Angel Eyes (Wildcat Wizard Book 4)

by Al K. Line

  It wasn't just magic inside, it was something else. Something beyond my knowledge, almost spiritual, hinting at things mortal man ought not to know. Whispering of the secrets of existence itself, of devils and demons and angels and gods and I wanted no part in that. I just wanted to be paid by Ivan and have done with it. Whatever Mikalus, vampire First, founder and resurrected leader of the undead, wanted with it was his business. Maybe it had been part of his collection long ago, the collection I seemed to be gradually restoring for him. Maybe not. I didn't know, or care.

  I closed the lid to the box, locked it securely in one of the ward-protected hidey holes dotted about the barn, and turned.

  "You can stop pretending you aren't looking now," I said to Vicky as she suddenly found her fingers of utmost interest.

  "Wasn't," she said, cheeky smile giving the game away.

  "Come on, we deserve a treat. Big payday in the morning, then maybe have some time off?"

  "Sounds good to me," she said as she skipped after me and we stepped through the portal back to the city.

  Just before I went through, I swear I saw something fall through the air, almost like a feather, but I dismissed it. Just a flash of light from the portal playing tricks on me.

  Wombling Free

  "You need anything?" I shouted into the phone.

  "I'm good," came the grunt of a reply. Metal clanged in the background. I could almost taste the sweat.

  "Okay if I bring a friend?"

  "Ugh," came the reply.

  I hung up.

  "We're all set," I told Vicky.

  "For what? Is it a party? I haven't been to a party in... Gosh, years."

  "Yes, it's a party."

  "Cool." Vicky did her mom-jig, I checked nobody was watching, but then she stopped and turned back to me. "It isn't, is it?"

  "No."

  "Why'd you say it was?"

  "Because my sole goal in life is to make you happy."

  "No need to be sarcastic, Arthur, that's just mean."

  "You wanna come or not? You could always go home," I said hopefully.

  "No, I want to come. Um, where is it we're going again?"

  "You'll just have to wait and see. Think of it as a surprise."

  I'd parked up in a quiet part of the city, where warehouses gave way to not much of anything. The dying edges of a slowly crumbling city in an eroding country in a decaying world. It didn't matter how many new buildings went up, how much steel and shine there was at the heart of the metropolis, this city was the same as all others. A massive gap between rich and poor, the most needy parts neglected, the old houses, warehouses, and factories left to disintegrate by owners and landlords who'd given up and moved somewhere warmer and cheaper, meaning anywhere apart from here.

  The outskirts were a warren of concrete-lined canals giving way to marshland where the runoff from the main river was diverted. Where once it supplied the factories, now it was stagnant, fetid, everything blocked up and fouling the air. Nobody came here apart from teenagers to drink somewhere quiet, graffiti artists to practice their craft, the junkies, the homeless, or the merely desperate not long for this world. Even a few prostitutes that had sunk low and succumbed to the darker side of man's perversions.

  Ivan had cleaned up most of that though, had looked after the women, tried to control the addicts but maintained a firm grip on the heroin trade, eliminating the scammers and the competition, promising to improve things, but saying in no uncertain terms that there would always be drugs and always be addicts. He was, after all, a gangster. The uber-gangster, as far as I could tell. At least in his version of that world.

  I had my own version, and liked to think I was pretty high up in it. Certainly I was one of the best wizards in the country, undoubtedly the best thief of magical artifacts, and adept at plenty of other, less than wholesome interests.

  We walked under vast bridges, the motorways elevated over the swamps and canals, past shanty towns of homeless, kept a discreet distance from abandoned warehouses where the moans of the addicts and the screams of the mad rang out loud. Vicky clung to me as reality got darker and juicier, but I liked these places, felt at home because this was real, this was honest. This was life. It made me appreciate what I had, what I'd once been, and the life I'd made for myself. I hadn't done half bad, had I? Even before George there had been a turning point and I'd pulled myself up from the gutter, got my act together, and made a comfortable, if interesting, life for myself.

