Deadly Departed: A Supernatural Thriller (Fletcher & Fletcher, Paranormal Investigators Book 2)

by David Bussell

  In a flash, we skated down a central aisle flanked by pews of attendants, hit the rim of the oubliette like a ramp, and went crashing into a wedding altar. I heard a blue-skinned man with a fancy collar utter, ‘Does anyone have any objections?’ before I slammed on the brakes and the hearse ground to a halt with him plaited around the axle.

  Folks in fancy clobber went scrambling every which way, except for the groom, who punched the air in triumph and gave a celebratory whoop. ‘Go, Jake!’

  The Vengari bride tore off her veil and screamed, revealing a face even a mother couldn’t love.

  Surrounded by a panicked throng of wedding-goers both Vengari and Arcadian, the fae king roared with such anger that his bramble crown was thrown from his head, revealing a shiny blue pate underneath.

  By his side, though not shrinking one bit, the fae Queen shot me a stare so chilling it glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Her husband was all bark and no bite, but this bitch had teeth enough for two.

  ‘I want their heads decorating my bed posts,’ she cried, swishing her cloak behind her like a pantomime witch.

  With the initial shock of our arrival over, the crowd of attendees—a mismatched assemblage of foppish fae courtiers and Vengari plebs—began to surround the car, closing in like a tide of encroaching lava.

  Stronge piped up from the back seat. ‘We’re going to die now, aren’t we?’

  ‘Let’s call that Plan B,’ I replied.

  I switched on the high beams, which were protected by solid steel baskets and operating with brand new bulbs. High wattage ultraviolet bulbs.

  ‘Let’s get this party lit,’ cried Erin, closing a hand around the passenger side grab handle and gritting her teeth.

  ‘How long have you been sitting on that?’ I asked.

  ‘Pretty much since we left the garage.’

  ‘I figured.’

  Making use of some skills I learned pulling doughnuts in a supermarket car park at the wheel of a nicked Ford Fiesta, I put the steering on full lock, set the handbrake, and floored the accelerator. The back end of the car kicked out with a rowdy screech as the hearse spun in a circle, pressing me into the driver’s door and sending Stronge sliding across the back seat. Around and around we went, the UV headlights lancing across the chamber like deadly laserbeams. Deadly to the Vengari, anyway. Through a cloud of burned rubber, I watched the beams cut through the bride’s side of the congregation, ashing at least a dozen of the knife-elbowed albino bastards.

  It was, putting it mildly, metal as fuck.

  The remaining few Vengari knew better than to stick around for more of that. Cutting their losses, the sinuous figures plucked the bride to safety, taking off through the pale blue gloom of the entrance tunnel and vanishing into the night. The marriage was well and truly annulled.

  The kid cheered again, tearing off his suit jacket and whirling it around his head like a lasso. That’s until a muscular mass of tree roots snaked down from the roof and took hold of his limbs, hoisting him into the air and holding him there like a malfunctioning marionette.

  Draven had arrived, accompanied by a retinue of footsoldiers, a couple of dozen at least. Around his open hand swooped a cascade of shimmering green magic. He closed his hand into a fist and the tree roots tightened their grip on the prince, making him cry out in pain.

  ‘Enough,’ commanded the Queen, stopping her lieutenant before he did something to her son that couldn’t be undone.

  The kid was in a bind—a literal one—and it was up to us to get him out of it. All we had to do was fight our way through a mob of superpowered Arcadians. Simple as that.

  ‘Kill them all and make a mess doing it,’ said Draven, spurring his soldiers into action.

  The fae hopped to it, drawing their blades and marching towards the hearse. I tried the engine again but it wouldn’t start.

  ‘What now?’ asked Stronge, watching the soldiers close in, eyes bulging with panic.

  ‘Honestly, this is about as far ahead as I thought,’ I said.

  Erin drew her knife and popped the passenger door. ‘Don’t worry, kiddiewinks, this one’s on me.’

  Black static sparked from her tattoos as she jettisoned from the car and into the impending throng.

