The Cost of Magic (The Ethan Cole Series Book 1)

by Andrew Macmillan

  They approached the front door to the tenement stairwell. The key turned easily in the lock. Cole wasn’t thrilled to be entering a confined space, he never was, but with Henry, it would be worse if it kicked off. Close-quarters fights were fast and dirty. There’d be trouble protecting the kid.

  The stair looked well-maintained and empty, but Cole kept his hand near the gun in his jacket anyway. Could never be too careful. The climb was uneventful, and he headed for the door in the middle of the three on the first landing. Henry indicated the file. ‘How’d you know which number it is?’ Cole stopped. ‘The windows, pal. Triple glazed and shuttered up. It’s this one, aye?’

  Millar nodded and stepped up. ‘Says here, Vaden was a software engineer.’ Kid sounded surprised by that.

  Cole smiled. ‘How’d you think he paid for his digs? The evil bank fund? The generosity of his betters?’

  Millar shrugged. ‘Well, when you say it like that, no. But it’s just so mundane. I mean, man. You get eternal fucking life, and you’re a software engineer? I guess I thought maybe they were bankrolled by the older ones, y’know?’

  There was work to do – time for the kid to be silent. He motioned Henry to stand back near the stairs. He knelt and turned the key in Vaden’s lock as quietly as he could. As the door swung open, he backed up and away from it, shotgun panning, to get space and angle on anything inside. The cool wood of the shotgun stock rested confidently against his shoulder, a trigger pull away from blowing bad guys’ brains out. Nothing stirred inside the flat.

  The door was reinforced steel. Millar examined it. ‘Lock’s intact.’ He was right. Door, lock, all fine. The hall was pristine, except for a table with a telephone knocked over and two faint lines marring the obsessively polished faux-wood floor. It looked like someone had been dragged, Millar whispered as they moved into the hall.

  A door to the right opened to a bathroom, again pristine. Someone spent a lot of time with a cloth in their hand around here. Moving further along the hall, shotgun still levelled, he came across another door which opened to a cupboard with gas and electric meters.

  It was the bedroom at the end of the long hall that told the story. Eric Vaden had gone in hard for the stereotype. A full coffin lay where the bed might have been. It was decked out in rich, comfortable fabrics in which Vaden could while away the hours while the sun laboured overhead.

  The lid had been snapped clean off. The Cipactli must have come in during the day and ripped Vaden from the coffin. He’d have been awake, paralysed and conscious the whole time. That brought a smile.

  The windows in the room were welded shut, the metal across the shutters riveted on. Millar moved to the window and pointed. ‘I thought you said light only froze them?’

  Cole checked the floor and cupboards. ‘Yeah, it’s not for the light. Vampires get really paranoid, really fast. Probably something to do with having eternity to lose or something.’ Various posters of women hung on Vaden’s wall, dressed in a teenager’s fantasy. Pathetic. Vaden had been in his late thirties when he was turned.

  There was no point reaching down to sense here. Cole could practically taste the animal filth of the Cipactli. It was like wet dog or a mouthful of fur. The Cipactli trail was made worse by familiarity: he recognised the scents of the pack he had taken out. Their presence would mask anything else in the room.

  Cole moved through to the living room which held an expensive computing rig. Millar gasped when he saw it.

  ‘Jog any memories?’ Something would shake loose, sooner or later. Vampire mind manipulation was more butchery than surgery.

  ‘No, it looks like something from Star Trek. I can’t remember these kinds of computers existing.’

  If Millar was old enough not to recall decent home PCs, he was surviving the ageing process with a pubescent vitality. Cole moved around the room while Henry hit the power switch for the computer. ‘I thought vampires were meant to be able to look hot, Cole. How come Vaden’s got all these posters around. He could have been getting some, no?’

  They didn’t have all day for Cole to be answering Millar’s questions. ‘The elders wouldn’t have let him out. They don’t want newbies running about getting everyone into shit, so idiots like Eric here are virtually prisoners. And, they can appear hot as you say, but that’s just so they can draw you in. They’ve got no lungs, no heart, no major organs. Try fucking without those.’

