by M. V. Stott
‘Don’t worry, I get hit on the head a lot. So, what happened to Evil Nora?’
‘I cast a spell on her.’
‘A nice spell, like the hologram one you showed me?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘A wild stab in dark, but is it connected to all the blood you have across your face and dried into your hair?’
I nodded, ‘Yes, I kind of I made her head explode.’
David’s eyes went wide as he made to speak, stopped himself, and then threw up noisily. After breathing in a few times slowly, then wiping his mouth, he looked up at me again. ‘That was down to the bash on the head, not the… you know…’
‘Me exploding someone’s head.’
‘Bingo. Oh, God, I’m making small talk with a murderer.’
‘I didn’t have a choice. Nora was already dead, I told you, and we would’ve been next.’
‘Right, Yes. Okay. This is just, you know, tricky, for me to get to grips with. I went to bed last night and everything was understandable, and now there’s magic, and demons or ghosts or whatever taking over the body of my favourite cafe owner and trying to murder me.’
‘The good news is, things aren’t going to get any better for a while.’
‘Yes, that is good news.’
I smiled and helped him back up onto his feet.
‘Right, if you don’t mind, I might just head off to work now and pretend none of this ever happened.’
I grabbed David by the sleeve as he tried to walk away, yanking him back.
‘You can’t go.’
‘Oh, yes, I really can.’
He pulled himself free and carried on walking. Seemed like we were going to do this the hard way. The words flashed through my mind as I extended my arms towards David and unleashed the command. There was a whoosh noise, followed by a slightly strangled yelp, and David found himself pinned, upside down, against the alley wall.
‘You know this is assault, right?’
‘You can’t go. Well, you can, but not without me.’
‘Are you holding me hostage? Because no one is going to pay a ransom. My family are very, very cheap.’
I smiled and released him, slowly, so he slid into an undignified heap on the ground.
‘I told you, there’ll be a target on your back now, too.’
‘So now whoever it is that murdered, your, you know, witches, is also going to kill me.’
‘Very probably.’
David stood, ‘You know, I’m starting not to like you very much.’
‘The thing that had taken over the cafe owner, it knows you’re with me. It will try to use that. Interrogate you, torture you. Pull your limbs off one by one to try to get to me.’
‘I get it. That’s enough detail, thank you.’
‘The only chance you have of getting out of this alive is to stay by my side until this is all over. Believe me, I’d much rather be on my own, too, but if I let you walk away, that’s another death on my conscience.’ I pictured my witches, torn to pieces on the floor of the coven and shivered.
David sighed and kicked at the ground. ‘Fine, okay, but you’re going to listen to me. I’m not a passenger, I’m a detective. A good one.’
I arched an eyebrow.
‘Well, not a terrible one, at any rate. I’m a solid six-and-a-half out of ten. Seven, on a good day. You can use me.’
I made to argue, then stopped and sighed. He was probably right. It wasn’t my usual job to find clues and piece together a case. To discover a likely culprit. No, up until now I’d been told what to do and where to go by my masters. They’d say go there and do this to that person and off I would go. I was a blunt instrument. A delivery service. Not the brains.
And now I was alone.
I was going to need all the help I could get.
10
Every town and city in England has a place like The Beehive. A place for magical types to socialise, to drink, to gossip. To mix together in a neutral setting. Outside of The Beehive, there were rivalries, suspicions, dangers, but inside all of that was expected to be left behind. A place for the Uncanny to relax in peace and be themselves, away from the eyes of the normals.
At least that was the idea.
But yesterday someone murdered the witches that made sure the peace in London between the Uncanny folk held, and I was going to tear apart this city looking for the beast behind it. If that meant upsetting the patrons of The Beehive, then so be it.
‘I already told you, there is no street up here on the left, it’s a line of old shops and then a dead end.’
I strode on ahead, despite David’s complaints. ‘That’s because it’s hidden from the likes of you.’
‘Um, the likes of me?’
‘You know, normals.’
‘That sounds a little like racism, Stella.’
I stopped in front of the blind alley. Much like the street the London Coven was situated on, the alley that lead to The Beehive was hidden from all but those who should know of its existence.
David stopped by my side and stared blankly.
‘What?’
‘We’re here.’
He looked blankly ahead, then back to me, ‘Oh God, you’re mad, aren’t you? Magic and mad.’
‘Look, David,’ I said, and pointed down the blind alley.
David huffed and followed my finger.
‘Oh, I see it!’
‘Really?’
‘No, of course not.’
The correct phrase entered my head and I released it towards him.
‘David, look now…’
David shook his head and looked in the direction I was pointing once again.
‘I told you! There’s nothing over… wait… wait a second, where did…?’
I smiled as I looked at his handsome features hanging slack, eyes wide.
‘Come on, you can buy me a drink.’
I strode into the blind alley, David trailing behind, arms outstretched as though it was all some trick and he was about to walk into a wall.
