by Richard Amos
Louise was helping make the batter.
“What fruit shall we have?” I asked.
“Strawberries, Papa.”
“Shall we have cream with them?”
“Yummy!”
The thumb had come out of her mouth after we’d had a cuddle and a drink at the kitchen table—a coffee for me, an orange juice for her. She hadn’t talked about her experience, but about how she might start liking Neptune more than Jupiter. She’d given no explanation as to why, moving onto the movies we could watch today.
“Strawberries and cream it is.” You had to love a sweet breakfast.
“What’s all this?”
A bleary-eyed Jake entered the room, his hair as messy as Lou’s, wrapped up in his dressing gown.
“We’re making brekkie, Daddy,” Louise said. She pulled out a chair for him—the chair slightly taller than her.
“Oh. Well, what a nice surprise.”
“Plonk your bum down, Daddy.”
He grinned at her. “Why thank you, kind little lady.”
“Welcome. Papa? Can Daddy have a cuppa.”
“On the case.”
“Papa’s on the case. Wait!” She shrieked and bolted out of the kitchen.
“Blimey!” Jake responded. “Few more years and she’ll be cracking glass with those notes.”
“No running!” I called.
She was back. “Sorry, Papa, but he should have it in this.” She was brandishing the carrier bag with the mug inside.
Jake looked at me and smiled warmly. God, I was so lucky.
“You give it to him,” I said.
“This is for you,” she told him. “Don’t break it.”
Jake removed the mug from the bag, beaming. “Aw, this is awesome. Thank you so much!” He gave her a hug and kiss.
“Thought you’d like it, Daddy,” she answered, wiping his kiss from her cheek.
Jake stood up, walked over to me and kissed me on the cheek too. “I love it.”
Our eyes met, my heart fluttered. “Remember what Louise said—don’t break it.”
He chuckled. “I hate having this reputation.”
“I’m so glad you’re happy again,” Louise said.
And so was I.
TWENTY
JAKE
Monday. Pissing down with rain and bollock-numbingly freezing.
Another murder. That made five.
I stood inside a tent erected outside Weesperplein Metro station as Mr. Z brought his purple magic to life. It spiralled from his fingertips, making its way to the body of the man with no head.
A wand had been used to blow the head off. The tent stank of burnt flesh, the traces of wand crystal still burning around the edges of the bloody neck stump.
The necros had got to the scene pretty fast.
“The ghost is here,” Mr. Z said. The notepad crap had gone out the window for now.
Fucking bingo! “Really? You can talk to him?”
“I can.” He closed his eyes as more magic poured out of his fingers. “Hallo?”
Finally! We’d snagged a ghost! I couldn’t wait to tell Dean, who was out on a mission with Lars in the underground Metro tunnels looking for this supposed hideout of Sander’s and his creepy friends.
If Brem was bullshitting, I was burning down his house.
Lou was at home doing her work with Sophie, who was back to normal after her head crack on my hallway floor.
The weekend had been quiet, just us three. I’d made us a family feast Valentine’s night, Saturday night, and then whipped up a massive roast for Sunday lunch. I was still stuffed from all the food. It was like bloody Christmas again! But, man, had it been awesome to be locked away in our cocoon of happy, safe from the world.
If only today was the same, but that was the Monday blues for you.
At least it was safe to go back to Jake & Dean Investigations again—though there’d be some disruptive repair work taking place over the coming weeks.
“Yes. Yes.” Mr. Z said. “I know. I am sorry for the manner of your death, but I must ask for your help before you move on. May we speak? Thank you. Tell me about Thomas Ark. Did he do this to you? Yes. The others. You were friends?”
Mr. Z didn’t say anything else, just nodded at the invisible ghost during the rest of the conversation. His face was completely unreadable.
Marie was standing next to me. “Can you see the ghost too?”
“Yes. He’s as he was in life—with his head.”
She showed me her notepad. This guy’s name was Mikey. He was from the UK, Merel his girlfriend. Caucasian, beard, receding black hair.
“I guess you can’t tell me anything else until he’s finished?” I asked.
“No. Sorry. Mr. Z will want to discuss it with you.”
“Yeah, no worries.”
So I waited.
TWENTY-ONE
DEAN
Because of the new murder scene Jake was attending at a station further down the line, this branch of the Metro had already been suspended. It saved Lars some paperwork.
Flashlights in hand, the two of us navigated the railway tracks in the dark. The dim lights weren’t enough of a guide to not have some beams of our own.
Along the tunnel were a series of alcoves, some simply brick indents, others sporting locked metal doors. The air was warm and stuffy, a far cry from the grim day above my head.
When we reached the second junction of our journey, one of the alcoves had a hole cut into the brick. It came up to my waist. I crouched, shining my flashlight inside.
It was a hovel. Some books, a grubby duvet and mattress, and a candle that was still lit.
“Someone’s been here,” I said. “They must have known we were coming to not blow the candle out.”
Lars crouched beside me to get a look. “What a shit hole.”
I crawled through the gap, which was big enough to accommodate a guy built like Lars, and he followed me in.
