Black Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 1) (4 page)

It's the usual thing really. Nobody "normal" is supposed to know about all this, because if they did all hell would break loose and the world would end up blowing itself to bits.

Can you imagine if your neighbor, your boss, the postman, or everyone, could search deep down inside themselves and call on powers that would turn your mind to mush or your intestines to goo? Right. Stuff would get messy really fast.

So there's a pact, an agreement. What happens in our world, stays in our world. No leaks. None. It remains Hidden and for good reason. There are good guys and bad guys, but mostly it's all gray. Just like regular folks, everyone has a good side and a bad side. It just gets a lot more serious for us, what with the ease with which we can all kill each other. But that's the life we live, and we keep to the rules, the Law. Mostly.

If you saw me I'd be what some would call a bit of a throwback. I like retro suits and red shirts, and I had nice, long black hair, although as you already know I'm going through a blond phase at the moment.

The money I earn is okay, nothing to write home about, but I don't have what you would call a "normal" job. I am an Alone. Set my own timetable, usually, and don't have a boss in the strictest sense of the word, although we all answer to somebody.

I can freelance, and have, but Rikka is who pays me most often, and that's no surprise as he's the numero uno, the big kahuna, the big cheese, otherwise known as one mean dude who rules the roost. In this case meaning he is in charge of ensuring that us wizards, or other users of the Empty, tow the line and keep our business away from normal folk.

I help him with that, and others, by taking away the magic the miscreants have, or are using. All the time they put into gathering and perfecting such power will have been for nothing.

That's my special gift.

To take it away, suck it out of you and leave you crying on the floor. Normal.

I do it to keep the peace, maintain order, and to get paid, and it usually works out fine. Imagine me as the guy that comes to take away the man hiding in your cupboard ready to scare the wits out of you and steal your soul. Something like that anyway. I deal with those that go off the rails and can't keep the magic inside any longer, and I send them back to the regular world without a hope of ever returning to ours.

I keep it all under wraps, reign in those that get out of control, and I do not kill Grandmaster chess supremos.

Apart from one.

Okay, there have been a few other "incidents," but I've never done it to anyone that wasn't seriously bad news, which is why I'm in trouble right now. You absolutely do not, under any circumstances, ever go around killing Grandmasters in the park on Saturday and get your dark arts plastered all over the news.

About this magic, I hear you ask, sounds nasty. Well, yeah, it is. For humans. It's not ours. We steal it, as we can't help ourselves. It belongs to the true Hidden. There are no happy-clappy, nice white witches and wizards that thrive only on pure, clean energy, there is just the Empty, the forces that make up the entire nature of the Universe, and it's all pretty cold, and it's all the same. It's just this essence, this energy that our kind can harness. At a price.

If you looked at me, and I let you "see" me, then you'd think I was late twenties, maybe early thirties, well turned out if a little out there with my choice of clothes, but that's not really the case. Those of us involved in the Empty don't live regular lives no matter how hard we may try, and our lifespan is different to other's.

I was born in 1901, right at the turn of the twentieth century, and trust me, things are much better now than they were then, even if the place is a little crowded and smelly compared to so long ago.

Magic may hurt like hell, but it has its benefits, and one of those is that it can seriously dent the aging process. Not immortality like the vampires—although I don't like that term, as they aren't freaked by crosses and don't need an invite before they suck the blood out of your eyeballs—but you can live a long time if you let magic into your life.

Let's just say I've seen a lot, ended up crossing the line from Regular to wizard some time ago, although it was always inevitable, and my favorite era is the nineteen sixties.

Now, where were we? Ah, Chinese vampire goons.

Big Vampire Boss

You know that vision you have of a head vampire? All pointy teeth, pale skin, bloodshot eyes, probably handsome as hell and tall with flowing hair? Well, it isn't like that. Not for the head honcho, not for most vampires.

