by Al K. Line
Yeah, in case you hadn't noticed, I was on a bit of a downer. To be fair, I had expected to spend the week bonking, and drinking French wine, not getting a day of happiness then being thrown right back into the usual magical mayhem.
"You sure?" asked Kate, looking concerned, guilty, excited, and scared all at the same time.
I nodded. "I'm sure. But here's the deal. You stay behind. No arguments, no trying to change my mind. I can't, won't, risk losing you if this means we get to have babies." Kate went to object but I said, "That's my offer."
"Okay," said Kate, knowing I was resolute.
"Then let us begin," said Morag before she took a deep drag on her cigarette.
Call me a pessimist, but I just knew what she had to tell me wouldn't cheer me up.
I was right.
Some Wrangling
Kate and I listened and interrupted when we thought necessary, much to Morag's irritation. Screw her, this was my life and our future on the line. No way was I walking into this without getting as many details as I could.
Like pulling teeth, the truth slowly and painfully came out. Morag was, rather surprisingly, embarrassed by the whole affair. And that was exactly what it had been. She'd got caught up in a relationship, and when she'd finally called it off the guy had taken something I was surprised she wanted back. Her soul pretty much guaranteed her a special place in some despicable hell as it was undoubtedly corrupted, but it had been taken and she wanted it returned.
My job was to get it.
Much of what she said made little sense. This was way out of my league and to be honest I found it hard to even wing it. Half the things she spoke of were indecipherable. The tether souls provided to this world was about as far as it went for me in terms of knowledge of these matters. It wasn't my area and I had no interest in delving into such darkness.
But Morag was well versed in this dark side of magic. Hell, she lived her life immersed in darkness. She reveled in pain and in pushing the boundaries, her creations were proof of that, but it was still grounded in reality, in flesh and blood. The dark arts and mysteries of messing with a person's very essence, their soul, was a step beyond even for her, and I had never in my life had more than a passing introduction to how you could possibly take that of another.
I'd heard of it happening as pretty much anything you can dream up has happened, but to do it was taboo, went against everything magic stood for. It's the only way a person's worth can be judged when life is finally over.
You'd think Morag would've been happy her perverted soul was no longer hers. That way she wouldn't have to face whatever awaited her on the other side. She'd die, and soon, and that would be it. Just dead meat, no passing over onto the next stage of the journey. But no, it was entirely the opposite. For as her body weakened and her connection to reality faded, and she eventually died, all that would remain was her soul, and that had been taken from her. Without the link to her physical body while alive, she, her soul, would become something different. Loose, adrift in a madness that would be unbearable, insanity thrust upon it, tormented for eternity by the one who controlled it. Owned it.
She needed the connection, the link that grew more tenuous every day, and soon that bond would be severed, and with it her life. Without your soul you die. It's part and parcel of what makes us human, sentient, alive, and her time was almost up.
Morag battled for months, but got nowhere, because everything she tried the thief thwarted, and easily. She would share no details, refused to tell me what she'd attempted and how he had beaten her and kept beating her, but beat her he did.
She grew increasingly remote, felt herself fading away, and within days it would all be over. When Kate got in touch she realized I was the one who could maybe help, and so here we were, me tasked with doing something I knew next to nothing about, her desperate enough to let me try anyway. This was why the birthday celebrations had been brought forward without Kate knowing. Morag felt herself close to the end and knew it was now or never, the party the perfect cover for our get together.
Believing in a soul is a leap of faith for some, but not for me, not for those who understand the truth of magic and the world behind the veil. Once you've touched the Empty, let magic enter you, felt the power, and spent time in our world where you see so much, discover the Hidden, all the creatures that exist on other planes, see the masks Hidden wear to hide them from Regulars, well, you don't need to take it on faith, you believe.
More. You know.
I'd met countless ghosts and seen no end of spirits. Lost souls trapped between the planes of existence, tortured beings who were forever doomed to limbo unless they found a way to free themselves or were freed, and I had no doubt whatsoever that what Morag told me was truly the case. When you passed you had to have your soul along for the ride. That's the way it is. How things happen.
Without it then you break the laws of the universe, the truth behind all reality, and the cycle is broken, everything fractured. Her soul would be forever tied to the person that owned it, and she would be unable to pass through the hells she was sure to have to make extended stays in. This didn't frighten her, for she believed life to be hell already. What did terrify her, and so it should, was the unknown. The thief could do anything, could torture her, make the afterlife truly despicable.
She would die and immediately her experience would jump to that of her soul, nothing known of her own passing, a cloud of confusion forever masking the last moments of her life. She would be lost, untethered, a thing. Becoming less and less by the day until fading to nothing.
This was what scared Morag.
True death.
Nobody truly dies, you pass over and then the next adventure begins.
As she breathed her last, Morag's soul would be loose and it would go insane. Then it would fade away to nothing. She would be truly dead and then there would be emptiness.