There was a sick smell and an open bottle of cola still fizzing in a plastic beaker. The books were all dog eared, classic literature. I stepped over a particularly battered copy of On the Road by Jack Kerouc. One of my favourites.
“One mattress,” Lars said, pointing his beam up into the cobwebbed ceiling. “Do you think this still the hideout of those murdered people?”
“No. I think Thomas and Kyler were here.” I nodded to a full bucket containing vomit. “Thomas brought Kyler here to recover.”
He nodded. “I was thinking the same.”
“And we’ve just compromised it.”
I got to work with my UV light, looking for anything I could find. Lars scoped the place too, opening books after I scanned them.
We found loads of fingerprints, but no pod traces.
“I’ll get a team down here,” he said. “Those prints need collecting.”
I scanned the last item—the beaker with the cola. Nothing. Shit! We’d scared them away. Why hadn’t we seen or heard them? Kyler wasn’t invisible. Unless being in close proximity to Thomas covered him too. It was a theory to explore.
Back to square one. Sort of. There must be somewhere else they’d go.
“I want to check the parks and the NDSM neighbourhood. Particularly the abandoned warehouse. Also, the homeless shelters need checking.”
“I’ll get people on it, and get surveillance along all Metro stations and all known exits in case they surface or try and get back in. I’ll also have the rest of the Metro lines searched.”
“Good idea. I want to try those tunnels in Flevopark too.”
If Thomas and Kyler knew about the hidden places of the city, then they might well know about that underground place where I’d killed the Christmas bone-sucker. Plus, I wanted to check out that strange door with the Gaelic writing on it again.
“Fine. Let’s go,” Lars said, “I’ve got no signal down here and I need to get this wheel turning.”
We made our way back up to the surface.
TWENTY-TWO
Mikey had been part of a group of friends that included Sander, Merel, Nick, and Jonah. As a foursome, they’d pretty much grown up together, living on the streets, selling drugs when they could get the work, stealing, trying to survive. They were a solid unit, bonded by dark pasts and the determination to not let life get the better of them, no matter the circumstances.
But things were beginning to take a dark turn. Sander had brought in drugs, selling them, as well as dabbling in dark magic. None of the foursome had any magical ability, but Sander had been reading up on the theory of death magic. Not necromancy, but a form of magic where murder was the price to pay to gain magical ability—which was complete bollocks. It didn’t exist. But there’d been plenty of cases over the years of people giving it a bash.
Stupid knobheads!
The group followed him, wanting a boost of joy to their lives, to try and get out of the tunnels and get themselves rich. With magic, they could do anything. Why shouldn’t they have what they wanted? Life took and took and took from them, never giving anything back.
Mikey’s ghost had got himself all animated on that last point, according to Mr. Z.
The only one not into the death magic stuff was Thomas. He didn’t believe in it, and they all thought he was some sort of stuck up goodie two shoes. He’d been spending less and less time with them, sometimes not coming back to the den in the Metro tunnels for days, occasionally a week.
He’d met someone. A junkie. A customer. Well, he wasn’t actually selling the guy anything, but helping him with his addiction. They’d fallen in love.
Kyler Vos.
The group had fumed about it, felt like Thomas was abandoning them. The fact that Merel and Miley had got together after years of back and forth didn’t matter. They still had the backs of their crew. What Thomas was doing was pulling away, trying at a life without them. A fight had broken out, and Thomas had told them all to go fuck themselves.
The problem was, Sander had been like a brother to Thomas. They were the first to meet on the streets, to protect one another before the others joined. If anyone had a bond, it was them two. Not romantic, but brotherly. They were the leaders, the rocks, unbreakable, and came as a package.
Sander had taken Thomas’s slight badly.
Mikey, apparently, didn’t blame Sander for being pissed off. Thomas was acting like a complete dick, thinking he was better than all of them for not wanting to take part in death magic, and for getting himself some arse—a skanky piece of junkie arse.
Mr. Z took a sip of water, not taking his eyes off me. “So,” he said, “in a fit of rage, the group hunted Thomas and Kyler down and took them to the woods. Thomas would die, they said, the sacrifice for the brothers and sisters he failed. And Kyler would watch him die.” Another sip of water. “Kyler tried to put up a fight. That explains why his necromancer mark you and the alchemist found was on Sander. Mikey punched him, telling him he was next. As they beat Thomas and stabbed him repeatedly, Kyler got away, screaming for help as he ran. Mikey said Kyler was scrawny and weak and pathetic for running.”
“He was running for help.”
“I’m just telling you what he said.”
I kept my gob shut. Yeah, not like I was gonna get the chance to argue back with the ghost.
Mr. Z continued. “So, Kyler ran and Thomas was murdered. No magic came to the group, as it wouldn’t, so they set fire to Thomas’s body and fled before Kyler could come back with any help. They all decided Thomas had been an unworthy victim and would find another. But Thomas came back, this time with the power of invisibility and speed. He hunted them all down, Mikey being the final one. He has no idea how it happened, or any information about Kyler being a necromancer.”
