then sneered like he always does. The final act of a coward. He was gone.
I stood on the top story of a car park, fizzing from the rain, little more than a black ghost, half gone to the unknowable world of the Empty, then sank to my knees once I knew I was alone. I still felt it, the taste of that vampire on my tongue, in my mind and my heart, and it left me a little more empty inside. Cold. Poor Kate. This was what she would become unless she fought it with every ounce of her body and mind.
What did he mean? Like my parents? Was it him? I couldn't think about that, not with so much to do, and so much hurt.
The taste of a vampire, of their soul, is a terrible thing. It's hard, uncaring, and empty of emotion for anything but their own kind. They love their own with a fierce intensity that is, in its way, beautiful and beyond compare. But it means there is nothing left for anything else.
They have contempt for humans. Vampires care nothing for the species they arose from. They are as cold as a deep pool at midnight, oblivious to what it once was to be human and feel things, good and bad. They are selfish and they are cruel, too. These creatures of blood magic enjoy the hurt and the pain they inflict.
I should have killed them all and stomped on their dessicated corpses, fed them to the zombies.
But I didn't.
I would be meeting Oliver again once I finished my job. If he had anything to do with me losing my parents then I would... I stopped the thought. I was dark and ugly enough inside already, if I let myself spiral deeper I would never surface again.
I cried instead.
Not for them, but for Kate, and for me, because I knew I would never give up on her. That was its own kind of selfish, for me and for her. Delaying the inevitable, maybe, fooling myself she would be different. Or was I just delusional?
Or maybe, just maybe, our friendship would be enough.
I hoped so.
I threw up, again, and I didn't have another clean suit.
"Hey, got any more Marmite?" came the baritone of Intus. "Oh!" He stared at me, looked around to discover where he was—I'm sure it was his bum, I think I recognized it, so couldn't think of it as anything but a he now—then his ears flattened as he hopped onto my outstretched arm, with my palms still down in a puddle. He—I like it as a he— stared up at me with concern. "Bad time?"
I nodded. "Bad day. Sometimes I think it's a bad life."
"Don't be daft, you got it made."
"Is that right?" I asked as I got to my knees and he hopped down, splashing in the puddle that came over his shins.
"Yeah, course it is. Nice house. Kate. Your Grandma. That thing you call a fridge, full of food. Friends, like me." He beamed, ears straight, then flat, not knowing which emotion was right. I couldn't help but chuckle. "See, you're sorted. And you can buy Marmite whenever you want."
"If you love it so much, why don't you, you know, just take it from stores or people's houses?"
Intus looked at me like I was an epic fool, and I guess I am. "Spark, of course I can get Marmite anywhere, and whenever I want. It's not about that. We're friends. I come to you because we are buddies. For help or to hang out. Or to help."
"Oh." Yes, I am a complete idiot most of the time. Oblivious to the things that should be cherished the most.
> "Idiot."
"I've been getting that a lot today."
"I'll bet."
"Um, no Marmite on me, I'm afraid. But you had a whole jar."
"Um, yes, about that. We kind of made up, me and Illus."
"Yeah, I saw. Ugh."
"Oi, don't you judge me. Well, we made up, and, er, the kids have got a real taste for it."
"The kids! But it was only earlier that you..."
"And your point is?"
"How can you have kids already? It's only been a few hours."
Intus frowned at me, like he was rethinking our friendship. "Have you gone a bit funny in the head?"
I had to think for a moment. Maybe the vampires had won after all. "Um, no, I don't think so."
"You do know how we have babies, right?"
"The usual way?"
"I don't know what you mean by that, but you know I'm an imp?" I nodded. "So, we have had babies." I just stared at him. "I live in the true Hidden, so..." he prompted.
I shook my head. "Nope, I got nothing."
"So that's not this world, is it? Our time isn't yours, and imps don't really see your time anyway. It's rather odd."
"Um, okay."
"So, we have six," Intus said brightly. "And we're out of Marmite."
"Congratulations. On the kids, not being out of Marmite."
"Thanks."
"Er, Intus?"
"Yes?"
"You do know that I just fought off a load of vampires, right?"
He nodded. "I do. I was waiting until it was over with."
"Oh."
There was a bit of an awkward silence. Then we both burst out laughing.
"Well, just thought I'd check for Marmite. See you."
"Thanks, Intus, and congratulations again. You are a true friend and I will never forget that."
Intus looked at me, all serious for a moment. "Good."
He was gone.
It's easy to miss what's staring you in the face sometimes. Of course he didn't come to see me for Marmite. He came because he was my friend, and if he needed help he thought of me, and when he knew I needed help he came to cheer me up.
I picked up my parking ticket from the wet ground and wondered if it would still work in the machine. It's just one damn thing after another some days.
Fish and Chips
I sat on a damp wooden bench and let the grease seep through the paper, staining my suit trousers. It didn't matter, they were trashed anyway. Maybe I should start wearing jeans instead?
The piping hot food warmed my insides and took away the worst of the sickness. It soaked up the cold emptiness of vampire and eliminated the taste of the blood magic I loathed with every part of my being.
Why couldn't life always be this simple? Sitting on a bench, feeling full of cheap food, watching people dashing through town to get to the pub, picking up takeaway or doing a little last-minute shopping before the stores closed? I had no such luxury, and I ate fast, knowing I had to get to the Embassy, and soon. But I'd had to eat, there was no choice. I was drained, empty inside, and would be good for nothing otherwise. And besides, I like fish and chips.