  "Arthur, where are we going?" Vicky whispered as we passed a group of feral looking kids spraying tags on a stanchion whilst passing around a fat joint that sweetened the rancid air.

  "Not far now, the door is around here somewhere." I tried to get my bearings but it all looked the same. I kept an eye out and soon found a bright piece of art with a familiar sigil in sunshine orange and knew I'd found what I was looking for.

  "Is that a dog?" Vicky gasped, grabbing for my jacket as something mangy and huge loped off into the shadows.

  "No, so stay close." She did.

  "Sometimes I think you're from another planet. Who would come here to unwind?"

  "Here we are," I said, smiling.

  Vicky looked around, confused. "You said there was a door. I don't see one. Ooh, ooh, is it a magic door."

  "Nope," I said, my grin getting wider, and it may have even been a slightly mischievous one. "We're standing on it."

  We both looked down, me with anticipation, Vicky with a frown.

  I bent, muttered several words, and light shone around the rim of the manhole cover. I hauled it off, and said, "After you."

  Vicky punched me hard on the nose, making my eyes water. Charming.

  Grungy

  All cities have sewer systems. Some are vast, some are ancient, most are kinda fun. I'm not talking about the image you have in mind of low tunnels with liquid shit slowly passing by as you hold your nose and search for the nearest ladder to climb back to the street, I'm talking about the real magical world beneath old cities.

  The original sewer systems were things of beauty, built centuries ago in many cases, improved upon by the Victorians, and then mangled by modern city planning departments, much of the old stuff left abandoned or bricked up in the name of progress.

  This was where we were going. To the maze of centuries-old tunnels and cavernous rooms designed to take away the waste of the masses back when everyone had an outside toilet, and running water and drainage were still fairly new to most folks.

  At the base of the ladder, I grabbed a heavy duty rechargeable light from a deep recess in the wall, left for guests if they knew where to look. Once we'd navigated the modern sections, thankfully tunnels that dealt with water runoff so the city didn't flood rather than anything too stinky, we passed through a series of impressive, and dry, brick built tunnels easily thirty feet high. At junctions there were ornate arches and detailed brickwork that was awe-inspiring, the craftsmanship outstanding and shocking—you just didn't get such considerations for utilitarian construction in the "modern" world.

  As I shone the torch at one particularly impressive arch with staggered brickwork and even worn faces carved directly into the brick in bas-relief, Vicky whistled.

  "See, told you it was beautiful."

  "But it's the sewers. I thought we were going to do something cool."

  "We are. I hope you had your energy drink."

  "Huh?" Vicky teetered forward on tiptoes and squinted up at me in that way she thought intimidating but always made me think she'd topple over and I'd have to move and let her fall on her face. "What are you up to, Arthur Salzman?"

  "Something to burn off the high. Something so we can sleep. Plus, I haven't seen my buddy for a few weeks so want to say hi."

  "Ooh, so mysterious." Vicky planted herself back down, but I knew she was dying to find out what this was all about. She loved mysteries, part of the reason why she had always been so keen to hook up with me.

  "Come on, it's not far now."

&nb
sp; I led the way, shining my own torch with one hand, holding the powerful industrial light with the other, and we entered a large square space, its true height lost to darkness. This was an old cistern, now bone dry, with a series of rooms off it with large steel doors controlled by a series of weights and pulleys that had been modified by the current occupant.

  They were all closed, but a sliver of light spilled from underneath a few of the steel slabs, and you could certainly hear the grunts.

  Vicky took a step toward the source of light and noise, turned and looked at me, then rushed back. "Is someone keeping animals down here? What for?"

  "Haha, no, nothing like that. You'll see." With a smile, I approached the barrier, grabbed a pipe leaning against the wall next to it, rapped loudly on the door in a specific sequence, and stepped back, dragging Vicky with me.

  Chains rattled like the anchor of a vast ship being hauled up, metal ground against runners, and the door began to rise.

