Wild Spark

by Al K. Line

  She banged about and shouted at various utensils as was her way while we sat and waited. All apart from the dog, who curled up on Jerard's lap and went soundly to sleep snoring heavily. Guess whatever they'd talked about was as draining for the dog as for Madge.

  Forty minutes later, with my nerves jangling and my head lolling as I kept dozing off then waking up stressed, Madge came back in and threw a plate at each of us. "Use your hands, it's how you eat pies," she ordered, like we'd already begun to argue.

  "What's in it?" asked Mithnite suspiciously, staring at the monstrous steaming mountain of pastry and its mystery filling.

  "What do you think's in it?" she snapped. "It's a pie," like that explained everything.

  We each bit into the golden top and chewed tentatively. Don't know what the worry was for, it tasted amazing. Not sure what it was but it was good.

  "Madge, why the pies? Shouldn't we get on and do this?" I asked. "Um, not that it isn't delicious," I added quickly, taking another bite to prove I was enjoying it.

  "You have no idea how hard this will be. I need my energy." Madge finished off her afternoon snack and when we'd all eaten enough to satisfy her—meaning all of it—she collected the plates. As we said our thanks she got fairly close to the kitchen before throwing the dirty dishes at the sink.

  "Right, come on, mutt," she said. "You lot wait here. Do not," she warned, "come into the room under any circumstances. If you do you're banned for life." Before anyone could ask questions or Jerard could object, she opened a door and the terrier followed her in.

  She slammed it closed behind her and within minutes screams both female, male, dog, and worse could be heard the other side of the door.

  Hopefully, that meant it was working. That, or they were in the bathroom and the pie had gone through their systems just as quickly as I felt it traveling through mine.

  Sneaky Witch

  All magic users are suspicious and go to great lengths to conceal their skills, and when it comes to guarding their spells, potions, abilities to channel, and how they even draw magic into themselves, well, they get downright paranoid.

  Many would-be witches, wizards, necromancers, and travelers into Hidden realms start out with similar forms of training, learning the basics of the Empty and how to access it and gain some form of control over the magic they can steal. But most give up quickly because of the sheer pain involved, or they're obliterated by the forces they try to use and abuse.

  Those who survive with their minds intact diverge greatly as their experience grows. Every magic user has a certain set of skills that outweighs the others, something that draws them and becomes the focus of their studies. Be those studies rare books containing dangerous spells or instructions on how to create sigils and the true power of runes if used correctly, or the uttering of secret, dangerous words to use magic that become less important once your will can bend elemental forces with the spells implied rather than spoken or even thought.

  The stronger you become, the more guarded you are, and there are none more secretive about how they do what they do than witches. It's a cutthroat world and they are vastly outnumbered by wizards, so witches guard their secrets with their lives and share information openly amongst each other only if trust is absolute. Even then, they usually put limits on the information they divulge, giving only partial knowledge, testing each other to see if they are powerful enough to discover the rest on their own.

  Madge, because of what she was, was no exception. No way would she let us witness her magic. There was more chance of her serving breakfast naked and telling everyone their food was free. As the air crackled, the light dimmed, and strange, freaky-ass magic leaked under the door and everything shimmered and squirmed and layers of reality wobbled dangerously, threatening to take us all down, none of us dared do anything but sit tight and hope for the best.

  Jerard was willing to risk all to get his son back. He was out of options and almost out of time. Morag would be dead soon and with her his son's chance of a human life. Mithnite and I dared not leave as it would interrupt the flow of magic, and bottom line was we would do anything for Kate. So we sat tight and tried to keep our minds intact as shrieks, screams, and dangerous matter shook the foundations of reality.

  None of us spoke, we were all too tense and too concerned with not doing anything to alter the vibrations of strong magic focused behind the door.

  Minutes, then hours, passed, until afternoon gave way to evening and still we sat. The room grew cold as magical mayhem became less severe, almost as if it was now healing rather than ripping apart. The random shouts of Madge lessened, the curses too, and the terrible sounds of bones breaking and that awful crunch you hear when a shifter shifts weren't heard quite as often.

