Urban Witch (Urban Witch Series - Book 1)

by R. L. Giddings

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  Chapter 1

  I felt more than a little self-conscious as I searched my back-pack for my ID. I’d broken my lanyard the day before and still hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. It didn’t help that I was trying not to drop the priceless antiquity I was carrying.

  The door man ignored me as I approached, safe in the knowledge that there were enough protective wards around the entrance hall to deter all but the most persistent intruder. The very air itself was thick with untapped power.

  He seemed completely oblivious to my presence, slouching down so that he could check his phone underneath the desk top. I made a fuss of zipping up my back pack and then stuffing my lanyard into my pocket in the hope of attracting his attention. All to no avail.

  By this time I was simply too embarrassed to say anything. While I waited for him to notice me, I studied the ravens in the upper atrium, their presence reminding anyone who needed reminding that this was a sacred place, its foundations built on a convergence of ancient lay-lines. The ravens fulfil the same role as the ones that have protected the Tower of London for the last thousand years and as such represent the building’s first, and most formidable, line of defence.

  The doorman must have come across something amusing on his phone because he snorted with laughter and then did a double-take when he saw me standing there. He was overweight and pale, with hair long enough to cover his collar. He wore a regulation burgundy V-neck sweater with the hint of a dark bruise of colour at his wrist. A tattoo most likely. I hadn’t come across him before though that wasn’t surprising – I was hardly a regular visitor.

  He made a face and pointed to a yellow acrylic desk sign. It read: Desk Closed.

  “I’ve got a package I need to deliver,” I held the green lacquered box up so that he could see it.

  He poked the sign.

  “It’s urgent,” I said.

  He let out a long sigh using the arms of his chair to lever himself upright.

  “It’s not happening. Whole building’s in lock-down.”

  “It’s a book.”

  He chuckled as though this was the worst possible thing I could have said.

  “I’m very excited for you,” he said, his voice mocking. “But you’re not hearing me straight.”

  The box was getting heavy so I rested one corner of it against the desk top. “Got to deliver it by hand.”

  “If you’d been nicer to me then things might have been different. I might have agreed to take it from you. Run it up to the offices myself, later. But now, that’s not going to happen.”

  He took his desk sign and started poking at my box.

  The man was an idiot.

  He had absolutely no idea what he was dealing with.

  The Book of Lost Souls was a Grade III classified text.

  If I left it with him for even a couple of hours the consequences would be dire. For a start, all the flowers on his display would have developed a mottled black complexion. His phone would have been trashed as the waves of paranoia convinced him that some shadowy presence was using it as a means to spying on him. If I left it just a half hour longer then, by the time I returned, the flowers would have become ossified stalks and Mr Doorman would have started self-harming as a way of atoning for his sins. Any longer than that and he’d be beyond redemption, trying to fight off the flying monkeys swooping down over his head.

  Perhaps I should have left him with the book – just to see how things would turn out.

  It would have been very tempting if my six monthly review hadn’t been pending. I’ve got a responsible job, you see. I work in the library. Though, that title doesn’t really do the place justice. The Ptolemy contains the largest collection of books and documents relating to the practice of magic anywhere in the country.

  “You don’t understand. This is a very rare book which Mr Kinsella has asked me to deliver personally,” that wasn’t completely true but I knew that he would think twice about upsetting the boss.

  “Not gonna happen, sweet cheeks,” he dropped his sign back on the desk with finality. “Upstairs was very clear: no one gets through until after the visit.”

  I adjusted my hold on the box, resting it on the point of my hip.

  “And they were just as specific about me delivering this by hand.”

  We stood across from one another neither of us saying anything.

  He’d placed the desk sign at an odd angle and that had annoyed me. I picked it up meaning to set it down straight.

  And gained an insight into the doorman’s life which left me savouring the bitter taste of cloves.

  That’s the problem with my range of abilities: you never know what’s going to trigger them. It’s usually because I picked up somebody’s personal item by accident: their car keys or their mobile phone. It’s not usually a desk sign.

  The object sort of speaks to me: coming imbued, as they are, with all kinds of latent images; mostly from the last twenty four hours. Though deep seated memories or certain traumatic occurrences can leave traces tracking back years.

  John Michael Billick - for that was his name - didn’t have many of those. But I did discover the nature of the tattoo on his arm. What I’d glimpsed was a curl in a dragon’s tail, the creature itself crawling right the way over his shoulder before sinking its talons into his upper back. He’d gotten the idea from one of those Yakuza movies. Plus, I also got a very clear mental j-peg of what he actually meant when he’d said he wanted me to be ‘nicer’ to him.

  I pushed the Desk Closed sign to one side and replaced it with the box.

  “Tell you what, John Michael, why don’t you ring Kinsella’s office? See what he says?”

  “What did you call me?” he struggled to get the words out.