  Gods knew what the higher ups saw in this sorry sack. Computers, Cole guessed. Older generations sometimes struggled with the exotic innovation that was the computer. Hell, Cole struggled with it – things never worked right. And the older vampires were centuries old. They were still getting their heads around cars and CDs.

  The living room was probably as good a place as any for Cole to try and sense what had passed through the flat. Deep beneath the whisky blanket he had poured over It in the night, a few hours ago, his parasite slept.

  Millar spoke. ‘So why all the fan-boy posters?’

  He needed the kid to be quiet. ‘Quit it, would you?’ The shuffling behind Cole sounded hurt. Damn it, but there wasn’t time for a hundred questions. Still, the kid was only trying to figure things out. He turned. ‘It’s a hangover, kid, okay? That was Eric Vaden in life. They cling to that stuff; I think it keeps them from going totally insane. Now, please, I need to concentrate here.’

  The kid’s face was sullen.

  ‘When you have to dive into the Murk to sense for footprints, you get to be crabbit, pal, alright?’

  Millar’s gulp was audible. ‘Does that mean? Are you going to go all crazy again, like you did with the Cipactli?’

  Cole glanced around the room, looking for any normal clues before he had to try and find the ones only he could see. The rustle of pockets tipped Cole to the Council’s wand being drawn. If Millar wasn’t careful, Cole would stick that somewhere that would make using it a drastic choice.

  ‘Listen, Henry, I know you’re nervous about me, and that’s good, but what have we learned here? The Cipactli came in, probably with keys, during the day and lifted Eric Vaden out of here. That’s it. We’ve got nothing new.’

  The kid shrank and kept the wand in hand as he spoke. ‘The Cipactli file says they got Vaden’s keys from a local girl who had a set. They thought she was his food.’

  Cole shrugged. ‘Well, there you go. Now, I can sense the Cipactli and other things like them in a way you can’t, but something else is abducting vampires, and I’ve got to work out what.’

  Millar sat on the computer chair. ‘But do you have to use that demon of yours to do it?’

  Cole’s wiring sparked; It lurked. ‘Aye, I do. That’s how this works. And it’s not a demon, Henry. If it were just that, I’d know. I’m the professional. I make the decisions – you’re just along for the ride.’

  Millar laughed. ‘Oh aye, great, Mr Professional. You keep saying that – I’m the professional, blah blah. You know who else says that sort of thing? People who don’t know what they’re doing!’

  Black ash began to fall in oily flakes. He tried to keep his voice steady. ‘Yeah, well, I am the professional, and if I don’t know what I’m doing, where does that leave you, eh?’ Millar snorted. Cole’s stomach lurched. ‘And you know what, Millar? It’s bloody suspicious, this fledgling business and you. Aye, that’s right. You claim you can’t remember anything? Look around Vaden’s sad, pathetic life here. See how he clung to the sad sack of shit he was when he was alive? Now consider you. You belong wholesale in a museum for bad nineties trends. Maybe I should be looking into you, eh?’

  Millar turned his back. Cole paced. It was awake, goading, stoking the fire burning in his legs and arms. ‘Now let me do my fucking job, alright? Go and wait downstairs. I wouldn’t want to offend your precious sensibilities with my evil powers, now would I?’

  Millar left. It slid gleefully up his spine and he pulled the flask of whisky out. The liquid burned its way down his throat to meet It, pushing It low.

  ‘Actually, Mill
ar, stay by the door.’

  They might need the kill switch. It watched, silent. Shit was about to get worse. Maybe he could just skip the sensing here. Maybe they’d catch a break with the clues, or the next scene.

  But the clues that stacked up so far said nothing more than they already knew. And Nat and Nessie were counting on him. Gods the look on the old man’s face. The hope dying, as Cole fucked up again.

  Natalia had told him Myriad mages use keys to control magic. The novices used items, but the more powerful mages used images in their minds, and words. Into them, Natalia said, they poured their life, or experience or something.

