A Mage's Fall: Dark Manhattan (Malachi English Book 2)

by Andy Hyland

  I took her hand. “Drag me in. I’m fine with being in harm’s way. Honestly. I camp there sometimes, just for fun.” That got a smile. “Seriously, I don’t care what their orders are. You’ve got to work with me on this. Get me something I can use.”

  “Mercy got hold of this. Couldn’t risk giving it to you herself. Suppose I could have left it on your table, but I miss seeing you.” She pressed a USB memory stick into my palm. “And there’s a corner table in Benny’s new bar. Secluded. It’s the one you can’t see from the door. Reach down to the right and the leather on the seat is torn. We’ll use that as a dead drop.”

  “You’re catching on quick.”

  “I’m smart, me.”

  “Never doubted it. I’m so sorry you got pulled in like this.”

  “It’s not your fault. And at the end of the day it’s a choice that I made. I’ll have to live with it. I’m sorry it’s come between us. I promise, when this is over, we’ll talk. I still want to be with you.”

  “I wasn’t sure for a while there.”

  Her brow creased. “I sent you the note. And didn’t the guys – Kevin and Gary – didn’t they deliver the message?”

  I pointed to my swollen mouth. “One of them head-butted me. I took that as a firm ‘sod off’.”

  Julie put her hand to her mouth, choking back a laugh. “No way. I had no idea he would do that. I told him to give you a kiss from me. I was joking. Here, let me fix that.” She leaned over and kissed my lips, letting the touch linger. All too soon she pulled back. “That’ll have to do for now.”

  “For now,” I agreed. “It’s enough to know you still….you know.”

  “I know. But keep your distance. It’s not only about…them finding out. There’s something about David. Damn, I wish you could be there. I know you’d figure it out so much quicker, but they’re not…”

  She twitched, looking to our right. I stretched out. Humans. Not as easy to spot as anything magical, but more than one, and they were coming our way. “Time’s up,” Julie whispered. “Go. Now. Now.”

  I jumped up and jogged over into the trees to the left, only stopping once I was sure I couldn’t be spotted from the area by the statue. I moved behind a tree, leaning out just far enough to glimpse the bench. Two figures walked quickly up to Julie. It was those two loveable zealots, Ron and Kim. Kim’s voice was high and happy as she ran forward to meet Julie, and Ron’s voice wasn’t much lower. They took an arm each, obviously their usual mode of attack, and led her off in the other direction, talking excitedly.

  Looking at them from the rear, I recognized the couple I’d seen near my apartment earlier. I had a sinking feeling that Ron and Kim were far smarter than I’d given them credit for, and far more dangerous than Julie realized. Action would need to be taken. I knew who Julie was working for – if not the exact beings, then certainly the type, and for some of them at least, the deaths of a few humans would be seen as acceptable collateral damage. Sod them. I was getting Julie out and I was getting her out alive.

  My phone rang – thankfully on vibrate, and I strolled away quickly, taking the call.

  “Hey, Malachi,” said Zack. “You’re needed. ASAP.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Docks. You know that unit I worked from last Summer? Dodgy door.”

  “I know it. Be there as soon as I can.”

  “Be quick.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ve got Arabella cornered. I think she wants to kill me. Actually, I know she wants to kill me.”

  I smiled and put the phone back in my pocket. Amidst the choppy seas of change, it was good to know that some things stayed the same.

  Chapter eleven

  Zack kept his stock in a number of secure locations, switching things up every now and then, retiring the less secure stashes and striking deals to hire new ones. His stock arrived unofficially in the duffel bags and rucksacks of weathered sailors, and had never, as far as I knew, made its way onto any official customs declarations. Which was fair enough. I don’t think government systems are set up to deal with ritual disemboweling knives and Egyptian priestly amulets of splendor. To name just a few of the trinkets that you could find being hawked on Zack’s ebay shop. All you had to do was read between the lines. There was probably an old granny somewhere who genuinely thought she was buying a rug made from the finest yak hide, only to be surprised when a live three-eyed rat turned up. For the most part, however, things appeared to run smoothly.