  I could only guess at what was happening, but felt that somehow Madge was going through various changes herself to draw shifter magic into the room and help channel her abilities. Or maybe it was Pierre she was running through a gamut of animal shifts, and she was hoping that at some point she'd hit on his human form and could lock him into place so to speak.

  My mind wandered, each imagining darker than the last as the room sank into dusk. Jerard and Mithnite were obviously having similar wild thoughts as their eyes grew wide at each noise and our nervousness increased.

  Then everything was silent, and I think that was the worst moment of all. First one minute, then two, then ten, then twenty, and by the time half an hour of complete silence had passed we were all close to breaking the door down just to hear something and to check they were even inside.

  As Jerard rose from the sofa, the door opened and Madge stumbled out, drenched in sweat, glasses gone, stripped down to ghastly underwear revealing her overweight body in all its old lady witch glory. She brushed her hands through her hair and it spiked up high like she'd used gel, then with a sigh she looked down at her body, muttered about wobbly bits, and promptly slammed the door shut again.

  We exchanged worried glances but a moment later a dressed Madge came out again. As she crossed the room and sank into her chair, a man in his thirties, skinny beyond belief, and looking haunted, walked out awkwardly, unconcerned by his nakedness. Jerard ran to him.

  They spoke fast and quietly, hugging, kissing, slapping each other's backs. Jerard pulled clothes from his small bag and Pierre carefully, and with great pain, allowed his father to help him dress.

  My heart leaped. Madge had done it. Pierre was a man again. Jerard owed me big time, and if all went well we'd get back to France in time and Kate and I could get what we'd been promised.

  "You owe me for this, Faz," whispered Madge, too tired to scowl.

  "Whatever you want, it's yours," I replied, smiling.

  "Remember you said that," she whispered, a terrifying glint in her eye.

  I gulped nervously, but nodded. I owed her, and I always pay my debts.

  Back We Go

  Madge ushered us out in short order, hardly giving Jerard and Pierre more than a few minutes to talk. Seemed that her interest in our foreign friend had waned as her magic was drained, and I didn't blame her. She may have been strong with magic and had serious skills, but you need to rest when it involves such extremes.

  She was exhausted and wanted her peace, so we left and found ourselves out on the street in the early evening.

  I debated calling Grandma, just to tell her I was here but had to leave again, then thought better of it as she probably—make that definitely—already knew and I didn't have time to argue about not visiting. And besides, I'd seen her a matter of days ago. It was just that with so much happening it felt like a lot longer.

  "Time for you to give me what you promised, Jerard," I said, nodding to Pierre, acknowledging his presence for the first time. He looked like a younger version of his father, and just like his father I didn't like the look of him. I still didn't trust Jerard one bit. He'd been way too quick to act against me, and although I suppose that was understandable, the fact he'd hooked up with Morag at all meant he h
ad something seriously wonky going on upstairs.

  "Thank you, thank you," gushed Jerard, smiling first at me then his son.

  "Oui, thank you," said Pierre, the English heavily accented, his words uncomfortable.

  "My pleasure, as long as you give me what was promised," I warned.

  "Of course, mon ami, as soon as we are back in France you shall have it. I am a man of my word."

  I didn't like this at all. I also realized I had no idea how he took souls in the first place, let alone how he gave them back. How did you do such things? Did you put them in a box, hide them in a limbo and provide a magical key to unlock the astral door? Ever since this had started, everyone spoke like it was a thing to be delivered, not to get Jerard to release Morag's soul and it would spring back into her body like I'd done. I had absolutely no clue how this was going to work. So I asked.

  "Why wait until France? Where is the soul, Jerard? How do you do this and how do I get it back to Morag?"

  "All in good time. Come, let us call a taxi."

  I pulled out my phone and made the call, using a Regular taxi as I was in no mood for the questions we'd get otherwise.