  Could he use images and words to bend It to his will? He had always left the hard work to Natalia’s protection, but now he was alone with his monster. Demon indeed – some spawn of Judaeo-Christian nightmare would be a breeze compared to It. There was no manual for siphons, no real training, no meetings and no newsletters. No one knew the rules. No one wanted to learn them. It was forbidden knowledge. Siphons were cursed to fail and die. The best Cole could hope for was to be cut down by those who had cared for him.

  But if the gods of the Myriad responded to keys, perhaps there were keys for It too? He had to try. He reached down, fingertips brushing the ground. It leapt up, coursing up his back and down his arm like an eel striking from a rocky den, trying to connect to the black magic. Cole imagined It penned, hitting a wall.

  It squealed in his brain, hitting a barrier. He almost lost control immediately, shock loosening his hold. ‘Fuck me.’ The parasite’s squeal was frustration, rage and hate squeezed into a tantrum. ‘Right, you wee bastard. Who’s the Boss now?’ As soon as the smile touched Cole’s lips, the cage shattered, and It flew out, connecting to the thick, black soup of power below through his hand. It sucked down nourishment, swelling.

  His mind screamed a warning, and he tried to imagine the walls again. But It was in him, pumping his heart with a murderous beat. All the humiliation, the worry, the shit of the last few hours bristled in his skin with a spike of temper.

  It waited to rip through his flesh.

  When you’re all wild eyes and scary, I can feel that thing.

  He fought to push a barrier between It and the black magic, managing to get a thin line of his will between the two. Its growth halted, paused. Cole could see people move, through the wall in the flat next door, warm heartbeats and the soft rise and fall of lungs like the swish of a horse’s tail. He fought for calm, trying to remember Natalia, Nessie, anyone who could keep him rooted in his body.

  He imagined the sides of a cage holding It like Natalia’s protection had. The heartbeats around him rose, fear taking the neighbours as they were touched by his siphon’s aura. The sound of their bodies, ripe for the chase, drew a shiver.

  It pulsed in silent struggle, waiting for Cole to lose control. He worked to cage It with his mind. The air hummed and vibrated with sound and information. He was seeing as It saw. The quicker he got this done, the better. He staggered to his feet, legs trembling, fighting to clear his mind.

  The Cipactli trail in the flat tasted of metal excitement and bitter death. A trail of charred, purple-coloured pollution ran in and out of the building. He moved with It, toward the door, following the trail, the need for a kill burning in his limbs.

  Please, Ethan! Help me, please.

  He came back to himself as he reached the front door. He couldn’t fall. He was not his father. His sister’s memory hollowed the murder in his veins. He grasped his shame, clutching his sister’s ghost to cool his blood, repeating her name like a mantra.

  It fought to move his limbs against his purpose. It would wear him like a paper suit, if he let It. Slowly, It shrank. His mind-prison walled around, keeping It out of his limbs, he could risk moving again. The burned purple metal of the Cipactli bleached all other things in the flat, as he began to walk around beneath the oily flakes falling from the ceiling, searching. Away from the Cipactli trail, elsewhere in the flat, a tangy taste lingered. It was like burned vibrant green grass mixed with a faint taste of skin. It was vampire – Eric Vaden’s imprint. It tested his mind-prison, slithering around the space of Its cage, striking the walls and corners, seeking weakness.

  There was no other presence in the flat. It stretched, trying to own more of his nerves. Millar stood by the door with an elevated heartbeat. It moved, enticed.

  ‘Henry?’ Cole stalked forward as Millar peered around the door frame.

  ‘Eh, Cole? Stop there, man.’ Millar’s fear tasted delicious. It screamed inside him. Cole held It back as the oily black flakes falling from the ceiling became streamers of dark power, running from roof to floor. The amount of power increased as he held It back, Its scream seeming to summon more power around him. If It could connect to the power via the air, he didn’t know how he could hold It out.

  Cole’s heart banged as he fought to break the siphoning connection. He had to get away from the kid. He cried out, slamming the front door closed and ran to the living room where he wrestled to push It back down. It fought to topple him to the floor as he poured whisky down his gullet, burning, chastising, chasing It back into his guts. The connection broke.