  The first Arcadian who got in Erin’s way received a blade to the neck that passed through him so cleanly that, if she hadn’t followed up with a stab to the belly, might not have been noticed until he bent over to tie up his shoelaces and his head rolled off. After that it was ruddy-tinted carnage. Erin went at those poor bastards like a combine harvester through a wheat field, killing in numbers, laying them down.

  Blood fountained from necks.

  Fresh stumps ran like taps.

  The air turned wet with red rain.

  I quickly lost count of the amount of fae Erin had whittled her way through. We were facing an unbeatable force one minute and looking at the aftermath of a massacre the next. But Draven had insulated himself from her wrath, hiding behind his soldiers and summoning forth another mass of tree roots that fastened around Erin’s neck and left her dangling. Black ribbons sprang from the assassin’s tattoos and attempted to worm themselves beneath the creaking wooden bonds, but the hanging continued until Erin’s tongue was swollen and poking out from a twisted mouth.

  It was our turn to step into the breach. Stronge exited the car and I did the same, still wearing Frank’s body. The remaining soldiers, seven of them in total, were there to greet us. Stronge unholstered her Taser and took aim at the nearest. The gun looked ridiculous, this stubby little thing made of yellow plastic, a kid’s toy in a child’s hand. The fact that Stronge was shaking like a wet chihuahua didn’t exactly add to the menace.

  ‘Don’t make me use this,’ she said, flicking off the safety and tightening a finger around the trigger.

  The fae laughed until they were lightheaded, then one of them made a move and Stronge did something that wiped the smiles right off their faces.

  Twin probes snagged the soldier in the chest, followed by a burst of electricity delivered down the Taser’s connecting wires. Typically, this had the effect of stunning a target, but instead of seizing the fae up, the electricity had sparks flying off him. His skin ripped apart as thermal burns cooked him from the inside out. Blood ran from his nose and his eyeballs burst, turning into runny yolks on his cheeks. Smoke poured out of the craters they left behind, creating a noxious stench that hit me like a hot slap.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Stronge cried as the charred remains of the fae hit the floor.

  Apparently, that’s what happens when an Arcadian gets a fat dose of leccy plugged into his nervous system. In a way, I was glad the Taser didn’t have a second shot in it, as I’m not sure my stomach could have handled another poor bastard getting Green Miled.

  ‘Anyone else?’ I said, realising the fae weren’t to know Stronge didn’t have a second round in the chamber.

  The remaining soldiers vanished, and I mean that in every sense of the word: turning invisible and flying out the door. And who could blame them? They’d already watched most of their brothers get minced by Erin, and now here they were getting nuked by some other madwoman. This, they collectively agreed, was not what they signed up for when they pledged allegiance to the Unseelie Court. Whatever lay in store for them in the inhospitable world outside, it had to be better than this. Drinking polluted air was surely a step up from being turned into the “After” photo from a PSA about kids who climb pylons to retrieve lost frisbees.

  With his soldiers gone, Draven was left playing Billy-no-mates. When he vanished too, I assumed he’d taken his cue from the rest and also given us the Irish goodbye. But no.

  ‘What the f—?’ Stronge’s face turned into a mask of pain as the hand she was using to hold the Taser folded back on itself, knuckle to wrist. There was a horrible popping sound and the gun clattered to the ground, quickly followed by the detective, who dropped to her knees nursing a busted paw. Draven reappeared by her side, punched her out, and kic
ked the Taser across the throne room, where it disappeared through the grille of the oubliette.

  The remaining members of the wedding party hurrahed Draven’s fortitude. The King and Queen saluted their lieutenant’s impending victory. It was just me left standing now. Me and Frank. I peeled away from my partner’s body, giving us the numbers.

  Draven sneered. ‘Ah look, the corpse has a shadow. How very frightening.’

  He produced a weapon. Not the magical knock-out stick this time—we were way past that—but a sword from the ceremonial scabbard he wore on his hip. I was just starting to wonder how we were going to do battle with a bloke swinging a bloody great chopper when the fae added another layer of complexity to the problem by turning invisible. Frank and I went back-to-back, covering all the angles, hands groping the air in search of a limb, a stray tuft of hair, an eye socket. My body stiffened, stomach tensed, ready to absorb a blow from nowhere.

