New Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 3)

by Al K. Line

  But as the wars ended, and machinery and aircraft became a lot more technical, not to mention the fact that people became less inclined to believe in them as science became the new religion, they kind of drifted away from their fixation with all things aeronautical, and spread across the country, eventually finding new homes underground.

  They are burrowers. Maybe it's a reminder of the belly of the aircraft they once spent so much time in, but whatever the reason, they are now a part of our Hidden life.

  They don't speak, or if they try they can manage a single word or two, much like young children on their long journey to adulthood, so mostly they squeak or use hand and ear gestures.

  They will also rip your face off if they think you are making fun of them or talking down to them because they look cute and furry. I've lost count of the number of human Hidden that have had serious injury because they ridiculed the little dears.

  All I could think about as I crawled through a killer hedge was why hadn't I stayed and had another beer? The things you do to solve problems, eh? It had just better be worth the hassle. I have to admit, I was also more than a little curious. As far as I knew I was the first person to be invited to their home, so it was kind of exciting at the same time too.

  Would they have answers for me? What was Sheiling Bumbescu bringing me here for? It wasn't like they were big on conversation or anything, but if they were this insistent then they must have knowledge to share.

  Through the hedge and out into a large clearing, it was obvious something was up, and it didn't take a genius to see exactly what. They were kind of freaked out, and no wonder. This was why I was brought here. Sheiling Bumbescu trusted me enough to help them sort out the problem, and maybe had been waiting at the club for someone it knew well to come along. That, or it was just drowning its sorrows, feeling it had nothing to lose.

  Surrounded by about fifty gremlins—almost the entire population of Cardiff—was what at first appeared to be just another gremlin, until you realized it was talking eloquently whilst munching on a piece of magic rock, clearly a fragment of the smart pills the trolls had been devouring so intently.

  The whole place was strewn with all manner of gadgets. Mostly phones and portable devices like tablets—anything a gremlin could carry. I figured this was what they'd progressed to since their move away from planes, now more interested in "borrowing" people's technology to tinker with, making it break or disappear altogether—it's why you never use your phone near a gremlin if you can help it.

  Which, obviously, is why my phone rang at that precise moment. Fifty pairs of eyes turned as I answered it, knowing I would have to be quick.

  "Spark, I need your help," came the voice of Plum, breaking up and sounding stressed like I'd never heard her before.

  "What's up? Can it wait awhile?"

  "No. It's awful, Spark. Please help. I can't get through to Rikka and I don't know who else to call. They're killing us. Nearly everyone's dead. Come, please. Quick."

  She was gone. I heard screams before the connection went. The phone crackled, sparks flying like my magic, and I realized that the screen had died. That's gremlins for you. Their presence in such numbers had made my antiquated phone have a meltdown. Whether it would work once I was away from them all was debatable, but it was dead for now.

  What the hell? For Plum to call me for help and sound so stressed meant she was in serious trouble. Who was dead? And who was killing whom?

  Time for a quick chat with the talking gremlin, then help Plum if I could. It was turning out to be one hell of a busy day.

  A Clue

  The gremlins were all pointing at the talking one, making no sense in their baby speak, but it was obvious they were freaked and wanted me to do something about it. The creature was surrounded by dead technology, leaning over and taking a bite out of the magic rock now and then, resulting in it talking so fast and acting so manic it was impossible to understand a word.

  It kept rubbing at its head, frowning, sometimes banging an ear as if trying to dislodge the brain activity it was experiencing, but it wouldn't, couldn't, stop eating the damn smart pill.

  My guess was it had stolen it from a troll, or maybe from the source, and was an instant addict. It was overloaded, out of control, and before I could even understand what was happening it convulsed and shimmered as steam hissed from oversized ears and its fur smoked. The poor thing clutched at its head as the other gremlins dashed away, hiding behind phones and computers, or dove inside one of the many burrows in the clearing.