  The particular unit he was holed up in at present was a rusted but sturdy shed in the corner of a yard in Hell’s Kitchen, off Twelfth Avenue. To call the area the docks was pushing it a bit, but Zack liked the word, with its hints of travel, danger and industry. Most of which you got in Hell’s Kitchen anyway, but not in the same way.

  The door was tricky, and there was a certain art to getting it open. It was actually so damn awkward that Zack had never even bothered putting a lock on it. You had to place your shoulder in exactly the right spot, jab forward with your knee and bump with your hip, all at the same time. Three attempts, and I was in.

  Arabella was pacing up and down against the far wall, face twisted in an ugly pout, fingers twitching. Between her and Zack there was the shimmer of a fixed ward. I raised my eyebrows. We were a tight group. For one of us to feel the need to use magic against another…well, let’s say it didn’t happen that often.

  “What gives?” I asked.

  “Tell him that if I’m not out of here in ten seconds,” Arabella spat, “I’m going to -”

  “No, tell her that if she doesn’t calm down -”

  “Oh for pity’s sake,” I said, ignoring both of them. “Arabella, I’m dealing with some serious shit at the moment. Are you going to play nicely, or am I going to have problems here?”

  It was sometimes easy to forget how young Arabella was. Okay, at nineteen she was only six years younger than me, but still. You have your childhood and family ripped away from you by a near-death experience that leaves you Aware, and you’re going to have some developmental issues. It’s happened to a lot of us. Sometimes you had to speak firmly, demand respect, and hope she didn’t beat you to a pulp.

  It worked, thankfully. She stopped the pacing and pointed at Zack. “Tell him.”

  “Bloody hell, it’s like having children,” I muttered. “Zack, drop the ward. Arabella is going to be okay with us.”

  Zack looked doubtful about this, but let me take the lead and nodded. The shimmer faded and Arabella stepped forward, going toe to toe with Zack, daring him to respond. He took it calmly, and after a few seconds she stepped back.

  “I’m not having the easiest night here,” I said. “So someone tell me what’s going on, and make it quick.”

  “He -”

  “Arabella,” I warned.

  “We need to speak to you, Arabella,” Zack said, keeping his tone reasonable. “All I needed was for you to stay put until Malachi got here. He’s been trying to get hold of you. We both have.”

  “I need to go,” she said, but didn’t make a move for the door.

  “Go where?” I asked. “And with who?”

  “Did you suddenly turn into my Dad or something?”

  “I’m concerned. People are dying. You’ve picked a bad time to cut us out and go silent. We’ve got concerns about Valen as well. He made a brief appearance after a fight that nearly left me and Zack dead. Shame he turned up afterwards, running in the other direction, but there you go.”

  And that set her off again. “Don’t you go slamming Valen,” she said, jabbing her finger at my chest. “He’s okay. He got us good work lined up. Here, see?” She turned out her pockets and threw a wad of fifty dollar notes at my feet. “It’s good money. I can save up. Start making some plans. Get out of my little rented room.”

  “If there’s something you need, help with anything, you can tell us,” Zack said. “We’ll always help, when we can.”

  “Doesn’t matter now. I’m getting sorted out. I
can be like you, get a bigger place, have people round.”

  “Have people round? You’ve never struck me as someone who wanted to chat with friends and eat toast.” I picked up the notes. Seemed normal, untainted. But that meant nothing. There could be any number of go-betweens involved. “What’s the work?” I asked quietly.

  She shifted from foot to foot. “They give me a name. I go and see them. I hurt them. Nothing serious, I just make a point. Get them to go away. It’s no different to what you had me doing at the shop.”

  Zack looked over at me. Was that guilt I was suddenly feeling? My, I think it was. It didn’t turn up that often in my life, but now it was kicking down the door and making itself at home. “That’s not the same,” I said, lamely, not even believing my own words. “Anyway, it’s not about what you’re doing, it’s who you’re doing it for. And why. What do you know?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not that far in yet. Valen knows a few more people than I do. I’ve got to put in the hours, get noticed, step up a few rungs.”