Stuffing the last piece of crispy cod into my mouth, I scrunched up the paper and put it in the bin. My lips felt wet, so I licked them, a strong taste of salt and vinegar my only reward. Then more salt. This time it was wet.
I was crying again. For me? For Kate? For them, the Regulars who knew nothing of this life? Maybe for all of it, for everyone. Probably mostly just for me.
What did Oliver mean about my parents? Had he known them? There were plenty of reasons why their paths would have crossed; our world is a small world.
Had he killed them or been involved in their deaths? I would find out. When they died, killed by vampires, their passing had torn a rift between Hidden that still rippled. Rikka had gone apoplectic, threatening to wipe out every last vampire unless Taavi found, and delivered, the culprit. Rikka called in every favor, every contact, every available human or true Hidden he could to find out what happened, but there was never a satisfactory conclusion and the killer, or killers, remained free. Alive.
Grandma had looked after me then, dealing with my craziness, my juvenile threats and promises of dark vengeance. It wasn't long before I ran, to the only man I thought could help. To Rikka.
Against my now dead parent's wishes, I immersed myself in the darkness and became what I am today. A man with a part missing, unable to look at another vampire without wondering, was it you?
It was mine and Grandma's first, and only, real fight. She may have been a remarkable witch then, but my parents had wanted something different for me, even though they were both from this world I suffer in.
They probably knew it was inevitable deep down, but they tried to keep me away, keep me a Regular. I jumped in headfirst after they were ripped from me, and I haven't surfaced for air yet.
I doubt I ever will.
Shaking memories of over a century ago, I walked over to the car, Rikka's car, and got in. I was on a side street, nearly at my destination, and it had only been ten minutes to order and eat.
The car hummed to life, but the new car smell did little to improve my mood. With a sigh, every part of me screaming for rest, for peace, I put my seatbelt on and pretended I wasn't as tired as an imp after making six babies in an afternoon.
Checking my mirror, I pulled out into the almost deserted gray roads of Cardiff. I looked at the people walking past, on their way to meet up with friends, or a date at the cinema, maybe for a meal. They seemed happy.
That's not my world though, for my sins. Visiting disgraced dark wizards and trying to deal with a powerful Armenian succubus, that's my world.
Strangely, I began to whistle.
I would not die that day.
I crossed my fingers, in case it helped.
Mr. Ambassador
The Finnish Dark Council Embassy reflects perfectly quite how seriously they take their magic.
Whereas other countries, if they have an Embassy in little 'ole UK at all, are usually based in London—as that's where the action is in terms of money, nightlife, and powerful Regulars—the Finns have their Embassy in Cardiff, much like the other serious worldwide players. They want to be in the thick of the magic scene, not where they can most easily influence humans to further their own bank accounts and world business empire—which is vast and more powerful than you would believe.
It's a shrewd move, and those that have no representative in the city that is the seat of power for all things magic related are looked on as fools by both dark wizards and vampires, the two dominant species when it comes to magic.
Yes, it's true that the vampires refuse to cow-tow to wizards, ignore the Dark Council and pretty much keep their own Houses and Councils private, yet they are just as serious about business as everyone else—probably more so. Even they answer the call of the Hidden Council, and are never above a little wining and dining of anyone if it means money and increased influence.
The Finnish set up long ago in a rather grand townhouse, no expense spared, meaning it was stuffed full of overpriced antiques from mismatched eras and a lot of arcane tat that any self-respecting wizard, or species born into magic, would know is just for show.
Still, they are the de-facto homeland of all things esoteric so nobody has ever said anything, and besides, it was kind of nice. The cluttered, yet immaculately clean interior made you feel like you were a part of something, certainly better than having to deal with magic related issues while a bunch of muscle-bound misfits grunted and flung sweaty towels at you.
It was still overcast and felt like dusk even though it would be light for hours, but at least the rain had stopped as I parked. The street was quiet, tree-lined and smart, the kind of place where everyone painted their railings each year without fail, the windows got washed weekly, and dog poop bags were very much in evidence. Lined with Georgian townhouses with expansive windows and high ceilings, the properties were totally out of my
price range.
After a hundred years you would think I would have amassed a fortune, but I'm not really bothered about money. If I was so inclined, I could just walk into places and take what I wanted, but I have lived in the same house for so long I wouldn't think of moving, and I have enough to live comfortably. What more is there?
Walking up the steps to the Embassy, I felt exposed, and like I really should have a proper plan, but it's not how I operate. And besides, I couldn't think of one. I rang the bell, just to be polite, and while I stood there for five minutes waiting to be let in I admired the goblin head shaped door knocker. It wasn't there the last time I'd visited.
"Wot you lookin' at, freak," said the silver door knocker, with a scowl.
"Just wondering what you do on your off days," I replied with a smile.
"Eat humans for being cheeky."
I pushed a finger up its brass nose and wiggled it around.
"Oi. Gerroff."
Before I got into an argument with a piece of door furniture, I was saved by a troll in a butler's suit. It opened the door, completely blocking any view of the interior, and grunted. Having only waited a mere five minutes there was no doubt they must have replaced the previous troll employee with a speedy and clever one.
After the usual one-sided conversation, I was ushered in and we stood in the large hallway, even large enough for a troll to move about freely. I knew the troll would take a while before it spoke, it had been a busy few minutes for it already. The hallway was elegant, and suitably atmospheric. The Finns really went in for the magic theme so there were the mismatched antiques, a lot of lamps casting suitably deep shadows on the collection of artifacts on show, plus a few paintings I knew were magic-infused—the eyes really did follow you around.