  Without warning, it keeled over, arms and legs kicking wildly as it screamed the most heartrending of screams. A cry for help that would never come. It was dead.

  "Where did it get the rock?" I shouted as the gremlins ran around in a panic, not understanding what had happened. They don't die, so had no clue what had occurred. It's not something that computes as it isn't part of their existence. They kept shaking their dead friend, waiting for it to wake up. I was getting manic. I couldn't stay, Plum needed me. Time to leave.

  Then the weirdest thing happened. Not just, "Ooh, that's strange," but, "Blimey, now that is certainly extra odd and then some," that kind of weird. I saw the spirit of the gremlin floating above the body, a pale imitation of the creature itself. It shook its head as it righted itself, stood next to its body, turned haunted eyes to me and said, "Whose fault is it usually?"

  "Fault? What do you mean?"

  "Who is to benefit most from the chaos?"

  "Not the witches, the wizards would never forgive them. They'd never win against them. They like things to be more subtle. Oh!"

  The gremlin nodded at me, then pointed at the smart pill. I was to take it away. I scrambled forward, still in my sitting position, and pocketed the poison. The gremlin angled sideways then sank into its own body. The arms and legs twitched once more and I saw the chest heave as air filled its lungs.

  It was alive again, if it had ever truly been dead. You really can't kill a gremlin. Now that's a neat party trick!

  I had answers though, and without the pill it had become addicted to hopefully it would return to normal once it recovered from the shock—I bet there would be some serious withdrawal symptoms.

  I had to go. Maybe I'd helped by taking the pill—this was why Sheiling Bumbescu had brought me to their private place—but I think it had wanted me to be told what the problem was, rather than help its friend. They could have easily taken away the rock, or maybe not. Maybe the smart one made the rest too scared to do anything. They are like children, after all. Innocent and pure, just dangerous if you cross them.

  Nodding at Sheiling Bumbescu and the rest, making sure I had done the right thing and getting happy waves in return, I left them to it. Once I'd backed out of the hedge, I found myself staring at a totally innocuous looking wall of greenery.

  I checked my phone; it was still dead.

  "Bloody vampires," I moaned. Why is it always the goddamn vampires? I'd been running around blaming the witches, thinking it had been them, sure the same as everyone else, but even if they were involved—and I was still convinced they were—then they weren't the real cause of the problem. It was the damn vampires. Again.

  Thoughts raced a mile a minute as I drove as fast as I dared through the back lanes, lights on full beam as I headed to Plum's home, not knowing where else she might be, praying it wasn't too late to get to her, to help in any way I could.

  Was Kate safe? Grandma? Rikka? Was I? Was anybody?

  Could this be linked to the incidents of the previous year, when Taavi, vampire Head, witnessed vampire HQ burn to the ground, losing countless ancient ones in the fire? Losing his home, his base, and the chaos that ensued for months as hundreds of them tore through the city, out of control without a permanent abode and living in scattered groups? But how was that connected to this?

  Was the infighting the cause? But all of that had quickly been gotten under control. Taavi came down hard on his "people," restoring order with utter ruthlessness,
bringing everyone back into line, setting up a new and improved House Taavi, dealing with those that had turned against him. And anyway, it was Kate and I who had dealt with the would-be usurper, both of us nearly losing our lives.

  Wasn't that enough? Why would they be out to cause such chaos now? Was it Taavi? The more I thought about it, the more it smelled like the kind of thing he would do. Underhand, sneaky, making us doubt each other, blaming the witches, causing infighting and having us run around not knowing what was happening or who to blame.

  Yeah, it had Taavi written all over it. And the why was obvious, as it always is with the Heads. In many ways they are all the same. Humans like Rikka, vampires like Taavi, it always came down to the same damn thing.

  Power.

  A Red Herring

  Shifters are a funny lot. In many ways they remind me of street gangs, and I guess that is partially true. They either ignore each other, call each other names, fight, or now and then team up when forces need to be combined to protect what's theirs.

