Neon Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 5)

by Al K. Line

  I had to get out, but I couldn't. Whatever was done to the room, my magic was negated. Not a hint of it to be found, what little I always carried inside of me gone during the initial struggle to escape, leaving me with nothing.

  How had it been done? Something from the damn books, I assumed, it had to be. Deep spells like this were beyond me, not part of my life, my way of being. The room was a prison, physically and magically, stripped as bare as my body. What I wouldn't give to feel the magic engorging my ink, channeling through me and making me come alive. What I wouldn't give to have it heal my body. What I wouldn't give to be free.

  Would anyone come for me? Could they track me via my phone? No, that was gone. Would my friends and family come searching for me? Maybe, but where would they start? Who could save me?

  The answer was clear. Nobody.

  I was dead, or as good as.

  Ah, that was it, I needed to be dead.

  The fat man grimaced as we made eye contact, looking mean and keen to begin again. He wasn't happy. The talking down to from Kimiko had shamed him in my presence, and even though he thought nothing of me it was still a dent to his honor. He would take it out on me.

  I steeled myself, ready for what I knew had to happen for my hazy, hardly even a plan, to stand even a remote chance of working.

  How hard could it be? After all, I'd done it just a few days ago.

  I closed my eyes, focused on slowing my manic heart rate. Willing it to quiet—slow, slower, slower still. With all my will, all my training and ability to concentrate, I forced my heart to silence. The beats spaced further and further apart, even as I felt the knife strip my flesh away. If I died then he would stop, wouldn't he? Or would he carry on, regardless? No, I had to be alive for the flesh he took to have meaning, it would be part of whatever gross magic Kimiko had in mind.

  But if I passed over would I have the ability to come back? I began to doubt myself and with that doubt I lost all focus, all chance of ending it and maybe returning to my body once he'd removed my bonds, visions of him dragging my corpse from the room and me jumping back from beyond the grave vanishing for the foolish ideas of a madman that they were.

  What else, what could I do? I was back to panicking now as I screamed while the skin was butchered from my shin. I felt the blade scrape against bone and knew I couldn't hold out much longer. I had to do something.

  Utter, total panic took hold of me then. I'd been out of my mind with fear and adrenaline when this first began, but now I was lost to a deep insanity as I knew it was now or never. I would die, but for real, unable to cope with the pain and the loss of blood, my body already shutting down as it couldn't function under such extreme duress.

  What? What to do? How to get loose? I didn't have the strength to break the bonds. I had no magic, all I had was me. Just little old me.

  Or did I?

  A Metamorphosis

  I was myself, but not just Faz Pound any longer. The thought of death had brought it back to me, what had happened when I'd been killed then resurrected by a giant. I had magic not part of the Empty, not part of me, but of someone else. A gift, essence of a giant. It had made me feel different for a while, strong and mighty, but it had faded and I'd assumed that was it.

  Maybe because I had other things on my mind—concerns beyond mere magic—I hadn't even noticed this new power hiding inside me. Something different, not like the energy I called from the Empty or clung to so I could stay the everyman.

  This was properly exotic stuff, not summoned easily, not knowable. Real Hidden magic.

  What would it do if I called it forth, this magic from an immortal creature? He had given it as a gift, to resurrect me, instilling some of his essence. I had thought maybe it would extend my life, who knew by how long, but what if there was more to it?

  Now was certainly as good a time as any to summon it up and see what it was made of. I had nothing to lose, that was for sure.

  As the blade scraped, I zoned it out through sheer force of waning will, denying its existence, blanking the pain, just a background noise. Okay, it hurt like crazy but I still managed to go inside myself and hunt out what I was after.

  It was there, a lump of ancient magic, as if embedded next to my heart, connected to it where Reade had given me a second chance. A tight ball of something secret, a tiny part of who he was. No, not who he was—what he was. Ancient, immutable, immortal, strong, at one with the Hidden world. A pure being, unable to be killed. Clean magic.

  All was not lost! I had magic tucked away safe and sound inside where it waited patiently until needed.

