Demon Dogs (Wildcat Wizard Book 3)

by Al K. Line

  None of it was unique, all of it was familiar. Different place, same crap as always.

  On the Hunt

  This was the Fat Man's part of the world. He ruled the north of England with a firm and very meaty hand. Not a magic user, something much, much worse. A glutton, a devourer in every sense of the word.

  More on him later. Right now he wasn't my main concern, finding out what I could about how the fights were run, who dealt with the day-to-day stuff, that was what I needed to know. There was no point going to the boss man and asking nicely, I knew the kind of welcome I'd get.

  Hard as it is to believe, he didn't like me, and the feeling was mutual. Maybe it was because I sliced off his ear, or maybe he didn't like the way I wore my hat, but I had my suspicions.

  No, I needed to get into the scene somehow without going to the top. He wouldn't talk and he wouldn't be dealing with the everyday stuff anyway. Jeremiah knew next to nothing of what went on up here, only that this was where the action took place. Be it petty brawls with a few men standing around, bored, or the large scale, serious cage fights that drew massive crowds where fortunes exchanged hands. This was the place to be if you were a shifter and wanted to fight.

  You got in if you were part of the life, a face so to speak, or if you were vouched for. You couldn't just walk in off the street and watch as you'd never find the scene of the action. You had to get in another way.

  And this other way? Same as it always was, same way anyone got what they wanted.

  You paid.

  Old Haunts

  The best way to get information is to talk to people who, shall we say, fell out of the stupid tree and knocked their heads on every branch before hitting the ground. The gangster life was full of such dudes. After all, who in their right mind would choose to risk death, beatings, or prison daily? And that's just your regular badasses. Throw magic into the mix and you got some seriously warped characters.

  Not all people or creatures endowed with the ability to harness the powers of the universe are born with such wondrous intellects as yours truly, some are downright dim. And it was those types, magically capable or not, who were the easiest to get to tell you what you wanted to know without resorting to more persuasive techniques.

  So, confident they'd still be hanging around the same den of iniquity as always, I went to play pool.

  Ugh, Vicky came too.

  "Why won't you tell me anything?" squealed Vicky as she scampered along beside me in her stupid, tight, pink fluffy jumper, black leggings, and neon Nikes. Ponytail swishing like a punch bag, just a tiny, annoying one. In case you can't tell, I was still smarting about being punched in the face by the Slug.

  "Because I'm annoyed. You aren't the only one with problems. All this drama is bad for a wizard's health, and in case you've forgotten, I've had a death in the family."

  Vicky tugged at my jacket sleeve and I slowed my marching but didn't stop. "It was just a donkey, Arthur." Her eyes went wide and she released me before I did something stupid. I guess she knew she'd gone too far; the look on my face was kinda scary. My eyes, the irises rimmed with black circles like all powerful magic users, darkened. I could feel it as magic rose, and she took a step away from me.

  "Go and wait in the car. Now."

  "Arthur, I'm sorry. It just came out, I didn't mean it. You know I loved, okay liked, Marjorie too."

  "Just get out of my sight. Go on, piss off." I fished the keys out and threw them over my shoulder, smiled as Vicky squealed—they'd smacked her on the head as intended.

  "Arthur!"

  I ignored her and carried on walking.

  Buster's hat! I felt like I was the one married, having a couple's tiff about whose turn it was to put the bins out or something. I did not sign up for this nonsense. My mood darkened as I took a turn off the cracked paving where refuse was piled up against the shutters of long abandoned stores and headed down an alley.

  Then I muttered several unmentionable words before I sighed and turned around. I peeked around the corner and watched until Vicky made it to the car, got in, then looked like she locked the doors. This was not a good area, but if she was in the vehicle she'd be fine. Annoyed with myself for caring, and for feeling responsible for her at the same time, I also had a spring in my step as I walked down the alley and pulled open a battered steel door, the business sign above long ago stolen and never replaced.

