by Sean Stone
“Shocking, isn’t it? How inhuman humans can be,” Killian went on as if he were educating a schoolboy. I made no reply. I had no words left to say. I was still staring at the man who had been enjoying some soup one minute and was dead the next. Why hadn’t anybody done anything? Even the cops in the corner had ignored what they’d seen. They should of at least been scared. How did they know they wouldn’t be next? Jeffrey might not be done. He might have an entire murdering spree planned.
A waiter arrived at the table and laid down a bowl of bright red tomato soup in front of Killian. He didn’t even spare a glance for the corpse rotting in his restaurant before he walked away again.
“So, you see, Mister Lancaster, when I say I own people I really mean it. And the lesson here is that if you continue to interfere in my plans I will kill you and not a single person will do anything about it.”
Before I could reply I felt something sharp in the back of my neck. I reached up to hit it but my arms went weak in an instant. I’d been injected again. The last thing I saw was Killian Myers spooning tomato soup into his mouth as if there wasn’t a body less than ten feet from where he was eating. Then the whole room went black.
When I woke up my headache had doubled. I sat up and looked around. I was back on Old Tovil Road. It was dark now, hours must’ve passed since I’d first arrived. My wrists were no longer cuffed. There was no need; Killian was no longer in front of me. I had more questions now than I had before I met him. How did he know so much about everything? He knew that I would come to the house. He knew that Ashley was going to make him invincible. He even seemed to know what I was thinking in the restaurant. He knew… too much. I didn’t like it. And if he thought that I was going to be scared off by his demonstration then he was much mistaken. I was far from done with Killian Myers. Although just between you and me, I was a bit shaken after what happened at the restaurant.
I pulled myself to my feet and looked about. Sure enough, the Mercedes was sitting right where it had been before. This time, however, the two men were not distracted. They were both staring right at me. No feigning incompetence now. Their faces were expressionless, giving nothing away. We stared at one another for some time then finally I looked away. They had me beat. They’d made me and now there was nothing I could do. I could attempt to take them on with magic, but no doubt they had more tricks up their sleeves. No, there would be no rescue tonight. I turned from the car and Ashley’s house and headed home. I needed to reevaluate the situation.
CHAPTER NINE
I went straight to bed when I got home. I needed to think about the events of the night, and frankly I was a little shaken. Not that I was ever going to admit that to anyone. Except for you of course. And everybody else who reads this. But, you guys don’t matter. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. It isn’t every day that someone gets shot in front of you. That was the first time it had ever happened to me. Don’t get me wrong, people have died in front of me before, but nobody’s ever been shot in the back of the head whilst enjoying their evening meal. Poor guy. I didn’t sleep very well that night and when I woke up I’d decided what I was going to do. I’ll give you a clue. I was going to keep going after Killian Myers. Alright that wasn’t a clue it was the answer, but who cares? It was dangerous. Borderline moronic, but I do not respond well to threats. He might be filthy rich and have England’s most powerful people sitting in his pocket, but I had something he didn’t have: magic. I knew that he didn’t have magic on his side because otherwise he wouldn’t need Ashley to make him invincible. But magic alone wasn’t enough. I needed to know why he wanted to be invincible. I needed to know how he knew the things he knew. In short, I needed to know what the fuck he was up to. The best way to find out what he was up to was to have a little dig through his things. That meant finding out where he lived. Which meant paying my trusty sidekick a visit. Matt isn’t really my sidekick and if he found out that I’d referred to him as such then he’d probably refuse to help me, so don’t tell him I said that.
When I turned up at Matt’s he got straight to work. He hadn’t managed to get any dirt on Killian when I’d asked him before, but this wasn’t dirt. It was an address and they aren’t hard to find no matter how rich and resourceful you are.
“I take it this isn’t a simple job then?” Matt asked as he tapped away on his keyboard.
“You took it right,” I replied. I hadn’t told him what had happened last night and I didn’t intend to. He’d only worry and try to talk me out of pursuing things any further.
“How complicated is it? Are we talking life threatening, or something less serious?” he asked.
“Well, you know that Ashley’s mum is already being threatened,” I reminded him.
“I mean is your life being threatened?” he clarified, looking round at me. His eyes bore into me in such a way that I couldn’t lie to him. That’s the problem with having friends, they have ways of getting the truth out of you. They know which looks to give, which buttons to press. It’s one of the many reasons that I keep my circle of friends small. Limited to two or three. Just two. Everyone other than Matt and Emma was acquaintances rather than friends. Seeing little choice, I told him the truth.
“Well you have to stop this then!” he said. His keyboard tapping ceased immediately.
“I can’t just walk way.”
“Yes, you can. Eddie, a guy was shot in the head! You’ll be next if you don’t back off.”
“You really think I can’t deflect a simple bullet?” I asked, insulted.
“What if he fires five? From five different guns? Can you deflect them all? And you said he blocked your magic, so he’ll probably do it again. You are in way over your head.”
“A person is being held hostage,” I explained. I was trying to guilt him into agreeing with me. It wouldn’t work.