  “John Michael. That’s your name isn’t it? Leastways, that’s what the other kids used to call you.”

  He scrambled for the phone and, after a brief conversation, informed me that they were going to send someone down and that I should perhaps wait on the other side of the screen.

  The John Michael thing must have really got to him. I don’t know why exactly, but I did know that when the other kids had used it they weren’t exactly being nice.

  *

  It’s quite grandiose, the entrance to The Bear Garden: all period wall hangings, natural light and marble flooring, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the perspex security screen which cuts the room in two. I’d worked up in the main offices for a month when I’d first arrived which was how I’d met Millie. It had taken us about a minute to work out that I’d been at the same college as Millie’s younger sister whilst studying at Newton. Millie had gone to Lazarus. The pair of us had hit it off immediately.

  Working in the offices at the Bear Garden had been everything I’d expected it to be and more, giving me insights into a world which was by turns: glamorous, dangerous, exotic and, sometimes, downright bizarre. And then someone had had the bright idea of assigning me to The Ptol
emy, to see how that part of the system operated. The intention had been for me to stay for a couple of weeks before moving on to my first proper post. You have to have worked in four departments or posts in The Bear Garden before you can be considered for a permanent post. And that’s not to mention the exams you have to sit in the meantime.

  Everything would have been fine if I hadn’t made the mistake of letting slip about my background in languages. I know: just plain showing off! And I’d paid the price.

  Janice, the head of operations down there and a linguist herself, recognised an opportunity when I arrived and so my library stay was extended.

  I was making my way towards the security screen when a warm blast buffeted my face. A cloud of dust motes filled the air and something, not unlike a broken umbrella, landed on the smooth marble in front of me. With a rustle of feathers, the shape resolved itself into one of the ravens. It turned in my direction, its black bead of an eye regarding me coolly.

  It cawed once, loud and piercing, before snapping its wings wide like a giant fan, warning me off.

  Ravens aren’t to be trifled with. They can be unpredictable and you’re never sure how many others there might be in the vicinity. I tried to keep calm and resisted the urge just to try and shoo it away. You can lose a finger doing that. Dropping my head in a show of respect, I started to sidle around it. The raven watched me for a while before turning its head contemptuously and waddling off, its claws skittering over the marble.

  I quickly crossed to the security door where I had to have my ID scanned. Through the blurry perspex I could see a tall woman in stilettos tripping down the stairs two at a time.

  “Having a bit of trouble getting in?” Millie Goodwin asked. It was such a relief to see her. Millie’s my soon-to-be flatmate and the one who’d tipped me off about the book in the first place.

  She’s extremely well spoken, her dad’s a judge or something, and you can tell. She can come across as being a little pushy at times but I love her for it. Whilst she’s not one of the glamour girls in the office, there are moments when she’s caught up in a conversation or starts to laugh where she outshines everyone.

  “You got my e-mail then?” she said.

  “I did, thank you very much.”

  She made a show of consulting the clock. “What took you so long?”

  I held up the book. “It’s kept in a sealed vault, Millie. Guarded by protective wards day and night. You’d normally have to wait a week just to get a look at it.”

  Millie pulled a face. “Okay. So, how did you manage to get it past Janice?”

  “She’s not in today. Family wedding. So, I’m using my initiative.”

  “Sneaking books out of the library,” Mille wagged a finger. “You’ve really turned to the dark side.”

  She was joking but I was more than a little concerned about getting found out.

  “Anyhow, why the rush?”

  Millie led the way. “It’s like everything else in here: it’s all got to be done yesterday. I thought of you straight away when the request came in. You need all the brownie points you can get, what with your review coming up. When is it?”

  “First of November - so not so long.” I had to sit three exams in as many weeks before facing a review panel. If you didn’t pass you didn’t make it through to your second post and your chances of ever formally practising magic came to a premature end.

  “Good, so it won’t do you any harm to get your face seen. That’s the problem with working in the library: everyone thinks you’ve died.”

  “Good for the theory exam though.”

  Millie tried to take the box from me but I resisted.

  “You’ve heard that we’ve got a visitor,” she said. “Come on up: you’re going to love it.”

  We by-passed the stairs and kept on walking, Millie’s stilettos echoing off the walls.

  “Go on then,” I said, finally taking the bait. “Who is it?”

  “I’ll give you a clue: she’s a bigwig with a special interest in how the Bear Garden is being run.”

  “Nope, no idea,” we were heading towards the lift at the rear of the lobby.

  “Need another clue?”

  I was getting all hot and bothered now. “Just tell me.”

