The Roving Death (The Freelancers Book 2)

by Lee Isserow

Of course, knowing that Nanda Devi was the second highest mountain in India was not anything close to a benefit whilst he was attempting to climb it. If anything, it added to the anxiety of the whole messy affair.

  The trek up the treacherous path without climbing gear was bad enough, but a strong wind seemed to be doing its damnedest to push him back, send him hurtling off into the abyss below. A glamour had turned his regular clothes into a warm, white thermostatic jacket, and matching pants. His boots transformed into rugged climbing shoes with thick treads for better grip, and he had fabricated gloves so as not to succumb to frostbite quite so quickly.

  Rafe knew he didn't need to make it to the peak, only a mile up the path, where there was a cave in the monolithic rock, a hidden oasis and calm from the storm. That was the remote breeding ground of the gandaberunda. He'd have to be quick, that was for certain. The mountain was some kind of national park, and the gandaberunda itself was a protected species. The Circle's Mystical Creatures Division would have wards in place on the cave, and as soon as he stepped across the threshold, his day was probably going to get a whole lot worse.

  Although, given that it seemed as though the day was insisting on crapping on him a little more with every passing second, he wondered how much worse it could actually get. Rafe admonished himself for tempting fate. The fates were never kind to him at the best of times, and this was certainly nothing close to the best of times.

  He grit his teeth against the cold, tightening the hood of the jacket, for the little good it did. With great effort on his part, he forced a smile, thinking about the Teloah trying to track him now―they'd have left Reva's door as soon as he translocated, and were probably half way across London, trying to walk to India, to get their hands, teeth and tentacles on him―assuming they hadn't decided that Ana or Lincoln was an easier target. . .

  The question floated to the surface of his mind, how exactly they were tracking him. He had discarded the clothes he had been wearing, the spores were dead, or at the very least still in his apartment. There was no reason for the damn things to still be hot on his trail. Something more metaphysical, perhaps. Hunting him by his aura. It was a thought to dwell on at another time.

  He could see the entrance to the cave up ahead, and removed the gloves as he neared it. If he was expecting to get through this anything close to alive, he was going to need his hands free and nimble to cast.

  As he stood in front of the opening that was supposed to be the entrance, it seemed as though a rock-slide had occurred at some point, a pile of giant boulders blocking it, leaving only a slim opening at the very top of the cave. A ruse, he assumed, to put off trespassers from attempting to enter, whilst leaving room for the gandaberunda to come and go as they please.

  He took a deep breath, dug his feet into the ground, and faced the pile of rubble. A thought crossed his mind, a wish, that there was any other way to get in. But knowing his luck, of course there wasn't. Rafe ran straight at the rocks that blocked the entrance, both hands out in front of him. His index fingers danced back and forth, twisted around each other. Before their tips met, they circled one another, thumbs tapping twice as he whispered “Woosh!” whilst thinking of words that his tongue could not twist around.

  His nose met with the largest boulder―and passed straight through it. Running at full pelt, continuing to exhale every step of the way. He bolted through what seemed like six meters of obstruction. It was more than he had dispersed through in a long damn time, and as soon as he came out the other side of the pile of rocks, Rafe fell to his knees, caught his breath, and found himself hating this job all the more for the ache in his chest.

  When he recovered, Rafe took to his feet and looked around the cavernous tunnel, eyeing every rock and pebble with suspicion. It had all felt a little too easy―easy being relative, given that his lungs felt like they were still considering whether or not they should explode.

  No signs of any wards, at least none that were obvious. The only curious thing about the cavern was a glow on the walls and floor, a Pollock spattering of bioluminescence that brought light to the otherwise pitch black centre of the mountain. He walked up to the wall and laid a hand on a patch of the turquoise-tinted shimmer. It came away on his skin, and he rubbed it between the fingers, bringing it to his nose and sniffing it. It smelled like rotting plant matter, compost―and he recalled one particular curiosity about the gandaberunda, other than its two heads. Its poop had a tendency to glow. . .

