Ash Addict

by Al K. Line

  "What are you talking about?" I asked, not sure if I'd heard correctly.

  "Look for yourself, but no funny business," he warned. He stepped aside from the doorway and had his men train their guns on me. I moved closer, pocketed the ashes first, and peeked out of the doorway. Instead of a corridor, or other rooms, I was staring at the inside of a storage container of some sort, a bloody big one. The undulating metal walls and large opened double doors at the rear confirmed it. Sitting on a stool by the exit was a hairy old guy in a cloak, head lolled back, exposing a deep cut across his throat.

  The view was directly to outside. I tried to place it, to remember how I recognized it, then I realized I was looking up, instead of down, at the ramp that led into the bowels of the warehouse. We were beside the bays that led inside. Parked up next to all the other trucks with containers no doubt, one of many, unrecognizable and lost amongst the rest.

  I stepped back into the room, the goons by the door made me sure there was no easy escape, and besides, Ivan was still inside.

  "Who's the dead guy in the chair?" I asked as I took my place beside Ivan.

  "A wizard," Tasius said with contempt. "The truck was shielded, ward protected, but we have our ways, our means, and nothing is secret from us."

  "You mean the old codger fell asleep and the veil dropped. You lucked out and your guys called you back from chasing us around the countryside."

  "As you say, a most fortuitous find. Now, and I won't ask again, give me those fucking ashes."

  "Sorry, I don't have them," I said as I took out the canister and handed it to Ivan. "It's your call, he's your responsibility. You say what to do and I'll do it. We're in a jam here, I admit it, but I'll do whatever you ask. And, but I'm not being funny here, this is all your bloody fault and you stabbed me, so yeah, you wanted them, you have them." Ivan took the canister and half smiled, half frowned at me. I think he would have been happier if I kept hold of them, but tough, this was all his fault.

  "Arthur already told you what's about to happen, and now it seems we're at the warehouse. We don't have time for this. We need to stop this place being destroyed. It will kill thousands. Wizards, witches, vampires, so many. We have to stop it then leave."

  "Give me what I want and we'll be gone. Then you can play your games." Tasius held out his hand to Ivan. The look on his face told us all we needed to know. He would not ask again.

  All guns aimed at us.

  Sounding bored, Tasius ordered, "Shoot them both in the head."

  Hooray

  There were times in my life when I questioned my luck, or lack of. This was one of them. As the men's trigger fingers twitched and the room exploded with noise, I expected to find my brains splattered all over the walls. They weren't, and when I opened my eyes, ears ringing, fists clenched in anticipation of the final curtain call, it was to see Ivan's hand in front of my face.

  "You can stop bullets now?" I asked, impressed.

  "Seems like it. A fresh feed gives you a lot of resilience, didn't I say?"

  "No, you didn't."

  Before the confused vampires fired again, Ivan grinned at me then was on the move, whirling around the room grabbing guns, twisting arms, breaking bones, and generally having fun. The others were fast, too fast for me without magical assistance, but no match for a vampire spurred on by threats of death who had fed moments ago.

  There was something else, too, something that made Ivan a man apart from the others, from all other vampires. He was made by Mikalus, kind of. Turned when Mikalus was resurrected, but the true vampire nature didn't come until he took Mikalus' blood, and gave in return. Others had also partaken, but Ivan was different because he'd been turned by the circle of vampires responsible for resurrecting Mikalus. Ivan's blood was used to complete the ritual, the last offering, and for some reason way beyond my ken this made him unique.

  I'd always known he was, his rise through the ranks made me sure he was a vampire apart and not just because he had the most experience regarding the dirty side of our world, but because he was full of something dangerous, something scary. You felt there was a wildness under the surface that would be impossible to contain once let loose.

  It was loose now, and Ivan didn't need the wolf to surface to revel in his wild side, unencumbered by morality, by thoughts of right and wrong, good or bad. He was animal, base, and the men in the room had tried to kill him. Like a mother protecting her cubs, Ivan tore through those who would do us harm without mercy, the entire thing a blur.

