by Mark Hayden
I couldn’t smell it of course, but in the back of the car, Scout was barking furiously and licking his doggy lips at the same time. His eyes bulged as he stared through the window.
‘We’d better leave him inside,’ I said. ‘He’ll only try to eat the walls and break his teeth. Assuming they’re actually brick and not gingerbread.’
‘Never mind him,’ said Karina. ‘I’m going to have a mint to take my mind off it.’
I undid my seatbelt , turned off the engine and activated my Ancile . ‘You know what, Karina. The longer I spend in the world of magick, the madder it gets. Why, I ask you. Why have they done this?’
‘Dunno. Let’s see if she’s in.’
Crossing the yard was like wading through treacle. The magickal push against me raised a sweat and my nose was twitching at the mixed caramel and fruit odours. The visual illusion didn’t waver by one pixel, not even when I hammered on the door.
If the Witch was inside, she’d have known we were coming from the second I turned up the lane. When one Mage knocks at another’s door, they always answer, even if the answer consists of a full-on assault. I rested my hand on the Hammer. Just in case.
The door opened with a Gothic creak the size of Notre Dame and a tiny face appeared at hip height. Tiny as in child-sized and attached to an equally child-sized body. It was a girl of about eight or nine with long straw-gold plaits that had to be clip-ons or extensions. No one with hair that blonde has eyes that brown.
The full-on fairy story ended with her outfit. Yes, she was wearing a peasant smock, but it was over pink leggings with unicorns and mermaids frolicking in some candy sea. And pink heelies. Last time I read the story, Gretel didn’t skate.
‘Who are you?’ she said with a frown, as if I’d interrupted a summit of world leaders. ‘And why are you dressed as soldiers?’
‘Hello. My name’s Conrad, and this is Karina. We’re dressed as soldiers because she is a soldier and I’m in the Royal Air Force. See?’ I pointed to the wings on my uniform.
When I became a squadron leader, the RAF sent me on a child protection course, in case I had anything to do with the cadets. We were taught never to assume that children had parents unless it was absolutely necessary.
I am still waiting to meet the child who has never had parents, even if they’re no longer with us. Perhaps the world of magick will fix that. We were also taught not to ask children’s names at the beginning of a conversation, so I’ll carry on calling her Gretel, because what else would you call the girl in the Gingerbread House?
‘Have you brought our tea?’ said Gretel.
‘I’m sorry, the RAF only delivers food during floods and blizzards. Are there any grown-ups that I could talk to?’ I said.
Gretel was joined by her older brother who was probably on the cusp of being a teenager. He stood behind her and let her do the talking, and I immediately felt sympathy for him. Been there, done that.
She turned to face him. ‘Does Auntie Rah-Rah count as a grown-up?’
He shook his head dolefully. ‘No, she doesn’t. Not at all.’
‘What about the Professor?’ said Gretel.
The boy nodded. ‘Yeah. He’s all grown up.’
She turned back to me. ‘My brother will get him. I don’t like Professor Moriarty. He scares me.’
The boy slipped away, and the girl, still clutching the door, made conversation. ‘Do you like our house? Auntie Rah-Rah made it look like this for us as a treat.’
‘She’s done a very good job,’ I answered. ‘It even smells delicious.’
‘It only smells outside,’ she replied. ‘Inside it’s just smells of boring dust. Auntie Rah-Rah said that if any children come to the door, we can eat them because otherwise we won’t have any tea.’
‘It’s a shame I didn’t bring any,’ I said. ‘You could have cooked them for me.’
She looked alarmed. ‘Not really. We don’t really eat children.’
She heard a noise behind her and pushed the door further open to allow her brother to get by.
The lad was holding a large grey cat with luxurious fur and patient eyes. It must have been patient to allow the boy to carry him around.
‘This is Professor Moriarty,’ said the girl. ‘Auntie Rah-Rah’s Familiar.’
The cat took one look at us and squirmed until the boy dropped him. He shot back inside the house with a hiss.