“A person you don’t even know. You’ve never even met her. You don’t care about strangers, Eddie. And you aren’t the hero type. You couldn’t give a shit about a person you’ve never met. You hardly care about the ones you have met. And don’t make out that you’re doing this so you can get Ashley into bed. Sex has never mattered that much to you and you wouldn’t risk your life for it. This isn’t even about solving the mystery. A threat like this would’ve made you back off usually. You’re doing this for your own weird little reason. So tell me why. Why do you have to put yourself in harm’s way to stop this guy? Why’s it so important to you?” he said. He was right. I wasn’t doing it for Ashley or her mum.
“I’ve got my reasons,” I said. I had no intention of talking about it, but apparently I didn’t need to.
“Oh,” Matt said and looked away awkwardly. He understood. He was one of the few people who knew. “Eddie, this isn’t going to help. I get it, he’s some rich prick who thinks he can do whatever he wants, but taking him down isn’t going to give you the peace of mind that you want. He’s not the same as—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped. It was bad enough that he was talking about it; the last thing I wanted was for him to actually say it. It hurt to think about it and hurt even more to hear it. And no, I’m not going to tell you what I’m going on about. Not yet anyway. This is one mystery that isn’t getting solved.
“Alright,” he said, backing off, “But this isn’t worth it. It won’t do you any good.”
“Do you have an address?”
“Yeah.” He turned back to his computer. “He lives in Hampstead, but he’s staying at the Hilton Hotel here in Maidstone.”
“Room?” I asked.
He sighed. “I’ll hack their system.”
“Text me the room number,” I said as I headed downstairs. I didn’t want to waste any time. Plus, I knew that if I hung around too long he’d try to give me another lecture.
“It isn’t worth it, Eddie,” he called after me. I didn’t reply.
Matt texted me the room number a few minutes after I left, but I didn’t go straight to the Hilton. I got a call from a new customer. I thought abo
ut making him wait but I needed the money so I had to prioritise him. All he wanted was something that could break through a protection spell. Easy enough, I could have it done by this afternoon and go about my Killian investigation with money in my pocket. I told the guy to meet me at Muggs in two hours and then I headed to my storage unit.
I managed to get right to the storage place before I noticed it. The feeling that I was being watched. Followed. I stood still on the pavement and looked around me. There was nobody about. The cars that were parked on the sides of the road were all empty, nobody peering through the windows at me. I thought that Killian was having me followed at first, to make sure that I wasn’t still investigating him, but his people wouldn’t hide. He’d want them out in the open making sure that I knew I was being watched. It wasn’t Killian. I concentrated my magic. Focused it on showing me what was hidden. I only wanted to see what was hidden from me so I focused on that. If I looked for what was hidden in general then I imagine quite a few things would show up. Roughly twenty feet away from me a bush began to shake as my magic worked at exposing what was hiding. Somebody was actually using a bush as cover. What an amateur. The shaking grew more violent until suddenly all of the leaves fell away, stripping the bush bare. And there, crouching behind the naked branches was Shay. He was hunched over, his eyes wide and bewildered making him look like Gollum. It was quite a funny sight and I did my best not to laugh.
“Out you come, Shay,” I said as I approached. At first, he pretended not to hear me. Then slowly he stood up and skulked around the bush. He kept his shoulders hunched and his head low, like a stroppy teenager. Stroppy Shay. Or Scruffy Shay. Either nickname would suffice. “I see the effects of my potion have worn off,” I said.
“You’re not as powerful as you think you are,” he said, clearly bottling up rage. He really did hate me. Understandable considering what I’d done to him, but ultimately he was too scared to do anything to me.
“Would you like to put that the test?” I offered, smiling broadly. “Why are you following me? Revenge? I humiliated you so now you want some payback? What were you going to do, wait for an ideal opportunity and then jump out and attack me?”
He shifted on the spot. “Maybe,” he mumbled, not meeting my gaze.
I laughed. “Alright, well, run along then,” I said as if talking to a child. If he was going to behave like one then I’d treat him as such. He glared up at me vehemently. “Okay, I can see you’re going to need some persuasion.” I rubbed my finger and thumb together whilst I prepared the spell and then snapped my hands together opening my palm towards him as I did. At first, he just looked at me as if I was mad. Then he felt the effect. His stomach let out a low growl before a loud and rather wet sounding fart escaped through his anus. His eyes widened making him look like a rabbit in a trap. I wrinkled my nose at the putrid smell that was coming from him.
“I will get you for this!” he vowed before turning and running away. He’d be on the toilet for the rest of the day. I know it’s not terribly original giving somebody the shits but it is amusing. To me at least. And as far as I’m concerned as long as I’m laughing that’s all that matters.
