by Richard Amos
He smiled, taking a moment to answer. “Some of us don’t want you dead. You’re too interesting to me.”
“Then what was with all the burning me stuff? That means there’s two of you. Answer me!”
“Maybe you’re right, but that’s not important right now.”
“I think it’s really bloody important.”
He titled his head. “Fascinating.”
“What’re you chatting about?” I was ready to stick him with my spear.
“You are so, so fascinating.”
“And you’re so, so annoying. Fuck off.”
“Not before I leave you something.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
He removed a piece of paper from his jeans pocket.
“What’s that?”
“An address for you.”
“What?”
“You’re trying to find that necromancer and his invisible lover. I know where they are.”
“You’re lying.”
“Do what you want with it.” He dropped it. The folded paper landed on the wet concrete. “I just wanted to help.”
“There’s two of you,” I said. “What the hell is going on? Answer me!”
But all he did was smile warmly at me. “I don’t want to burn you, Jake. I’m on your side.”
“Bollocks! Tell me what you want.”
He turned to walk away, then over his shoulder he said, “I want to see what happens!”
“Come back here!”
Parker/Elijah/whoever the hell he was, broke into a run. I chased after him as he made a left at the end of the street into another. He was gone when I reached the point where he’d turned. The street was straight, no curves and not many people on it. I dashed down it, checking every nook and cranny and finding nothing. Not a single trace of the prick.
Okay, now I was fuming. Supressing a roar, I charged back to where we’d encountered each other, pulling my phone out. If I got my hands on the knob I wasn’t pausing for a chat again. He was getting his arse kicked big time, then tied up and smacked around until he spilled the friggin’ beans!
“Jake? You okay?” Dean answered.
“No, I’m not.” I unleashed, getting out details about the ghost stuff as well.
“Shit!”
“I know.”
“Has to be a trap.”
“What if its not, though?” Amid my anger, there was that spark of what if.
“Too dangerous. Go home.”
“I can’t. This has got me rattled.”
“Talking of which…” He went to explain his morning with Sonny.
“A trap?” was the first thing I blurted. “What the hell is going on?”
“Either people are messing with us, or we’ve just got lucky with some further information.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.”
“But we don’t have anything else.” The downside of being a PIA was being in the dark when you had no light to point into the shadowy corners of a case. Now that we had some, we didn’t like the poxy thing.
We had to be rational about this. “Okay, we can’t leave this,” I said. “We need a plan.” I had one cooking, my anger subsiding. “We check these things out. But not alone. Can Lars come with me? Or send someone over? And can you get someone to go with you?”
He sighed down the line. “You’re right. We can’t risk losing this. Okay, I’m calling Mila. She might be able to help with this house.”
“Fine. But be careful. Update me as much as you can.”
“Same goes for you.”
“I will. If something doesn’t feel the slightest bit right, we get the hell out of there.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Make sure you stick to it.”
“I promise. And that’s a solid stone promise, Jake. No more flimsy ones.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“Okay. Let’s do this. Don’t leave the area until we’ve made arrangements. I’ll talk to Lars now.”
“No problem. I’m still gagging for a cuppa.”
“Of course you are.”
“It’ll help me think.”
“I love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
TWENTY-FIVE
DEAN
Mila met me outside the house on the short, immaculate street known as Westelijk Zuilengang as the rain came down. Every brick house was four stories tall and well kept, all uniform in appearance and perfect.
Mila was holding a turquoise umbrella over her turquoise sari. You would never know she’d been close to an explosion. She was cut free and projecting plenty of glamour.
“Dean, your face is a mess. Let me give you some ointment after this is over.”
I thought I’d got away with quite a lot when it came to facial damage. “Thanks.” Always best to go with it where Mila was concerned. Made for an easier ride.
She had a matching turquoise bag with her and swept closer to the door of the warded house, popping open her luggage.
“I can already sense what this is,” she said. “Ugly magic. Stand right back.”
First of all, she sprinkled a circle of white power around her from a large vial, forming a circle of salt.
“Is that salt?”
“No, Dean. Get back some more please. That’s it. Do not move from that spot or your face will end up in a worse state than it already is.”
Tactful as always, and extremely harsh. I’d hate to hear what she had to say if I’d actually been seriously messed up by the attack.
She opened a vial of what looked like liquid red smoke and threw it over the door. Immediately, the door creaked, a blaze of red sparks rushing all over the house.
“Remember to stay where you are!”
The red magic rushed up to the roof in one big surge, forming a huge red ball. It rippled and sparked and then contorted into the shape of a face. It was giant and sexless and flew at Mila. It struck some invisible force field made by the salty circle, pulled back, then turned its attention onto me.
Though its eyes were hollow, it didn’t lessen the sensation of an evil gaze penetrating me.
“Stay still, Dean!” Mila yelled.
