Swift (Strangetown Magic Book 1)

by Al K. Line

  "You're stood in our game. We're playing hopscotch."

  Looking where she pointed, I saw a series of squares in a pattern, numbers in each. I had no idea what that meant. "What's hopscotch?" So I was out of touch. You try keeping up with everything when the years go by in the blink of an eye.

  "You're stupid." The other girls gasped and the braver ones tittered behind their hands.

  "Am not."

  "Are too.

  "Am not. Fine, how do you play? Bet I can beat you, bet I can beat you all."

  "Yeah, right. You're an old lady. You must be at least forty."

  If only they knew. "Let's bet. If I win then you say sorry for being mean. If you win then I will, um?" What did kids want these days?

  "You will buy us sweets."

  "You're on."

  Fifteen minutes later I was sweating from jumping onto squares and seriously out of pocket at the corner shop.

  I think it was probably the most fun I have had in my entire life.

  Time was getting on and I didn't want to be late meeting Pumi—I really didn't want to miss the opportunity. I walked fast. I still had somebody to see, but I couldn't shake the game of hopscotch. What joy to have no more worry than playing games and wondering if your mum will call you for bedtime rather than let you play until dark.

  I didn't even know they still did that, assuming everyone would be inside because of the Strange, but, of course, that's mostly my world, my contact with the darker side. Mostly everyone, Normal, Strange, whatever, aren't so bad, I guess.

  Visiting Old Friends

  The increase in magic across Strangetown, spreading out from ground zero, meant things went a little skewed in many Strange minds, their magic distorting, out of control, especially in those less adept, and it led to frequent cleanup operations and a lot of people getting into trouble.

  One thing had bugged me ever since it had happened. What exactly was it? And how the hell had it happened? Okay, that's two things, but basically it boiled down to the same thing. Find out what it really was, and you knew how it happened.

  There was endless speculation, respected mages and witches appearing on numerous TV shows, talking like they understood the whole thing when they were just blowing hot air out their asses. Nothing more than sound bites to advertise their latest books that captivated the world and led to them becoming as famous as pop stars.

  I'm sure that if the planes and the trains and coaches would come anywhere near Strangetown then we'd be overcome with tourists, but transportation is a major issue as many airlines won't let their planes even enter the country now because of a few issues with the djinn and other less than welcoming incidents.

  Until now, what I hadn't found the time for was to visit Gravel and see if he could shed light on the whole thing. Personally, I'd assumed it was to do with Strange being known to the world, a buildup of magical forces if you will, finally causing a tear between our world and theirs, and that's the explanation I settled on, I guess. But all the madness of late was making me question this opinion, so I wanted answers from a man I trusted implicitly.

  Tukutli-Ninurta Gravel, known by all as just Gravel, is tech-obsessed. He runs a very successful store selling just about anything to do with technology. It's a huge place, almost warehouse sized, and people come from far and wide to browse the gadgets, get good deals on purchases, and the most valuable commodity of all, information. Gravel knows it all, and if he doesn't then a member of his team does.

  He doesn't seem to have been hit too hard by the Rift, even though it means a long trip through the city without a car, and people still drive from other cities to buy from him, regardless of the risks involved.

  Gravel is what you would call old by any standards, even ours. An ancient Assyrian that has followed so much of humanity's history—and I get the feeling played a part in a lot of it—that he's like a walking encyclopedia. He doesn't talk about his past much, many older ones don't, and I guess that's their business. Maybe they've seen too much, seen history repeat over and over again, that they despair. Maybe he just can't remember, but he always knows what's happening in the world at the moment, and I like him.

  He's also a cheeky bugger and if you aren't careful he'll pinch your bum and try to grab anything that he really shouldn't. How he can still be so randy after so long is as much a mystery as the man himself. He's a charmer, though, and always has a young girl on his arm or lurking somewhere close by, and it's not hard to see why, if you like that kind of thing.

  His store stays open 24/7 to cater to Normal and Strange that prefer to come out at night, a very good business plan and one adopted by more and more stores over recent years as laws were relaxed so much we didn't have to follow them here any more anyway. As I entered, I caught sight of him over by a display of very large TVs, talking to a group of excited trainee wizards I knew by sight but not by name.

  I don't know what they were more in awe of, him or the TVs, but the way they looked to him with reverence as he gave them the spiel told you all you needed to know about Gravel. His skin is dark, rich and lined with age that would mark him as late forties rather than four thousand, with a long black ponytail that reaches past his behind, held in place with a gold band probably worth more than the entire stock of his store it's so old and rare, and his whole demeanor is one of ancient royalty. I wouldn't be surprised if that were true.

  He's a little skinny, tall and angular, sharp shoulders matching a slender nose as if he picked them to complement each other. But it's the eyes that draw you. Dark lashes as though he wears mascara, deep brown to match his skin, and then he goes and spoils it all by wearing the universal superstore worker outfit. A short-sleeved white shirt with a name tag, a pair of nondescript black trousers with a crease as sharp as his nose, and shoes to make anyone with even a hint of fashion sense want to lie down and cry.

  Somehow he manages to pull it off, and it's all part of the mystique. But still, he could make an effort!