You see, to be in charge, and more importantly, to stay in charge, takes a vampire of incredible power and unimaginable age. Taavi is all of that, and then some. The old bit, not the handsome and all mesmerizing bit, although he is mesmerizing, in a scary-enough-to-make-Regulars-go-instantly-insane way.

You don't get to live for over two thousand years sucking blood from human beings and not become something unlike anything else on the planet. There aren't many this age, a few on each continent if that, but the old guys rule, and they will find your weak spot, slither into your mind as easily as a wayward thought, and you are theirs.

They are masters of their art. One lapse of focus in their company and you will find yourself staring into yellow eyes with the sorrow of the entire history of the world there for you to see, unforgiving and uncaring as they take what's yours so they can live another day, month, or year, depending on their age.

Taavi is ancient, and I don't want to think about how often he needs to feed, or the number of lives he has taken. After all, these old ones have had a lot of time to get the infrastructure in place and gather a lot of loyal followers, although, being vampires, you can't really trust them.

Those that manage to survive in the backstabbing, vindictive, violent and distrustful world of their kind thrive like you would not believe. Once strong enough to kill others that would take their place, with little more than a click of impossibly strong fingers, they morph into something so unworldly they may as well be a completely different species, which they pretty much are.

The thing about a vampire is that he or she is a cold-blooded killer. It's a choice, you see. There is no bloodlust coursing through your veins that forces you to feed off the blood of innocents, no drive you can't stop. It's a simple lifestyle choice for centuries before you become a true addict unable to turn away from an exposed neck.

Want to stay alive forever once you become infected? Then go and kill innocent people and suck their blood. That's the deal. It means they are pretty nasty people mostly, as they have chosen to live a life that means others lose theirs.

Not always evil, but you wouldn't take one to meet your grandma either, not if you liked her. Taavi rules them all in the UK, has strong European and worldwide ties—especially in Finland where he and his ancestors originate—and you do not mess with him. Ever.

The battle of the legs with the twins finished as we arrived at what I always think of as vampire headquarters. It's a sprawling place, set in large grounds constantly patrolled by vampires and dogs you really don't want to pet.

The sweeping, tree-lined drive is impressive and lulls you into a false sense of security and serenity, then you see the house. It's a jolt, even after you've seen it countless times. It's huge, ancient, and suitably spooky. There are a lot of vampires contained behind its walls, most of them so cruel and malevolent they make the ones that walk in the day seem like cute hamsters.

The building dates from the early sixteen hundreds, tall spires and dark stone, chosen specifically as Taavi likes to feel part of the old world, when vampire Heads all lived somewhere suitably intimidating so they could terrorize the villagers and have the virgins delivered with proper ceremony. He'd chosen well—one look at the place and you want to turn and run the other way.

As we got out of the car, I ignored the stares of the day militia, walked between the twins up the stone steps, and entered the gloom of the interior. My body itched and my tattoos squirmed at the vampire energy that permeated the air and would freeze your mind if you lost focus.

I was ushered into what I can only think of as Taavi's lair, and found myself stood in his rather over-the-top, and dark-as-his-heart reception room, black-etched windows making the space so dim it was almost impossible to see. But Taavi knew me, knew he didn't have to compromise, so kept it as dark as possible so he could stay awake even though it was daytime.

He is so old he has to rest when it's light, something to do with the sun and the energy it provides, although I've always suspected it's more to do with the hope it offers. Don't ask me how it works though, some vampire realities are strictly in-house. But he was weak as a kitten in the day, and half asleep.

I let my eyes sparkle darkly, the usual brown replaced by black with silver flecks, one of my many talents that allows me to see when others can't. Not Taavi, he would be looking at me as clear as if it was day. And he was royally pissed off.

I didn't blame him. After all, I'd screwed up in a way that could give him problems.

"You screwed up in a big way," said Taavi. See, told you.

"I know, I know. Look, Taavi, it wasn't my fault. You can't blame me for what happened. Someone did something to me. I just need time to find out who and what." I kept information to a minimum—people like Taavi rule by knowing more than the next in line.

