Urban Witch (Urban Witch Series - Book 1)

by R. L. Giddings

  “She switched boxes,” I said.

  But when I went to retrieve the knife Marcus stopped me.

  “Best not.”

  It was only as I put the lid back on the box that I realised that my hands were shaking.

  “The blade…” I said.

  “Black glass. You’re right. Forged from the heart of a volcano and still the sharpest implement ever made.”

  “Who makes a knife out of glass?”

  “The Fae, that’s who.”

  Marcus sat back in his chair and took a long drink.

  We sat in an uncomfortable silence. Considering the nature of our find you’d have expected us to be ecstatic, but we weren’t.

  “Obsidian,” I said. The name had come to me from somewhere but I knew I was right as soon as I’d said it.

  “We’re better off not touching it at all. Once you’ve been cut with an obsidian knife that’s it – game over. And it’s no respecter of reputation either: stab a vampire with an ordinary knife and you’ll hardly slow it down. Stab it with one of these bad boys and …”

  His voice trailed off.

  “Sorry, I was forgetting.”

  “You mean: Helena.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But don’t you see: this is good news for Helena,” I said.

  He crinkled his brow. “How come?”

  “Well, whatever Helena was stabbed with it wasn’t this.”

  *

  “We’d better get this back to the office,” Marcus said.

  “You’re joking – right?”

  “Kinsella’s going to want to know why we didn’t bring this to him straight away.”

  “Listen to yourself. We’ve been suspended. We’re not even meant to be here.”

  I was fighting the inevitable though. If the Seelie Blade was as important a discovery as everyone kept making out, it was obvious that we couldn’t keep it to ourselves.

  “We could hand it in anonymously. Take it to the local police station.”

  “Too dangerous!” Marcus wanted his time in the spotlight. He wasn’t going to give this one up without a fight.

  Now that it was out in the open there’d be a lot of pressure on Kinsella to return the blade to its original owners. He couldn’t afford to upset the Seelie Court.

  How Helena would be portrayed in all of this - if she were fortunate enough to survive - was anyone’s guess. It looked now as if she’d taken the blade to act as bait. The problem was that it was such a powerful weapon that people didn’t seem to care what they did in order to get their hands on it. And, whilst we knew about Brodsky and Lindqvist’s involvement, there were other players in the background who still hadn’t shown their hands.

  None of which answered the question: if the Seelie Blade was the bait then what on earth had been the main prize?

  Marcus checked that the lid on the box was secure before he stood up, holding it like a child’s first birthday cake. “Come on, Bronte. We’ve got to go.”

  “Kinsella briefed you about the Iron of Fortitude, right?”

  “The thing they used for branding witches? Yeah, sure, everyone’s heard about it. Why?”

  “So you already know?” I was taken aback. “Kinsella told you?”

  “I didn’t realise it was such a big deal. Anyway it wasn’t Kinsella who told me. It was Terence.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that at all. Kinsella had brought me in initially to prevent information getting out. Now it looked as if even Terence – the intern - knew as much about what was happening as I did. I decided to come clean.

  “Look, we perhaps didn’t get off to the best of starts today. I think that I was a bit too keen to prove myself and you’ve been the one who’s ended up paying the price. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry and, from now, I’m going to be completely honest with you.”

  The events of the past forty eight hours were starting to catch up with me.

  “Are you okay,” he asked. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I rubbed my forehead, tried to focus. “Actually, could you go and ask if they’ve got some pain killers? I’m not feeling great.”

  As Marcus disappeared I rubbed my neck. It was incredibly stiff: like bands of iron. If I had any sense I’d have gone straight home and climbed into my new bath. As it was, it looked unlikely that I’d get home much before midnight. I would have to try and relax if I was going to be able to cope with the inevitable slew of questions when we got back to the office. I tried to clear my mind while I watched the visitors pooling at the bottom of the staircase.

  There were tourists from all over the world each one dressed as distinctively as the next. I was surprised by the number of them depositing luggage at the cloak room. One such couple had left their bags and were moving across to the cafeteria. I had them pegged as Americans and they certainly sounded American but then, as they drew closer I saw that the woman was wearing a brown sweat shirt which bore the logo of the University of British Columbia.

  A stylish Italian couple arrived with their son. They spoke heavily accented English. The man wore wire-framed glasses and a purple wool scarf whilst his wife looked elegant in a beautifully fitted tan leather jacket and the most wonderfully impractical pair of heels I’d seen all day. Millie would have been envious.

  They were checking their Gallery guides whilst their son wandered aimlessly over in our direction. He was a handsome boy of eight or nine with dark hair cleanly parted on one side.

  He walked straight past us without so much as a sideways glance moving towards the corner. I tracked him across, curious to know where he was going. Sitting in the shadows was a tall man in a pale blue suit.

  He was staring at us. It was so obvious that I looked behind me to see whether I was mistaken. Was he looking at someone else? But no. He was staring directly at me.

  The boy stood to one side, stock still.