  I'd hung out here in my younger, more foolish days, knew the crowds back then, the players and the wannabes. I even got good at pool. I was a face here then, same as I had been in many cities until I moved on and finally settled somewhere that felt right, deciding on Cornwall for my own sanity.

  Things were different now, so I'd heard. Most of the old criminals were dead or locked up, the magical element mostly still intact and doing what they always did. The north had become an oppressive place, too controlled by the Fat Man, and there was no freedom for a struggling wizard or crook out to make some serious cash. Everyone was on a leash and nobody had any peace. You had to cut the Fat Man in or you'd meet with an accident. No place to hang around, certainly no place to live.

  How long would this last? Would Ivan control it all someday, the face of the vampires to the underground? Maybe, maybe not. But that wasn't my business. I didn't hang out with dodgy characters hoping for a job, any job, to earn enough to look after myself, those days were long gone. Now people came to me and I took only very profitable work, unless there were extenuating circumstances like wayward elves or tricky vampires involved, but for the most part I had nothing to do with the lowlifes who eked out a living any illegal way they knew how.

  Which was why I was kinda surprised to see the place almost deserted. There were five guys max inside, best I could make out in the gloom. Lights were out over all but one pool table, where my intended squealers were arguing with each other and gesticulating wildly with their pool cues. The other two clients were sitting at small round tables in threadbare lounge chairs nursing pints of beer.

  The bartender saw me as I waded through thick smoke, probably the same air as when I used to frequent the place. I put on my smile as I stepped to the bar.

  "Hey, Jon, still own the place then?"

  "Arthur, wow! It's been a long time."

  "Sure has. Bit quiet isn't it?"

  Jon frowned at his customers and said, "It's only early."

  "It's mid-afternoon, usually your busiest time. Gimme a coffee."

  Jon stared at me like I was daft in the head. "Coffee? I don't know what fancy pants part of the world you've been living in, but this is a pool hall. We serve beer, crisps, and peanuts, not bloody coffee."

  "You know where I live now, or where I do my business, and I want a fucking coffee, Jon, and I want it hot." You know me, I'm not normally this rude, but this was what was expected, how we all acted back then, how most acted now, and Jon would be weirded-out if I'd changed that much.

  "Fine, fine, no need to be so grumpy. It'll have to be instant. And I heard you'd stepped up in the world. Heard all kinds of rumors. That you're minted, strictly high-end work for select customers, and you live in—"

  "You hear a lot. Hope you keep it to yourself," I growled, arching an eyebrow to look all menacing.

  "Sure, sure, you know me."

  I knew him all right, and he was basically a good guy. As long as you kept your mouth shut around him. He'd talk to anyone for a nice tip, and he kept his ear to the gangster grapevine for that very reason. He certainly didn't make his living from his place of business. "Full fat."

  "No need to be rude, Arthur, it's hard to exercise when you're stuck behind a bar all day."

  "Do some squats. I meant full fat milk, no skimmed."

  "Oh, right you are." John lumbered off, drying his hands on a dirty cloth hooked through his waistband.

  I wondered how long it would be before the proverbial hit the fan. Better get down to business and get out of here before it did.

  There's People, and There's...

&
nbsp; Most people are, well, they're people. Homo-sapiens, human beings. But the species is diverse, and let's face it, how would you know if someone was maybe a little different? The twins were different all right, just not in a particularly pleasant way. They were nicknamed skinnies, although I preferred to call them twats because that's what they were, a right pair of twats.

  Were there many of these skinnies in existence? I hoped not, at least not anywhere I'd have to deal with them. As I approached, I steeled myself for the inevitable onslaught, but I was in no way prepared for them. Shows what distance and a little time does, because I'd forgotten just how utterly annoying they were.

  "It's The Hat," said Pinch.

  "It's The Hat," said Shake.

  "Oi, stop copying me. I said that."

  "No, you didn't, and anyway, I said it first."

  "Shut up, or I'll rip your stupid head off and then you won't be able to cheat again."