Pushing the door open, I stepped into The Beehive, feeling the thin skin of the protective spell part around me as I entered, like I was stepping into a bubble. The Beehive had a few pretty decent protection spells on it, one of which dampened the worst kinds of magic its patrons might try and wield at each other. As I said, that sort of thing was meant to be left outside, The Beehive should be a safe space, but this place sold alcohol, and anywhere you find alcohol you’re liable to find people stepping out of control.
So the spells of protection.
They couldn’t rob the people inside entirely of their abilities, but it was possible to deaden the magic to such a degree that nothing lethal could be thrown if someone happened to spill a short tempered wizard’s pint. Fist fights still broke out of course, like any other pub.
‘What is this place? Why don’t I know it? I know all of these streets, every nook and cranny.’
‘I’m afraid not, David. There are many, many streets that people like you would swear didn’t exist. But they do. London is full of them. We call them blind alleys, streets hidden from all but those who know they’re there. Now you’ve been this place, you’ll always be able to see it.’
David stopped suddenly: ‘Wait a second… a year back I was chasing a guy, murder suspect, and he turned into a street sharpish; I got there seconds after and he was nowhere to be seen. We checked every house, and there were no streets he could have ducked down, nothing. Could he have…?’
‘Probably. Sounds like you were chasing someone with magic. You should be grateful they knew of a nearby blind alley, if you’d been able to catch him, it probably wouldn’t have ended well.’
David shook like a dog throwing off water, ‘You know this is all more than a bit creepy. To think there’s a whole other world, hidden from view. Skulking about down hidden streets.’
I scanned the early drinkers, recognising many of the faces. Some had been friendly in the past, others had felt the wrath of my
masters through me. All of them turned away, looked at the floor, their drinks, the wall, once they noticed I’d entered. Word travelled fast in the world of the Uncanny, and a tale as juicy as this one would have been round the city a hundred times by now.
The witches of the London Coven were dead.
‘So what are we doing here, then?’ asked David.
‘This is The Beehive. Everyone who is anyone, high or low, passes through here. If anyone knows anything about the murders, they’re probably sat in this pub right now.’
David scanned the bar. ‘How many of these people could make my head pop like you did Evil Nora’s?’
‘Oh, at least half of them. But not while we’re in here. The worst they could do is break a stool over your skull.’
‘Good to know. Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to announce I’m a police officer, and you’re, you know, a magic police officer, or whatever, and that we want to talk to them all, one by one. Just ask a few questions, nothing heavy. Deal?’
‘Okay.’
I turned from David, picked up a wooden chair and launched it across the room, the wall on the far side bringing it to a crunching, splintered halt.
‘Listen to me. You know who I am. You know why I’m here.’
Every eye in the place was on me. Some of them glancing for the nearest exit, but the only way out was behind me. They weren’t going anywhere.
‘I don’t give a shit about what this place is. Someone here knows something about what happened to my witches, and I will beat each and every one of you into a bloody pulp if someone doesn’t start talking.’
‘Or,’ said David, ‘I suppose you could ignore me completely and do that. Either one, really.’
11
My fist met the guy’s teeth with a satisfying crunch.
‘Tell me what you know!’
He looked up at me, red running down his chin, and spat something solid out onto the floor. I felt the rage inside of me growling. It felt good. Good to unleash some of my pain onto someone’s face.
‘You shame your dead masters by acting like this in here.’
Well, now he was asking for it. I grabbed him by the neck and pushed him against the wall, his head snapping back and bouncing painfully.
‘Stella, stop!’ said David.
‘Don’t worry; this piece of crap has done far worse to far too many. Isn’t that right, Razor?’
He smiled, exposing his recently broken tooth, the remaining ones streaked with red.
‘You think now that they’re gone that you can do whatever you want, Familiar?’
I punched him in the gut by way of response, allowing him to crumple to the floor at my feet.
‘Stella, stop—’ A deep voice rumbled as the owner of The Beehive approached. Lenny was a mountain of a man, with a shaven head and grizzled beard. Everyone respected Lenny— respected what he could do with his coal shovel sized hands—but not me. Not today.
‘Don’t get involved, Lenny. You know what’s happened.’
‘I do, but this is The Beehive. There’s no place for this sort of thing here.’
‘Listen to him, little Familiar,’ said Razor, a giggle sliding out of his busted mouth that scraped across my skin like a blade.
‘I know you, Razor. I know the kind of grim corners you hang out in. I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me something useful, or else I’m going to start breaking bones.’
‘Whoa, Stella, come on, this isn’t the way you conduct an investigation. Well, maybe in the 70s, but not today,’ said David. I felt his hand grip my shoulder and I turned to him angrily.
‘Don’t tell me how to do my job! Someone murdered my masters, my family, do you understand?’
‘I understand—’
‘No you don’t!’
‘Normal, you need to get her out of here,’ said Lenny.
‘Oh sure, I’m going to drag the head-popper out of here. Good plan, Andre the Giant.’
They argued back and forth, but I tuned out. Turned them to static. My focus was purely on Razor and that bloodied smile. He knew every piece of scum that hid in the shadows of London, and he was going to tell me something useful, or I was going to kill him. It seemed like Razor read the look in my eyes.