  “Oh, you’re no fun at all,” Millie scowled. “Okay, I’ll tell you: Melissa Stahl. Doctor Stahl to you. There, that’s got you interested.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Stahl was an M.P, who acted as an advisor to the Prime Minister on all things supernatural. She was also the leader of the select committee which controlled our funding. There was a rumour that her nomination to the Inner Court had been blocked because her association with Downing Street presented a conflict of interests. I’d applied for an unpaid internship on her staff the previous year and hadn’t even gotten an interview.

  Melissa Stahl was a very powerful witch indeed.

  “But why is she here? Morale building exercise?” There’d been countless rumours over the last week about our budget being cut. Talk of the Bear Garden being down-sized or even closed. There was nothing concrete but that didn’t stop the speculation.

  “Wouldn’t count on it. I think she’s just here to give Kinsella a hard time.”

  Kinsella again. He’s the current head of the Bear Garden. We’d met when I’d first gotten the job and I hadn’t known what to make of him. Still don’t. A lot of people aren’t keen on him because he has the reputation of being a harsh task-master. All I knew was that he was a very experienced magical practitioner who’d spent a lot of time in Africa. I’ve got a copy of his book somewhere though I’ve never gotten around to actually reading it.

  Millie indicated for me to catch up.

  “Come on, we don’t want to miss her.”

  I was nominally aware of the sound of echoing footsteps. I looked across just as a man appeared at the bottom of the stairwell. He saw us approaching the lift and strode over to us, palm raised.

  “Sorry, ladies. The lifts are out of bounds. Didn’t you get the e-mail?”

  “No...” she hesitated. “Well, yes, but I didn’t read all of it.”

  “The instructions were quite clear: no one to enter or leave the building until after the visit.”

  “What if you didn’t see us?” she said mischievously.

  He gave her a blank stare. “I do have the authority to arrest you if you refuse to comply.”

  With that he turned and spoke into a walkie-talkie.

  “We have to get up there,” Millie whispered, indicating the book. “They’re not going to wait for this forever.”

  The security guard had finished with his walkie-talkie. “I’m sorry, ladies. You’re just going to have to stay down here for the time being.”

  We stood there regarding one another. He was short and stocky with close cropped hair. I guessed that he was ex-military and resolutely human. That’s how I was starting to think of it now: us and them. I pictured my dad’s face for a second and felt a sudden pang of guilt. He’d said that this would happen eventually and here I was, less than six months into the job, proving him right.

  We stood like that for a while longer, neither of us sure of what came next. Then he checked the buttons on his walkie-talkie while I calculated how long it had been since my last cigarette. Millie just stood there.

  After a while he became restless. He’d made his point and it wasn’t as if we were going to try and overpower him; though he looked like the sort who’d probably enjoy that. It came as a relief to both of us when he eventually went to stand over by the foot of the stairs, close enough to dissuade us from doing anything foolish.

  I was a little surprised by Millie, though. She’d given in to him far too easily and now it looked like I wasn’t going to see Melissa Stahl after all.

  Then I noticed Millie’s expression. She hadn’t moved a muscle since our scolding but now her eyebrows were working over-time in an effort to attract my attention. I checked that the guard wasn’t watching. He was standing with one f
oot on the bottom step as if preparing to race up them.

  Inclining my head towards Millie I mouthed: “What?”

  She inclined her head towards the lift. But nothing had changed - the doors were still resolutely shut. Then I understood.

  The display above the doors was silently counting down. 4, 3 ... Someone was coming down.

  Perhaps they hadn’t read the e-mail either.

  Without looking at one another we started to move casually over to the doors. Even if he’d have cared to look across, the guard would have seen nothing suspicious.

  We waited as the read-out changed from 2 to 1, then froze in anticipation.

  With a ping, the doors trundled open allowing the two men inside to step out, momentarily confused by their surroundings. Millie rolled her eyes at them as if she’d been waiting forever. Then she stepped past them and pressed for a floor.

  I skipped across the short distance to the lift, just as the doors were beginning to close. They shut behind me with a solid ker-chunk.

  “Relax,” Millie said. “What’s the worst he can do?”

  “Shoot us?”

  “Do they carry guns, then?”

  “Only the bald ones with a chip on their shoulder,” I said.

  We giggled at that - a little prematurely - considering that the lift still hadn’t actually moved.

  “He’s probably on his little walkie-talkie right now: reporting us to his friends upstairs,” I said.

  “He can say what he likes, they won’t hear him,” Millie saw my confusion and then twitched her nose from side to side in a fair impression of the woman from “Bewitched.”

  She’d used a spell to block his radio signal.

  “That’s why you fit in so well here,” I observed. “You’re so devious.”

  “Boys and their toys. They’re so predictable.”

  The lift finally juddered into life and started moving upwards.

  Millie asked, “How are you coping without the cigarettes?”

  “Okay,” I hadn’t smoked for nearly two weeks. Well…ten days. “Actually, it’s been quite grim. If there’d been a shop on the way over I’d have definitely bought a packet.”