  Now all I had to do was figure out what the hell to do with it.

  I focused down deeper, exploring this enduring potency that lodged inside my ribcage, hiding like a gremlin in the undercarriage of an airplane. My mind went deeper until I was immersed in myself, in an infernal world where magic used to swirl freely and I became something wild and dangerous and otherworldly.

  I still had that mastery, that strength, and now I had magic. But this was not anything I knew, this was mysterious and strange, and I didn't know what it could do.

  Inside the lump of ephemeral energy, I explored, rooting around for answers, but there were none to be found. This was what I was not—true Hidden.

  "Ah, fuck it," I said, and all hell was unleashed.

  Energy surged out from my heart, fattening my remaining ink and engorging my body with its essence. Dangerous, wild magic, ripped through my chakras, momentum building until something changed inside of me.

  I was no mere man now, I was touched by immortality and truly magic-born. It stuttered as it shot down past my groin, nowhere to be channeled with the ink stripped away, but it dug deeper, burning new lines in my exposed flesh, invisible channels to complete the circuit. Pulsing and growing as it took me over, the gift released. It did what it had always been intended to do, give me a taste of being a true Hidden. I was magic.

  I was also seriously pissed off with the fat man.

  Turning my head, I stared at my hand, pinned to the ground like the rest of my body. I flexed my fingers and willed the magic to act. Like a movie full of impressive special effects, I watched as my hand morphed, growing larger and larger, ever more powerful. It broke the bond as it grew to three times its regular size, and just as the fat man noticed something happening and my body burned fiery, white-hot magic into the dawn-soaked room, I swung out hard and slapped him with astonishing strength across a flabby, slimy cheek.

  As he fell backward, my hand continued on its arc and I caught his wrist, yanking him hard toward me, my shoulder screaming at the weight, rotator cuff feeling as if it was shredded. He rocked forward with the pull, eyes full of fear as I twisted his hand sharply, a satisfying crack the result. The knife dropped onto my exposed belly and I grabbed it, not even concerned by the puncture wound.

  The obese tormentor fell forward, momentum carrying him, and he slammed down hard onto me, foul smelling, slick as a seal, twice as full of blubber. His weight was intense but he slid off because of the slime, and I cut the bond that tied my neck so I could move my head better. I focused on my arm and it grew in line with the hand. The bonds on the upper arm snapped under the pressure.

  Limb free, I quickly cut the straps that held me down as the fat man scrabbled to his feet. But he was in a panic, a coward now I wasn't at his mercy, and in his confusion he missed my hand shooting out and grabbing his ankle. I yanked again, harder, tighter, and his ankle snapped and he screamed as he landed with a thump on his backside.

  He began to crawl away so I cut the remaining restraints and let my arm go back to regular size.

  I was as strong as the giant, as dangerous and volatile, and the essence of a great warrior filled me. I tumbled sideways off the platform and rolled right up next to his wet, dust-covered gray flesh. Then I stabbed him, over and over, howling with rage and frustration, tears falling down my cheeks, spittle on my chin, calling him every name I could think of as I ranted like a madman in
a fury-trance and beat him continually on the chest and head.

  My anger was unstoppable. I wasn't Faz Pound, I was giant, and deadly. Unable to stand, I kept on thumping him, punching him, clutching his topknot and repeatedly smacking his head into the ground. Bones crunched, moans turned to splutters, and I stabbed him some more.

  Then it was over, and I lay there as dawn crept through the blinds once again. I could hear birds singing outside, the strangest sound. As if everything was carrying on as normal out there, but that wasn't possible, not when a man had lain all day and night being skinned alive. Maybe for days, or for lifetimes. Surely everything had stopped, held its collective breath as a human being endured the impossible?

  Nope, the birds had things to do, the cycle of life to continue, and one broken dark magic enforcer was neither here nor there.