  It wasn't long before a driver pulled up as the taxi firm was based just around the corner. As Mithnite went to get in, I grabbed him and pulled him aside.

  "Sorry, dude, but it's time to go home. Have your party, relax, and don't worry about us. We'll be fine."

  "But I have to come. Look what happened when you were there without me. You nearly got lost forever, Faz, you need me."

  He may have been right, but he'd done enough, and I didn't want him getting into any trouble. "It's gonna be dangerous when I go back to see Morag, and she isn't keen on uninvited guests. Best you stay here and I promise I'll call you when it's all over. Tomorrow, I'll call tomorrow. If not, then come save me again, okay?"

  "You need me," he mumbled, but I knew he'd do as I asked.

  "I do, but right now I need you to go have fun and talk to girls. But if you use my bed I'll chop off your dangly bits." Mithnite blushed, but the mention of girls seemed to make him change his mind. "And don't forget to feed the hobs. The last thing you wanna do is piss them off so Kate comes home to a dirty house."

  "Okay, got any cash?"

  "For what?" I said, not believing he'd asked.

  "To get a taxi, of course."

  "Dude, you have more than a million's worth of dwarf gold and your asking for money?"

  "Um, I keep forgetting to get cash from the bank. I'm not used to having money. Any money."

  I riffled through the mix of currencies in my wallet, fished out a few notes, and handed them over, checking I had enough to pay the taxi myself. "Don't get into trouble," I warned, then got into the car where Jerard and Pierre waited impatiently.

  "You're a fine one to talk," he said, laughing.

  Guess he had a point.

  On the Run

  At check in, the pretty woman looked at me strangely when I requested three seats even though there were only two of us flying. Apparently, not many people say they prefer a little extra room. Pierre didn't have his passport and although his protective Hidden magic made him utterly forgettable, and nigh on invisible to the airport staff, it was still rather a strange and fraught trip. The last thing we needed was to get collared by airport security and spend hours being questioned in a room somewhere.

  Luckily, the trip was uneventful, all three of us quiet, silent so we didn't arouse suspicion, and hours later, as night took hold, we came in low over France, the lights glittering below like a faery party.

  Out the plane, and into the arrivals lounge, I felt like I was repeating myself in a dangerous loop of magic-fueled repetition, but thankfully there were no trolls to greet me this time.

  The moment we were clear of any issues, Jerard and Pierre talked non-stop, way too fast for me to keep up using my smattering of French. They'd been unable to talk for a long time and had a serious amount of catching up to do, which was understandable, but it made me uncomfortable.

  Dealing with Jerard on his own had gone badly for me, and I dreaded to think what it would be like if they both pulled anything. I was still in the dark about how exactly Jerard did what he did, and that made me feel tense in his company.

  Still, I was getting close to the end, running out of time if this most important of jobs was to succeed, so I tried to put my fears and concerns to one side and focus on what needed to be done. And that was to get Morag's soul, deliver it as soon as possible, get what she promised and then get the hell out of this country before anything bad happened.

  I smiled at the thought of Kate and how happy she would be if this panned out, me too. Whatever had happened, it would be worth it to know we stood a chance. But for now I had to remain focused, keep cool, watch out for anything underhand, and just ensure my new French buddies didn't change their minds and screw me over.

  Wanting to get this done this evening, so I had a little time to spare just in case, I turned to the men as we waited outside for a taxi to pull forward and said, "Let's get this wrapped up."

  They frowned, confused. "Wrapped up?" asked Jerard.

  "Um, yeah, finished with. You give me what I want and we can say au revoir."

  "Why are you in such a hurry?" asked Jerard. "Do you not wish to celebrate my son's release with us? This is a happy day thanks to you." They were both looking at me funny, like I'd made a social faux pas. But I was in no mood for partying; I was in the mood for getting as far away as possible from the pair of them.

  "It's too close to the deadline for me to relax. I'm glad I could help get Pierre back to being human, but I need to deliver what Morag wants before she drops down dead and my dreams with her."