  The boy’s parents were by now over at the counter helping themselves to food, their son momentarily forgotten. One of the waitresses stood with her arms folded, ignoring them because she was too busy staring at me.

  “There you go,” Marcus appeared in front of me, effectively blocking my view of the waitress. He held two pain killers in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

  I tried to get a better look at the waitress but Marcus barred my view, pressing the water on me. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps the waitress was watching him instead. He was a good looking guy after all.

  “Marcus.”

  “I can’t believe how much they charge for a bottle of water. A bottle of water! They must think everyone’s a bloody tourist.”

  Finally, I managed to lean far enough over to get another look at the waitress. She glared at me. I quickly looked away, embarrassed at being caught out.

  Was I having a panic attack? I tried to calm myself, control my breathing.

  But when I turned towards the table behind me I saw that the boy was still there and now it was his turn to stare. There was no sign though of Mr Bluesuit but no way that he could have slipped past without me seeing.

  “Marcus.”

  “It’s alright,” he wasn’t looking at me, too busy putting his change back in his wallet. “Just take your tablets and we’ll get going.”

  I started at the sound of a chair being knocked over. It made a dull, hollow noise as it hit the floor and that’s when I knew we were in trouble.

  Chapter 19

  “Marcus: move!”

  The man lunged towards us, grasping for the brown paper bag but his actions were clumsy and uncoordinated. I scooped the bag up off the table and moved away from him desperately racking my memory for a pertinent spell. Marcus was circulating round to my left giving me a clear view of Mr Bluesuit as he grasped the table top. He seemed uncertain as to what to do with it. In the end, he upended it in my direction.

  I was so taken aback by this development that I let out a squawk of surprise. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

&
nbsp; “Look, mate, I don’t know who you think you are,” Marcus was saying. “But you’d better calm down.”

  The man didn’t even acknowledge him. He was looking at the cake knife which had fallen to the floor. As he moved to pick it up he only managed to kick it out of his own reach. Then he knelt down in an attempt to pick it up. He just didn’t seem to have the manual dexterity necessary to grasp it. This was getting weird.

  The Italian couple were quickly gathering their things, the mother gesturing wildly for their son to join them. He stood over to my right, his eyes transfixed on the man in blue. He paid no heed to either of his parents.

  An upright chair scythed across the floor, striking the man in the thigh.

  “Over here, idiot!”

  Marcus was standing with his heel resting on the back of a second chair. He looked to be enjoying himself.

  The man in the blue suit seemed uncertain as to how to proceed, visibly weighing up his options.

  A number of spells presented themselves but none of them matched the occasion. We were in a public place, so I had to factor in the proximity of bystanders. This was the difference between working through scenarios in the classroom and doing the same thing for real. Mess up in the classroom and the worst thing that can happen is that you have to take the test again. Out here the consequences of getting it wrong were very real indeed.

  The bag containing the blade was proving to be something of a distraction. I needed to get rid of it for the moment while I worked out what to do next. There was nowhere that readily presented itself as a safe haven. In the meantime Mr Bluesuit made a bee-line for me and, when I tried to retreat I found myself falling foul of a simple rope barrier which caught me across the back of the legs and, try as I might, I found it impossible to get my foot clear.

  I was forced to step forward to get around the barrier, bringing me within the man’s grasp

  And that’s when things started to go wrong.

  As the man reached for me I mouthed the first spell that came to mind.

  Speaking the words aloud, they echoed around the space and I saw the Italian couple exchanging frightened glances. They had every right to be frightened.

  The words boomed around the little seating area, taking on a life of their own, gaining power before finally resolving themselves into being.

  At first nothing seemed to happen and I wondered if something had gone wrong. It was only when I caught the scent of burning that I regretted what I had done. I’d over-reacted.

  Marcus gave me an exaggerated shrug.

  By then, the first frond of orange flame had appeared, licking around the cuffs of the man’s jacket. The man looked down unperturbed.

  We both watched in fascination as a blue flame rippled up the man’s sleeve.

  I’d intended to frighten him off with a very simple spell. It ignites the dust on the victim’s clothes forcing them to perform an impromptu strip-tease. Whilst they’re suitably distracted, you’re furnished with just enough time to make your escape.

  It can be quite funny. But it wasn’t funny now.

  I’d made a serious error of judgement.

  The few people remaining had grouped themselves over by the cloak room area and were waiting to see what happened next.

  Mr Bluesuit wasn’t re-acting to the threat of the flames and made no attempt to remove his jacket. Flames were curling up from his back and yet still he kept coming. At this rate he was going to go up like a Roman-candle. I made a move to try and extinguish the fire myself but Marcus pulled me back.

  “He’s Enchanted.”

  I swallowed. My mouth parched from the heat. And still he kept coming.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Bronte, his jacket’s on fire and he doesn’t seem to have noticed. I’d say that’s a pretty clear indicator of someone who’s Enchanted.”

  That put a different perspective on things. Using people to perform acts against their will is counter to everything that I’ve ever been taught. If that were to be the case here then we were dealing with an Innocent. An Innocent who would have to live with the consequences of our actions.