  “There you have it,” Zack snorted. “No different from any other career, when you get down to it, right?”

  “Zack, not helping,” I pointed out. “Arabella, do you know anything at all about who you’re working for? This isn’t about you being independent or earning a living or even…how you’re doing it. It’s about you getting dragged into some bad stuff.”

  “So you want me to stop?”

  I weighed my words carefully, and looked at Zack as I spoke. “Not exactly. I want you to keep me informed. Next time you get work, let me know what it is, who you’re going up against, and where you’re doing it. I’ll be there, but you won’t see me. I won’t interfere. Promise. Are we agreed?”

  “S’pose.”

  “Good. Want to grab something to eat? I’ve got this open invitation to a good Mexican.”

  She smiled despite herself. We got out of there and headed over to Casa Rosas. Anton was overjoyed to see us, which was more than can be said for the patiently waiting people in the queue that we jumped. For a while it was like the old times. Every now and then I’d look up, expecting to see Becky or Malanie there smiling with us, but they were gone now. It was down to the three of us, and we talked and joked, and it was all good. Too bad it couldn’t last.

  *

  I got home late that night, or rather several hours into the next morning, happy and high from the time we’d spent together. Anton and his staff had let us stay on, even joining us for a few shots before we left. Obviously I tipped well, because that kind of service and connection shouldn’t be abused or taken lightly. Only as I was ditching my clothes on the bedroom floor did my hand brush against the memory stick in my pocket.

  Guilt momentarily surfaced, pointing out that I’d so quickly forgotten something that Julie thought was important. I brushed the thought away – everything was important these days. My head was spinning slightly, and whatever was on there deserved my fullest and most devoted attention. I placed it carefully on the bedside table, and crashed down onto the mattress. The ceiling swam warmly for a few seconds, and then I closed my eyes and drifted off.

  I’d forgotten to draw the curtains, so the light woke me slowly as the day dawned. It was only a little past seven when I jumped up, feeling strangely refreshed, and grabbed a shower before settling down with a coffee, some toast and the laptop. I selected the USB, clicked on the one file it contained, then groaned as a small box flashed up requesting a password. “Could have mentioned that,” I muttered, as I tried ‘Julie’, ‘Malachi’, ‘Frank’ – her Dad’s name, and even ‘Mercy’. None of those worked.

  I drank some coffee, trying to think what else it could be. My eyes drifted to the post-it note she’d left me last night. ‘First date’, it read. Worth a try. I typed in ‘Alice’ and the box disappeared, giving way to a series of photographs. The first was of a manila file with ‘ELLEN LAMARCHAND’ stamped on the front. Promising. Flicking through the photographs, it looked like someone had simply opened the file and taken pictures of all the pages, one by one. It wasn’t the easiest thing to work through, but the resolution was good and I could zoom in where the type got small, or where there were occasional markings in red pen. I sat back and got down to reading.

  Ellen Lamarchand was certainly something. Born 1941 to middle class parents in Brooklyn. Identified as a potential Code 5 mage – whatever that was – when she was seventeen. The awakening process was conducted a year later, after which she entered the Union at a junior and trainee level. Awakening process? Presumably something to do with becoming Aware. What did they do, force a near-death experience on her? Drag her into the Fades? Or something else? If she was a high level mage even before that, magic must run in the family, like with Anton and his line down in Mexico.

  The folder carried on mentioning the Union, as if what this shadowy organization actually was would be clear to all and sundry. But I suppose if the Union compiled the report – and if it came from Mercy, they probably did – they would think such information was obvious.

  Married in 1961 to a Ralph Skale. Career progression in the Union through a succession of job titles so bland and meaningless that they could have come straight from a government department. The next event of note came in 1981, with the birth of a daughter, Elizabeth Marie. Ralph died soon afterwards – cause unexplained – and Ellen reverted to her maiden name of Lamarchand, for reasons not given.