  The fat man gurgled and tried to speak through broken teeth. I crawled onto him, straddling his lumpy, disgusting belly, laughing like a maniac as I wobbled and pictured myself riding an inflatable boat that was really a man, both of us lost at sea, floating on an ocean of terror and shame.

  Bending forward, my tears mingling with his blood, I stabbed him through the ear right into his brain.

  Then he was still.

  A Call

  With the fat man dead, I managed to move off his cooling flesh and away from the scene of my torture. I was cold all of a sudden, shivering uncontrollably despite the heat. Dragging my legs across the floor was a lesson in pain, but at least there was no flesh to scrape off. I made it closer to the fire and propped myself up against a wall, letting the flames take away some of the shivers, but the heat scalded my legs and I knew I had to move again.

  Still clutching the knife, loath as I was to touch such a thing, I edged my way to the door and out into a different world. The magic ward was gone, dying along with the man. I wondered what kind of person he was, undoubtedly a powerful magician in his own right, or maybe just a man with the ward linked to him, put there by Kimiko? Honestly, I didn't have the energy to think about it, much less care.

  From bare boards, and a feeling like I was in an anteroom in a barn, I was surprised to find myself in a well-appointed, typically Japanese room. There were colorful rugs, large vases, a low table with the remains of the fat man's frequent snacking—not to mention the sake bottles—with various bits and pieces in disarray beside them. Cloths and blood-stained napkins and other signs he'd been busy at work.

  Where were we? I'd find out soon enough, but first I had to make sure everyone was safe.

  Using my last remaining ounces of energy, I clawed my way to the far side of the room, sucking down deep lungfuls of air perfumed by flowers rather than the stink of fear and sweat, and more by sheer bloodymindedness than anything else I searched the pile of my belongings for my phone. It was there, battery and sim card removed, and I somehow slotted it all back together.

  I made a call. Short, succinct, and to the point. Giving no details of my current predicament, I agreed to the request made and then hung up, saying it had to be done now, right away. Dancer would be on it, using the potion I'd had him collect from the Chemist before he left to join us.

  It was a weight off my shoulders even though I knew there would be hell to pay when I got home. If I got home. This was all turning out to be one ridiculous mess, far from what I expected, and I was almost tempted to join them and leave with my tail between my legs.

  Almost.

  Problem being, the tail was sliced off—which was good—but so was the skin from my legs—which was not so good.

  Besides, I had unfinished business and nothing would stop me. Not now, not ever. Memories of my life with Rikka over the years came, unbidden, and as much as I wanted to send them away and never picture his face again they refused to leave until I acknowledged them.

  "Now is not the time, Rikka, can't you see I'm dying here?" I whispered to the ghost of him. The memories came anyway. We'd had some good times. We'd had plenty of bad ones, too. An enforcer's life is never easy as you deal with the miscreants and the mean for a living, but I'd never been cruel. I never thought he was, either. He'd always been fair, if harsh, and I'd grown into a man under his tutelage.

  Would I ever be able to put his treachery behind me? Was he right? That I'd crave power and become greedy like him? What if I never had enough, always wanting more of everything? Would magic corrupt me? Had it already? I recalled times when we had laughed, even cried, me as a boy, trying to channel magic through my new tattoos, failing miserably and him chastising me for not focusing, curling up on the floor in agony as the payback was given for my thievery and my lack of control. Him standing there, cold and making me do it all over again until one day things clicked and I was sent on my first enforcer job.

  I tried to push him out of my mind for good but he just stood there, staring at me, telling me to grow up and accept the way of the world. I refused. If his version of the world was what it meant to truly grow up then I'd remain a child. There had to be good, even in this Hidden life. There had to be hope, and there absolutely had to be love. I wondered what I would have been like without Grandma all those years, without Kate now?

  Would I be off the rails, something wild that did Rikka's bidding without ever giving it consideration? I would never know. But he'd molded me, no doubt, forced me into something for his own gain, and for half my life he'd planned for the day when he would feel I was too dangerous to him, that I was a threat and nothing would stand in his way.