  Wiping his fingers on a clear patch of wall, and again on his trousers, he continued deeper into the cave. Something didn't feel right, it was too quiet. After all, this was a nesting ground for a two-headed bird: that should mean twice the squawking of the nesting ground of a one-headed bird. Yet nothing but a deafening silence hung in the cave.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. Of course he didn't hear a damn thing, the bird was a protected species, and Mystical Creatures Division might have been lazy about wards, but they were smarter than to allow it to be seen and heard by any potential trespasser.

  Rafe glanced down to the glowing stain on his thigh and ran his first finger along it, a frail glimmer coating his skin again. He let out another sigh, disgusted in advance, and threw the finger out in front of his chest, tracing out a symbol and sealing it by popping the finger straight in his mouth.

  The turquoise glow rippled across his vision, permeated every corner of the darkness. As it cleared, a cacophonous clatter of squawks and shrieks filled the air. Up ahead of him, built into every large crevice and makeshift shelf in the cave, were gandaberunda nests. Each of them at least two feet wide, made of the usual sticks and twigs of the average birds nest, but every so often a bloody bone poked out of the sides. Mostly from small animals, but a few of them looked a little too human. . .

  Rafe suddenly found himself remembering another unpleasant thing about the gandaberunda. Not only were the bifurcated beasts carnivores, but every so often they decided to gang up on a human, and rip them to shreds.

  It was not a joyous fact to be recalling, especially whilst trespassing into their territory. The smartest thing to do was to get the hell out of there before he became their lunch―but Rafe never did smart very well, even at the best of times.

  Stepping from the entrance tunnel into the large cavern where the creatures were nesting, he observed them. The largest, the parents, were close to six feet tall. Three of that was just the neck, but still, they were damn tall. Their natural state looked―at least in human terms―as though they were angry. Each of them appeared to have resting bitch face, razor sharp beaks curved down in a permanent grimace, a brow of feathers arced like a scowl. They gave the impression of being in a constantly boiling rage, and what Rafe was about to do wasn't likely to change that.

  He tiptoed over to the closest nest, and grabbed hold of the largest of the unattended gandaberunda babies that was squealing away by itself.

  As his fist clenched around its necks, he could feel the eye of every other bird in the cave turning to him with an accusing and hungry glare.

  “Well, that was obviously going to happen. . .” he grunted, running at full pelt back down the cave, as a flurry of blue and orange feathers took to the air, flapping after him at speed.

  He stuffed the bird in his pocket and zipped it shut, then threw his fingers out ahead of him and took what little breath he could before his face hit the rock. Dispersing back through the rubble was agonising, a thousand times more painful than his infiltration, lungs begging desperately for breath.

  He emerged out the other side, and almost ran right off the path, coming to a halt barely a foot before the miles of drop over the end of the perilous cliff face. The angry screams of the birds cried out behind him, accompanied by a frantic clapping of wings. But they didn't come for Rafe's flesh, didn't even whip by and try and knock him off the cliff.

  As he spun around, and found his balance and breath, Rafe chuckled to himself. A myriad gandaberunda heads thrashed back and forth at their exit to the cav
e, necks swung wildly like a Medusa wig's worth of snakes. Each of them was fighting for the space to get out of the cave and come for him―and each of them was in the way of the others.

  It seemed that for one slim, short moment, the fates were smiling on him. Rafe began to head along the path as carefully as possible. The trek back to the door was easier than the incline, but it was still treacherous. Even with the extra grip on his shoes, he was in such a hurry to get back to Reva that he frequently slipped and slid, having to stop and re-steady himself, or pick himself all the way back up from the damn ground.

  Finally, the door was in sight―but it was not alone. A second, identical door stood right alongside it, three Mystical Creatures Division agents assembled in front, checking their gear before they made their way up to investigate the disturbance.

