‘Came at me from behind. A woman.’ She mopped up the running blood with the cuff of her sleeve and winced. ‘Knocked me down and went barging into the gallery.’
‘Who was she?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t get a look at her face, but I’m guessing she’s not coming to bring your little blue friend a housewarming present.’
Frank’s arm went up and his finger unfurled, pointing dead ahead.
‘What is it?’
I couldn’t even see to the end of the street, but Frank’s night vision was a lot better than mine. Cat-like, really.
‘Sooooomeone,’ Frank moaned.
‘Gotta go.’ I hung up the call and started backing up, heading the way we came, back to the mansion.
I could just about make out a figure stalking towards us, barely a silhouette at this distance, but very much there. She was average height with long hair and didn’t seem to be armed, at least not with anything she was pointing in our direction. Still, we didn’t stick around to get the full picture.
As the woman continued plodding our way like the hockey-masked killer from a slasher flick, we turned tail and caned it back to the mansion. Unsurprisingly, the kid—who was still getting used to the idea of living in indefinite solitary confinement—was a bit taken aback by receiving company so soon.
‘What’s going on?’
There was no time to explain, so I grabbed his wrist and the three of us raced up the spiral staircase to the first floor. We sped across the landing and turned into a spacious room packed with a clutter of clapped-out furniture. Among the mismatched collection I saw school desks, a grand piano, and a knotty wooden conference table, all caked in a generous helping of grime. It looked as if someone had been squatting there, hoarding belongings from all over the city. I wondered briefly who that might have been, then spotted a leering skull among the detritus. Him, maybe?
‘Help me barricade the door,’ I said.
‘Why?’ asked the Arcadian. ‘Who’s coming?’
‘I don’t know and I’d like to keep it that way for now.’
Frank used his superior strength to grab the end of the conference table and drag it out from beneath a heap of poorly-stacked chairs. The kid took the other end, and together they hauled it across the room and propped it against the room’s only door. Meanwhile I checked on the room’s two windows and made sure they were shuttered.
‘There,’ I said, dusting my palms. ‘Locked up like a vault.’
I heard a cough that didn’t belong to anyone in my crew. In the middle of the room, sitting on a school desk, was our pursuer. She was a brunette woman, young—late-twenties maybe—and wore a grey vest and black jeans with a pair of sturdy bovver boots. There was a cruel smile on her lips and an archness to her features that suggested she was used to getting her way, especially if someone didn’t want her to have it.
‘You know,’ she said, bouncing off the desk and landing two-footed on the floor, ‘it’s always a good idea to make sure the place you’re hunkering down in is empty before you nail it shut.’
She stepped into a shaft of moonlight that sliced through an overhead bay window, and I saw patterns decorating her exposed arms. Tattoos. Tattoos radiating a dark energy that sent a chill wind whistling through my crypt.
Chapter Forty-Two: There Goes the Neighbourhood
Who was she? Who was this strange woman with the threatening aura and the magical runes on her arms? Not an Arcadian, and not a Vengari, either. Unless she was a slave to one or the other, although she certainly didn’t carry herself like someone under the thumb.
‘All right, luv,’ I said, keeping it light. ‘I give up, who are you?’
‘The name’s Erin Banks. And you must be the Spectral Detective.’
I gave the old mental rolodex a spin but landed on a blank.
‘It’s past midnight. How did you get through the portal?’
She shrugged. ‘Magic.’
‘Dooon’t overthiiink iiit,’ said Frank.
I played it cool. ‘I see. And what can I do for you, Miss Banks?’
‘You can start by sending the Blue Meanie over here.’
‘And why would I want to do that?’ I chanced.
‘So I can kick him into next week.’ She traced a finger along the line of one of her tats and the supernatural ink buried beneath her skin sparked like a nail dragged over a piece of flint. ‘Just business. Nothing personal.’
‘It definitely feels a bit personal,’ said the Arcadian.
‘Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just a paycheque.’
Frank stepped in front of the Arcadian, making a wall of himself.