  "It's not my fault you're such a loser at pool." Pinch, or was it Shake, formed an L with his fingers then pranced around the other chanting, "Loser, loser," and poking him with his cue.

  Pinch, I think, grabbed his brother around the neck and soon they were tussling on the floor, telling each other to submit and generally acting how they always had, which was annoying and about as smart as the balls they'd been unsuccessfully trying to sink into the pockets of the scarred table.

  Jon came over with my coffee and I took it with a grunt. He left us to it.

  I sipped while I watched and waited and eventually the two skinnies, so close to being human you'd never really know the difference—just very skinny and obsessed with large gold chains and flammable sportswear—gave up their games and got to their feet.

  "Sorry, Arthur, it's good to see ya. It's just he's so annoying."

  "No, I ain't, you are."

  "Am not. You are."

  "Guys, please, can you just be nice for a minute?"

  "Wot, we was."

  "Yeah, wot's your problem, mate?"

  I put my coffee down on the edge of the pool table and stepped up to Pinch. "What did you just say?" I if not loomed over him, then emanated menace, something he failed to do as for a moment he stuck out his pigeon chest and his "gold" chain rattled. My zipper was probably worth more, I certainly know what it concealed was much more precious.

  "Er, nuffin', just playing. Haha." Pinch backed away and cast a nervous glance at his brother.

  "Good. Hell, you two are still here after all this time. Don't you get bored of it?" I asked.

  "Waddya mean? Ain't been long. Although it is a bit quiet today. Where is everyone?" asked Pinch.

  I shook my head at the dolts. How the hell had they survived this many years? Because they were part magical, a very small part mind you. So weak that they didn't even really know it themselves, a species apart but not apart, just long-lived and very, very vacant. "Guys, I've been gone for years, this place has been going downhill since before then. You haven't noticed?"

  "You know us, keep to ourselves," said Pinch. "Been busy anyway. Hey, you want in on something? We got a great plan, ain't we, Shake?"

  "Ssh, don't go telling him 'bout the plan to rob the place. You don't go talking 'bout things like that to..." Shake frowned and then shook his head; he'd already forgotten what we were talking about. He was also oblivious to the fact they were planning to rob the pool hall when I was last around. They lived in their own little world and were harmless enough, but even so they knew what went on in the area, at least some of it.

  I gathered the two wayward, simple fellows under the protective blanket of my arms, pulled them close, and said, "Let Uncle Arthur buy you fellas a drink."

  The Short Version

  An hour later, three pints of weak lager fortified with a double of something potent in each, I was ready to scoop my own brains out with a spoon, and the brothers were utterly hammered.

  Conveniently, I'd forgotten just how manic their mouths were when pissed, having thought they couldn't possibly talk more than they already did. I was so wrong it wasn't even funny. No, trust me, it wasn't.

  Pinch was already out cold, hallelujah, but his brother seemed in no hurry to join him. As Shake downed his beer, swished the dregs and raised a suggestive eyebrow at me, I waited until he put the glass down then punched him hard in the temple. As he toppled sideways I caught his head, rested it on his brother's shoulder, and mercifully got to my feet.

  Weary and with my head buzzing, I wandered over to the bar, gave Jon a few large notes, and said, "When they wake up let them have a few more. Tell me something. Don't you find it odd that for all these years, they still act exactly the same, look the same, use the same table, come the same time every day, bicker the same?"

  Jon shrugged a slumped shoulder and said, "Haven't really thought about it," then snatched the money off the sticky counter and went back to polishing the glasses.

  I studied him for a moment, searching with awesome wizardly insight, and came up blank. Jon had always made me suspicious, there was something about him that didn't sit right, but same as all those years ago, as far as I could tell he was just a regular guy who let the world pass him by and wasn't big on thinking.

  "Okay, Jon, thanks for the coffee."

  "Bye, Arthur," he said cheerily. "See you soon." He gave me a wave and I nodded then skirted ravaged pool tables and chairs left in random places, and shuffled through the gloom to the exit.