  Banished, It wound in a giant fist, clenching his spine, squeezing him until his eyes bulged. He grasped the whisky flask, unable to breathe, and poured the last of it down his throat. The internal crushing eased. A whole bottle gone, already. He was hardly tipsy as he lay down on the floor. It was thirsty.

  No new leads here, and that had nearly cost him everything. His curse was unchained, the cost of his magic too high. Rogue Myriad magic at Andrew’s. Cipactli hunting vampires. Vampires betraying their own. It was messy enough. But there was one more element. That was next on the list of the investigation.

  There was a knock at the door. ‘Cole? You okay?’

  What the fuck? Millar should have been kicking the door in. If all that stood between the city and Cole’s fall was that skinny kid knocking politely, they were all fucked.

  Chapter 20

  Cole’s diatribe was received by Henry with annoying passivity; Henry responded by trying to make himself useful. He would make someone a great personal secretary someday. Cole stopped en route to buy some whisky. For parasite tranquilisation. Sometimes, more was more.

  By the time they had walked from Vaden’s flat down to Leith Walk, Millar had filled Cole in on the details recovered by the knights of the Coalition on the next set of disappearances. Six vampires in all had been taken in the same way at different locations around the city, though they were mostly clustered around the Leith area. All these disappearances fell under the category of not-a-fucking-clue-what-happened. The abduction site Cole and Millar aimed for now was attached to a report that appeared typical of the vanishings. The witness to this disappearance had also agreed to meet them, to talk. Cole hoped there would be information at the site that would help them with the pieces they were missing. Another sensing was in order.

  It was anyone’s bet what flavour of weird Cole would find at the site. The impending sensing weighed on him. Sensing used to be an easy and virtually risk-free task. He’d been waiting his whole life for a titanic immovable object to trigger his fall, and now, basic siphoning looked like a bad all-in bet. It would be a pathetic way to go, overwhelmed during routine operations.

  The reports on these vampire vanishings were so strange that Cole needed them verified. Millar was proceeding, on instruction from Cole, to call the Coalition. The witnesses had all claimed they’d heard sounds of screaming and tortured voices, like a disembodied choir. The noise came and went while the vampires disappeared, literally vanishing in front of people’s eyes. The vampires might as well have vanished in a puff of smoke for all the sense that made.

  Wailing noises from invisible sources sounded like they might be looking for a ghost or revenant. But there were few revenants Cole knew of that were powerful enough to affect the physical world. And there was the matter of the city-wide glamour, which should have made the
sounds of a ghost indetectable to any civilians the revenant wasn’t directly haunting. Unless it was the harmless kind, in which case, it wouldn’t be abducting vampires.

  For all the noises heard, none of the separate witnesses reported seeing a damn thing. Cole might have thought any number of things about the reliability of these witness statements, except they all used very similar language to describe the events. This gave their bizarre accounts some credibility … or spoke of a cover up.

  While Cole mulled, the animated yet solemn way Henry spoke on the phone to the Coalition let on that he was enjoying feeling useful. The kid was also blissfully unaware of the monumental danger he was in. This wasn’t chirpy work, and Millar’s tweeting was grating on nerves Cole hadn’t felt for a while. Whisky kept Cole’s disposition on the sunny side of angry.

  The city moved around them on what was turning out to be a day of mild weather. Henry phoned the witness they were making their way toward, to make sure she would be there. She had agreed to meet them on Leith Links, where the event had occurred. She’d been worried about meeting them, and Cole couldn’t blame her. Henry’s safety reassurances, however, grated. For all Henry knew, she would turn out to be a tentacle-faced Murk beast, and Cole was going to have to beat the crap out of her. He told Millar to wind his neck in.

  Henry talked on as they progressed down the Walk, asking questions with his customary naive curiosity. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he knew nothing about the world. He was confused about what the difference was between Cole and all the other scum-sucking siphons. ‘I’m licensed, pal. Like the vampires. It’s what the whole armiger thing is about. Armiger means weapon-bearer, except I am the weapon. They keep me around to make sure the Armistice is kept, and I’m meant to keep everyone honest. But really, I exist so the Human Coalition can swing back when it needs to. That’s not the official line, but it’s the reality’