‘Something tells me you’re not here to show him the way back to London,’ I said.
She gave me a grin as narrow as a paper cut. ‘Then something tells you right.’
If Erin hadn’t come to Other London to rough the Arcadian up and drag him back home, she could only be here to kill him. That ruled out the kid’s family being in charge of her.
‘Did one of Enoch’s lot put you up to this?’ I asked.
‘Never heard of him,’ she replied.
Of course she hadn’t. Enoch had slotted three of his own to keep his secret. His grudge was his alone, and it died when he did.
So who put us in this woman’s sights?
‘Don’t you get it?’ said the Arcadian. ‘It was Tali. She’s the one who wants me dead. She hired the hitman.’
‘Actually, I prefer assassin,’ replied Erin. ‘Less sexist.’
Finally the penny dropped. My own client. She’d hired the third party, she’d sent a killer here to finish the Arcadian off and drag his soul back to her side of the portal. The message I sent Tali—the one I left on my office answering machine telling her I’d grabbed the kid at the train station—she must have taken that as her cue. Taken that as her opportunity to get me out of the picture and replace me with someone willing to get blood on their hands.
‘Erin, listen to me. This is a mistake. The woman who hired you, she ain’t right in the head.’
‘Of course not. She must be hysterical. What woman in her right mind would want her murder avenged?’
‘So you know she’s dead? Doesn’t that bother you? How’s she going to cough up your fee?’
‘She gave me her PIN number.’
That made sense. Since Tali wouldn’t be needing all that escort money anymore, why not use it? And they say you can’t take it with you...
‘You’re not getting it, Erin. Helping murder victims is my bread and butter, but this—’
‘Let me save you the bother. You ever read a James Herbert book?’
The sudden shift caught me off guard. ‘What?’
‘You know. The Rats? The Fog?’
‘Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,’ I said, wondering where this was going.
‘I get it. I’m not much of a reader either, but I do like me a bit of murder and mutilation, so I’ll pick up a horror every once in a while. Anyway, Herbert does this thing where he spends a whole chapter introducing you to a character until you really feel like you’ve taken a walk in their shoes. I’m telling you, by the end of that chapter, they feel like family. Then you know what he does?’
‘No.’
‘He kills them. Has rats eat their eyeballs, or flies them into the side of a skyscraper. All that build-up, all that getting to know you stuff, just to murder them.’
Frank looked to me with a confused expression that mirrored my own.
‘What are you getting at?’ I asked.
‘The point is, that’s you. You’re a James Herbert character, which means everything coming out of your mouth right now is a waste of my time. I don’t need your sad little story because any minute now I’m going to come over there and snap your head off—your terrible twin as well—and when I’m done with you two, I’m going to stick a knife in Tinkerbell’s ear. So let’s skip the bollocks and get to the good bit, shall we?’
She laced her finger
s together and bent them backwards, cracking her knuckles.
‘Keep away, you mad cow,’ I warned as she started in our direction.
The Arcadian shook his head, disappointed. ‘There’s no need for that kind of language.’
‘Kid, when they’re trying to kill you, it’s okay to not be PC.’
The assassin’s tattoos pulsed with that eerie negative light, then she was on top of us. She cocked a fist and my head flared with pain. Somehow I missed the part where she took a swing, and went from standing up to sitting flat on my arse.
Frank came to my defence, grabbing Erin’s head from behind and chewing her ear like Mike Tyson. Before he could do any real damage, she sent an elbow his way that left him veering about like a shopping trolley with a wonky wheel.
Now it was the Arcadian’s turn. I don’t know what happened to him. One second he was heading Erin’s way, the next he was spinning about on his heel with blood gouting from a split lip.
Erin bounced from foot to foot like a boxer grandstanding for the crowd. ‘I am feeling the juice!’ she hooted.
