Black Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 1) (17 page)

I kept the worst of my annoyance away from them, used just enough to make them docile and harmless, but they would certainly have one monster of a headache, if they had such feelings.

Their simple minds were quiet, shut down for a few precious moments. I wasted no time. With the magic still coursing through my veins, the sickness not yet fully upon me, I ran through the mud and bodies, not caring if I stomped on dirt, heads or limbs, and made it onto the incongruous neat lawn. I dashed up toward the building.

The ground rose as I got closer to the large house, and I collapsed onto the grass, staring back at the scene of destruction. It just looked like the usual side entrance to the compound where it met the woods, but they shouldn't have been there. It was where the pigs ordinarily went about their pig business, and was why it was so muddy. I'd seen no pigs though, although if they had any sense they would have run off the moment they caught a whiff of slowly rotting flesh.

Oliver was by my side, smiling down at me, wiggling an eyebrow. "Nasty."

"Shut up."

The sickness took me over as the magic reluctantly seeped away, leaving me shaking and empty of emotion, the terrible aftereffect of using magic all that remained, all I was.

You know when someone kicks you in the crotch and you get not only the pain, but that feeling deep inside of you as if you will never stand up straight again or breathe normally? And there is nothing else in the world but the hurt and the deep ache in places you never even knew could feel such intense sensation that is something beyond pain? Using magic for humans, especially when you use more than a hint of what it can offer, is like that feeling but in every cell of your body and brain.

You don't just hurt, ache, feel sick and incapable of doing anything but wait for death, it's so far beyond that. You become a non-person, lost in the ferocious payback for what you have done. I've been doing this for almost a hundred years and it has not once got easier—this is the price for messing with things that are not yours by birthright, and it is glorious.

Yes, as I sat there doubled up, my mind empty of everything but sorrow and anguish so deep I would gladly have given my soul to feel anything else ever again, and as my nerves fired off scream after silent scream to my brain that couldn't cope with so many dark and mean signals from every part of my being and yet refused to shut down totally, part of me, the addicts part, reveled in the power and the sheer intensity of such emotion and feeling. Once more, I was lost to magic.

It sounds nuts, I know. Why would you want to go through such torment? But the power overwhelms you even more than the sickness, and something tells you that in a moment it will pass—not that it feels like it—and that you are something more than human. You are elemental, invincible, and dangerous as hell. Powerful. It corrupts you and you love it and you hate it and you want it to end and you want it to last for eternity.

My breathing slowed as the pressure of insanity receded. My body became my own and my mind cleared.

"No feeling like it, am I right?" Oliver was on a stolen high. His blood lust had risen with my use of magic, a taste for him of the blood magic, the sickness, and the power vampires got from their own perverse twisting of such energies. He was itching for more.

"Shut up. Leech."

I stood, breathing deep of the country air. All that remained were the after-effects, the magic high that was mine and mine alone. Part of who I am, who I will always be.

The zombies were still all down, only moving slightly. They would be that way for a few minutes more.

What the hell was going on?

"Hey, Spark, I see you've been busy."

Turning, I smiled my best smile. "Hey, Plum. Nice day for it, isn't it?"

"You found them, then?" she said, ignoring my winning smile, and the practically salivating Oliver, nodding at the zombies.

"I didn't know they were missing, not that many. What's going on?"

"Exactly that. Paul lost the zombies so he called Rikka, but I guess you found them for him."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

Paul the Zombie

Plum hauled me to my feet as though I were made of air. I stopped to admire the muscles and the curves—she does wear her outfits tight—and gave her my best, most lovely of smiles. She stared at me with that look she has, like she is all business and what is wrong with you?

Undeterred, I kept at it. If nothing else I am persistent. I cocked my head to one side and waited. There was no question, it was coming.

"Idiot," she said, and laughed. She punched me playfully on the arm and I nearly went down again.

"Hey, if we can't smile then it might as well all be over."

"Idiot," she repeated, smiling. Her smile is beautiful, so is she, and I lust after her and always have.