The red head flew at me, sparking and raging. Shit! It was about to crash into me. Every instinct was telling me to move, but I liked to listen to Mila. She was smart, knew what she was talking about. The red monstrosity blinked out of existence just before the first sliver of red touched me.
“There,” Mila said.
The front door of the house creaked and fell inward off its hinges.
“Unfortunate,” the alchemist proclaimed.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Yes, Dean. I broke the ward. It was made with goblin blood.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yes. That’s what that goblin picked up on. It is a dirty magical ward. Without the proper protection, as I provided, that red head would have infected us both with a toxic magic that would have melted the skin from our bones. Horrendous.”
“I’m glad I didn’t move.” She could’ve alerted me to the risk better!
“These types of wards are quite difficult to pull off. I’m impressed.”
“You need to set the bar of impressiveness much higher than that.”
She turned to me, casting a lofty look my way. “No matter the intentions, I am always impressed by a fellow caster of wards if they pull off a clever feat. I hope this person offers the same level of awe to me for breaking it.”
“Thanks for breaking it.”
“You’re welcome. Now, shall we go inside?”
“Let’s.”
“I wonder if the goblin blood added that extra pizazz.”
“Sorry?”
“The red head. Normally it would all be a boring cloud of magic, but this took sheer craftsmanship. It must have been the blood.”
I ignored her as we crossed the threshold into the house. We were on completely different levels
of what fascinated us. I was all for inventive things, of learning and discovering different aspects of the world. In fact, I got my kicks from research a lot of the time. Knowledge was definitely power. But the possibility of having goblin blood add an extra layer of showiness to a ward? No. To me, that was gross arrogance—rancid showing off.
I hated the white theme of the house. Everything was white or cream. The walls, the furniture, the carpeted floors. It was sterile and boring, and our shoes were leaving wet footprints all over the place.
“Don’t worry,” Mila said, “I’ll remove our footprints when we leave.”
Despite the whiteness and the fact there were things in the house to indicate someone lived here, there was a layer of dust over a lot of the surfaces on closer inspection. The white was so bright it seemed to burn through the dust to the casual eye.
There was also a thick perfume in the air, both citrusy and floral.
“It is masking something,” Mila said.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
I headed upstairs.
Every room followed the same white pattern. This wasn’t a house whose owner visited often.
The perfume was thicker up here, at its most potent right beneath the loft hatch above my head. There was also what sounded like a hum, or a buzzing, above my head.
“Mila?” I called.
She joined me on the white landing. “Yes?”
“Can you hear that?” I asked.
She nodded and removed a blue stone from her bag. Placing one on the floor, the tiny oblong released a thin beam of blue light at the attic.
Nothing.
“It is safe to open,” she said.
“What is that?”
“A safeguard ward finder.”
“Right.” I wanted one. We’d have to chat about that later. “I’ll see to that.” There was a cord, but the hatch was locked with a bolt and padlock.
She nodded and I pulled a chair from out of a small bedroom. Climbing up, it was my turn to perform a trick with my lockpick. I made short work of it, and the padlock landed heavily on the carpet. I slid the bolt open and stepped off the chair.
“You pull, I’ll prepare for attack,” she said.
I took a few beats and yanked the cord.
A ladder roared downward, stopping halfway. A cloud of black poured out of the hatch. Flies. So many flies buzzing like a million chainsaws tore through the house.
“Shit!” I yelled, batting them away.
A cloud of orange and the flies were repelled, many of them dropping dead around us.
“Thanks,” I said, spitting one out, brushing others from my hair and coat.
“This is not a good sign,” Mila said, cool as anything without a fly on her.
What was her secret for maintaining her image like that?
And she was right. All those flies, that overwhelming perfume. Something bad was up there. Real bad.
I pulled the rest of the ladder down, placing a boot on the first rung.
Movement from downstairs. Voices. Shit! The owner.
“Hallo? Dean Tseng?”
This male voice knew my name.
“Who is it?” I called back as Mila readied a potion.
“This is Rebus of The Goblin Society of the Netherlands. An acquaintance of yours contacted us about this house and told us you were coming here.”
Sonny.
“What are all these flies?” the goblin added.
“Come up,” I replied.
Rebus was in black robes and had two male goblins with him dressed the same.
“There are so many flies, Mr. Tseng,” he said as he came to the landing.
“I know.”
“What is that smell?”
“I think we might have found something.”
His eyes widened at that moment, as if a sudden realisation had struck him. “No. No. This isn’t what you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?” I asked.
“I’m going up there with you,” he answered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. This is not what you’re thinking.”
If only he’d been right. But all those flies and that perfume were a result of one thing. Death. And in the loft was a horrendous display of death.
Goblin bodies. A pile of limbs, hints of green, flies everywhere, dancing and landing on the corpses. The perfume masked the state of decay they were in. Most of the green had given way to the purple and black of rot.