  There is a grudging respect between the various factions, and although they wouldn't dream of hanging out with those that shape-shifted into creatures other than their specific animal, they always have a community of sorts, based solely on the fact they can change from one form into another.

  It's hereditary, so there is no choice in the animal, only the degree to which you pursue your ability to change. Some can only shift under the most extreme of circumstances, others at will. It is never witnessed by Regulars. It's built in, like with true Hidden—a little piece of magic always present that hides you when you change.

  In essence, they are true Hidden. Not like me and others where our power comes from learning how to control magic. They have it from birth, are magical, and they are extremely dangerous if you cross them. At least they like to think they are.

  The problem is that for all their bravado and "Don't mess with me, I'll turn into a bear and eat your face off" attitude, with the animal shift comes a mental readjustment too, meaning all but the most adept lose themselves to the animal within, and that makes them vulnerable.

  It's why many hardly ever change, avoid it at all costs, while others embrace it, learn then master their abilities, can do it in a heartbeat and retain their sense of self. Those are the dangerous ones, combining human intelligence with animal dexterity, strength, and sometimes brutality.

  Plum is one of the best. She's an enforcer, does a lot of work for Rikka, specializing in any problems of a shifter nature—she keeps busy. They all know her in their closed world, and they respect her, and even if they don't they show respect anyway, because she is a panther and can turn when the need arises.

  As I drove through the streets of Cardiff, traffic light, sky dark, I had no clue what to expect. Plum had said lots of them were dead. I assumed she meant her kind. That "they" were killing them. Who? The trolls? Vampires? Witches? It was all tied together, I knew that much, but there were too many missing pieces. Was this down to the vamps, or could the witches have been working with them? No, not even Kaisa Hayashi would go that far. Not unless she was coerced.

  The gremlin hadn't spelled it out, but however it got its hands on the magic rock it was clear it wasn't the trolls or the witches that had the most to gain. It was the vampires that would come out ahead, same as they always did.

  Away from the bustle of the city center, half a mile into a maze of terraced red brick Victorian houses, I parked just before arriving at Plum's street. It was a similar setup to most other shifter communities that surrounded it. They bought up a whole street, took over a house each or shacked up together, and had their own little world. I knew for a fact that some of them had never left their tiny community.

  Most shifter streets have a store at one end, selling all the essentials, and the more adventurous, or more able, did weekly runs to supermarkets buying in whatever the community required.

  They are often insular, keep to themselves, preferring their own company where they don't have to worry about their true nature, and the bottom line is many don't trust Regulars. Heck, they don't trust anyone or anything apart from their own kind.

  I locked up the car around the corner from the short terraced street that was panther-shifter territory, knowing that just a few streets away were bears, dogs, wolves, a whole damn zoo of them, many just a few members strong, some taking up thirty or so houses. You'd be amazed how common they are, although Cardiff isn't the most typical example as many find their way here once they discover what they are and understand the importance of community.

  Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Normally, there are kids out playing well past what I thought of as their bedtime, parents sitting outside front doors, watching the children or chatting with neighbors. A proper community spirit. Nice, close-knit, and with zero crime. Burglars are soon rather thin on the ground in areas where the homeowners can take off your head with a bite, or a swipe of a furry paw.

  There was nothing.

  As I rounded the corner on foot, keeping to the shadows, I knew something was seriously amiss, even without Plum's warning. The bodies in the street gave it away. There was no fighting, no shouting or pleas for help, just bodies. A street full of bodies. I knew most of them, either from my work, or from when I'd visited over the years.

  This wasn't like the zombies though. This wasn't done by trolls, it was something else entirely.

  Vampires.

  Shifter Revolt

  A troll stood at the end of the street, bathed in orange from one of the few intact streetlights. Most were blown out, or toppled from whatever had gone down. Looking past it, I stared, mesmerized and unbelieving at the poorly lit scene, ready to run, fight, or both. But the troll simply stood there, slapping at the side of its head like the gremlin had, as if trying to dislodge an ache.