But you know what? I wouldn't any more go to bed with her than I would one of the zombies. Why? Because of Kate. But also because of the panther thing. Shifters are dangerous, very dangerous, and they stick to their own kind. It's a prerequisite really, totally understandable.

When they get excited, or angry, or just will it to happen, then they shift, and you don't want to be caught naked and helpless in a room with a horny panther. At least I don't think so.

So I admire from afar, or as close as I can risk without getting a slap, but we both know it's just flirting, and that makes it all the better. It's fun. No danger of claws or teeth getting involved.

Still, she is hot. Oh-so-hot, and the tight leggings and vest she wore meant she knew it—it was my problem if I couldn't handle it.

I'm Dark Magic Enforcer, Black Spark, Conqueror of Smokin' Ladies. I can handle a little sexiness. Gulp.

"Ah, Spark, I wondered when you would turn up," said Rikka, stood next to a few goons, with Paul the zombie a respectable distance away from anyone living. Rikka had a few trolls around him, with another next to Paul. Trolls are perfect when on zombie business—they can't bite through the rock, although they still sometimes try. His face darkened when he caught sight of Oliver. The vampire had the sense to nod in greeting, but remain silent.

"What! I've been here a while, where were you?"

"We came through the front, like civilized people," said Rikka, staring at me, bemused.

We wandered around to the front of the building and stood on the gravel drive. I noticed the cars the other side of the large fountain that took center stage in a sweeping sea of pebbles.

"Yeah, well, I thought it best to come the back way just in case. Seems I found your lost zombies, Paul. What happened?"

"I was just explaining it to Mage Rikka when we heard the commotion," said Paul, putting a hand to his jaw to click it back into place—it did that a lot. A sure sign of age and zombie sickness, one of the drawbacks to being undead.

"Well, how about you fill me in, too. Are there any other nasty surprises?"

"There's no need for that, Spark. They are people, you know. Unlike him." Paul scowled and pointed at Oliver loitering by the cars, looking bored, feigning disinterest. Rikka had chosen to ignore him altogether. Lucky for me, he hadn't asked how Oliver arrived. Otherwise he'd be sniffing the SUV like a trained hound.

"Um, okay." I shook off the aftereffects of the Empty and pulled myself together, straightened my jacket, ruffled my hair, and tried not to look at my shoes and trousers. I'd be billing Rikka, no doubt.

"It seems we had another outbreak, but I had no idea until just now how bad it was," wheezed Rikka, clearly wishing he had a chair.

It's always odd seeing him out from behind his desk and away from the gym. He never seems quite as fat—like a slimline version of himself he puts on for trips. He was by no means slender looking, but he seemed more alive, a hint of the man he really was. Powerful beyond compare and more dangerous than a pack of panther shifters in a chicken shed.

When I see him like that I understand why he is Head of both the UK Hidden and Dark Councils—he oozes magic and power more than he oozes sugar and grease.

"Oi," grunted Stone, the troll next to Paul. Stone is small by troll standards, only half the size of a house rather than a full one. Still huge, in other words.

"Oh, sorry. I do apologize, Stone. Old habits, I'm afraid." Paul put his jaw back again and stepped away from Stone. He'd gone in for a bite, getting nothing but a lick of mineral-enriched rock for his trouble.

"Watch it. Stone understand though. Got hunger."

"Yes, well, this is all very nice and everything," said Mage Rikka, "but if this is all, Paul, we will be on our way. I trust you can clean up the mess out there?"

"Yes, of course. But could you, you know, strengthen the barrier a little? My comrades seem to be getting a little unruly of late. I don't know what's got into them." Paul looked worried, more worried than usual, and I couldn't blame him. He had an unenviable job on his hands.

"Fine, I shall do my best. Shall I bring it in a little, to ensure the pigs stay safe? If they haven't been eaten, that is."

"Oh, yes please, Mage Rikka. Although, they will be fine, I am sure. Probably off in the woods snuffling about like pigs do."

"Hmm. Maybe some refreshments then, while we wait for you to clean up a little. Get your, er, people back into the grounds. Yes?"

"Absolutely," beamed Paul through green teeth—those he still had. He signaled to his staff and I tried not to groan out loud. He shuffled away at the usual zombie pace—this would take a while.