  “We’ve got to do something,” I said.

  There was only a table between us now and the man leaned across to try and grab me. His whole sleeve was alight and the smell of burning fibres filled the air.

  The skin on his face was beginning to blister.

  Marcus was moving around to my left, picking up a chair and holding it out defensively. Heat was rolling off our attacker, filling the space, yet he seemed impervious to it.

  “Let me deal with this,” he said but I could hear the hesitation in his voice as his bullishness evaporated.

  My spell had backfired badly. The man’s whole jacket was ablaze and I could only watch as his sleeves started to shorten and shrivel under the intense heat. The skin around his neck was beginning to blister and bubble.

  What had I done? Whilst the man appeared impervious to the flames now I knew that that wouldn’t be the case once he regained his senses. If we didn’t get that jacket off him quickly then he wasn’t going to survive this. His eyes were starting to lose their shape and I realised with growing horror that his eyelids were melting. But that didn’t prevent him from continuing along his blundering path.

  It was distressing. Everything was going wrong and it was all my fault. I scanned the tables looking for a carafe of water, a vase of flowers, anything that I could use to help douse the flames but there was nothing. A pall of smoke hung in the air and the few people remaining had started to move towards the stairs. Even the Italian couple had retreated behind the counter of the cafeteria, the husband struggling to restrain his wife.

  Tears were coursing down my face.

  “He’s after the knife,” Marcus was saying. “Hold it up. Let him get a good look at it.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “I need you to distract him, Bronte. Look, just trust me. Okay?”

  Discarding the bag, I quickly tore away the wrapping paper and took out the box. Removing the lid I carefully took the Seelie blade by the handle and held it aloft.

  The burning man let out a heart rending shriek and swayed towards me. I felt a fresh surge of panic as I backed away the heat springing off him like a physical thing, burning fragments of cloth dropping onto the floor. In my eagerness to escape his grasp I bowled into a chair which sent me sprawling.

  All the breath was knocked from my body as stars exploded across my field of vision but at least I’d kept hold of the knife.

  With the burning man almost on top of me, Marcus moved in with the chair attempting to force the man back with it, but he was not to be denied. He grasped the chair legs with both hands before snatching it away from Marcus, wheeling around full-circle to catch him solidly across the back of the head.

  Marcus hit the floor and didn’t move.

  I was on my own.

  The burning man tossed the chair aside and came for me again. With each step the soles of his shoes emitted a ripe puckering sound as the heat partially fused them to the floor. He found co-ordinating his actions to be increasingly difficult, pawing at the knife. He meant to have it no matter what.

  I made to scream, only to go into a coughing fit as I inhaled a lungful of acrid smoke. He was completely alight now: his nose was nothing more than a tarry blob and his teeth were set back in a lipless grimace.

  There was nowhere to go as he towered over me. I searched around hoping to find some possible assistance but there was none forthcoming. It was just down to me, him and the knife. I desperately needed a distraction.

  That was it. Marcus had said it earlier. Mr Bluesuit wasn’t interested in me – it was the knife he was after. I decided to give it to him.

  Placing it on the tiled floor I braced my fingers on the hilt, drawing the knife into my side before giving it an almighty shove, flinging it as far from me as I could.

  It didn’t disappoint, spinning a full ten metres across the polish
ed marble floor.

  The blazing man followed the knife’s path with bemusement, breaking off from me before contemplating his new goal. His body was failing him now and he was taking an unnaturally long time to turn around, lifting each leg in turn as if wearing snowshoes.

  He managed a couple of steps before his legs gave way and he collapsed face first onto the ground. An arm came up, braced itself against the floor and pushed but nothing happened. The wrist twisted , something snapped and the rest of the arm flopped forward, still smouldering.

  The whole place was full of smoke.

  I sat up, my breath coming in short hacking sobs. It was a relief for it all to be over but that was short-lived. From over on my right the young Italian boy appeared. He crossed to where the knife lay on the floor. He studied it for a moment before bending down gracelessly, picking it up and moving off towards the stairs.

  *

  It was Marcus, struggling to focus and possibly concussed himself, who got me up and moving. It wasn’t until I was being led through the gift-shop that I thought to protest.

  “We need to go back. Tell them what happened.”

  “The paramedics’ll be here soon,” he was holding his head as if he worried that it might detach itself. “Then it’s only a matter of time before the police arrive.”

  “I don’t care about the police,” I said and meant it.

  “I know you don’t. But there’s a good chance that they’ll try to arrest us when they do arrive and that’ll complicate everything.”

  As we got out of the gift-shop I looked back inside. The whole place was thick with smoke.

  “A man’s dead. We can’t just ignore that.”

  I was distraught. A man was dead because of what I’d done. The thing was that I hadn’t even considered the spell to be particularly dangerous. I’d made a snap decision and someone had paid for my stupidity with their life.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t do this anymore, Marcus.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He was Enchanted. Whoever did that to him didn’t care about the consequences. It’s not your fault, you had to protect yourself. You had to.”