  I felt happy, watching as he held up a hand to stop the kids jabbering on, and turned to me and smiled. He nodded to the door at the back of the store and I wandered down the center aisle and went on through. He'd join me in a moment, after he'd finished making his sales.

  In the canteen, I poured a cup of coffee—he always has the best. He must have been on form as less than two minutes later he came through, eyes shining with mischief, arms wide, definite hug time.

  "You just keep your hands above the waist," I warned, hugging him tight.

  "Above the waist but at the front?" he asked, eyes roaming.

  "Just no touching anything naughty, you dirty old man."

  "It's what keeps me looking young, but I think of you more as a daughter, you know that."

  "I know." He did, it was true, and he is something of a father figure. For all the banter, I know he wouldn't dream of trying anything inappropriate. "It's good to see you, Gravel."

  "Been way too long, my child, but I understand. These are trying times for us all."

  "It doesn't seem to have affected business for you. Things good?"

  Gravel poured himself a cup of coffee and indicated one of the chairs around a cheap table. "As always. People want their gadgets, and actually sales are booming, especially for TVs. What with all the larger than human Strange that are in the city, they want the biggest screen possible. Happy times." He rubbed his slender hands together, each finger adorned with a ring he'd picked up through the ages.

  "That's great. Make hay while the sun shines, and all that."

  "You should come work for me, I'll pay you well."

  It was an invitation he'd given endless times but it isn't my thing. I'm not good at sales, I have a habit of hitting people if they shout at me. Money would be nice but I've never been that bothered. Over the years people have asked me how come I'm not rich, what with living so long, and the answer is simple. If you lived to be five hundred would you be rich? What would you do to make that happen? Right. You have to have a head for b
usiness no matter your age. It's all about the drive, and I just don't have it.

  "Maybe in another lifetime. Look, I have to ask you a few questions. Sorry to be about business."

  "I understand, and in answer to your as yet unasked questions then yes, it was, and yes, it will, and no, it won't."

  "Well, that's got that cleared up then." It was a bit of a letdown, I at least wanted to ask them first.

  "Haha, come, my child, we can discuss it in more depth. I was just playing games with you. Ask away, I will tell you what I can."

  "Was the Rift caused on purpose?" He just stared at me, as he'd already said yes. "Okay. Will it happen again?"

  "As I said. Yes, it will."

  "Will it take the Strange that are already here back with it if it opens again?"

  "No, it will not have that effect. It may take a few away, a random act because of the magic, but it was not opened to bring Strange here merely to have them disappear again. What would be the point?"

  "But what is the point? Why did it open and what is to gain from the chaos?"

  "My, my, you are full of questions, aren't you? The world is changing, Swift, has already changed so much since Strange became a part of the world and known about, although I'm still not sure that was a good idea, but it wasn't my decision to make."

  "Liked being all mysterious and powerful, did you?"

  "I am still both of those things. No, what I liked, before we were stuck with this stupid moniker as Strange, was the fact nobody knew magic existed apart from us. It made the world a more interesting place. But I understand the reasoning. After the Second World War, well, nothing we could reveal would be worse than what the world had already witnessed and understood humans to be capable of, so the timing was perfect. But prejudice never went away and I do not appreciate being classified."

  "It stopped us being hunted and reviled, though, and most people love a bit of magic."

  "This is all true, I do not dispute that, but it has led to the Rift and that is most definitely not a good thing. Our future hangs in the balance now."

  Gravel is never wrong. If he thought this was as serious as he said then you could bet it was. "Because of the elves?"

  "Of course because of the elves, the dark elves, anyway, which most of them are. Of all the Strange in all the worlds, they are the only ones I have ever been concerned about. They're too like us, and the only race here in any kind of significant numbers. The rest, all the demons, sprites, fae, the whole kit and caboodle of them, they've already spread across the globe and they are few and far between, no real threat. Most are nice enough in their own way, but the elves, they are here in much larger numbers than anyone really imagines, and they are most definitely not our friends."

  I was wishing I hadn't come. This was depressing as hell. "So what do we do? How do we send them back?"

  "I don't believe we can. Somehow the Rift was opened, and my guess is that's down to the elves from their side forcing their way through with a rather unexpected side-effect, but how we get rid of them I have no idea. There will be more, and it will be like nothing we have ever seen before. Unless..."

  "Unless what? Unless we open the Rift ourselves somehow, settle things down? Create an equilibrium, send them back where they came from? How exactly do we do that?"

  "We can't. I'm not even sure it was the elves that made it in the first place, not on purpose anyway."

  "Great. Just great."

  Gravel adjusted his cheap leatherette belt, straightened his name tag, and stared at me hard with those eyes that see right through your defenses and get to the truth behind the bravado and the hard outer shell. "Just be ready."

  "For what?"

  "For anything. One thing I do know, this won't get any better any time soon."

  Sometimes visiting old friends is kind of depressing.

  Across the Wasteland

  Gravel had a lot of magic, but even he was weaker than before the Rift, we all were. You can feel the pull on your abilities almost as a constant background hum, or a buzz—it's kind of impossible to explain. But the Pool is finite for our world, and with more Strange there is less to go around.