Morag was petrified of the nothingness. As she told us what happened I understood that everything she had done, the despicable things she did with her sick experiments and the cruelty she inflicted, it was her twisted way of trying to find an answer to that age old question nobody had ever found an answer to. How to live forever.
She was utterly terrified of dying, but nowhere near as scared as dying without a chance of ever experiencing again. Whether that was good or bad experiences she didn't seem to care, as long as she wasn't just nothing.
Pretty hardcore stuff. Personally, if I was going where she was, and I hope I'm not, then oblivion would be preferable. But hey, maybe that's just because I was so damn tired and a rest sounded real sweet right about now.
We talked and when there was nothing left to say, nothing she would answer, anyway, we got up to leave.
"Don't disappoint me, Spark. Five days, you have five days to do this, and then my time will be up. Yours too. I will not give you what you want unless you give me what I want. Understand?"
"I understand."
"Good. I promise I will not harm Kate, you have my word."
"What's Kate got to do with this? She won't be anywhere near you."
"She stays here, with me. I need to be sure you'll do this."
"Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind? Deal's off."
"It's okay," said Kate, looking deep into my eyes. She turned to Morag. "Tomorrow. I'll come back tomorrow. That way I can keep an eye on you, too."
"As you wish. But then you stay here, don't leave the house until he returns."
"Agreed."
I didn't like it, but it actually made sense. Kate could keep tabs on Morag and no way would Morag do anything. In fact, I doubted she could. Kate was a virile vampire in her prime, Morag was weak however much she tried to hide it.
"You either succeed or fail," said Morag. "The penalty for failure is enough incentive for you, I believe?"
I nodded, and then we left.
Talk about a downer. I'd gone right off Paris. And birthday parties. And honeymoons.
Just One Night<
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We left Morag's birthday bash in a daze. Neither of us really knew what to say to the other, and we were both acting odd. I wasn't angry with Kate, I'd gone past it, and to be fair I'd done plenty of worse things since we'd got together. She was, and I admit it, a saint for putting up with me.
But regardless of who was to blame or whether she'd done the right thing or not, and I still wasn't sure she had, it meant the honeymoon was over. There would be no week of debauchery and sexy times. The oil I'd packed would go unused and the crime-yet-to-happen that was Kate's lingerie wouldn't get the airing I so desperately deserved. Wanted, anyway.
No, this was it, the honeymoon had barely started and already it was time to say goodbye. We argued a little about my insistence she stay behind but it was the sensible thing to do and she couldn't disagree with that. Okay, she did, a lot, but she still knew I was right.
The city was dark and felt different, the romance gone. Visions of twisted creatures and a niggling feeling I was letting myself in for a lot more than I'd bargained for clawed at my subconscious. A nervousness and almost a dread of what might happen now the stakes were higher than they'd ever been.
This wasn't just about me, was no regular job, this was for a future we could share. However twisted and illogical it may seem from the outside looking in, we still deserved a chance at happiness, didn't we?
We made it back to the hotel eventually, walking the entire way, feeling out of place and like we didn't belong in the city of romance.
It was quiet in the foyer, the madness replaced with an eerie silence stranger and much more menacing than when it was packed with Hidden. We got up to our room and I wish I could say we made the most of the night, and I at least got to see some of the wicked delights still in Kate's suitcase, but it wasn't to be.
We talked, serious talk, Kate full of remorse for playing me, me just tired and confused. I wasn't prepared for any of this, had felt so light and full of anticipation for our break, but there was to be no down time, no fun while we took in the sights and explored the city. I had five days to find a soul and return it to its deranged owner.
We fell asleep at some point in the night and I awoke in the morning to find my arm around Kate, her wide awake.
"Forgive me?" she asked, turning her head on the pillow so she faced me. It was stained with makeup and smelled of her perfume, a scent so familiar it was easy to miss it, so much a part of my life had it, had she, become.
"Of course. This time next year maybe we'll have a little sprog keeping us awake all night and screaming the house down. Then you can be sorry."
Kate smiled at my lame joke and I got up to get dressed.
Half an hour later I had a clean suit on, the single red shirt I'd packed, a black tie, and polished winklepickers. With a goodbye we both clung to and protracted because we knew this was not a game, I eventually released her fingers, kissed Kate's beautiful lips, and went to find answers.
I found them, for my sins.
Burning Rubber
Having a hoard of dwarf gold stashed away in a safety deposit box—even if Kate did put it in her name!—has its advantages. It means I never have to worry about money again. We converted some of the goodies to cash and although the money was available it mostly just sat there, unused. We were happy where we lived, didn't need much, and about the only money I'd spent over the previous year was on a serious new collection of kick-ass nineteen sixties suits with a perfect cut and several pairs of bespoke British winklepickers.
Being a millionaire does have its advantages, though, and having discovered that my week of debauchery was cut short and the best I could hope for was to get out of this alive, I thought what the hell and decided to splurge.
As I raced away from the very, and I mean very, posh car rental place—so posh they were actually polite, and trust me, the French are not keen on being polite to near invisible British dudes with bleached hair—I couldn't help but smile despite the impending nightmare I knew awaited me.
