by Hallows,Kit
The second I stumbled into my apartment, I stripped off and threw my clothes into a black trash bag. They couldn't have been washed, but even if they had come clean I never wanted to see them again. The coat was a different matter. And I wondered if there was a dry cleaners that specialized in magical armor. One that didn't ask questions about blood, especially when it came in odd colors.
I took a hot shower and filled the room with steam. Then I sat on the edge of the bath and stared at the tile floor, before staggering back to the shower and scrubbing down all over again. Only then did I feel halfway clean.
The bed seemed to swallow me up as I fell upon it and passed out.
I awoke from what felt like a year's worth of bad dreams. Each had taken me back to the asylum where I'd found myself gliding down the corridors, bombarded by the screams of agony and delight coming from the cells.
Every route had taken me to the same end; the room with the painting.
No matter how hard I ran, the portal pulled me in, swallowing me up into the deep swirling abyss.
Each immersion into the canvas had been witnessed. People surrounded me as if standing before an exhibit. Many of the witnesses were from my past; my foster father, his bitch of a girlfriend, Tom, Hellwyn, Underwood and Willow. And there were others I didn't recognize. They'd gathered to see the monster, the beast Morgan Rook. I watched too, as if through the lens of an all seeing eye, and recoiled as my face split with sadistic evil.
I rampaged, sword in hand and cut the witnesses down, one by one and endless streams of blood washed over the floorboards.
The other me, my dark self, had clapped his hands. It made no sound in this world, but I was sure it had been heard in some other realm.
As I got out of bed the dreams continued to swirl through my head but as I stood, my body exploded with pain, and the imagery ceased.
I stumbled through to the living room, made coffee and slumped onto the sofa, nestling the cup in my hands and absorbing the scalding heat.
I checked my phone. A message from Glory was awaiting my reply.
Tom's funeral. It was this afternoon. Somehow I'd lost a whole day.
I sat back, contemplating the black coffee lapping against the side of the white cup. I wondered if I'd ever know who the shade Rowan Stroud really was, and whether or not I'd ever find him. More unfinished business, like Elsbeth Wyght. Two monsters, waiting to be slain. Someday.
I glanced up at Willow's photograph. "I think I nearly had her," I said. "Nearly." I gazed at her wild eyes and her soft kind smile. "Next time. I swear it."
A heavy darkness fell over me. I was too tired to fight it.
I sat and stared at the carpet until a fat, powder-blue Persian cat called Ash dropped in and padded across the floor. He jumped up beside me, his yellow-orange eyes wide as he gazed up and cried. I lifted a leaden hand to pet him and he purred like a muffled engine.
A Siamese slipped through the window next, along with her sister and two new cats with long black hair. They sat around me in a circle, staring.
It took me a moment to realize I was smiling. "Okay, I get it." I stood, stretched and went to the kitchen to fetch their breakfast. "No rest for the wicked."
I saw my reflection in a shop window, superimposed over fashionably dressed mannequins. The black suit and tie made a crisp contrast against my cream-white shirt. I hadn't worn this since Willow's funeral. This realization brought another wave of sadness and the sky overhead swirled with dark grey clouds. A fat raindrop struck the sidewalk ahead of me. I was so lost in my thoughts that I failed to notice the taxi that had pulled up, until the driver sounded his horn.
I looked up to see Underwood's violet eyes sparkling through the back window. He opened the door and nodded. "Get in, Morgan, I'll give you a ride. Where are you going?"
My voice sounded monotone as I named the cemetery. There was no point in rejecting his offer.
"Nice to see you in a suit." Underwood smiled. "But I'm very sorry for the occasion. The way things are going it seems likely we'll be attending many funerals over the coming months and years."
His eyes gleamed as he studied me. "You left quite a mess behind."
I glanced at the driver: a middle aged man with a thick beard and glassy eyes.
"Don't worry." Underwood said. "He won't remember either one of us, let alone our conversation. Tell me what happened at the asylum? Dauple said it was an out and out blood bath."
"I went and sorted out some problems, just like you told me not to." I matched his stare. "Someone had to do it."
"And do you care to explain how one man created such a scene?"
"I suppose we were both...misled about my abilities?" I matched his anger as the taxi crept through the traffic and thundering hail turned the world outside into a blur of white.
Underwood appeared to bite back his first response and slowly the fire in his eyes began to dim. "I knew you were gifted the moment I saw you. I also knew your power could go either way. For good or bad. I wanted you under the umbrella of the Organization. That way we could channel your gifts, use them for good. Whatever that means."
"You should have trusted me."
He shook his head. "You were eighteen. Undisciplined. I loathe to think of the trouble you could have gotten into if you'd have realized your capabilities."
I shrugged. I could see his point but refused to concede it.
"Exactly. You'll never know, and neither will I. You were like a weapon, Morgan. I had to make sure you were secured, or that we were the ones to wield you."
"Who am I? And why-"
"When it comes to your past, I know about as much as you do. It's never interested me, it's irrelevant."
"My past's pretty relevant to me." I glanced outside. A young girl stared at me from the car in the next lane, her face indistinct through the hail-streaked window. I forced a smile. She returned it and waved, then turned back to her doll.
"My job was to turn you into an asset, that's all they asked me to do, nothing more. And maybe one day you'll thank your lucky stars." He sounded resigned."Fine. Do whatever has to be done. Dig up the past. Find out who you are, or who you were. But in the meantime we have work to do. And I need to know you're with me."
And what if I'm not, I wondered as I looked over at him. He smiled at me, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. I nodded. I was with him. For now at least. It was better to have the Organization behind me than standing in my way.
