Neon Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 5)

by Al K. Line

  Once inside, scooting in slowly on my buttocks, I had what I think is the strangest experience of my whole life. I picked up each piece of my flesh and one by one I dropped them into the fire.

  Have you ever smelled yourself frying to a crisp? No, of course not! Trust me, you don't want to. I smelled tasty. Crackling meat, magic infused ink hissing and popping as the flames devoured me.

  I'd like to say something wonderful happened, like a Phoenix rose from the ashes, but it didn't. I just blackened, spat and roasted as I sat next to a cold, dead man, and cried as I cremated myself on a fire in a back room somewhere in Japan.

  When it was done, I prodded the fire, spreading it out to cool a little. Soon the flames died down and I poked it about some more until all that remained was ash. This was earth, the third element. It was me, and I scooped up the cremation that contained myself then smothered it, scalding, over my naked flesh.

  What did a little more hurt matter now?

  I was death. The ash man. Primordial. I was the gray nightmare, covered in my own skin as dust, and I stood on flesh polluted with stolen magic and a giant's power, new tattoos forming on my red-raw legs.

  Reborn.

  Maybe something had risen from the ashes after all.

  I wondered what.

  An Exploration

  Naked, covered in my own transmuted skin mingled with wood ash, I wandered back out into the other room on legs that screamed with every step. I was definitely different, felt like a warrior after a mighty battle, but my battle was with myself now, trying to come to grips with my relentless drive for revenge.

  This wasn't my world. I didn't live where people did this kind of thing to one another. We may have been criminals, but there were limits—torture was never justified and the punishment would be absolute.

  The rules were different here, meaning there didn't seem to be any. Nobody could stop Kimiko, and it was easy to see why.

  I was out of my league and out of my mind. This was ridiculous, so much pain just to do what—kill her so I'd feel whole again? I doubted there would be any satisfaction in wiping this woman from the face of the planet, yet she had to be stopped. No longer just for a selfish need for closure, but to stop her from terrorizing a city and a country. What would she be like in another hundred years, a thousand?

  My suit lay crumpled in a heap next to my phone, but I couldn't ever imagine wearing clothes again. The thought of pulling fabric over my legs made me retch and socks became the stuff of nightmares. I was a primitive creature now, dirty and reborn from the ash of my own existence, and I understood through my exhaustion that I was close to insane.

  They'd nearly broken me, Kimiko and the fat man. Insanity beckoned with a smile and a promise I'd never have to hurt again. Faz Pound could be just that, not Black Spark. He'd be gone. No more dealing with the dregs and the dangerous, just a safe place inside my head where nothing mattered.

  But it did, and I would not give up. Ever.

  The giant's magic still coursed through my body. It was part of me now, unlocked in my time of need, not fleeting like calling to the Empty, but mine, absorbed into my being. It was etched on my flesh, designs darkening as the skin layered itself on my legs, swirls and patterns, beautiful and abstract, blending seamlessly with the ink that covered my upper torso, linked together, becoming one.

  I was almost complete again, and when I was I'd kill Kimiko even if... My heart went into palpitations as I pictured being captured and going through the flaying all over again, or maybe there was something worse she could do. I couldn't take that, wasn't up to such punishment, no way.

  I was in the throes of a panic attack. The thought of being so helpless, enduring so much, it made it hard to breathe. I gasped, banging on my chest to get some air as my heart went wild. Maybe I should start carrying beta blockers around? That, or just stay at home and do the gardening.

  Oh, how wonderful that idea was. As I thought of my home with Kate I calmed, smiling at the picture of this corrupted specimen of a human being pottering about growing veggies, getting annoyed by chickens, putting porridge out for the hobs so the acreage was maintained. There was nothing I wanted more in the whole world.

  Then I realized I was a liar. There was something I wanted more, and be damned with the consequences. My corruption, my current state, was down to Kimiko, so I had no choice.

  Naked as the day I came into this world, kicking and screaming—some things never change—I walked like my legs were stilts, and went to check out where I was. I would have to leave, needed time to recover, but first there were things to do.