She was certainly dishing it out, but we had the numbers, and she couldn’t hold us off forever. So we gritted our teeth and charged the assassin as one, overwhelming her, piling in en masse. Frank gave her a solid chinning, the kid threw in some nice digs, and I got a couple of sweet kidney punches in. Should we have felt bad about ganging up on a lone woman and taking pleasure in her pain? I don’t think so. I mean, she had it coming, right? What someone keeps between their legs is pretty immaterial when they’re trying to put you in a drawer.
Speaking of which…
The assassin crouched into a ball, made an X of her arms, and exploded to her feet, bringing with her a concussive wave that knocked me flying. A volcano of dark magic erupted from her tattoos, the world did a somersault, and the floor slammed into my face. Ears ringing from the blast and head filled with sparks, I dragged my eyes about the room and found my companions scattered to the far corners.
Erin cackled. ‘That was fun. Check it out, my nips are like iced diamonds.’
She drew a knife from a sheath on her leg. Its blade was stark white and had a row of occult symbols carved along its length.
‘Well, it’s been a hoot, kids, but I’m afraid this is going to have to be a hello slash goodbye. Emphasis on the slash.’
We all had the same idea at once: get out of there. Erin had already taken on the three of us with her fists. Add a magic shiv to the mix and she’d have us in ribbons. So we ran for the door, worked together to pry away the barricade, and made off on our toes.
Erin called after us. ‘Ah, come on, don’t run. Can’t you just take a jump on the pointy end of my knife? It’d make my job a lot easier.’
Yeah, no.
We pelted it down the spiral staircase, across the lobby, and out the front door. I was about to keep going when an idea struck me like a thunderclap.
‘Wait,’ I said, grabbing Frank by the arm before he lumbered any further.
‘What’s the hold up?’ asked the Arcadian, keen to move on as quickly as possible.
‘Hang on a minute, lads. I've got an idea.’ I pointed to the crack in the column holding up the mansion’s sizable porch—the one my partner did a number on before we stepped inside. ‘When I give the signal, you give it a clout.’
Frank nodded and we stepped aside, making sure we couldn’t be seen from inside the building. A series of footfalls followed as Erin descended the staircase, then another more rapid percussion as the treads of her boots slapped against the marble floor of the mansion’s entranceway
‘Now!’
Frank threw his full weight against the ailing pillar and down it toppled, taking the porch with it. The timing was just right. A solid chunk of flat stone smashed our pursuer flat, leaving all but her grasping hand uncrushed.
‘Nice one, Frankie boy,’ I cheered.
High-fives and back-slaps all round. But it turned out our celebrations were premature.
First, Erin’s uncrushed fingers began to twitch—not a death spasm, but with purpose, with determination—then the giant slab of stone began to shift. As we backed away, the slab rose and seesawed until it fell to one side, shrugged off by the figure stepping out from beneath its enormous weight. Erin Banks was alive… to a fashion.
Her limbs were crooked, her skin split and leaking blood, and her head looked like a Halloween pumpkin in late July.
‘Ooh,’ I said, whistling through my teeth. ‘It’s going to take more than a bag of frozen peas to fix that.’
And yet, Erin hobbled from the rubble with a wicked grin on her face.
‘What is she smiling about?’ asked the Arcadian, looking as if he was about to evacuate his stomach.
‘Check this out,’ croaked Erin, plugging a broken thumb into her mouth, closing her lips around it, and giving it a good blow.
Slowly, horribly, the depression in her skull inflated until it was all filled out, rendering her head whole again. And that was only the half of it. The rest of her body was knitting together too—broken bones snapping into their original shapes, open wounds zipping up, the pitter-patter of blood on the ground turning quiet. I couldn’t tell you what this woman was made of, but she had the staying power of a gnome.
‘You like that?’ she said. ‘Then you’re gonna love this…’
She rolled her shoulders forward, bowed her head, and pressed her fists together like a bodybuilder throwing a pose. Waves of raw black magic boiled along the lengths of her arms and met at each end, sending sparks of furious arcane energy spitting from her knuckles. When she looked up again she wore a stare like a cobra seeking its prey; cold and unflinching.
You best believe we ran some more after that.