  This, apparently, was where it got interesting. Operation Hidden Hand, early 1991, when Elizabeth was aged ten. Suspected demon activity around the Hell”s Kitchen area. Deemed most likely to be low-level hellkind. Young children being targeted. So far only street kids but there was a chance that matters could escalate to persons of greater import. I nearly spat my coffee over the laptop when I read that.

  Who knows what was going through Ellen’s mind at that point. Maybe she was angling for a promotion. Maybe she cared far more about these street kids that anyone else in the Union did. But something made her offer Elizabeth for bait – bait. Secure location, whispers dropped in the right corners, an experienced team to capture and interrogate the hellkind once they showed up.

  Whatever showed up that night was more than the team could handle. They were found the next morning, strung by their feet from the roof beams. Their skin was folded in neat piles on the floor. Elizabeth was gone.

  Something kicked Ellen into overdrive after that. She was promoted rapidly, only spending a matter of months in each placement. By 2007, the year I’d seen her in the photo on the library computers – she was director designate. Then in 2008 she retired, only weeks to go till she got the top job. The file ended there, apart from a small form at the very back, where someone had noted the date of her death. 2016, about three months ago. Aged seventy-five. Thus ended the eventful life of Ellen Lamarchand. No mention of a David anywhere.

  I poured another coffee and mulled things over. All the connections were there – magic, Awareness, the Union. Presumably the Union’s troublesome comrades-in-arms, the ones who’d seen fit to drag Julie into their murky little world. Oh, and of course, botched operations. What massive organization could go more than six months without a few of those happening?

  But no David. Clearly he was connected somehow. That said, the jump from a soon-to-be head of the Union like Ellen, to a backstreet preacher suspicious of anything faintly magical, was a big one. I wasn’t going to get any more from the file.

  My phone buzzed. Unknown number. “Yes?”

  Arabella’s voice, low and quiet. Sounded like heavy traffic in the background. “You wanted to know when the next job was. We’re meeting outside Benny’s. Half an hour.” That was all I got. The line went dead.

  Half an hour gave me time to walk down to a thin spot before sliding – less effort that way. Less chance of me unleashing a tidal wave in Washington Heights through uncontrolled magic, or something vaguely similar but less watery. As I went out the main door, a figure across the road looked up. Slouched against th
e wall, waiting for me. I walked over.

  “Dialgo,” I said. Any warm and fluffy feelings I’d had towards him had left when he’d cut me out of the kidnapping investigation. He could have had me running round, not some rookie cop who’d barely learned to tie his laces.

  “Malachi.” His tone was equally cold. This wasn’t going to be a happy exchange.

  “You hear anything about those names you gave me?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Had reports in from firms and families. Sudden disappearance.”

  “And I take it that no particular effort is going to be expended by the NYPD in tracking them down?”

  “We’ll take calls, smile sadly, pat them on the back and do nothing.”

  “So you’re happy with the level of service I’ve been providing?”

  He looked round before answering. “I did you a favor. You returned that favor. Now I need you to back off.”

  “Saving your ass in the yard. That didn’t count as another favor?”

  “I reckon I’ve got your friend to thank for that, more than you.”

  “Look,” I said, leaning forward, wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake. “These kids going missing. I can help you with this.”

  “You know where they are?”

  I sank back. “No. But I’ve got…some theories. Whoever’s running the show on this one - you can’t deal with them. They’re way above your pay grade.” Possibly not the best thing to say when trying to win someone over, but the words were out there now. You can’t take words back.

  He sighed. “Don’t go thinking I’m not unappreciative. But I’ve seen how you operate. I’ve seen the kind of work you do. And I don’t want you anywhere near this one.”

  “So I’m okay for offing some dodgy execs, but saving children is beyond me.” He looked away. Said nothing. “I get it. You think I’m some sort of assassin for hire. Someone you can pull in for wet work, but nobody you’d use when saving lives is on the cards.”

  “You’re getting close,” he muttered. “I have anyone I need to hurt, I’ll let you know. You’re first on the list. But you stay away from this, and you do not – you do not – go around mentioning to every cop you meet that you’re on the inside track with me. Do you get that?”