  Faz Pound, for he was back to referring to himself in third person so must feel a little better, had to get his act together.

  I was on a bloody roof!

  A Nice View

  Tokyo was laid out in all its modern glory. As far as the eye could see there was mile after mile of skyscrapers, megalithic edifices reaching for the heavens. Gleaming in the morning light as the sun rose from its slumber to bathe the tops of the buildings in its warmth while many streets down below still lay in shadow.

  We must have been about twenty stories up, the strange apartment a large box-type structure sat on the roof. Perfect for a spot of torture, I supposed. Nobody can hear you scream in such a place.

  Birds made their homes in the greenery that crept over the roof, a well-tended garden with the typical Japanese minimalism, although with a slightly wilder design than many, and more beautiful because of it. Creepers covered pergolas and trellises, acer trees and even a display of bonsai were arranged on tiered shelving in an alcove to protect them from the worst of the weather, and bright finches darted in and out of their hiding places, beaks full of grubs for their young that chirped and cried for food.

  I spent some time just turning in circles, watching, listening, knowing that down below were millions of lives with their own worries and concerns, hopefully three less people than there were when my ordeal started.

  That made me happy, knowing they would be safe. Dancer had promised to take Grandma and Kate away, home, and sure they would argue, would refuse at first, but he'd convince them and it wouldn't be until they were mid-air, maybe even home safe and sound, that the potion would wear off.

  Then they would go ape-shit, I had no doubt, but it was a small price to pay for their safety. It was a backup plan, just in case I felt it too dangerous for them to remain, and I guess if I'm being honest I'd known it would be. Knew they couldn't stay unless I got very lucky, very quickly, which, clearly, was far from the case.

  Whatever happened, they would be home, and Kimiko wouldn't be able to touch them there. She may be powerful here but in the UK we had our own Heads. Kate was protected by Oskari, the new Vampire Head, and he would keep her safe if only to spite Kimiko if I failed here.

  The breeze hurt my skin, so I turned and moved back inside the peculiar wooden box clad in faded cedar, a torture chamber larger than most of the apartments in the city.

  Time to become a man again.

  *

  Still dirty, unable to think about washing just yet, but nervous about the time drifting by in a haze, I sat at a tiny table in a cramped kitchen and ate, and ate, and ate. Anything I could find that would give me sustenance I stuffed into my mouth as fast as possible.

  My hunger knew no bounds, but as I consumed instant noodles, leftovers in the tiny, under counter fridge, ice-cream, crackers, cheese and milk, even tofu I flash-fried and regretted on tasting, plus anything else I could get my hands on, I slowly began to feel the energy rise and the need to leave started to play on my mind.

  There was a small bathroom with a cramped shower stall so I got in and turned the water cold. No way could I stand heat. As freezing water set my teeth chattering and my legs screaming for mercy, I stared at the drain as the ash of my life and tattoos washed away to mingle with the waste of millions.

  I scrubbed my hair with a sweet-smelling shampoo and very carefully cleaned my upper body, careful not to touch th
e jelly-like skin on my lower legs.

  Out, I rubbed dry my torso and air-dried my lower body by walking around and gathering up my belongings. The suit was trashed but I couldn't go out naked so it would have to do.

  Dressing was a lesson in pain, but there was no choice. I had to get away and I needed my clothes on—I may be the everyman, but a naked everyman is still visible and I wanted no attention whatsoever.

  Wary, but moving fast, I exited the strange apartment and was down via an elevator and stepping into the chaos of the city in no time. Knowing I couldn't stand the subway, especially early in the morning at rush hour when there really are men who push you into the carriages the squeeze is so tight, I hailed a cab and got ready to spend a fortune sitting in traffic.

  An intolerable forty-five minutes later, I made it to the hotel and wasted no time getting up to the suite, pleased to note that the place was empty. Dancer had left a card. All it said was, "You owe me," in his spidery writing, and I did. They would be safe, away from this nightmare, so that was something.