Chapter Forty-Three: A Woman Scorned
Across the ruins of a flattened building we raced, picking our way through the rubble, desperate for someplace to hide. Crackling bolts of black lightning exploded all around us, polluting the air with the smell of scorched ozone and burning hot enough to char the Devil himself.
Unlike Lot’s wife in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, we did not look back; we charged forwards, eyes dead ahead as the assassin’s magic blew potential cover to pieces and turned steel beams to slag. This wasn’t my London—just a twisted, hollow imitation of it—but I felt like I was caught outside in the Blitz, running through a bombsite, dodging a bombardment from the Luftwaffe and praying for a fleet of Spitfires to swoop in and clean up the skies.
We beat feet towards the remains of The Rabbit Hole, the derelict tavern we passed by when we arrived in the city. It wasn’t far and it stood a decent chance of having a cellar we could hole up in. Other London was big and Erin was only one person; maybe if we kept quiet and stayed hidden long enough, the hellcat at our backs would get bored and move on.
Yeah, I know. Fat chance.
Beneath the tavern’s weathered sign we found the trapdoor the dray would have used to make its delivery, just a few planks remaining, held together by rusted nails. Frank tugged it open and tossed the trapdoor aside, revealing a sharp plunge into semi-darkness. The ladder that had once provided access to the cellar had long since fallen into disrepair, meaning we had to jump the six-foot drop to its bottom.
Inside, V-shaped columns constructed from hand-made bricks rose to support a low vaulted ceiling. The walls of the cellar were lined with racks heaving under their weight of iron-banded wooden casks, all buried in dust, all dried up. As the three of us cowered in the darkness like a pack of wounded animals, we heard a sing-song voice calling from outside.
‘Come out, fairy boy. Time to die.’
I whispered to the Arcadian, ‘Now, that’s un-PC.’
‘You know, lads,’ the assassin went on, her voice drawing closer, ‘this town really isn’t the hiding place you were hoping for. I’ve killed a target here before and I’ll do it again.’
‘Don’t panic,’ I whispered. ‘Stay still and she’ll soon give up.’
&nbs
p; Erin dropped through the hatch and landed in a three-point crouch before us.
‘Okay, now panic.’
Frank was first to act, but he was nowhere near fast enough for the supercharged assassin. Erin swung a roundhouse kick his way that sent him spinning to the ground, then she stomped once on his head for good measure.
‘Sorry about that, Undead Fred.’
The Arcadian made his contribution with some fae eco-sorcery. His fingers danced and glowed green, but the best weapons his magic could muster were a few brown weeds, which slithered wearily through the brickwork before being turned to confetti by the assassin's ivory blade.
My turn. I came to the kid’s defence before Erin could stick a knife in him, grabbing her by the wrist and giving her a solid punch in the mush. She barely noticed it. With a tennis player’s grunt, she swung her knife and I felt a whoosh of parting air. A millimetre closer and I’d received an impromptu oesophagectomy, but instead I managed to land another punch. This one caught her in the nose and sent her staggering in the direction of the fae, who repaid her with a hefty right hook. Now Frank was up on his feet. Grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, he steamrolled her into a brick column hard enough to make the ceiling rain dust.
Erin wasn’t out for the count yet, though. As she struggled to her feet, the rows of runes on her arms sparked to life and emitted that strange anti-light, dark as the heart of a black hole. For a second I thought we were about to be hit by another black magic volcano, but the runes sputtered out and the assassin collapsed onto her front, magic spent, strength gone.
Slowly, pathetically, she rolled over, hands shielding her face, blood streaming from her broken beak.
‘Please don’t kill me,’ she bleated. ‘I’ve got kids.’
I kicked the knife from her grip and peered down at her. ‘You have kids?’
A foot came up and caught me square in the knackers.
‘Nope. And now you won’t, either, you cockney twat.’
I crumbled to the ground, eyes pricked with tears. The pain stayed in my throat, though; I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of screaming.
Deadly Departed: A Supernatural Thriller (Fletcher & Fletcher, Paranormal Investigators Book 2) Page 25