  Outside, with the sun high and the day warm, I turned and looked back at the door. There was something odd about the place, like time had stood still inside along with Jon and the decor and the ancient tables. It was as though the brothers had chosen carefully, picked somewhere that suited their agelessness, their utter lack of concern for the past or future, where time meant little.

  It was almost like it was in the Nolands, but that couldn't be, could it?

  My reverie was broken by Vicky running toward me, screaming.

  The Drama Continues

  Magic surged like an ice cream headache, rushing into overloaded synapses struggling to recover from the onslaught of the inane chatter of the skinnies. My digits tingled and my dingle-dongle throbbed, which was the only nice bit about it.

  As Vicky launched herself at me, I peered quickly left and right around her but the alley was empty.

  I braced, and she hit me hard in the chest then clung like a cute baby monkey, arms and legs wrapped around my body as if it would help me save her.

  "What are you doing, you utterly monkeytastic fool?" I asked my limpet of a sidekick.

  "There was a spider in the car." Vicky buried her head in my shoulder, then sneezed as my hair tickled her nose.

  I smiled, goddamn her, and stroked her silky hair. "Hush, it's okay, don't you worry."

  We stayed like that for maybe a minute, her breathing slowing, nestling deeper, and me soaking up her warmth, her friendship, her love.

  Yeah, I'm a sucker, and she did this every time. I bet she'd been waiting at the edge of the alley the entire hour, risking the unwanted attention of the undesirables that littered the neighborhood like yesterday's takeaway cartons, just to pull this stunt so we'd be friends again.

  Not that I mentioned it, of course. She had her pride, even if she was pretending to be running away from a spider, and let her hang there until it got weird.

  "Come on, down you get," I said gently.

  Vicky released me and scowled as she splashed into a muddy puddle, then raised her head to look up at me with hope in her eyes. She said nothing, neither did I, as we both knew what this was about. We'd overreacted, said things we shouldn't have. We were hotheads and sometimes idiots, but it was done and we were back on track and all was well in our bubble of craziness. For now.

  "Did you find out what you needed to know?"

  I turned and gave the door one last look, wondering what the place really was, then said, "I got it. Come on, time to go hang with the nutters."

  "Cool. And Arthur?"

  "Yeah?"<
br />
  "Please don't leave me alone in strange cities again. I was worried, and scared."

  "Vicky, oh most annoying of minute housewives, I get the feeling you are more than capable of taking care of yourself."

  "Really, you think so?" Vicky crouched and jabbed out fast with her fists, freaking out the rats.

  I sighed and whispered, "Maybe not," and strode back to the car while she sorted out the rodents in the alley.

  What's in a Name?

  I hadn't mentioned Avisha's name or anyone else's to the skinnies, and I didn't intend to. It was bad enough I was poking about—word would be out soon enough—so I certainly didn't want anyone to know why I was here. One mention of the name would have her jailers on me within the hour. Nobody keeps a secret for so many years without good reason, and nobody, I mean nobody would let me live if I got close to the truth and they knew what I had in mind.

  News of Merrick's demise and Ivan's rule would be the main focus of gossip for all the gangsters, and the rise of the vampires would most definitely be the main gossip for the magical underground, the fact I was tied to both meant I would be watched the moment word got out. Why was I here? What was I up to? Was I helping either party? Both? Was I running scared? Was I the vanguard, here to wipe them out?

  My reputation would have preceded me, I didn't doubt that. In the scheme of things I was a small fish, but criminals had long memories and kept apace of the latest developments, so those who knew me from before would be worried, and if they knew how I'd progressed then doubly so.

  There's no boasting, but even when young I was better than most criminals and wizards. Now I was all grown up and had my temper and my stupidity under control—oh yes I did—I was one of the best in the business. The business of fighting, stealing, being damn lucky, and dealing with my enemies. Sure, I screwed up, but I was still alive, give or take a few unwanted meetings with the fella with the scythe.