"It is your job to stop this kind of thing from occurring, and now you are the one to expose us. How are you going to fix that?" Even after so long, Taavi still has a hint of an accent. On anyone else it would be endearing, on him it's strictly extra menacing.

"I'm going to deal with it, don't worry. I just need—"

"Time. Such a precious commodity for you humans. Something I normally pay little attention to, but it is of the essence at the moment, is it not? I am told that you are all over the news, on social media worldwide. Is this how an enforcer does his job? After all this time you are the one to show the world what we are capable of. What you humans are, anyway. Is it our time to come out of the shadows, Spark? Is that what this is about?"

"No, absolutely not," I said in a panic. This was bad. The last thing I wanted was the ruling vampire to think this was an open invitation to send his people out on the rampage and not care who knew.

"Enough. I am tired. Do you know I have not been awake at this time for over fifty years? Yet here I am, because of you." Taavi pointed a slender finger at me, like I didn't know who he was talking about. Man, this dude is scary. Even sat in the dark in his wingback chair, half crumpled and exhausted because of the time, he was as intimidating as hell.

He was like a praying mantis made of brittle paper. Skin sallow, pale like you wouldn't believe, but his power practically wiped your mind. Even in the depleted state he was in, his presence was enough to send you to the loony bin if you didn't put up careful blocks to stop his essence creeping into your skull.

"I'll deal with it. I need to find out what happened, who did this to me, and I need to see Rikka."

"You need to see me. I'm the one that found you first. You can see him when I say so. So tired." Taavi sighed and the room was silent.

I didn't speak, not a good idea, so I listened to the house and the creaks and groans of the ancient architecture, looked around the room like I'd done a few times before, admired the art and the old furniture, the books and the lush green carpet—it was seriously old skool, but then so was Taavi.

The silence stretched on and I wondered if he'd fallen asleep. I knew this was a struggle for him, and that meant he wasn't in the best of moods, but I was considering creeping out when he still hadn't spoken for five minutes.

"You may go. But you have until tomorrow, Spark, then I shall expect this to be put right. If not..."

"Sure, no problem. And, er, sorry for the trouble."

Yeah, I know, lame, right? Look, you try dealing with a sleepy but angry two thousand year old vampire after you've royally messed up and done the one thing you are supposed to stop happening. It makes you jumpy.

"Go away."

I went away.

"Oh, Spark, one more thing."

I knew it was too good to be true. The older the vampire, the more dramatic they seem to be. With my hand on the carved door handle, almost free of Taavi, I turned reluctantly, took a deep breath, and in my sweetest voice said, "Yes, Taavi."

"Oliver will accompany you."

"What!? You have got to be kidding." The room went not so much silent, as full of the quiet of Taavi's ancient anger. It was a real thing, visceral and frightening. You never argued with Taavi. You just didn't.

"Do you disobey me, Spark? You think because you are under the care of Rikka, Head of these pathetic Councils, that you may disobey me?" Taavi and all vampires paid little mind to the Councils, even though when it came down to it the Hidden Council could put them down if they so chose, but only with one hell of a war neither side wanted to even contemplate.

"No, Taavi, excuse me. It was just the shock. Anyone but Oliver though. He..." I gave up. He'd made up his mind. "Fine, but he better not try anything funny," I warned, trying to regain my manhood.

"He is under clear instruction to keep an eye on you, but he is not to interfere or misbehave in any way. If he does then he is on his own. I give you permission to stop him, or, haha, try." Taavi's laugh sounded as amused as a fly in a carnivorous Pitcher plant.

"As long as he behaves."

"Go away."

I went. And I actually got out of there that time.

A Sigh of Relief

Outside the room, I took a deep breath of air less tainted by the stench of decay and unholy age, set my eyes back to normal, and did a good job of holding back the sickness even from such minor use of magic. Bret and Bart were there, ready to take me into the city or home—yes, they know where I live. Everyone does.