‘He can hear your dog,’ said the boy. ‘He doesn’t like dogs. Is that your car? It’s a bit battered, isn’t it?’
‘It’s like me. It’s had an interesting life.’
‘You can come in. If the Professor doesn’t like you, he screams, and he didn’t scream.’
Karina and I looked at each other and shrugged.
‘After you, sir,’ she said. ‘I’m not going in there first.’
In her shoes, I’d have said the same. I wiped my feet on the mat and followed Gretel inside.
She was right, the sweetshop smell dissipated in the dark hallway. I peered through the first door on the left, and the boy had already resumed playing a video game which involved both driving fast cars and shooting.
Gretel said, ‘Follow me. If you can,’ and scooted down the hall on her heelies, executing a perfect brake stop in the kitchen. If the resident Witch was indeed away, that would explain why we were greeted by a child and not an angry Mage.
From round the corner, I heard a harassed voice say, ‘You’ll get in trouble if your mum knows you’ve been skating in the house.’
‘No I won’t. You’ll get in trouble for letting me. Here they are.’
‘Here who are? Is?’
I knocked on the open door and peered round to the left, where a scene of utter chaos greeted me.
Somewhere under the pile of flour, cutting tools, books, craft paper, paint, glue, scissors, more books, chopping boards and rolling pins was a table, and seated side-on to the table was an evil witch. Well, it was a Witch in fancy dress. It looked a bit tight on her, to be honest, in fact it looked like she’d been raiding Gretel’s dressing up box.
She had her nose in something; it was hard to tell what because of the sea of crepe paper. ‘Is it the pack leader?’
‘Oh no. It’s a woman soldier with a knife and an RAF man with two guns.’
The evil witch jerked her head up and pushed the chair back, sending it flying very close to the grey cat, who shot out of the way and disappeared. Coward. She raised her hands defensively and I felt magick building. Now that she was standing up, I could see that she was short, even shorter than Mina. It was hard to tell what she looked like, because a black nylon wig covered half her face. It had white bits in it, probably food-related.
My Ancile was still in place, so I showed my empty palms. ‘King’s Watch. We need a word. Just a word.’
‘Witchfinder! Witchfinder!’ shouted Gretel, almost like a ritual, as if she’d heard of us but didn’t believe we really existed. Just in case, she sheltered behind the evil witch’s skirt.
‘Shh,’ said the woman. She looked around and felt her face, then stared at the wooden pillar next to me.
‘Have you lost your glasses, ma’am?’ I suggested.
‘Who me? What? Yes. Are you really the King’s Watch?’
I moved slowly across the kitchen, dodging a pile of dough that had landed on the floor. ‘I am. Deputy Constable Clarke and Watch Officer Kent. I take it you’re Auntie Rah-Rah?’
‘Rachel. Yes. Would you believe that I’m child-minding?’
‘We’ve had great fun,’ said Gretel. ‘We’ve made real gingerbread men, and pictures. Do you really hunt down Witches and chop them in half?’
‘I have never chopped anyone in half.’
‘But you do hunt Witches.’
‘Only the bad ones. I’m sure there aren’t any bad Witches here.’
I took a moment to scan the craft-related chaos on the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’ I reached in and extracted a pair of large-framed glasses. ‘Yours, I believe.
’ I waited until Rachel had restored her eyewear and had a good look at me. Her eyes, now restored to full function, lingered on my gun belt. ‘We need to talk, Rachel. I think you know why we’re here.’
She looked devastated. ‘My sister will kill me, even if you don’t.’
‘Bad timing, I’m afraid. I think this is the moment when you tell your niece to go and beat her brother at a computer game.’
Pain flashed over Gretel’s young face. She knew exactly what I meant. ‘I’m not leaving. I won’t let you hurt Auntie.’
Rachel made an effort to sound placatory. ‘No one’s going to be killing anyone, precious, but I do need to talk in private.’
‘Are you sure?’