  Hot air rushed out to greet us, and then the stench hit. It pushed us back like a physical force, and Vicky gagged. I took it in, let it become part of me, as there was no fighting it and no escaping it if you wanted to enter this domain.

  "Just go with it, and don't pull faces. He doesn't like that."

  "Who? Who doesn't?" Vicky peered through the now raised doorway, squinting against the light shining out, a secondary precaution so my friend could check who'd come calling whilst blinding you.

  The light was adjusted, revealing a monstrous silhouette, and then I was grabbed in arms any gorilla would be jealous of and a gentle voice said, "Arthur, so good to see you." Alfonse released me so I risked a breath, pleased to discover no ribs were broken, although my ribcage hurt like hell, probably from the action the previous night, and then Beast turned to Vicky.

  Fair play, she held her ground, then my buddy said, "Ah, I see you brought me my supper. It'll do for a snack, I suppose."

  Vicky ran, but I grabbed her sweater and she bounced back into my arms. She squeaked.

  "Thought some fresh blood was just what the doctor ordered," I said, glaring at Vicky.

  Alfonse, known as Beast to friends and enemies alike, lumbered back into his cave, and I carried a protesting Vicky in under my arm while she squealed, and kicked her legs.

  Fun times.

  Muscle Time

  "Put me down, put me down," Vicky screamed as she struggled like a bagful of sentient potatoes.

  "Where d'you want her, Beast, straight in the pot?" I caught Vicky's gaze and winked at her then placed her on her feet.

  Alfonse laughed then said, "Stop winding her up, Arthur, she looks dangerous."

  Vicky squared her shoulders and stepped away from us, her features contorting as she went from fear to anger to defiance and then, as usual, curiosity. "You, um, you aren't going to eat me?"

  "Haha, of course not, little lady. Arthur was just pulling your leg."

  "Yeah, Beast only eats animals with some real meat on them. Vicky, this is Beast. Beast, this is my little sidekick."

  "Ah, pleased to meet you. But please, call me Alfonse. So, you're the one Arthur's been telling me about. The changeling."

  "Changeling?" Vicky tugged at her ponytail, eyes darting around the space.

  "Oh, sorry, showing my age there. The lycanthrope? Werewolf?"

  "Um, yes, that's me." Vicky pouted then stuck out her chest; her reputation had gone to her head.

  Many of the shifters in the city now treated her with respect bordering on worship, and she loved it. Everyone in the community had heard what had gone down, about our escapade up north, and how wild she was. They didn't know about Ivan though, or their relationship, and both wanted it kept that way.

  Still, she'd become almost insufferable at times, and needed to watch herself or she'd end up in a lot of trouble. You know, more trouble than usual.

  "So," said Alfonse, once upon a time only ever known as Beast, although he was still that now if you went by looks alone. "You come to get buff?"

  "You know it," I replied with a smile.

  Alfonse grunted as he picked up a thick steel bar I couldn't wrap my hands around, with a series of monstrous cogs slotted on so it became a makeshift barbell, just one that weighed more than a mere mortal could ever hope to lift let alone curl, and banged out a quick set of curls. His biceps almost popped through his tight skin as blood surged into the muscles. Vicky and I watched, mesmerized.

  He paused after his set, smiled, then knocked out another set. This must be his warm-up.

  The room was large, another old cistern, and it was crammed with all manner of strange homemade machines and some commercial equipment plus a lot of bits and pieces he'd picked up from car boot sales or scrap yards. He preferred the homemade stuff as any commercial gear simply wasn't heavy enough, so he fashioned bars and machines of all description from whatever he could get his hands on that weighed a shit-load, the end result being a room full of pulleys and chains and cogs and wheels connected to lots of very heavy stuff.

  His relaxation zone consisted of padded benches he'd made so they'd take his weight, the only nod to current seating trends a large sofa he'd assembled without much modifying, the wonders of Scandinavian ingenuity, that faced a large coffee table full of muscle mags and a huge TV.

  Basically it was like a gym for giants, or trolls maybe, and he was definitely capable of eating goats, and apparently when he was younger did exactly that.