Underwood glanced at his cufflinks. They gleamed faultlessly. "Everything's changing, you don't need me to tell you that. But it means I'm going to need your full attention, Morgan. There are forces working against me. Elements..."
"In the Organization?"
He drew his lips into a line and glanced away. "Take some time off. Grieve. Recover. Recharge. Then come and see me. We need to discuss what happened, in detail. All right?"
"Sure."
Underwood had never really been this open with me before, so I decided to ask a question that had been bugging me for years. "Who runs the Organization?"
He smiled. "Who knows? I just follow orders. So should you."
The car pulled up to the curb. Graves stood in a row behind a high black iron railing. I got out to find the hail had subsided into hard cold rain.
I turned back to the car to see Underwood glance up at me, a strange expression in his lilac eyes. Hope? Fear? Or both?
Then the cab pulled away and he was gone.
48
I had no idea what I'd find at the funeral. All I knew was Glory said she'd be there, so at least there would be two of us.
The wind battered the rain at me as I walked along the stony path that ran between the graves. A large service was being held in the distance and I could see a black mass of mourners under their umbrellas. It was only when I caught a flash of Glory's signature red dress below her long black coat and hat, that I realized it was all for Tom.
I pulled my raincoat up to my neck and strode on, amazed at how many
people were there. It was a mixed bunch; suited professionals, people he'd met on the streets and more than a few of the cagier members of the magical community. There was even an ogre, cloaked of course but obvious to my eyes.
Glory glanced up and nodded for me to join her. I nodded back and pushed my way through the starry eyed knot of men and women that had gathered around her.
An expensive marble headstone marked Tom's place in this unconsecrated part of the graveyard, and below it was a neatly dug hole and a polished mahogany coffin. Someone had lovingly paid good money to ensure he'd had a proper send off, and it was clear by the crowd standing below the slate-grey sky that Tom had been much loved and had walked in many different circles.
The realization made me feel hopeful somehow, and I smiled as Glory squeezed my hand, her eyes thankfully shielded below her thick black shades.
The wake was held in an ordinary bar. A mix of blues and contemporary folk blared from the speakers and the place was heaving with people. There was food everywhere, not to mention a buffet crammed with hors d'oeuvres, casseroles, pastas, salads and a plethora of cakes. The bar was doing a brisk trade and after what seemed like forever, I managed to order myself a double whiskey.
Someone had cast a low level enchantment over the place so that the bar staff, and any other non-magical types, wouldn't quite notice the more unusual guests.
I had no wish to talk to anyone, so I stood by the window watching the rain pound the street. I lifted my glass. "To you, Tom, wherever you are." I swallowed the whiskey, enjoying the warm fiery blaze as it slipped down my throat.
The world seemed grayer than usual, which was fitting. As I thought of Tom, I thought of the assassin and then the shade who had sent it. And I took a second vow. I had no idea how, but I would find Rowan Stroud, just like I would find Elsbeth Wyght.
That's what I did, I righted the wrongs as best I could.
"Can I buy you another?"
A blast of drug store aftershave filled my nostrils and I turned to find Dauple standing behind me, holding what looked like a glass of absinthe. "What are you doing here?"
He pulled a notebook from his coat and held it up. "I was in the graveyard minding my own business, and then I spotted you. Nice suit by the way."
Logging graves. Maybe. He did do that. "If I find out you followed me..."
Dauple looked insulted, and then angry. "I wasn't following you. But after I saw you leave the graveyard and come over the road to this fine establishment, I suppose maybe I did. Technically. But only to buy you a drink. You looked sad and soaked through. Like a puppy in a well."
"Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I need to be on my own for awhile. Process things, you know?"
Dauple nodded. "I know. So much to process. Death. Life. People. Flies. Traffic. More death." His eyes grew wide as he seemed to take in the gravity of his crazy thoughts.
"But...you know, I do have some business I need to take care of. And I could use some help, if you're free?" I needed to go back for Hellwyn, pay my respects and bury her but it really wasn't something I wanted to face alone.
"Indeed. I will always help you if you ask." Dauple's lips took on a slightly green tinge as he sank the rest of his absinthe.
"Thanks" I nodded and I was about to walk away when Dauple reached out and grasped my wrist. Usually I'd have words for him, but the gesture was oddly comforting.
"It will be alright, you know, everything will be. I think." He released my wrist and nodded, before vanishing into the crowd.
I downed the last of the whiskey and turned to look for Glory in an attempt to be social, when my phone buzzed.
I considered turning it off, then a message flashed on the screen.
- DH - I got a call that's right up your alley. Am at the scene now, looks pretty bad.
"Doesn't it always." An abandoned glass of beer rested on the table before me. I thought about dropping my phone it and taking that vacation I'd promised myself.
But I didn't.
I'm Morgan Rook - odd job man, and odd jobs are what I do.
THE END
HOW TO KILL A WITCH
The haunting short story & prequel to Dark City
Unavailable anywhere else - get your copy today
Click here and start reading for FREE.
Afterword
Thank you so much for reading Dark City. If you enjoyed the novel I'd be incredibly grateful if you can leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads, and spread the word to friends and anyone you know!
Thank you & kind wishes,
Kit Hallows
About the Author
Kit Hallows loves urban & dark fantasy, occult horror and magical adventures in strange other worlds. Currently Kit is plotting out further adventures with Morgan Rook, and dreaming up the darkest of dreams.
Join him at kithallows.com and sign up for exclusive reads and further journeys to fantastical worlds and lost, mysterious places.
For more information
@kithallows
KitHallows
kithallows.com
[email protected]