A Three-Book Collection

by M. V. Stott

  ‘There is magic all around you,’ said Carlisle. ‘Each day you walk through a soup of the Uncanny. Look for it, use it.’

  ‘Right. Okay, got it. I think.’

  ‘She never did work out how to get the thing to make a latte,’ said Waterson.

  ‘You know, I’m starting to miss you being completely dead and gone, Waters.’

  Waterson stuck his tongue out at her.

  ‘So how are you gonna get there?’ said Rita. ‘To the Angel’s prison?’

  ‘I am Carlisle. Once I have been somewhere, I can always find my way back.’ He flapped his long coat with a flourish, the sparkling lining briefly visible, and then he was gone.

  ‘Well, that was fancy,’ said Rita.

  ‘So, who is he exactly?’ asked Waterson.

  ‘Bit of a bastard, I think. But mostly good.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Well, not mostly. Probably hardly at all, but I need him.’ Rita looked out across the ocean and wondered just what it was that Carlisle intended to do. She flexed her fingers around the handle of the axe and hoped that she’d see him safe and sound again soon. He’d gone to kill an unkillable Angel on her behalf. Well, mostly on his own behalf, to get the axe, but still. Brave.

  A sudden thunderclap of noise and air blasted Rita out of her thoughts and she turned to see a man she recognised stumbling towards her. He wore a snug, dark blue suit and had a pinched face.

  ‘Ulner?’ said Rita as he staggered forward, his suit torn, his face battered and dripping blood. It was the wizard who had taken her and Ben to their secret meeting place. She darted forward to catch him as his legs failed him and he dropped to the sand.

  ‘Ulner, what’s happened?’

  ‘All of them. Killed… she killed all of…’

  A chorus of low growls began to swell around them.

  ‘Um, Rita,’ said Waterson, as one by one, a large group of beasts, bigger than any man, with mouths full of sharp teeth, began to pad towards them.

  ‘Shit,’ said Rita, standing and brandishing the axe.

  ‘Those are the werewolves then, I take it?’

  ‘Pretty much. Ulner? Ulner, mate, you’ve gotta get up, we need to move.’

  But Ulner did not get up, because Ulner was dead.

  ‘Hello again, Rita,’ said Magda. ‘I see you have met my latest snack.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Waterson.

  ‘Running,’ replied Rita. ‘I think mostly running.’

  And off they ran as Magda knelt by the dead wizard and feasted upon his magic.

  31

  It was cold in the Angel’s prison, and the thousands of candles that never burned out cast dancing shadows across the marble walls and pillars.

  Carlisle stepped stealthily forward, leaning his back against one of the cool pillars and peering around it to see the Angel of Blackpool. It was sat cross-legged on the floor within Its glass box. Its eyes were closed and It looked perfectly serene. Patient. Beautiful. Carlisle was not fooled by Its pose though, by Its closed-eyed stillness. There was no way anyone stepped into this chamber and the Angel was not aware of it.

  He stood up straight, brushed down his coat, and stepped from behind the pillar, striding towards the glass box. ‘Good evening, I hope you are not annoyed by my late and unannounced drop-in. I know I hate visitors at such a dark hour.’

  A smile spread across the Angel’s face. ‘Not at all. You amuse me, Carlisle.’

  ‘I am glad.’

  ‘How you walk this world with such confidence. With such wicked intentions.’

  ‘Selfish, perhaps, but not all so very wicked.’

  The Angel opened Its eyes and Carlisle shuddered as they fell upon him. It was as though he could feel icicles boring into him.

  ‘So I got rid of the hex you placed on the late Dan Waterson.’

  ‘Yes. Unfortunate.’

  ‘Two plans in such a short space of time thwarted,’ said Carlisle, circling around the glass box, the Angel not moving at all to follow him. ‘All you want is to get out and stretch your legs and that hexed detective and I keep insisting on being the stick in your spokes. Insufferable of us, I know.’

  ‘There are always more plans, Carlisle, do not worry. Do you think I would have just one game in play?’

  Carlisle paused at that, then dismissed it. The thing was trying to slide doubt into his mind, but at a time like this, doubt could be deadly.

  ‘I am glad to hear it. You have proven yourself to be a worthy opponent, and Lord knows there are so few of those.’

  The Angel laughed Its birdsong laugh and the flames upon the candles swelled in brilliance.

  ‘Such wonderful arrogance, Carlisle. It is delicious.’

