Black Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 1) (11 page)

"Did it work?" I asked, peering at the still very dead looking Grandmaster.

"Yes, I think so. We just have to wait a minute."

"We better be quick, my shift ends in five and Elaine usually comes in early." Stanley hurriedly tidied away brains and assorted goop before it was time for him to leave.

"Just a second," said Dancer, staring at the corpse in anticipation.

The old guy sat bolt upright, gasped for air like a goldfish in a cracked aquarium, stared around with wild eyes all black from where I'd accidentally made them boil, just a bit—Dancer had done a fine repair job on them—then screamed at the top of his lungs. Not words, a primeval roar of absolute terror.

You couldn't blame him. After all, he'd just come back from the other side, whatever that meant for him personally.

Stanley pushed him down flat and slammed the drawer closed.

"Hey, you can't leave him like that, he'll freak," I said, feeling really bad for the old man.

"It will be for only a minute, and it's better than us all being discovered when Elaine arrives. You have to go, now." Stanley ushered us to the door, and we made to leave. He put an arm on my shoulder and said, "Don't forget your promise."

"I won't," I sighed. "I'll try, but there are no guarantees. And if she says yes then you better behave. Don't even think about preying on an old, innocent lady like Grandma. She's my only family."

Stanley held his hands up in protest. "I wouldn't dream of it, my dear boy. Or should I say, grandson?"

I felt like a thousand ice-cubes had been dropped down my underwear. Damn, was this him sharing what he knew to be the future? Or was he just going along with what he'd done in his life when he lived it for the first time and was making a rather tasteless joke?

You can see why seers like this are not easy to be around. It messes with your head something rotten.

We left, even Oliver, who looked worse than I felt.

The screaming from the drawer was really loud.

Is it Nice?

Out in the car park, we stood for a while sucking down deep lungfuls of fresh air, at least compared to the stink of the morgue. We watched Elaine as she rushed past us through the doors, seemingly late and looking flustered. Hopefully that would mean the poor guy wouldn't be screaming and freaked out for too much longer.

Stanley was right though, best she found him. It would make it a lot easier, and if he said that then it was the right thing to do. Maybe.

That's the real issue with seers—do they say things because it's the right thing and they know the results will be good, or do they stick exactly to the future they have already seen, be it good or bad? They never explain it properly so you never really know.

The drizzle resumed after a break to gather more depressing clouds, so we waited in the car. At least, me and Dancer did. Oliver hung around outside, didn't even ask to come in. He stood under the cover of the entry and observed the people coming and going.

"Will you look at that guy. Makes my skin crawl," said Dancer with a shudder.

"Says the man who just re-animated a corpse."

"That's different." He actually pouted. "Oliver there is looking for his next meal. He's preying on the weak, looking for someone too sad to care."

I watched Oliver for as long as I could stand, which was not long at all. Dancer was right, he was studying the people, stepping close to some, reading them, looking for pliable minds he could glamor now, eat later.

More than anything, I wanted to do something, but it's not my place, our place, and trying would lead to more death, more hurt, and it would never end.

In the end he got bored, and sat on the steps, waiting for me to leave. So he could follow, keep an eye on me until he felt satisfied.

I wanted to hang around and see what happened, and much as I would have liked to distance myself from the residue of magic clinging to the necromancer beside me, I knew it was best to have him close. Just in case. Raising the dead isn't always straightforward, so best to keep him nearby, for now.

"Where did he go?" I couldn't help it, I had to ask. I know the answer, but I also don't, if that makes sense? Death is funny like that—it's a bugger to believe in when you live the life our kind does.

Dancer sighed. We'd had the conversation before, or variations on it, and I'm sure that over the years he's had similar ones with no end of people and races. "Come on, Spark, seriously?"

"Hey, it's important. There is somewhere after, right? I mean, there has to be, otherwise how could you come back?"