  ‘You see anything, Frank?’

  ‘Nooo.’

  Where had that toe-rag gotten to? I kept my eyes peeled for any odd disturbances, hoping Draven might leave a footprint on the bloodied floor and give himself away like his crony did when he stepped in a puddle of lube at the sex toy warehouse (simpler times). The rest of the fae looked on, holding their breaths in anticipation as they waited for their champion to strike. Time dragged its heels as Frank and I turned in dread circles, expecting a blade to lunge out of the thin blue at any moment. Then I caught sight of something that made the laws of physics look like more of a suggestion than a set of immutable principles.

  Pat-pat-pat-pat went a tattoo of rapid footfalls as two invisible feet came charging my way. I had a sliver of a second to defend myself, and I wasted it thinking about the best way to do that. Frank, however, was unencumbered by such intellectual concerns, and threw himself into Draven’s path like a Secret Service agent taking a bullet.

  It cost him an arm.

  The fae’s invisible blade chopped the limb through at the elbow and left it lying among the rest of the assorted body parts Erin had left in her wake.

  The next thing to happen was a crushing mass of roots punching through the roof of the throne room and bringing down a chunk of masonry that struck Frank in the back and pinned him to the floor.

  When Draven turned visible again he was five feet ahead of me, his blade held at full extension, its razor-sharp point tickling my Adam’s apple.

  ‘Goodbye, ghost.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven: Killing the Fantasy

  ‘Wait,’ I yelled as Draven raised his blade.

  ‘I think not,’ he replied, and took a swing that had “death blow” written all over it.

  ‘Halt,’ cried the fae queen, stilling her lieutenant’s hand.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ said Draven, his blade poised an inch from my throat.

  ‘Need I remind you that we are people of honour,’ said the queen. ‘If Mister Fletcher wishes to say some final words, allow him that much.’

  Draven breathed a frustrated sigh. ‘Go on then, human. Spit it out.’

  I turned to the queen. ‘Actually, I was hoping I could say a quick goodbye to my other half before you send us on our way.’

  I nodded to Frank, who lay on the floor trapped and bleeding and feeling every bit of the wounds he’d been dealt.

  The queen favoured me with a cold smile. ‘Go ahead and say your piece.’

  Frank looked up at me with tears in his eyes.

  ‘Well, it looks like this is it, old boy,’ I told him, forcing a smile. ‘End of the line.’

  ‘Get to the point,’ said Draven, prodding the tender flesh of my neck with the tip of his sword.

  I dithered a bit, then to Frank I said, ‘I’m sorry. I should have put some words aside in case it ever came to this. I always figured I’d think of something in the moment, but now I’m here, the cat’s got my tongue.’

  I placed extra emphasis on that last word, enough that it raised Draven’s eyebrow but didn’t clue him into the coded message I was sending. The tongue was the clue. I’d witnessed Frank maintain control of the thing even after it was cut out of his head. If he could manage that, it followed that he could do the same with other body parts, say the severed arm lying on the floor behind my would-be executioner.

  Sadly, Frank was just as confused by my none-too-subtle hint as Draven was.

  I tried again. ‘I said, I’m sorry, the cat’s got my tongue.’

  Frank gave me a quizzical look. He wasn’t getting it.

  Draven scowled and turned to his queen. ‘Clearly fear has broken his mind, Your Grace. May I finish him now?’

  ‘Mister Fletcher, I would advise you to say what you mean to say, and quickly.’

  I tried again—one last, desperate attempt to get through to my slow-witted partner.

  ‘Tongue, tongue, tongue!’

  Finally, he got it. Frank’s eyes widened then flicked to his severed arm, which was about six feet in front of him, lying on its back, fingers in the air. The limb was halfway between where Frank was flattened and Draven was standing. Careful not to look directly at the limb and give the game away, I watched from the periphery of my vision and saw its fingers begin to twitch. As suspected, Frank still had control of it. He squinted and strained as he gave the rebel appendage all of his focus, and like a flipped-over turtle trying to right itself, the arm began to rock.