  Bodies thudded against the walls, making them vibrate, limbs were torn off, flung aside, and heads were smashed to a bloody pulp as he rammed them headfirst into the solid steel walls.

  It lasted about three seconds, and that's counting fast.

  "Where's Tasius?" Ivan panted, chest heaving, body covered in fresh blood mingling with the old, and little lumpy bits of pink flesh.

  "Gone, I think. There was a blur, but it was hard to tell. Your hands, they're bleeding."

  Ivan held up his arms and blood dripped from his palms. Deep holes halfway through his hands leaked like a broken tap. Ivan grunted as a bullet slid from each palm; they pinged as they hit the tiles.

  "Let's go," said Ivan, marching to the door.

  "Might wanna put some clothes on, dude. Can't do epic shit and save the world with your bits hanging out."

  Ivan glanced down at his ruined body and nodded. I retrieved his trousers and trashed shirt from a pile in the corner and handed them to him. He dressed quickly, looking odd without a jacket or a tie, a nice casual vampire vibe for murderous escapades. He clutched the canister tight, like he was trying to squeeze any remaining life from it. We walked out of the room, through the back of the container, and jumped out into the night.

  Carmichael was dead, but it wouldn't change anything, it never did. There would be another smarmy dickhead to take his place soon enough, another man to make my life miserable, interfering in my business and generally annoying me. But for now, Cerberus was leaderless, the Hounds had nobody to direct them, give the final word, and it would work to our advantage for any epic last-minute stuff they needed guidance with.

  Or, it would have, if Carmichael hadn't planned for the entire place to blow in the next hour or so. I got the feeling that the Hounds tasked with saving the warehouse and its contents were not privy to his plans, that they knew nothing of the fact the collection had already been moved, and that they were protecting mostly empty crates there only to create an illusion so the adepts would keep on coming, swarming like bees to a field of flowers.

  They were the sacrificial lambs so Cerberus could finally get the upper hand. Or, and my heart sank at the thought, maybe they all knew. It was certainly a hell of a secret to hide from your own people. Maybe they were happy to work a suicide mission as it meant protecting the artifacts from us. Were they that fanatical? Sure, they were. They believed utterly in the work Cerberus did, felt it was an almost divine calling, that they were the protectors of humanity. Keeping everyone safe from the naughty wizards who would use artifacts to destroy the world. Stopping vampires spreading their poison, and about that they had a point, granted.

  It didn't matter. Whether they knew or not, the place would be destroyed and we had to stop that from happening or my kind would be a dying breed, the vampires would be hunted down because there were no wizards and witches to help protect the supernatural community, and Cerberus would use what happened here in the UK as an example to the rest of the magical community. Tow the line, leave the artifacts alone or you'll be next. But if we won? Ah, that would be sweet.

  So I got my shit together, pulled on energy reserves only possible in times of dire emergency, and raced after Ivan up the asphalt, past trucks and cars and crappy looking camper vans that had managed to get through the barricades, and went to try to save the world.

  Why? I like me, so I decided to do my best to be the hero. For once.

  Into the Depths

  Whatever I was expecting, whatever I wa
s prepared for, heck, whatever I could possibly imagine, it all went out the window when we ran up the rise. Past bodies, confused wizards and witches, Hounds mowing down anyone not in uniform, and general mayhem, we were confronted with the true scale of the madness.

  The earlier chaos and carnage, the craters, the corpses, it felt like a tea party in comparison to what we faced.

  There were people absolutely everywhere. Vehicles were abandoned on the slope, on the flat ground on top of the warehouse, down by the trees, everywhere. Deep ruts tracked the passage of vehicles trying to get as close as possible before getting stuck and being abandoned. Some burned, others were blown to bits. Craters pockmarked almost every inch of ground, and what hadn't been shot at or blown up was a quagmire of mud, ripped up turf, or was blasted by magic. Scars ran along the ground like fault lines. Deep, jagged fissures where magic had been expunged with incredible force.