  Rafe cursed himself―of course it wouldn't be that damn easy. MCD wouldn't be so lazy as to just drop a rockslide and an enchantment on the birds, there must have been another ward, a silent alarm that he missed. There wasn't time to waste explaining himself to them, every second he spent up the damn mountain was one second closer to the Teloah getting their hands on Ana.

  He unzipped the pocket, doing his best to ignore the nips at his fingers, and grabbed one of the gandaberunda heads. He twisted it until it made a short, soft snap, then tugged and stretched it, dug his fingers into the flesh under the neck until he felt it tear through the plumage and start to bleed. He didn't like having to kill the creature, but also knew that the only way he could find the strength to deal with the agents was with the aid of blood. . .

  Rafe tore down the hill towards them, his hands whipped through the air, fingers dancing ahead of him as he cast. The digits circled back on their paths until he opened his palm up flat in front of him, and he let the bloody fingers meet those of the clean hand, then spread them out wide as he brought his hands upright. He was close to the agents, but was faster than them, they hadn't had a chance to react―and he wouldn't give them that chance.

  Rafe threw his fingers apart, and a solid blast of light burst out of his hands and threw each of the men flying back, rolling over themselves down the hill. He knew that would probably come back to haunt him, that he should check on them, make sure they weren't hurt―but he couldn't risk one of them being conscious enough to nab him.

  Wiping the blood on his clothes he reached for the handle to the closest door, turned it, then let go before tugging it open.

  Both doors were already set to their destinations. . . one was for Reva's, the other for The Circle. No way to tell which one was which, and no way to redirect them.

  Throwing caution to the wind, he grabbed the handle again, turned it and pulled the door open. The room inside was a flurry of activity, people walking this way and that, analysts and agents all in the midst of some kind of operation, and across the room he saw Tali at her desk. She glanced over to him with a judgemental scowl, that turned into wide eyes warning him to get the hell away from the door before anyone else saw him.

  He slammed it shut, went over to the other door and twisted the knob, quickly slipping through just as he heard the previous door click open.

  Pissing off The Circle was the last thing he wanted to do with his day, but with Teloah after him―perhaps after Ana too―it was more important to get the damn bird to Reva than worry about injuring their agents. He knew there would be repercussions, there were always repercussions for pretty much every dumb thing he did. But at that moment in time, Rafe didn't give anything close to a damn.

  All he could think about was getting through to Ana, and doing whatever it took to insure her safety.

  Chapter 27

  Well and truly gone

  “You should think about applying.”

  “Sure, I'll do that right after I've had the lobotomy, but right before I enter the hotdog eating competition.”

  “No need to be glib.”

  “I don't have any interest in joining the damn Circle.”

  “You'd make one hell of an agent. . .“

  “Really wouldn't, I don't do well at taking orders, and have a distinct lack of respect for authority figures.”

  “It's a better life than that of a freelancer. More secure for one thing.”

  “I don't need security. I'm not even sure I want to freelance any more―did you see that show? That was beautiful. You think they'd want a mirror girl to do stuff with them?”

  “You're drunk,” Lincoln chuckled. “What the hell is a mirror girl?”

  “That's my thing, mirrors.”

  “Your adept?”

  She nodded, and knocked back half of her whisky. Half of that half dribbled straight down her chin.

  “That's amazing.”

  “Really isn't.” she gargled, wiping the alcohol on her sleeve.

  “Do you know how rare adepts are? Let alone mirror adepts.”

  “Don't know, don't care.”

  “You could be your own boss, like you are now. I work independently for the most part.”

  “Yeah, and you can't even get backup when a city's in peril! You don't sell the job well, and also don't seem to be listening. . . I'm not interested!”

  “They have other things going on.”

  Ana tried to hold back an annoyed sigh, he was almost definitely not listening to her resolve. “Go on then, what are they so busy with. . .”