The Maserati Levante was comfortable and spacious enough, yet boy did it pack a punch. I'd never been big on cars, wasn't interested, but I'd never driven anything like this either. Time to upgrade if I ever made it home.
The plush leather interior not only molded perfectly to my body, but there was a new car smell to beat all new car smells. It was utterly awesome. My mood improved no end as I roared through the city then out onto the autoroute, putting my foot down and speeding past other vehicles. Driving carefully but unable to resist breaking the speed limits when others were doing likewise, assuming it would mean speed cameras were missing from certain stretches of road.
I made good time, very good time, and with hardly a chance to think about how to deal with a disgruntled ex who happened to be a soul-taker, I found myself weaving between insolent drivers in a congested city a few hours east of Paris before I knew it. The connection with the Maserati had been so deep, the handling so fluid and the experience so new and visceral, that it was almost a meditation.
Normally, I'd be stressing and trying to formulate a rudimentary plan, searching for answers to questions I didn't even know I had. Stressing about Kate, wondering how Grandma was, had Mithnite burned the house down yet or was he just having mates over and trying it on with girls? But there was none of that, just a strange peace. I was relaxed, felt in control and ready for anything.
The Hidden magic I had inside truly came into its own now, making me potent, feeling invincible. This was also where the danger lay. Whatever anyone said, I knew I was an addict, and what can be more dangerous than having an addiction that seemed to suddenly cost you nothing? It didn't eat away at me, didn't give me pain, no longer limited me.
With such freedom I could focus like never before and could do things I marveled at. And this was dangerous as I was wild, close to stepping over into forbidden and maybe even cruel territory. I got carried away, reveled in the feeling of power, and this was the trap the freedom gave. It would be easy to be convinced I was unbeatable, to crave more power and never be happy with what I had. I understood this and kept a watchful eye on my addiction and my ever increasing, utterly immersive fix.
I would not be like Rikka. I would not abuse my strength. I would remain who I was and never, ever let magic dictate my every move.
It wasn't easy, and I slipped up, but I got a handle on it and was always mindful of the way it was now and the way it used to be.
Still, I felt awesome after the drive, and just being alone, driving fast and hurtling along the autoroutes had given me a clarity and focus that would serve me well for the job to come.
And the end goal? Oh, how wonderful that would be. But I couldn't let that cloud my mind, affect my judgment. I had to forget why I was doing this and focus on just getting it done. Morag had said she believed in five days or less she would be gone, so I had to stay alert, think clearly and rationally, and just do this job somehow, go home, and start with the making babies practice.
As I pulled up close to a nice looking house on a nice street in a nice part of the city, I smiled as I thought of Kate. I watched carefully as a man got out of a stylish Citroen parked outside the house I had been told was where my quarry lived.
I felt the familiar tingle as my ink bubbled away, that welcome buzz building.
Man, I love this stuff. It's better than anything else in the world. Apart from fondling Kate, that always beats out everything else.
Too Easy
I sat in the car, munching on an assortment of snacks as I'd grown famished on the drive, and watched an average looking man carry his groceries from the car to the front door. He piled them up outside and by the time he was finished his front step was covered in a mismash of reusable bags with various logos—guess they'd started charging for plastic bags in France same as the UK. Dude liked to eat by the looks of it, although you'd never tell by the shape of him.
He wore faded jeans that were clearly expensive in that designer aged look. He had a pair of battered Converse and wo
re a rather creased brown shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up powerful and lean forearms. His dirty gray hair hung to his shoulders, with stubble well past the designer stage and approaching the wild man of the woods look popularized by absolutely nobody.
He was tanned from decades of sun exposure, that burnished appearance that only comes from outdoor activity rather than sunbathing. Jerard, my mark, had a face wrinkled yet handsome. Dignified and thoughtful in the way only very strong and fit men in their mid to late fifties seem to have. No doubt how he'd looked for quite some time. I watched as he pulled his keys out of his pocket, pressed a button to lock his car, then opened the front door.
A dog, clearly waiting the other side of the door and the reason he hadn't opened it until his shopping was piled up, practically launched itself at him. The little fella trampled the groceries then ran around excitedly, back and forth from the hallway as Jerard talked to it and stroked it while he took the bags inside.
Once he'd finished, he glanced down the street both ways then closed the door.
This was weird because it was so normal. He didn't look like any uber powerful soul-taker to me, nobody that would have stepped foot in Morag's world. But this was the guy. This fit looking man approaching sixty was the one who'd bested Morag and taken her soul, her tether.
Something wasn't right. Yes, those in our world have lives, have to live in houses and eat and all the rest of it, but the utter banality of it all, the sheer mundane life this man led, it was as if he was a Regular.
Morag had refused to give me much information on Jerard, only that he was a strong practitioner and they had been an item. Then she broke it off for whatever reason, probably boredom same as always, and he'd exacted a terrible revenge.