"Of course there is somewhere after you die, what a stupid question." I didn't think it was stupid. It's the question we have striven to find an answer to ever since we could first think, and after billions upon billions of deaths there is still no proof that life after death exists. Not like, real proof.

There is faith, belief, all of that, but only people like Dancer know. Really know. I wanted to know too, although I already do I guess—death is far from the end of it all, it's just the beginning.

"Okay, what's it like then? When you go get them, bring them back?"

"It's different every time. The afterlife is what you want it to be. Not what you wish it was when you are alive, but what you feel is your due when you strip away all the ego and the wishful thinking. It's what you deserve."

Stuff of nightmares, isn't it? How do we know what we deserve? Some of the most evil people in history thought they were doing the right thing, so what does that say about the rest of us?

Dancer was serious for a moment and smiled knowingly as I got goosebumps.

"I know, right? Scary stuff. But it's private, Spark. I'm not about to tell of other people's afterlife, that's their business. But it's there, and, well, to be honest a lot of it isn't that nice. Sometimes it's so beautiful it hurts, in a nice way, but often..."

"So the answer is?"

"Be nice, cross your fingers, give up your seat for the elderly on the bus, recycle, try not to kill too many people, don't litter, a bit of praying never hurts, never, and I mean never, kick a dog, and hope for the best."

"Great," I said, feeling more depressed than ever.

"You asked."

We were both lost in our own thoughts. I can't imagine doing what Dancer does. Life is hard enough without having to go visit people in their own private purgatory or paradise after they think it's finally all over with—what a way to earn a living. Still, he seems to enjoy it. I guess everyone has a role to play in the game we call living and dying, and it's nice to know you have skills.

Half an hour later all hell broke loose.

Police cars, ambulances, hospital bigwigs—judging by the cars they drove and the suits they wore—and five minutes after that there were more TV crew vans than I'd seen that morning at the scene of the Grandmaster's murder. Now ex-murder.

Someone had spilled the beans. Hardly surprising, as it's a small city, so somebody would always be calling up their mum and gossiping, and she'd tell the next door neighbor and before you knew it people on the other side of the world knew that you'd broken up with your girlfriend. It's like social media, only without the annoying ads.

You can't beat the Welsh gossip grapevine for spreading news far and wide faster than a photon bouncing along a fiber optic cable.

I watched as one reporter, a man I recognized—he was from the BBC so this really had made it to the majors—stood on the steps and then spoke to the camera. Oliver even moved out of the way. I guess he thought it a bad idea to be filmed, especially considering the circumstances.

I couldn't hear a word though, so flipped open my phone and connected to their website.

"...an unexpected turn of events the Grandmaster reported murdered this morning has seemingly been discovered screaming and frantic in the morgue. Early reports indicate he seems nothing but distraught, with no signs of the fatalities reported earlier. This questions the whole validity of the mysterious events, suspected by some, haha, as being the first reported case of the true use of magic."

The reporter paused and put a hand to his ear. "I am getting reports... yes, there appears to be a number of new incidents popping up with various people witnessing more use of this black magic, people shooting what seems to be dark energy from their hands and causing physical harm to others. This seems to be happening worldwide and as of yet there are no known reasons why it should be suspected of being linked to what has happened here in Cardiff..."

I shut it down.

"Yes!"

"Seems to have worked then," said Dancer. He looked at me, eyebrows raised, still looking drained from his raising of the dead gig.

"Yeah. Um, thanks."

"You're welcome. Just remember—"

"Yeah, I owe you."

"Twice."

"I know."

Dancer smiled that creepy smile of his. "So, think this has done the trick then?"

"It'll help, and that other bit you heard on the news, the other reports, that's the final stage. In less than an hour it should all be done with."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Don't worry about it," I said as I started up the engine. "You'll find out soon enough. Right, I've got things to do. I've got to go to Kate's and then I guess I need to go see Grandma."

"Sounds good." Dancer beamed at me, or at least tried to. It came across more like he was constipated and really was trying his best to evacuate the problem.

"No chance."