  "Look what you did, Rikka. Look at my legs. This is because of you, look who you dealt with. They broke me, Rikka, they worked me over good and proper."

  I felt the connection to the Empty and tried to grab for it, to soak in magic and let it begin to heal me, but my mind turned elsewhere, once more to Rikka.

  What came back, as it already had repeatedly, was that final confrontation. He'd told me so much, not everything, but enough, and yet he did nothing. He could have killed me, I have no doubt about that whatsoever, but he stood there, unafraid, maybe even unrepentant, as I ended his life.

  Was he sorry, in those final moments, regretful and ashamed for the warping of a child's mind? Did he finally accept the damage he'd done, know he couldn't go on and this was his only way of seeking forgiveness? He never said a word, never said sorry, never showed it, but he made no move to defend himself as the knife slipped into his flesh.

  Maybe he was sorry in the end. Maybe he just knew others would find out as he hadn't covered his tracks well enough and accepted his fate, preferred it was me that sent him on his way than another, maybe even a stranger?

  I would never know, and I curse you to high hell for leaving me with that uncertainty, Rikka. I still hate you and I will always love you.

  *

  I awoke to strong daylight shining into the room from a window at the far end I had barely noticed. How long had I been unconscious for? Hours judging by the light. Was it safe? Did it matter? I couldn't move, anyway. My guess was that the house or apartment was empty apart from me and the fat man, and Kimiko wouldn't return until she expected the job to have been finished, me not worth her time now she'd said her farewell.

  I was shivering again, infection setting in, poison running through my veins. Shock threatened to shut me down but I battled it and reached for the Empty, making the connection this time.

  Oh, my old friend, my closest companion. The one constant in my life, responsible for all this hurt, all the joy I had ever felt, it greeted me coldly, but let me in, allowed me to take a part of it, just for a while. Not so much a theft as a reluctant offering in my time of utter need.

  The addict took over and I grabbed greedily with my mind for the magic that would help me. I felt it come, the high that rose and rose and I took more, stealing it now, eyes snapped to black, as dark as my heart at that moment, and I directed it best I could, everything out-of-whack without my complete ink. It stuttered and backed up as it tried to make its way around my body, but I recalled the new pa
tterns formed by the giant's magic and soon enough the old ways were reconfigured, following a new direction. A better way.

  I felt the change in an instant, the rise in my energy levels, the difference inside as magic got to work repairing such terrible damage. Whereas my upper body was pumped up due to the pressure of esoteric energy in the ink, on my lower body the forces were more subtle, not pushing the newly formed channels that would hurt my flesh, just working efficiently as they shunted magic deep into my broken body, ordering repairs and acting as capably as an imp on a sock mission.

  White blood cells did their job, cells regenerated from scraps of skin across my legs, multiplying out and up, spreading like a cancer to cover my rawness. I watched as natural reactions were magnified a hundredfold until my legs looked like they were wrapped in cling film. I could see what had been done, but through a haze of lower epidermis and magic.

  The pain returned, no other way. With such fast healing came agony. Muscle, skin, scraped tendons, and infinite shame all being covered over readily, the usual hurt from healing rising in pitch until I felt like I was being flayed all over again.

  I blacked out once more, holding on to the Empty, asking it to stay, not to desert me in my time of need. My friend. My drug.

  More time passed and I was awake again, the mess of my legs an unbelievable horror story. This would take days, maybe weeks. My ruination was half complete, not just a few bits missing from here and there. This was utter devastation of a human being and no amount of magic would repair it fast. If I'd been a vampire, sure, it would be done in minutes, but I had no blood magic, and I never would.

  Able to think semi-coherently, I knew I had to get out of this place. Was this Kimiko's residence, one of the five? Was it the third? Earth? Was that right? Maybe. With my flesh taken, surely that signified death and the burning of the body, ash from the fire? What did it matter?

  Naked, delirium increasing as strange chemical cocktails coursed through my body still high on prolonged magic use, no comedown possible since I was already so far down it couldn't touch me and I refused to let go, I did one last thing in the torture room.