The three goblins let out a cry that was nothing short of heart-breaking.
TWENTY-SIX
JAKE
The house was dilapidated. A hole in the roof, windows on the top floor all broken. This rain would be getting into every nook and cranny. It was a creepy house, not helped by the graveyard directly opposite, twisted iron fence in need of some TLC forming the perimeter. Me and Lars stood on the same side of the road as the graveyard, taking shelter under a large umbrella, an old and dead oak tree hunched above our heads.
I’d just got off the phone to Dean, who’d found the missing goblins. He was on his way here, Rebus having taken over the entire murder scene. There was nothing else he could do there now.
“Poor things,” Lars said. “That’s fucked up.”
“It is, mate. It is.”
Had that goblin on our doorstep been looking for us too? If so, why had he been naked? Or had he been dumped them for some twisted reason?
Fuck it! I hated this.
With a deep breath, I took in more of the house. The ones neighbouring it were just as rotten and in a state of falling down, boarded up and forgotten. It was only this particular house that was half-secure with those wooden boards. The main downstairs window had a board hanging off at an angle, looking like it’d been pulled off, exposing the fractured and barely intact glass panel behind it.
From this position, I couldn’t see anything. I wanted to go in, but Dean wanted us to wait. I’d have been the same. Anyway, I liked it when we got to work together, even if everything was one big shit pile. Plus, it always good to watch for a while. Scope stuff out. After all, Parker/Elijah had given me the details of this place over in Slotermeer.
Those poor goblins.
“I’ll keep an eye on the back of the house in case they spot us,” Lars said.
“Good idea.”
There was a gate on the right side of the house, slightly ajar. I watched Lars cross the road and push the gate wider. He waited there.
Dean arrived ten minutes later.
Were Thomas and Kyler here? Or was Parker/Elijah just a complete dick and wasting our time for kicks?
Oh, fuck! I called Sophie as Dean got off his bike.
I sighed with relief as I ended the call. Everything was fine.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.
“Just had a horrible thought that prick was trying to distract us and had made a play for our place.” I was shaking.
Dean took me by the shoulders. “Breathe, baby. It’s okay, right?”
“Yeah. Completely.”
“Good. Breathe.”
I did, slowly in and out, settling my nerves.
“How are you?” I finally asked.
“Processing it.”
I hugged him. Mission or not, I needed him close just for a moment. That goblin massacre was one fucked up scene to witness.
Hug over, I faced the house again.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Let’s do it.”
We went up to the front door with its missing lock. Dean pushed it open without any resistance. My spear was drawn, Dean’s knuckledusters fixed to his leather biking gloves, ready for action.
He took point, me following him into the dark building.
Everything was grim. No wallpaper, no flooring aside from rotting exposed floorboards.
“Watch your step,” Dean said.
The middle of the stairs was missing some steps. Wouldn’t be trying those straight away.
God
, there was mould everywhere, leaves and dirt and nothing but empty sadness. This place had not been loved in a very long time. If I thought Thomas’s house was bad, this was on a whole other level of depressing.
“In here,” Dean whispered, pausing by a doorway on the right.
Ahead of me was another door hanging off its hinges. Looked like a kitchen back there.
I joined my fiancé.
“Kyler” I said.
In a room of more grime and leaves, with an empty cabinet in the corner, Kyler was laid out on a mattress, covered in a thick yellow blanket.
The rain seemed to pound the fractured window harder as we stepped into the room. Kyler was alive, but my God did he look in a bad way. There was nothing of the poor guy, all bones and skin, and he was paler than pale.
A purple glow was radiating off him.
“We—”
Wham! Something smacked me in the back of the head.
The last thing I heard was Dean call my name as I fell into the dark.
“JAKE?” Dean’s voice.
“Jake?” Lars’s voice.
They called me repeatedly, melding together into one deep melody of baritones until I came to, head sore, mood sour, and with the sensation of being tied up.
Ah, bollocks! Me and Dean were tied up back to back, our wrists bound together behind our backs, rope crossing our chests, sitting on the floor. Over in the corner by the door we’d entered this room through was Lars, also tied up with his hands behind his back.
“What the fuck?” I said.
Lars nodded in the direction of Kyler.
“Thomas,” Dean said.
The shimmering figure was bent over Kyler’s frail frame. Purple magic crackled all over his the necro’s body, puffs of violet condensation curling out of his open mouth with every deep, sleeping breath.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Thomas said softly.
“We know about your crew,” I responded.
His head moved, as if to face me. The shimmering was bloody unsettling. “They deserved it. All of them.”
“I know they did, but that doesn’t change the fact that you killed people.”
Dean was fiddling with the binds, trying to untie us.
Over by the window was my spear, resting against the wall.