When I got to my unit I knocked up what I call a spell-breaker grenade. It’s a small fluid of my own creation, encased in a thin plastic shell. Like a liquid washing capsule for laundry. But this isn’t for laundry. When thrown at a defensive spell the plastic will burst and the magic will be realised, breaking the defensive spell. Unless the spell is stronger than the grenade, but I make pretty potent grenades so that’s hardly likely. I got the idea for the grenade from washing capsules actually. When I was a little boy I used to steal my mum’s capsules from the kitchen and thrown them from the upstairs window. I loved seeing the soap splatter all over the pavement. My mum had a different opinion on my game. I won’t go into too much detail, but let’s just say that my arse was pretty red the day she found out where her washing capsules had been going.
Once the grenade was made I headed for Muggs. I only had to wait for a short while before the customer arrived. He was a pretty plain looking guy and didn’t say much. He gave me the money and I handed him the grenade. Usually, I would have insisted on at least a little small talk if only to learn his name, but today I had other things on my mind.
“Just throw it at the protection spell and it will smash it to pieces,” I instructed.
“You’re sure it will work?” he asked.
“Absolutely. Tested it on my own protection spells.” It was true. I tested all my products on my own magic, it was the only way I could be sure that I’d made a quality product. It seemed to convince him. He tucked the grenade into his pocket and left. You’re probably wondering what would happen if he accidentally squashed the grenade and released the fluid. Well, he wouldn’t be able to. It has the same texture as a washing capsule, but it isn’t one. It’s magically strengthened so it won’t burst until thrown. My products are well-made. Not some knock-off from the black market. And yes, there is a black market for magic. I’ll tell you about that some other time. Right now there’s more important stuff to tell you, like what happened when I snooped round Killian’s room at the Hilton.
CHAPTER TEN
I cast a spell to stop anybody from noticing me when I entered the Hilton. I wasn’t invincible, full-blown invisibility isn’t in my skill set, but as long as I stayed in the shadows and didn’t draw any attention to myself I’d remain unseen.
The hotel wasn’t as nice as I’d expected. When people say Hilton hotel it conjures up images of lavish decor and finery, but the building I was standing in wasn’t that grand at all. Unless I was in the wrong hotel. The signs that said “Hilton” blasted all over the place begged to differ, though. I made my way to Killian’s suite without any hiccups and magically let myself in. It’s a good thing I have magic because I do not know how to pick a lock. The lobby hadn’t been that fantastic, but the suite Killian was renting was amazing by comparison. The nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in is a Holiday Inn so that might explain why I was so impressed. The television was ginormous, not that Killian struck me as the sort of man who watched much telly. The furniture looked like a single item was worth more than everything in my room at home. The light brown carpet was so springy that it felt like I was walking on three carpets. Clearly the management was reserving all the fancy stuff for the guest rooms and not the lobby. Although this was a king suite, the average guest room might not be as fancy. I wasn’t here to admire the decor, though. I was here to find Killian’s secrets. I shut the door behind me and as I did I felt an odd chill wash over me. Probably just nerves. I had just broken into the suite of a man who had ordered a man to be killed in front of me and threatened to do the same to me.
The first place I looked was the desk. It was the most logical place for important things to be kept. A man like Killian Myers was the sort of man who tucked things away in his top drawer. I opened the top drawer and pulled out a leather-bound notebook stuffed with loose pages. This was bound to be useful. It looked like a diary, not a day to day diary, more like a teenage girl diary. I could just imagine Killian laying on his bed telling his diary all about the people he’d ordered Jeffrey to murder. Or was it Jeremy? Who cares? I opened the book and saw what looked like a dream journal. So I wasn’t far off. I ran my eyes over the vague, random scribblings, wondering what exactly I was reading.
Man run over by bus at noonish. Outside Clintons. Massive commotion. Road closed for several hours. Take another route.
In Harrods. Balding man spills coffee on my Armani shirt. Morning. Avoid Harrods.
Paperboy does not deliver my newspaper. He keeps it for himself. Numerous days. Find him.
Some of the scribblings were mundane, others bizarre. I wondered why he was keeping a dream journal, he didn’t seem the sort. The majority of his dreams weren’t very interesting at all. And what did he intend to do to that paper boy? I hope he didn’t end up with his face in a bowl of soup. I skipped forward a few pages and found
a page with just a single entry on it:
I am murdered in the most obscene way. Brutal. Chilling. Man with tattoo.
It seemed that that dream was too horrific for old Killian to write in detail. Shame. I really wanted to know how he died, even if it was just a dream. I turned a few more pages and then my eyes fell upon a familiar name.
A witch casts a spell to make me invincible. Daylight. High noon. Witch = Ashley Sheridan. Maidstone.
That was intriguing. Perhaps the book was more than just dreams. Some sort of prediction journal? I read on:
Warlock. Edward Lancaster. Edward casts sleeping spell on guards and rescues Ashley’s mother. Results in my death. No invincibility.
Definitely a prediction journal. I flicked to the back of the book where there was a tab separating it from the front. The tab read: “business”. It was a list of items which read:
Buy DAX
Buy TWMC
Sell YHOO
Buy GOOG
The list went on. I guessed that it was a list of which stocks to buy and which to sell. I had no idea what the letters meant. Expect for the last two that I just said. They’re pretty obvious.