‘You wouldn’t. That’s not how you do things.’
‘Maybe. But things have a way of changing.’
I grabbed Razor by the collar and dragged him towards the exit, throwing him out the door and into the blind alley beyond.
‘Oh shit,’ said David.
I ran out to make sure I cut off Razor’s escape, stepping out of the magic dampening bubble of The Beehive as I did so. I felt my powers sharpen, felt the surrounding magic rush into me.
‘You can’t do this!’ yelled Razor, cowering against the alley wall, spittle flying. ‘You have no right!’
‘Yesterday someone pulled the witches of London apart, piece by piece. Pulled bones from sockets, tore their flesh, and worse. That means, today, I do anything I want.’
I formed the words in my head and thrust my hands out toward Razor, unleashing a ball of flame. He screamed and tossed up a weak protection spell, as I knew he would. It was enough to stop him roasting to death, but he still emerged with hair singed and his face crisp in places.
‘Stella,’ said David, emerging from The Beehive. ‘Stella, come on, this isn’t you. I mean, maybe it is you, I barely know you, and you did make an old woman’s head explode earlier, but I like to think I’m a pretty good test of character. It’s one of the few things I know I’m good at. And everything tells me that you’re not, well, a violent psycho.’
‘Listen to him, Familiar! This isn’t the way; this is not how your witches would want you to treat me!’
‘You think you can speak for them, Razor?’ I punched out another spell that snapped his head back, cracking it against the bricks behind him and sending him down to his knees, world spinning, eyes unfocused.
‘Stella, come on, stop,’ said David. ‘I’ve seen a lot of bad coppers in my time on the force. Coppers who take bribes, and bully to get what they want. You don’t want to be one of them, trust me.’
I turned to David and looked into his eyes, ready to unleash a fresh stream of justification, but something about the way he looked back made the words freeze. I suddenly felt small, weak, vulnerable.
‘David… David, they’re dead. Someone came into our home and murdered them.’
He took my hand in his. I wanted to pull away. Wanted to turn back to Razor and beat him with my fists until my knuckles broke. Make him scream. But I didn’t. I stood still, vision blurring as tears prickled my eyes.
‘I don’t know your witches, but I know the law and I know real justice. You don’t get that by turning into one of them,’ said David, jabbing a finger toward Razor. ‘You need evidence. You need to know. Need to know for sure. And then...’
‘And then?’
‘And then you make them pay.’
I turned to Razor, who was still crouched on the ground, cowering. ‘Please, no more, I don’t know who killed the witches, I swear.’
‘But you know something, Razor. You always know something.’
‘I don’t, I swear it on the life of my hive!’
I opened my hand, a fresh ball of fire came into being and raged an inch above my palm. ‘You won’t be able to stop this one with your weak magic, Razor.’
His head fell, ‘Okay. Okay!’
‘Tell me what you know.’
‘The Den Club. Go to The Den and ask Anya why she and her kind were heard laughing about the attack. Toasting it. Patting each other on the back like they had a hand in it! Go ask them! Go ask at The Den!’
I stepped back as the news sunk in. If The Den had a hand in this…
I staggered aside as Razor took the opportunity to barge past and run from the blind alley.
‘Should we chase after him? No is a response I’ll be more than happy with.’
‘Let him
go, he told us what we need to know.’
David leant back against the alley wall, clearly relieved that was all over.
‘Well that was all more than a little intense. Okay, so what’s next?’
‘Next?’ I said. ‘Well next we need to walk into The Den and talk to a succubus.’
‘Right. You know sometimes you regret asking a question?’
12
The Den Hunkered at the end of a street in Soho; its neon sign burned like the lure of an angler fish, pulling the unwary into its belly.
‘So when you say we’re going to talk to a succubus… I take it that’s not a euphemism?’
‘Anya and her family are succubi. They feast on pleasure. Pain. Anger. On any heightened emotion.’
‘This is insane. You do realise how insane this all is, yes?’
‘Nope.’
‘No… no, I suppose you probably don’t.’
I watched as the patrons of The Den filtered in. The club offered all sorts of illicit delights, from gambling, to bondage, to… much, much worse. It wasn’t just a place for a succubus to hang out and indulge their ways—everyone came here. From the Uncanny to normals, all types of people would hear a whisper about this place in the darkened corner of a pub and find themselves drawn towards it. The place that made dreams come true. The sort of dreams you kept to yourself. None of them would have heard of it, or even noticed it, until that whisper in the dark, and then they would walk past it, see it, and it would be all they could think about. Inside those walls, pleasure waited. No judgment; whatever was desired was supplied. Even the strongest minded of people could find themselves bewitched by the place. Obsessed with it. And then Anya, the head succubus, had you. Owned you. I turned to David and saw how he looked at the place. A curiosity, a hunger.
‘So anything goes in there? Anything you could want?’
‘Clear your perverted mind, Detective.’
‘What? I wasn’t thinking about anything. Almost anything. And certainly not naked people covered in jelly, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘I wasn’t. At all.’