Rachel nodded, and Gretel walked past us with her head held high. Only the tremble in her lip gave away how scared she was. What did you do at work today, Conrad? Oh, I induced mortal terror in a nine-year old girl.
‘How did you find them?’ said Rachel.
I shook my head. That conversation was for another day. ‘How many and where are they?’
‘What are you going to do them?’
‘Nothing. Being Dual Natured is not a crime in itself. I take it that the pack are under the protection of Princess Birkdale?’ She nodded. ‘Then there’s no problem. Not for them. The Princess is another matter, and not your concern. How many and where?’
Karina gave a delicate cough, and I nodded for her to continue.
‘Are they descended from pack Mackenzie?’ she said.
Of course. I should have thought of that. If they were… Rachel nodded. Damn. That made the legal position more complicated. Mackenzie wolves are also Mages and should register as such. Also, that made them more dangerous. Obviously. I pulled my lip and waited.
‘Three men, seven women and half a dozen cubs. I think. I’ve only met the pack leader once, and I’ve never been to the lodge. It’s in the trees. You can drive out through the yard.’
‘Thank you. You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you, like contact them?’ She shook her head. ‘Then we’ll be on our way.’
She pushed all the nylon hair out of her face and followed us down the hall. Moriarty appeared from his hiding place and hissed when I opened the door.
‘When is your sister back?’ I asked.
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘Just one last question,’ I said. ‘Why did your niece think that we’d brought food?’
‘Because I didn’t bring any shopping, and I can’t believe this place. There’s no Deliveroo and no UberEats. No one will deliver food here at all. I was going out, but now I’ll have to wait until you’re finished.’
‘You should do what your neighbours do, Rachel. Hunt something down and eat that.’
21 — Queen Sacrifice
I drove the car to the edge of the yard, out of sight of the Gingerbread house and killed the engine. ‘That was lucky. If her sister had been there, things could have gone very differently. Good question about Pack Mackenzie. We’ll need to be doubly careful now.’
‘How do you cope with it?’
‘With what? I thought I was quite sensitive, give that there were children in there.’
‘The insults. The hatred. Being called a Witchfinder.’
‘Suck it up, Karina. Own it. Shame them with your professionalism.’
She didn’t look convinced, but that wasn’t all she had on her mind. ‘Sir, I was looking it up last night. Don’t all packs have exemption, with liability on their Protectors?’
All of Karina’s confusion and uncertainty were in play on her face. She’s been trying to come to terms with my world since she first met me at Henley in Arden, and the strong core that I know she has under the doubt was slowly bending. Right now, I didn’t have time for that.
‘And I’m sure that your reading also told you that the Occult Council in England never adopted the Mackenzie protocol. Then again, the Occult Council has clearly been turning a blind eye to the existence of Mannwolves south of the border. The lawyers are going to have a field day when my report goes in tonight. I don’t think Rachel in there has any idea of just how serious this could be, even if this pack had nothing to do with the death of Drake Blackrod.’
‘What about Rachel’s sister, the resident Witch? Could she have run away because she’s guilty.’
‘Mothers don’t leave their children behind.’
She went bright red and looked out of the window. Damn. I’d forgotten that her mother had done just that – in a way. When you’re very small, even if your parent has been murdered, you still feel abandoned. And guilty. It was time to move on.
‘We’re going on reconnaissance, Karina. Our first priority is survival. We take no risks, and at the first sign of trouble, we get the hell out of there. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I want you to stay close to the car on the driver’s side, ready to drive us out. Strap on your quiver and put your bow on the seat.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand.’
‘Good. Here we go.’
The track out of the yard was also well maintained, and that’s because Mannwolves have just as much need to get around as everyone else, even if there aren’t many who learn to drive. One of the resident Witch’s jobs would be to drive the minibus that had been parked around the back of the gingerbread house.
I’ve been putting off telling you about the Dual Natured in detail because it’s a complex subject and I’ve barely scratched the surface in my own understanding of it.