  “Last time I was in contact, they were dealing with an extradimensional entity that was manipulating mundanes to its own end, likely in an attempt to conquer the Natural World.”

  “See? That's what I mean, it's a little more doomsday scenario than I like to be a part of. Now, if there was a mission where there was too much cake, and some of that cake needed to be eaten, I'd be all over it.”

  “As with all things,” Lincoln said with a wide smile, “I'd say you don't know if you like it, until you try it. . .”

  There was something in his eyes as he said the words. On one hand, she knew he had been talking at her rather than to her. But there was also a knowing, or understanding of her that she could read in his expression. As if he was well aware of the way in which her life had been turned upside down.

  Or, she reminded herself, it could very easily just have been the alcohol. Whatever that satyr had been serving―and she wasn't convinced it was just mundane whisky―had hit the spot. She was feeling better. Feeling something close to normal. And best of all, the anxiety about Rafe and his prolific death toll were close to being well and truly gone.

  Chapter 28

  A lot to answer for

  Reva had spent close to an hour brewing the concoction with the gandaberunda, and Rafe had his eye on the clock for every second of the cooking process.

  When it was finally ready, she indicated for him to take out a map and place it on the table “On top of plastic.” She brought the pot over to the table, and cast as she ladled out the guts on to the surface of the map. They spread far and wide, congealing in groups, moving slowly through the scaled streets of London.

  “Any sign of the brood mother?” he asked, as he tried to work out which were groups of Teloah, and which were just overweight singular Teloah.

  Reva's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the grouping of the blood and guts. She seemed concerned, and simply shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “Might be hiding, might be shrouded, no way to know right now. You've got bigger problems anyhow. Hundreds of the buggers out there”

  Rafe wanted to argue, to point out that the brood would continue to grow if the brood mother was out there spreading her spores. But he didn't. Instead, he took solace in the fact that it would spread significantly more slowly with just her as the sole source of spores. As long as her children were chasing him, they were out of their breeding cycle. Although with hundreds of Teloah after his blood, it was only the smallest modicum of solace.

  Then there was another curious thing. All the Teloah were grouping, moving along the map in the direction of Re
va's house. . . apart from one.

  The address was familiar, but he couldn't recall why. Rafe threw his fingers in the air, he decided it was time to try and call Ana again, and to his surprise, she actually answered.

  “What?”

  “Where are you?”

  “What is it any business of yours?”

  “Are you with him?”

  “I refer you to my previous statement,” Ana said, with a muted belch.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Are you?!”

  “Not the time for this Ana, Are you with him?”

  “Yes. Not that it should concern you.”

  “Lincon-bastard-Nightblade was wrong about us dispatching all the damn Teloahs.”

  Ana scoffed loudly in Rafe's ear. She had forgotten that Lincoln's last name was Nightblade. “What the hell are you blathering on about?”

  “About thirty of them burst into my house and tried to eat my face.”

  “Told you something would eat your face. . .”

  “Laugh another time. Where the hell are you?”

  “Animorph,” she said, naming the venue incorrectly, but speaking with the confidence that only alcohol can provide.

  “You mean Anaglyph?”

  “That's what I said.”

  “Stay there,” he said, as he folded up the map. “I'll be with you in five. Punch Lincoln in the nuts for me.”

  “That seems rude. . . Especially since he's buying more drinks.”

  “Yeah? Well tell him to get a round in for me. He's got a lot to answer for. . .”

  Chapter 29

  Can't think of anywhere I'd rather be

  Rafe knew Anaglyph by reputation more than personal experience. He had been dragged to the bar a couple of times when he was still working for The Circle, before he found the fondness for alcohol that developed once he started working freelance.

  Stepping through the door from Reva's, he crossed the road and pushed open the gate into the garden shared by the red and blue houses. A quick glance at the map told him that the Teloahs appeared to be realising that he had relocated, the congealed representations on the map turning around to head to his new location―the single static member of the brood still unmoving.