  It looked repeatedly at its hands, fumbling in the pockets of a green designer sweatshirt—another oversized invention because of increased intelligence was my guess. No way were they made that big.

  It seemed harmless though, just grunted at me and said, "All dead. Not troll. Feel funny." Then it walked away, knocking into lampposts that crumpled at dangerous angles like plastic straws, the reason most were strewn across the street now obvious. Seems the trolls didn't have an infinite supply of smart pills, so they were reverting to normal. Hopefully, it would be the same everywhere else, otherwise we'd all be wiped out if they turned nasty.

  My eyes inevitably drew back to the massacre in the street. This was true horror. These were real people, not people who should by rights be dead like the zombies, but true living human beings, just with a slight difference. There were grown men, teenage lads, even women—thankfully no children—and as I walked down the road, numb and dazed, I caught glimpses of the terrified eyes of children peering out of windows, frightened and now all alone.

  There had been a terrible fight here, no doubt, but judging by the number of wounds, both from teeth and claws of the shifter and vampire kind, it was clear that the vampires had utterly overwhelmed the shifters. From cats to bears to wolves, the communities had finally come together in their time of need, but it still wasn't enough.

  Picking up the pace, magic brimming from my ink so strongly it lit my way, my body felt old all of a sudden, like I'd pushed it too far, done too much too quickly, taken my recovery for granted and exceeded the boundaries. I gave myself a good talking to. This wasn't the time for anything but strength. I had to snap out of it. There was a lot more to go yet—this was just the beginning of the sickness permeating the city and its Hidden.

  Flinching as I got ready for the sickness, I let some of the magic retreat, but it hardly touched me. No doubt remained. I was definitely turning a corner, the real sickness now apparently only claiming me once I got perilously close to my limits.

  Staying aware, senses expanded, I made for Plum's house. I felt vulnerable walking down the center of the road, strange sights of normality making it feel even more otherworldly. Smoke drifted from chimne
ys lazily, as if all was well in the world. Curtains were drawn and cars were neatly parked at the curb, but everywhere were broken and smashed bodies, blood staining potholed and badly repaired asphalt always at the bottom of Cardiff Council's to-do list.

  Plum's modest home was impossible to miss—it was the only one with the door open. Sat on the step, there she was, head down, silken hair hiding her features. As I got closer, a huge hulk of a thing moved from the shadows against the wall. Barrack, the bear shifter. He growled, but took to his human form, not that there is a great deal of difference—he's still just as shaggy and definitely as ugly.

  Plum looked up with the saddest eyes I think I have ever seen. What I saw broke my heart. She looked beaten, empty inside, face aged a thousand years in a single evening, eyes haunted. Yet there was more.

  "Show me," I said, knowing platitudes were pointless. She looked up, and after a moment I seemed to register in her awareness. She sprang to her feet, making me jump with the sudden speed and intensity of the movement, like a cat pouncing on prey in the undergrowth.

  Plum almost fell into my arms. She clung to me like a child that thought it had lost her mother and was all alone. She clawed at my t-shirt with rigid fingers, clutching bunches of material, pinching skin and raking nails, tighter and tighter, soaking my chest with tears that grew in intensity as her grip eventually eased.

  Still not uttering a word, she finally relaxed and wrapped her arms around my middle. I held her tightly while she sobbed and wailed and great racks of despair broke the silence of the night.

  The screaming was all gone, so was everyone else. It was just her, me, and Barrack, our faces ashen, illuminated by the light spilling through the open door of the small house. The interior a scene of devastation, broken furniture, glass all over the place, no longer a home. Something that was all-too-familiar. I knew how she felt, only too well.

  "Fucking vampires," she said, when the tears were spent and only one thing remained. Revenge. Something else I know about only too well.