  Jerard nodded and replied, "I understand. Family is so important. Come, we will go now."

  The taxi pulled up at that moment and we got inside. Jerard said something to the driver I didn't understand and then we were off, heading into the heart of Paris to an unknown destination Jerard wouldn't divulge but told me was where what I wanted was kept safe and secure.

  Paris swallowed me whole. I hoped it would spit me back out again.

  Don't Panic

  A rather confused looking taxi driver sped away muttering, and we were left alone at what looked like the entrance to a dungeon. A large stone wall covered in green slime and hidden down a poorly lit alley contained an arch maybe five feet high, the way into the darkness blocked by ancient, rusted bars secured with a padlock just as old.

  Fetid air gusted lazily and seemingly randomly from the impenetrable depths. Changing from sweet to bitter and containing all kinds of nasties. I forced my overactive imagination to quiet as I pictured bacteria and deadly microbes streaming up my nostrils and contaminating my system.

  "We must go inside," said Jerard, squinting at me in the poor light, testing my mettle.

  I shrugged it off and said, "Why?"

  "Because this is where I imprisoned Morag. She must be well hidden somewhere deserving of her treachery. She should have no better." Again, Jerard studied me intently, assessing if I was worthy of the awful prize I coveted or merely waiting for me to change my mind about the whole thing.

  "Come on," I said, laughing, "you're telling me you imprisoned her down in the sewers? It's her soul, not an actual solid object. I figured she was locked in a warded box or something." I knew there were many creatures in many despicable places that could capture your soul and do nasty things, keep you for an eternity in all manner of truly horrifying places, but humans didn't have those kinds of skills. We were, after all, physical beings.

  I thought back to my own disassociation from my body, and knew I hadn't been put anywhere as such, merely parted from my physical form. Maybe that was how I managed to claw my way back through and Morag hadn't. She as a person didn't know where to look, and her soul was somehow contained not in limbo but inside something else.

  All pure conjecture. Jerard was being impossibly obtuse, acting cryptic on purpose. He wa
s trying my patience and I was in no mood for such juvenile games.

  "You do not understand," said Jerard with a sly smile. His son chuckled quietly beside him. For a guy who couldn't speak English he seemed to know exactly what was being said.

  "No? Why don't you enlighten me?"

  "I know the afterlife, the soul, limbo, and have visited many places the spirits dwell. Most, not all, wish to return. They clamor at the boundaries between realities, huddle together in the cold and the dark waiting for the chance to find a way back here. Morag is strong, too powerful to be left to roam, so I hid her, and I keep her locked away."

  "In there?" I said, pointing through the bars.

  "Oui, in there," said Jerard with a solemn nod. He stepped up to the thick padlock and waved his hand across it. Deep orange shone bright against the emptiness within and it snapped open like it had just been oiled.

  With deft fingers, Jerard removed the lock and Pierre stepped confidently into the maw of the tunnel. "We must hurry if you wish to claim your prize," said Jerard, indicating I should follow Pierre inside.

  Out of my depth, out of time, and probably out of my mind, I strode into the tunnel. Darkness enveloped us in an instant, as if the weak light the other side of the entrance could find no purchase in such a place. Jerard slammed the gate shut, fixed the padlock back in place, and joined us.

  I knew that Paris had well over a thousand miles of tunnels in its sewer system, so I hoped I didn't get lost.

  Stinky and Slippery

  I wasn't dressed for wandering about in Parisian sewers. Winklepickers may be smart and stylish—they are!—and my suits may look dapper and cool, but my attire was not the best for walking down narrow pathways beside slow moving slush or crouching as I waddled through cramped tunnels. My soles kept slipping, and touching the curved walls seemed like a bad idea even if it would help with balance.

  At least there was light. Just inside the entrance, Jerard and Pierre collected a backpack containing flashlights and other essentials for wandering the ancient underground system and we each lit our way with a powerful beam that cast strange shadows over the subterranean world we were entombed in.