  It was so hot in places the damn earth was burning. The earth! I mean, that isn't even possible is it? Screams came from all directions. People were shouting, whooping with glee, roaring as they charged at Hounds or merely leapt into the endless holes and took their chances below.

  Gunfire echoed across the open plain. Distant, muted rat, tat, tats told of the war being waged beneath our feet. The cries of the fallen, the terrified, and the soon-to-be-dead echoed up out of the warehouse like we were standing on the summit of hell itself.

  Even more disturbing than this, was the sense of wrongness that filled the air. Couldn't everyone feel this? The air vibrated in tune to a song of epic violence brewing, to unimaginable destruction the likes of which the country had never before known. Carmichael had undersold his act of vengeance, had downplayed just how extreme this would be. I felt it building, the air tense as if gathering itself for what was to come. And soon.

  Carmichael lied until the very end. We didn't have hours, we didn't even have an hour. He'd lied so we'd fail to stop it in time. This would happen, and soon, unless we did something.

  And then there were the ash addicts. Too many to count, with Tasius at the center, shouting and gesticulating at the combined forces of his crew and those who had followed him here but didn't see him as leader. They were disorganized now, many shouting back, shaking their heads, clearly unhappy with how he'd handled things. Those he didn't trust fully had been left out of the loop. He hadn't told them he knew where we were, they'd been cut loose for the whole night while Tasius hunted us down. Now they all knew our location and they weren't amused. Was he telling them about this place being ready to go up in flames? Doubtful. He was out for himself, wanted the power Mikalus' ashes offered, and he wasn't about to do those he saw as traitors any favors.

  "We have to get inside and stop this," I told Ivan as we crouched in a crater and peeked up over the sides to see what was happening.

  "I know, and soon. Why can't they feel this? It's close to erupting."

  "Because they're all too hyped up on the violence, on magic, on getting us. Nobody is taking a moment to pay any attention. I'm amazed you can feel it, I'm amazed I can. This has been one hell of a ride, Ivan. Let's never repeat it."

  "If we get out of this then it's a deal. Come on, let's get inside."

  We waited until a number of addicts rushed off to where we'd been kept, and when Tasius turned his back on us and began giving orders to his own men, we took our chance and ran, crouched over, across the battlefield, dodging corpses, wounded, and bits of body. With a little magical assistance we dropped down into one of the smaller craters sited above the warehouse.

  We landed smack bang in the middle of madness. It truly was like hell. Emergency lights strobed red, sirens wailed, a female voice on loop directed people to please kindly make their way to the nearest exit. The hum in the air buzzed like a thousand bees in my head, the pressure building. The sheer amount of magic waiting to blow made it hard to focus my thoughts or even begin to know how to put an end to this.

  Hounds were amassed in groups, stalking the aisles like a repeat of earlier and then some. Seemed there was no end to the willingness of my comrades to risk life and limb to grab something awesome. As we moved down the rows of towering racking, crates hanging off the shelves, more littering the aisle, bodies everywhere, men and women stumbling about, muttering to themselves, Hounds taking potshots, the buzzing became even more intense.

  There was no stopping this. How could we?

  Whoever Carmichael had got to put these wards in place knew exactly what he or she was doing. Maybe he had a team of rogue wizards working for him. Not all adepts thought the same. Some were firmly on Cerberus's side, believed artifacts should be kept safe, not out there in the world for people like me to use to get up to mischief. They would happily do what their masters told them if they thought it would destroy people they saw as too dangerous to be left to do as they pleased.

  Nobody had counted on us though. We were focused, not on stealing artifacts, but saving everyone.

  I turned to Ivan with a twinkle in my eye. "I have a plan."

  My Plan

  "Gimme your phone," I growled as a Hound came running around the corner, gun raised, moments from shooting.

  He pulled up short, looking confused. "Eh? You what?"

  "Gimme your goddamn phone if you want to live through the next two seconds."

  "Who the hell do—"

  "One."

  "Wait! What's this—"

  "Two."