  This is part of the reason many human Strange are absolutely livid about our new friends coming to visit. They are weaker; our magic is taken. They share in it, a communal hive mind of sorts, although without the sense of purpose or community. Rather, everyone tugs in different directions and makes the Pool as a whole weaker.

  After telling me what he thought was possible if done right, and the likely outcome, plus the consequences and the nightmarish scenario that would ensue if it went wrong, I knew I had a lot to think about.

  I wasn't cut out for this epic stuff. I was your everyday witch, with issues, that wanted to do her job, keep her kind safe, and have a beer at the end of the day. What I was not was some kind of saver of humanity and the denizens of the netherworlds. That action happens to old wizards and they always have big staffs with knobbly bits and wear cloaks and live in the woods, not to a mid-level peacekeeper that can't even keep her own front wall from falling down.

  Promising to be in touch soon, once I uncovered more about what Pumi had told me, I filled in Gravel on that too and he surprised me by gushing about what a great guy Pumi was and that they went way back. Yet another brownie point for the man labeled a child killer. I was beginning to understand how important a player Pumi was in our world, behind the scenes, helping without the desire to be credited for good deeds.

  I left knowing I would need his help soon enough, more sure than ever that something had to be done as I felt another tug at the Pool, more Strange using magic for one reason or another across the city and the world.

  This Pool, it pulses, stronger then weaker, depending on how many are dipping their magical finger into the pot.

  It's why you try to use your magic in the week and preferably at lunch time—less of a surge and more to draw on with less hassle. As well as being localized there is a worldwide Pool that is the sum of all its parts, although I guess it's all one and the same when you get right down to it.

  Now we all had less of it, and the further the Strange spread from Strangetown the less impressed others of our kind were. They found it harder, just like us, and after the initial wave of migration it had become almost impossible for those tied to our realm to travel away from here. Nobody wanted them, the mystique and curiosity replaced with fear and basically a "We don't want any bloody foreigners coming over here stealing our magic," kind of thing.

  Could Fester really be caught up in this mess? From what Pumi had told me then the girl had seen him repeatedly going to ground zero, and there was more besides. He was linked but he didn't have the power to bring such a thing, nobody did, and he certainly couldn't make it happen again, whatever the motivation for such an act.

  So what was it? It was time to find out.

  Through the quietening streets, across empty roads, past noisy pubs and closing stores, I made my way to ground zero. I was going to be late and so I hurried, walk turning into an easy jog I could maintain for a while on my tired legs. Man, I'd done a lot of running that day.

  The way became treacherous as the emptiness in the city morphed to rubble strewn mess, then to the buildings that circled the epicenter of the trouble, most less than whole, waiting to be demolished when somebody could be bothered.

  Then I was at the building Pumi had agreed we meet at, so I crept around the side, entered, and made my way up.

  Spying

  "You're late," hissed Pumi, hiding behind the open door to a gutted apartment, ready to bash my head in with a blast of magic that shone orange and fierce around his fist. A revelation, showing our trust was far from total.

  "Sorry, got caught up in a game of hopscotch."

  He frowned at me, letting the magic back into the Pool, waiting for me to say more. "Sorry, again," was about all I had to give.

  "Good job I lied about what time he usually comes. I had the feeling you were a little
flaky."

  "Why, you cheeky git." I hit him playfully, something that was becoming a habit, but it felt all right, familiar.

  "What, I was right, wasn't I? You gotta be punctual, it's only polite."

  "Won't happen again, boss."

  "Haha, that's all right then. Now, come on, over to the window. Let's see what we can see."

  Settling down, the ground brushed clear of glass, Pumi handed me a pair of binoculars and pointed to where I should look. I trained them on the spot and then swept back and forth, growing increasingly frustrated at the sight of bare ground, occasional Strange, and little else.

  Then he nudged me, so I lowered the binoculars and looked where he pointed down below and to the left. It was little but a blur from this distance so I raised the binoculars once again and focused them.

  No doubt about it, it was Levick.

  We watched from the safety of the room as far down below, Levick, who to me will forever be Fester, made his way across the barren land. Back when it had happened, or once everyone got over the shock anyway, bulldozers came and cleared away the destruction, heaping up the remains of people's hopes and dreams, the futures they thought were secure as they sat in their homes, played in their gardens with their kids, in a massive circle around the dead zone.

  Levick looked around, checking for observers, but there was nobody that cared. Just wandering souls, creatures of all description standing, walking, flying, even screaming—he may as well have been invisible as most were gripped by madness of one sort or another. What was he looking for? What was he doing here?

  He lifted his head, as if searching for something in the sky, a sign maybe, then I'm sure I saw him smile. He doesn't smile, his features are set, stoic and as animated as his monotone speech.

  "Does he come here often?" I asked Pumi.

  "Quite a bit. He never stays, just looks around then leaves. He's waiting for something."

  "Like what? Another Rift?"

  "That's my guess, but who really knows? It's him though, right? This is the man the girl described. She was scared, Swift, real scared, and you know the worst thing? I never even got her name. She wouldn't say, thought it meant I could use magic against her if I got cross."