  I also felt more alone than I have in my life. Hurt, nobody to talk to, feeling rather down about the whole thing. At least I could get changed, dress snappy for what was still to come. Red shirt, definitely, for when there's to be violence I always wear red. It covers up the goop, and there would be a lot of that.

  Stripping down in the large suite, deciding to get dressed again later, I felt instantly better without the touch of the material on my legs, then I felt much worse as I caught sight of them. I was little more than a mess of blisters and ink. My upper body was as stiff as a troll's back, covered in bruises from fighting and falling down stairs, and my face and fingers still hurt from the dog incident. That I could cope with, it was looking like a lobster that was the real issue.

  Speaking of lobsters...

  "Hey, Intus," I said, more pleased to see my friend than ever. I even welcomed the rotten egg smell as I sank, naked, onto the comfortable sofa and put my feet up on the glass coffee table.

  "Hey, Spark. Ooh, it suits you," she said, admiring my red legs. She hopped off my shoulder, clambered down the sofa, and jumped onto the table. She stood next to my shins and held her own clawed leg up. "Look, we match. I always knew you were jealous of me being such a wonderful color. We're like twins!" She smiled her mad, shark-like smile, but her ears were flat and her tail was down—she was trying her best but knew it wasn't enough.

  "Ugh," I grunted as I shifted on the sofa. I shouldn't have sat down, now I never wanted to move again. My body told me to rest, maybe for a hundred years, my mind told me I was a dick and I should have stayed at home where I belonged. Where I had a family.

  "Does it hurt a lot?" Intus asked, her voice close to normal volume. It was then I knew I was in serious trouble. Intus does quiet like a vampire does gum disease. My little friend cocked her head to the side, staring at me with concern, looking up and down my body, inspecting the fresh skin that tingled and throbbed as nerves melded with resurrected flesh.

  "It smarts a little, yeah," I managed.

  "I bet." Intus did the strangest thing then. She climbed over me, reached into the pocket of my jacket where I'd discarded it on the sofa, grabbed my phone and took it back to the table.

  I watched, saying nothing, as she set it down, tapped away like a professional, claws clicking as they hit the plastic, then spoke in perfect, and very loud, Japanese, finishing with a, "Hai, Dōmo arigatō gozaimasu." She ended her mysterious conversation and beamed at me.

  "I didn't know you could make calls, or use phones."

  "How do you think I call people, then?" she asked, nonplussed.

  "Er, I never knew you called anyone. You've never called me before."

  "Aha, that's because I don't need to. But sometimes, like now, I do. So, um, I did."

  "Fair enough. And the Japanese, how can you speak it?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be, realizing too late I should have kept my mouth shout.

  "I'm not some ignorant imp, Spark. I'm well-traveled. I'm cosmopolitan I am. My age means I know every language there is and I know thousands of languages that have been extinct since before humans ever learned how to use electricity or even how to make a wheel. I'm immortal and I know loads of stuff. Anyway, Japanese is easy, you just have to practice. I learned in less than a century," she said, looking inordinately proud of herself.

  "Ah, right."

  I guess I must have fallen asleep then, as the next thing I knew, Intus was shouting into my ear, tinnitus ringing like she was inside my head and banging away with a tambourine.

  "Wake up, get up. Come on," she goaded.

  "Eh, wassat? What's going on?" I heard the knock at the door and turned back to my friend only to see she was gone. A million thoughts rushed through my mind. Damn, I'd fallen asleep. I was meant to be packing and leaving quick smart before inevitably being picked up by Kimiko's goons.

  Intus reappeared and said, "Oh, it's just your taxi," and was gone again.

  "Coming," I shouted, and somehow managed to get up after a few tries and then opened the door. It was a bellboy to inform me my taxi had arrived. It was only after I'd closed the door I realized I was still naked. It says a lot about the Japanese culture that he didn't even flinch.