"What? I like Grandma, although I'm not so sure she likes me that much. And I haven't seen Kate in a while. It'll be fun."

"Fun! I don't have time for fun. In case you haven't noticed, my life is on the line here. I have things to do. And I have to deal with the Armenian. You want to come along for that too?"

Dancer actually pulled away from me in the car, as if mentioning the woman could hurt him. So much for the terrifying necromancer image.

"She's behind what you did? Christ, you are screwed. Why bother with this then, trying to fix it, bringing the old guy back, if you are done for anyway?"

"Hey!" I protested. "Have some faith. Rikka sent me to deal with her yesterday apparently, so that means I must have thought I could handle Ankine Luisi, so—" We both shuddered at the name.

"But you didn't, did you? You got stitched up good and proper and you're gonna go back for more."

"It's not like I have a choice, is it? Rikka said sort this then deal with Ankine Luisi, and when Rikka says do something—"

"You do it. Well, good luck." Dancer opened the car door and was gone.

So much for loyalty amongst the dark magic wielders.

At least I didn't have to deal with his stink of death. Dancer reeks of morgues, cemeteries, and hospitals. He's been around them so long it's like the smells of decay, strong bleach, and formaldehyde seep from his skin and come out of his lungs when he exhales.

I settled back and closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the new car smell.

What a morning. I wished it was over, but my day was only just beginning.

The Unviral Viral Vampire Caper

"Hey," I said as Kate unlocked then opened the door to my timid knocking.

"Hey," she said, smiling, just a hint of canine. She was less aware she was doing it than she used to be, the vampire nature slowly taking over, but damn, it was still a beautiful smile.

Like a ray of sunshine as you ran toward the precipice of your future, not caring if you fell into oblivion as long as you could take the smile with you to comfort you through your lonely eternity.

Well, so far so good. I was feeling rather nervous after the way we'd said goodbye earlier. I didn't know what to expect and my heart was fluttering like a schoolboy's with a crush—okay, it always does that around Kate, but this was different as I wasn't sure what the deal was.

I followed Kate back into her kitchen and a quick look at her face told me everything was fine. It would work its way out one way or the other, the main thing was we would remain friends. That was all that counted—yeah, I'm a liar, even to myself. I wanted to rip her clothes off, lick her perfectly curved bottom and... She put the kettle on; I needed a cold shower.

"All done. Wanna see?"

"Sure, please. I can't thank you enough for this, Kate. I don't know what I'd do without you. Hey, I have to go to Grandma's next, you wanna come say hi? You know how much she likes seeing you."

"That would be great." Kate opened up the laptop while the kettle boiled and clacked away like the pro she is.

I stared at her profile as the sun made a quick breakthrough before being beaten back down by the angry clouds. Something wasn't quite right. She looked old, normally smooth skin mottled and wrinkled a little, eyes heavy and that abundance of life not there.

Kate isn't exactly beautiful, not in a classical way. She is just... Gosh, how do you describe someone that is more beautiful than a butterfly or a faery, or a sunset, even though to others they may see nothing but a somewhat attractive lady? Kate is intoxicating, and it isn't the vampire that makes her that way—although I guess it does add something. It's her. It's Kate. The whole package. She's a nice person in a sea of slime.

Her nose is a little too large, her blue eyes are too big, which is ace, her lips are awesome, full and pouting, and her blond hair slides about when she moves her head. And she laughs a lot, which is like a smack across the head with a bag of faery dust, so, yeah, I guess she is beautiful. To me.

But she wasn't herself, and I'd been self-centered asking her to do work for me when I should have seen the signs earlier.

"Ready?" she asked, about to show me her handy work.

"In a minute. How long since you fed?"

Kate looked me in the eye and said, "A few months, maybe longer." She wouldn't try to hide it from me; we were past such things. We both knew the score, both knew what she was and what her new life entailed, and she said it without remorse, without apology. She answered with thanks. Thanks for asking, thanks for noticing, and thanks for helping with what she knew I would help with.