  "Who are you?" asked Vicky as she took in the gym-cum-lair.

  "He's the Beast," I said with pride as I tried to pick up a dumbbell made from two thick cogs welded to a section of scaffold bar. I couldn't get the damn thing off the ground.

  "That was a long time ago. I'm just Alfonse."

  "But... but you're huge. I mean really huge."

  "I think he knows that," I said.

  "What, this frail body?" asked Alfonse as he flexed a bicep. "Been getting small lately, need to eat more."

  "Um, if you say so."

  "Right, that's enough chit-chat, we came here to work out," I said, stripping down to combats and white vest.

  Vicky did a double-take from me to Alfonse and back again, and I suddenly felt self-conscious. I'd always been wiry, but tried to keep in shape. I got bored of jogging though, although I kept it up so I always had stamina to run from the bad guys, but had begun coming to see Alfonse three times a week if I possibly could to have a real workout. It helped with the insomnia for a few hours each night that I punished my body. Not perfect, but better than nothing.

  "What? Stop looking at me like that. You can't compare me to him, he's been working out for hundreds of years and it's all genetics anyway."

  "No, um, I know he's bigger, like a lot bigger, but you're looking pretty good." Vicky scanned up and down my beastly body, the patchy hair, the skin riddled with scar tissue, the veins and what little muscle I thought I had, but she seemed genuinely impressed.

  "I told you, Arthur, you are looking impressive. For a twig anyway. Haha."

  "You guys mean it? Really?"

  Alfonse nodded and Vicky took an unconscious step forward, her hand reaching out. She caught herself and lowered it, but said, "Yeah, you look good. Especially for an old guy."

  "Hey, I'm the same age as you, but thanks."

  "Don't remind me."

  "Okay, let's get this session started," I said, feeling damn pleased with myself, even though I was, of course, over such vanity and couldn't care less if someone thought I looked good or not.

  For the next two hours we were put through a series of grueling, painful rituals involving pulleys and weights and benches designed for torture. We were made to perform a myriad of exercises on countless machines, with Alfonse, all three hundred and fifty pounds of him, and it was all muscle, bellowing at us in his beautiful, but nonetheless intimidating voice, to do one more rep and to "Hold it, hold it," and "Squeeze," and "Let it burn," and other esoteric bro-speak that held little meaning beyond that we had to keep going or get sh
outed at some more.

  Finally spent, lying exhausted and drenched in sweat on the concrete floor, I gasped for air as Vicky panted like a knackered greyhound beside me. We turned to face each other, and smiled.

  "Now, that's what I call a workout," I said.

  Vicky rolled over and puked.

  I laughed. Or maybe cackled.

  Time to Feast

  Half an hour later, as Beast grunted and clanged weights about, what he called just getting a bit of a pump, Vicky and I finally rolled over and helped each other up. We were still soaked in sweat, still panting, and every muscle in my body ached. I was also walking like a constipated duck.

  "That was great, eh?" I said, grinning in what I knew was a rather manic manner, the endorphins rushing through my bloodstream giving me a high almost as good as magic.

  "Ugh, I think I'm going to throw up again." Vicky doubled over, and sure enough, she did.

  "See, I told you those aerobics in front of the TV were a waste of time."

  Vicky wiped her face on a sweaty towel and snapped, "Shut up."

  "Hey, just trying to help. Keep you in shape."

  Fact was, I had an ulterior motive apart from wanting us both to get some sleep this night before the handover in the morning. I was hoping I'd get her appetite going and she'd finally eat. Ever since the whole "Whoa, you're a wolf," thing, she'd lost even more weight, and although she was still shapely I knew all the warning signs, had seen them many times over the years. She was stressed whether she'd admit it or not. Who could blame her? But her eating disorder was always the first thing to get out of hand.

  Alfonse untangled himself from a torture device he said helped build his lats, lats apparently being the big bit of your back, although someone must have stolen mine, and thudded over.