Mina knows more, because she had to deal with an Indian snake-woman, a Nāgin, called Pramiti. I did meet Pramiti, and I saw her change from woman to giant cobra and back again. Twice. The problems start when I tell you that ‘change’ is the wrong verb. It should be ‘exchange’, because the Dual Natured have one brain and two bodies that exist on different planes. What to us looks like a seamless change of physiology is our own brains trying to make sense of the phase transition.
I’m told, because I read about it, that Mannwolves are not rated highly in international circles. Pramiti is so old that she’s ageless. She experienced the British empire in India at first hand, and her magickal power is immense. In that time, she’s only had one clutch of eggs. If they take after their mother, that’s probably a good thing. The lifespan of a Mannwolf is very different.
Until Pack Mackenzie became Mages in the eighteenth century, the typical lifespan of a Mannwolf was about twenty-five years, and it’s now ten years longer. Thirty-five. Think about that: Mina would be into the menopause and I’d be dead. The original Mackenzie (yes, he was a person) summed up their attitude: A life is better lived quickly.
They even measure their lives differently: by moons. Their version of our three score years and ten would be a thousand moons, which sort of makes it sound better.
When Rachel talked about there being a number of cubs, she meant anything from a babe in arms to puberty. The difference between cubs and adults is that cubs cannot exchange forms at will; puberty and full growth both occur at around ten years old.
And one final thing: size. The human brain is eleven times the size of a wolf’s; a proportionately larger wolf would be as big as a dairy cow. They’re not, but they are much bigger than a grey wolf. And they have big, ugly heads. According to the pictures.
‘Why do I feel funny?’ I said as we neared the wood.
‘Because we’ve just crossed the border into the Fae forest.’
I stopped the car again. ‘There’s one here?’
‘Where else would they hunt?’
I waved my arm in a gesture of ignorance. ‘In a regular wood?’
Her eyes widened. I get that a lot, though not so much from Karina. ‘No, sir. They hunt the Phantom Stag, or the Royal Boar. Unicorns. That sort of thing. When they hunt mundane prey, that’s just for their sport. And food, of course.’
‘Right. There it is. The big low farmhouse. With outbuildings.’ I couldn’t put it off any longer, and drove quickly through
a gate into a beautifully maintained property that reminded me of an Afghan village compound (minus the external walls), or one of those recreations of iron age homesteads. The large single-storey building was mostly an ancient great hall with a high roof. The more recent development curved in an arc of small family units, sheds, and the cold store.
The gardens in front were beautifully planted, both ornamental and vegetable, and all bedded down for the coming winter. There was even a cover ready to put over the substantial pond/pool. I stopped in the turning circle and said, ‘Ready?’ Karina took a deep breath and nodded.
In a smooth move, we got out and swapped places, standing by the car and trying to ignore the desperate barking and whining from Scout. He could smell them a long time before we saw them coming for us.
Mannwolves don’t use (or like) the term alpha male. They call the pack leaders their king and queen, and that was who approached the car at a gentle jog.
They looked human. They looked about my age, and they looked a lot healthier. The King was Karina’s height, his Queen about Mina’s, and both had long hair pulled back. They were wearing what you’d expect country dwellers to wear on a cold Monday afternoon: warm but battered clothing in earth tones. And flip-flops. The small part of my brain that has never grown up immediately thought of the trolley dolly hen party going into action. This was nothing like that. I put my right hand on the Hammer and held up my left hand in a sign of peace.
They weren’t too keen to get close to us and stopped about fifteen metres away. I could see the lines on the King’s face from a life lived outdoors, and yes, they do have more prominent canine teeth. Just a bit.
‘What do you want?’ he said in a flat, northern English accent.
‘King’s Watch. Deputy Constable Clarke. All I want today is to ask you a few questions.’
‘And tomorrow?’ said his Queen. ‘What comes then?’ She was Scottish, with a musical, high pitched voice.
‘Whose ground is this?’ I asked.
‘We are the Darkwood Pack. This is our ground and has been for generations.’