  I felt the surge of sheer will combined with magic frustration flow down my arm and connect to Wand with unrivaled intensity. The Hat still had it, and then some. Wand let loose with wild abandon. It was over.

  "You exploded his head," noted Ivan.

  "I warned him."

  "Hardly a fair warning."

  "We haven't got time for sweet talk." I bent and searched the guy's pockets, found his phone, and made a call.

  "Hello?" came the sleepy voice of Penelope.

  "Hey, it's me."

  "Arthur, are you okay?"

  "Sure. You know me, never get into any bother."

  "What time is it?"

  "Early, or late in my case. I wanted to tell you I love you."

  "I love you too." Penelope sounded worried, which I guess she would be.

  "Good, that's nice to know. Tell George I love her too. Ugh, and Vicky."

  "Arthur, you're worrying me. What's happening?"

  "Nothing. I just get a bit emotional when I haven't slept. I'll see you soon, okay? Don't worry, I'm just being soppy."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yep. Sleep tight." I hung up.

  "You know that will make her worry, don't you?" said Ivan.

  "I know. But I had to tell her. Now, about my plan."

  "Yes?"

  "Um, it's not so much a plan, as an idea. Okay, not so much an idea as a partial thought I had."

  "Just tell me!"

  "Okay, okay. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

  "Tell me!"

  "We need to get rid of the crates. It's the way the wards are configured that will make the place blow. That and the artifacts here. We need to get rid of the Hounds too. All in the next thirty minutes or so."

  "And how do you propose we do that?"

  "Er, that's where the thoughts kind of ended," I said, shoulders slumping but my head buzzing with the after-effects of magic use and the damn charge in the air as the wards were getting closer to blowing.

  Ivan's Plan

  "Give me that phone," Ivan growled, frowning in concentration.

  "You phoning your girlfriend?" I asked with a wink.

  "No, I am not," Ivan snapped. I handed him the phone and he barked a few orders. "Yes, everyone," he said. "No, right now. Fast as possible. And I mean fast. Don't drive, run, and run like your life depends on it. Because it does. Don't forget. Everyone." Ivan hung up.

  "So, what's the plan?"

  "We get the crates out of here, we kill the Hounds, we deal with the ashes somehow."

  "That's a lot to do,"
I noted, staring around at the huge expanse of industrial racking still almost full of crates.

  "So let's get started."

  I released the Velcro and pulled out Wand once more, who was brimming with magical intent and raring to go. I didn't need to ask him if he was ready, the message came through loud and clear.

  "This is a big job, a big ask, but I know you're up to it."

  "Sure am. Let's do this."

  I nodded, then settled myself, allowed my body to relax. Distractions faded away and I was left alone and centered. Occupying a silent space inside my head where I could call on powers I would never understand and force them to obey my will.

  Then I let that energy loose, that bottomless source of wonder, and when I opened my eyes the world was a very different place. I could see the true artifacts, not physically, but manifest as colors vibrating around the crates like auras. Some were benign, others angry, most were dangerous, but I knew what was what.

  Zig-zagging from crate to crate, up and down the racks, along the shelves, around corners, back and forth in endless configurations, were lines of shimmering silver. Effervescent, like spider's silk, connecting and interlinking every box in the warehouse. It was dangerous, volatile, and the more that was removed, the more unstable everything became.

  An unsteady whole that was fragile yet impossibly strong. There was no breaking this ward, or wards, no overriding single spell connecting them all that could be negated and ensure everything would be fine again. Each crate had an individual ward and yet was linked to the next, and the only way to stop this going bang was to remove enough of them, in the right order, so the connection broke without it tripping the built-in destruction.

  I concentrated, focused, and began.

  Crates containing artifacts were first as they were too precious to be destroyed like this. I let Wand drift lazily back and forth as I directed operations, indicating which crates to select. Our combined focus sent them soaring up and out to whoops of delight from those above ground who no doubt grabbed them and made a hasty retreat, hopefully as far away from here as possible.