  ‘Enough stalling,’ said Draven, and this time his Queen offered no objection. ‘On your knees, you piece of human refuse.’

  ‘Kinky,’ I replied, giving him the old Cockney wink. ‘Should I have brought knee-pads for this?’

  Over Draven’s shoulder I watched the animated arm gather the momentum it needed to roll onto its front, palm-side down. Using its fingers like spider legs, the limb began a shuffling journey across the floor, slushing through guts and the muck as it slowly crept up on the fae’s rear.

  Draven gave me another prod and I sank to my knees. The King and Queen looked on eagerly as their lieutenant raised his arm aloft like a prizefighter awaiting the world heavyweight belt. The crowd cheered and jeered.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ I said, ‘but I’m starting to think this isn’t going to end in a knighthood.’

  Draven laughed. ‘Not bad for a walking Halloween costume.’

  Frank’s arm inched forward some more, gaining a little more ground. I had to keep this up. Had to give Draven the rope he needed to feel big about himself, but not push him so far that he lopped off my noggin.

  ‘Gotta say, this ain’t the way I pictured it going down,’ I told Draven.

  ‘Is that so? And how exactly did you envision your trespass ending?’

  ‘Well, I reckoned we’d bust in here, kill as many of you as we could, and take off with the fairy prince.’ I took a moment to review that sentence in my head. ‘You know, it’s only when I say that out loud I realise this case took a real turn somewhere down the line.’

  Frank’s arm was a couple of feet from Draven’s heel now and had yet to be detected by any of his admirers, who were too excited by the prospect of my head bouncing off the floor to give their attention to anything else.

  ‘You should never have come here,’ said Draven. ‘No human could have succeeded against us, least of all a dead one; an old cart horse, put out to pasture.’

  I rocked a hand from side to side. ‘I don’t know. Up until the end there, I reckon I was on a bit of a streak.’

  ‘Indeed. The kind of streak one leaves in his underwear.’ He laughed at his own witticism and his adoring crowd joined in.

  ‘Good one,’ I conceded. Careful to keep his attention facing my way, I cast a look over my shoulder at the bodies of his fallen men. ‘You know, you might not be much at soldiering, but you’d make a lovely court jester.’

  A tic took possession of Draven’s right eye. ‘Are you always this annoying?’

  ‘Not always,’ I replied. ‘Sometimes I’m much more annoying.’

  Draven had tolerated about as m
uch of me as he could. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. ‘Your time is up, ghost. For good this time. Give my regards to whatever idiot god spawned you.’

  His arm tensed as the blade came up and its mirror-like finish flashed with blue light. The sword was at its apex and about to begin its deadly descent when Draven felt something tugging at the cuff of his britches and whirled about in surprise.

  It was all the distraction I needed to grab a fallen sword from the floor. Taking it in both hands, I swung the blade in a half-moon, cleaving through the lieutenant’s neck. His eyes went wide as his head left his neck and his decapitated body collapsed to the ground. Bounce, bounce, bounce went Draven’s bonce until it came to a stop at the feet of his royal superiors like a glorious hole-in-one shot.

  ‘Maybe I should be the court jester,’ I quipped, ‘because I’ve got this one rolling in the aisles.’

  Classic stuff.

  The King was outraged. Well, you would be, wouldn’t you?

  Draven was dead and so was his magic. The tree roots he’d taken command of immediately went limp and released their holds on Erin and the kid.

  The King turned to the remaining wedding-goers. ‘What are you waiting for? Kill him!’

  Not wishing to further raise the ire of their ruler, the small crowd took up arms and advanced on me. I looked to Frank for help but he remained trapped under a portion of fallen ceiling, wriggling and helpless.

  Erin was no use to me either; she’d been strangled to death by Draven’s tree roots, so it’d be a minute or two before she was back up and at ‘em.

  Seemed I’d reached my expiration date after all—

  Or maybe not, because it was at that moment I heard an engine turning over. The hearse. The knackered old motor was running again, filling the throne room with pure, unfiltered pollution. Who did I have to thank for this crucial assist? None other than DCI Kat Stronge, who was sitting in the hearse’s driver’s seat and revving the nuts off the thing.