"What happened here? I've never known this many of them to get out before. Sneaky buggers were lying in the mud." It was odd behavior. Usually they'd be wandering about all dazed like, arms out in front, doing the usual moaning bit and making you feel sorry for them.

"Seems the guards kind of forgot about them, didn't put them in last night. The poor things must have been after the pigs so ended up down in the mud. Paul needs to get his act together or I'll replace him." Rikka isn't really a fan of having to deal with things like this himself, but it comes with the job and if he wants to maintain his position, as he has for a very long time, then he has to get his hands dirty now and then.

"Paul's getting on a bit now, but he's a good guy," I said. "He might just need a vacation."

"Maybe, we'll see. For now, let's just go relax and wait for them to get the zombies back inside."

Rikka's eye twitched as he stared at Oliver for a moment, then turned and walked toward the entrance to the building. It had once been a luxury spa resort but the Dark Council had taken it over to make a zombie enclave. They deserved some comfort, even if it was little more than a prison.

We walked through the open doors into the cool interior, and I couldn't help but marvel at the marble floor. It's amazing. Massive tiles laid out in a simple black and white abstract pattern, but somehow coming together to make something stunning. It's kind of wasted on the zombies.

As we entered, Paul came from one of the large rooms with a number of more together—they had all limbs and features—undead, and they left to herd their fellow kind back up to the building.

We went into the dining room and myself, Rikka, and Plum sat at the table and admired the spread Paul had laid on—food was a prerequisite of such a visit by Rikka, everyone knew that. You didn't forget if you valued his help, his protection, his magic.

"Please, help yourselves," said Rikka, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth and slurping tea.

I didn't need asking twice. Dark magic use really takes it out of you, not to mention the adrenaline rush that depletes your energy like a cave-man comedown. I'd also cut my lunch short, for obvious red bum reasons.

Rikka nodded at me appreciatively as I munched on the sandwiches and absolutely did not think about what meat the zombie kitchen staff had used—they wouldn't use human meat, as they would see that as a waste, but when invited to lunch by the immortal-until-you-rot undead you can't blame a guy for feeling a little anxious.

"You did well, Spark."

"Thanks, Rikka. I had a little help."

"Yes, I heard from Dancer. He seemed to have enjoyed himself. It's always good to keep your hand in. Er, not too deep, though."

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, and didn't ask. "Yeah. He's not so bad. He did well, actually. Real pro job."

"Dancer may be many things, but an amateur he is not. So, the Grandmaster lives, for now, and that takes the heat off. And the other stuff, the Internet and video thing, very inventive. I assume it wasn't all your idea, or work?"

Like he didn't know. Rikka likes to play his little games, but they always lead somewhere. Always.

"No. Kate helped me out. She saved me, saved all of us."

"From the mess you caused." Rikka held up a fat hand to stop me interrupting. "Yes, I know, it wasn't your fault. It was the..." He paused to check for eavesdroppers. "Armenian's fault."

Plum's eyes went wide at the mention of the name, and looked at me with sympathy. Everyone had heard of the Armenian, but why was I the one that had to deal with her? I obviously hadn't done a good job of it first go around.

"Exactly. Anyway, crisis averted. The way all the fake videos are gaining traction online nobody will think anything of my mistake. Job done."

"Not quite."

"The Armenian?" Rikka nodded. "What exactly has she done? I know you said she did the 'thing,' but what exactly?"

"Later." Rikka stuffed another sandwich into his mouth. When he finished chewing he said, "I don't like that vampire being with you, Spark. I am in charge around here, and the whole damn country. I don't need my people being spied on like criminals. I assume this is Taavi's doing?" It had happened before, and it never ended well, but I was surprised it had taken Rikka so long to bring the subject of Oliver up.

"Yes, he insisted. I don't like it either, and he is seriously winding me up, but I couldn't say no."

"Of course not." Rikka understood, but he hated that the vampires ignored his Council, thinking they were above such things and refusing to acknowledge they were grouped under the Dark Council, seeing themselves as above human concerns.