  After a few minutes, I'd got dressed—painfully—gathered my things, made my way down to the lobby, found my driver and was whisked—okay, driven very slowly—to another hotel well away from the city center. I checked in to a simple, traditional room with clean sheets, a view over a garden, and air that felt so fresh I wanted to kiss it.

  "Thank you, Intus," I whispered as I collapsed on the bed. "You are a true friend."

  I think she may have appeared then and said, "Oyasuminasai," a polite goodnight, but I may have just been dreaming.

  For five days I slept straight through, only waking as my bladder threatened to explode from my stomach.

  A Reality Check

  As I padded back into the bedroom, I saw my phone on the nightstand and checked it. Damn, there were a lot of messages, and the battery was almost out. I plugged it in using my travel adapter and went through the messages, only then realizing how long I'd slept for. I felt awful; they would be worried sick. They were.

  The calls were either Kate, Dancer, or Grandma, all of them switching from angry, to concerned, to desperate, and back again. Why hadn't I called? Was I all right? Where was I? When was I coming home? Would I please just call? Please?

  From what I could make out, it was only some outright lies from Dancer that had kept Kate and Grandma from coming back out to search for me. His last call was one that sent my enforcer senses tingling, an omen of things to come. He was Head material all right. He said he was pissed at me but knew I was okay. He'd been in touch with Mitsu, purely for business reasons—yeah, right—along with other contacts he had cultivated over the years as part of being Rikka's right-hand man, and there was no doubt I was alive. Maybe not well, but alive.

  Dancer said he would tell Grandma and Kate I had been in contact and was coming home soon, and they were not to worry. That kind of thinking and action meant he was definitely on his way up the Hidden ladder, and the promise I'd made to him to get them out the country still held—if he was ever put in a position of power I was to work for him. The thought of it didn't sit well, but it was better than my nearest and dearest being skinned alive, so there was that.

  I took a large drink of water and settled down for some serious ear chewing. First I called Kate, apologized many times, said I had slept, that I'd overdone it, and that I was too intent on what I had to do for them to stay, and it was dangerous. She argued, said she would come back out, but I said no, under no circumstance was she to do that.

  She knew something was up, that was obvious. I am not a good liar, but I believed she would do as I asked. We finished the call all too soon, but I promised I'd let her know the moment I was done, and hopefully that wouldn't be too long at all.

  Next was Grandma, who gave me hell, then Da
ncer, who moaned about having to deal with Grandma all the way back to Cardiff. Meaning, two flights, delays, stopovers, two train rides and more old lady time than he could handle.

  I apologized, then before I knew what I was doing, or had the chance to change my mind, I told him what had happened. He listened, letting me pour it out, ranting and raving and bursting into tears a few times, and then he promised me he would take care of them both and that I was beholden to nothing.

  He hadn't realized how bad things were, and would have gladly taken them away if he'd known what was happening. Dancer also told me I was an idiot for staying, and that I should be on the next available flight. I agreed, said thanks, and hung up.

  After the calls, I gave myself a thorough inspection, pleased and confused by what I saw. My face was fine, as handsome and manly as ever. Okay, I looked like hell, I had big black bags under my eyes, the designer stubble had gone to wild meadow look, my teeth were as fuzzy as a gremlin after a blow dry, and my hair looked... I have to stop there, it was too awful to talk about. Haha, yeah, I know, flayed alive, munched on by hellhounds, and I can't talk about my hair being messy. But you didn't see it!

  After showering, and brushing my teeth for about an hour, slapping my hair into submission as even wet it still had other ideas about gravity, and having a shave which made me appear more like a schoolboy than the early thirties look I've been stuck with since, er, my early thirties, I sat on the bed and took proper stock of my legs.

  Oh boy!

  Kick-ass tattoos or what! I'd thought they looked good as they came into their own when my skin had begun to heal, but now they were something else. But it hadn't stopped there. The new ink, a blue/black so dark it was like night had been poured carefully under my skin, was amazing. Patterns that screamed of ancient magic, of olden times when men were men and threw rocks at each other for fun, when magic dominated the earth and true Hidden roamed freely.