Somehow, amid all that, Thomas had ended up on a pod. “Did Mikey mention a pod?”
Mr. Z shook his head. “No. My theory is Kyler’s power is linked to trauma, that something awoke during the murder of Thomas, resurrecting him somehow, allowing him to go on a killing spree. That was why Sander and Nick came for your help, but obviously failed.”
Was it wrong that a part of me was glad they’d failed after what they’d done? “What about those charms?”
“Again, a piece of Kyler’s magic I do not understand. We’re still looking into it.”
“Then I need to try and find him again.”
Mr. Z nodded, saying nothing more.
“Mr. Z will need his rest now,” Marie said. “We thank you for your time.”
Sounded a bit backward. “Thank you for your time.”
Neither of them said a word, falling into deep contemplation which I took as my cue to get out of there.
I left the tent, dialling Dean. No answer. Must be underground still.
In need of a cuppa after all that stuff, my brain swimming with a shit load of information, I decided to head to a café for tea and a doughnut. Man, did I need some sugary goodness.
I sent Dean a quick text to get him to call me ASAP, that the necro had got some intel from a ghost, then made my way down a narrow street towards a sign with a teacup on it. That was my kind of sign! The morning was so dark, and it looked like the rain was about to go hardcore.
My joy of impeding caffeine was shut down when Parker Smith/Elijah Hart stepped into my path.
“Hello, Jake.”
Automatically, I whipped out my spear. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
TWENTY-THREE
DEAN
A text from Jake. Finally! A ghost to talk to! I gave him a quick call. No answer. So I left him a voicemail to get back to me.
As I swung a leg over my motorbike, ready to head over to Flevopark, I heard running footsteps coming my way.
Another victim needing my help? It hadn’t ended well for Sander and that Nick guy.
No. It was Sonny the Snake—a pod born thief who’d once been a fully-fledged human, and now had a rattle snake tail. He was also a complete pain in the backside who’d kept a really low profile the past month or so. It was better for his health to not get involved with stealing things from dangerous folk.
He was hesitant, looking at the scene of police behind me. “Alright, Dean?” He was from originally from the UK.
“What’s up?” I was good at reigning in my desire to smack him in the face. He’d almost got Jake killed, so I wasn’t his biggest fan to say the least.
“I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I have something for you.”
“Not today.”
“I’m not trying to trick you.”
“No? And I’m supposed to believe you?”
“I didn’t…I didn’t mean for any of that stuff with those crazy Conclave bastards.”
“Okay, Sonny. Good to see you.”
“Don’t just dismiss me!” He grabbed my arm.
I met his yellow serpentine eyes. “You want to let me go before you lose that arm?”
He quickly released me. “Sorry, I’m just, well, trying to tell you something.”
“Not interested.”
“You’re supposed to be a PIA! I’ve got information.”
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was right. “Go on, then. Make it quick.”
He nodded, brushing down his grimy green raincoat. What he was actually brushing off was anyone’s guess. “You’re looking into the goblin disappearance, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“How?”
“Goblin told me the other night. He’s a drinking buddy of mine. Said he’d be in the shit for telling me, but there’s been a group disappear who worked for you, and one of them had turned up dead on your doorstep.”
I folded my arms. “Go on.”
“Well, there’s something weird going at this house.”
“What house?”
“Okay.” He held his hands up. “I gotta be honest. I was trying to break in. I’d been scoping the neighbourhood and it’s the first house I tried with my gob
lin mate.”
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly.” Really, I should shop him in. “What neighbourhood is this?”
“Westelijk Zuilengang.”
“That’s a posh area.” It wasn’t far from Amsterdam Centraal station. “Makes sense for someone like you to scope it.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Well, there’s something wrong about this the house. Real wrong. He ran off, my buddy, when we checked it out together. Proper freaked out. When I found him the next day, he told me he sensed something dark there, and smelled goblin on the wards all across the front and back of the house.”
“He smelled goblin? Did he report it to Rebus?”
“Nope. Says he doesn’t want anything to do with it. I haven’t seen him since. He’s not much cop really, probably would’ve fucked up the burglary.”
Again, I should be shopping him. “Then you need to report it to Rebus,” I said. “In fact, I will.”
“Can’t you come and take a look at the house? I need to know what’s in there.”
“You need to know? Sonny, I’m working a different case.”
“What if this is something, Dean? It feels so bad.”
There was a chance it could be a lead.
“Fine. But you’re not coming with me.”
“But—”
“Don’t push your luck, Sonny. Get out of here.”
He did as he was told.
TWENTY-FOUR
JAKE
“I’ll ask you again,” I seethed. “What the fuck do you want?”
The bastard was all jolly and sunny like the first time I’d met him—when I’d thought him to be someone else. He wasn’t as he’d been in the hospital but reset to the happy knobhead with no menace about him at all.
That meant sweet fuck all.
“You don’t need to be so hostile,” he said. “I’m here to help.”
“Help with what? Burning me at the stake?”
He chuckled. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Listen, stop this shit. Who are you really? One minute you’re this, the next you’re that vile Conclave bastard. What’s your secret?”