  Carlisle reached inside himself, to the places he had hidden Horse. He was in there, waiting.

  ‘You are certain?’

  ‘Of course,’ Horse replied.

  ‘Well,’ said the Angel, ‘shall we proceed?’

  Carlisle reached inside of himself and took Horse’s hand. Horse stepped out of Carlisle and looked around the marble chamber.

  ‘We’re here then,’ he said.

  Carlisle began to step back, ready to take his leave. He had no reason to wait around and get caught up in any fallout. He trusted the word of L’Merrier, but things often went wrong, it was the way of the world.

  And something was, in fact, about to go very wrong.

  Or very right, depending upon which side you were on.

  ‘Well, I shall leave you to your murder, Horse,’ said Carlisle.

  Horse sniggered.

  ‘And what, may I ask, is so funny?’ asked Carlisle.

  ‘This,’ replied the Angel, slowly rising until It was stood upright, pointing at Horse.

  Horse stepped to the right, but at the same time he stepped to the left. He was no longer one, but two, and, in truth, neither was Horse. They were, instead, two animal mask-wearing fiends that Carlisle knew well. Carlisle had acted as a trojan horse to spring Horse from the City of the Dead, but it seemed that Horse himself had been playing a similar trick.

  ‘I did say that I had been accused of rabitting on, did I not?’ said Mr. Cotton, and the ears upon the ancient rabbit mask he wore twitched, though of course they did not, as it was just a mask.

  Carlisle did not pause to reply. He reached into his coat, ready to flee, only for a pair of arms to clamp themselves around him, anchoring him to the Angel’s prison. Carlisle could hear the grating, rasping breath of Mr. Spike against the inside of his hedgehog mask.

  ‘Careful, do not break any bones just yet,’ said Mr. Cotton, holding up a white-gloved hand.

  ‘L’Merrier lied to me,’ said Carlisle.

  ‘Oh no,’ said the Angel. ‘I found Mr. Cotton and Mr. Spike once they had been rendered deceased and slipped out of their nightmare realm into the City of the Dead. So I stretched out and out and whispered to those that could hear me. Told a tale of a thing that could destroy a first order Angel. L’Merrier, he is such a very good listener. You can always rely on those that like to snoop to pick up any tasty titbits.’

  Carlisle struggled against Mr. Spike’s vice-like grip as it tightened incrementally, cutting off his lung capacity, bit by bit.

  Mr. Cotton, hands behind his back, began to sway, to dance, his shoes tapping out a rhythm against the marble floor, as he moved closer to Carlisle.

  ‘Brother of mine has spoken of you often, whilst we waited in that place; I do recall he murdered you once, did he not? I believe he craves seconds.’

  Mr. Spike laughed, a gravel wheeze that smelled of decay.

  32

  DS Rita Hobbes and partner DS Dan Waterson, now deceased, had been running for some time, and their lungs were starting to burn. At least, Rita’s were, Waterson found that he no longer had any breath to run out of.

  Rita paused, leaning on her thighs, gulping down air. ‘Bit like old times this, eh?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Waterson, ‘except I’m a ghos
t, you have a magic axe, and werewolves are chasing us.’

  ‘Yeah, other than that, pretty similar.’

  A howl let them know they’d been spotted, and that it was time to run once more.

  ‘So, do you have a plan at all?’ asked Waterson.

  ‘Mostly this,’ said Rita.

  ‘Right, it’s just they seem very keen on killing you. I’m already dead, so I’m assuming I’m okay, but it doesn’t seem like a gentle way for you to go.’

  Christ, she could really do with Carlisle here to help. Instead, he was off selfishly risking his life trying to kill the unkillable.

  Rita stopped. Blackpool Tower loomed over her. One-hundred and fifty-eight metres tall, it had stood by the sea since it was opened in 1894, and as werewolves ran at them from the front and from the back, it seemed like the only option to continue their escape attempt.

  ‘Up,’ said Rita. ‘We go up.’ Rita ran to the entrance, but it was the middle of the night, so of course it was secured. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Quick as you like, Rita,’ said Waterson.

  ‘Right.’ Rita swung the axe at the door’s lock and smashed the thing open. ‘Oh, well that was easy. Come on!’

  She ran inside, followed by Waterson. In front of them was the elevator. Without thinking, Rita darted inside and jabbed at the buttons, the door sliding closed just as a giant, furry head poked its way into the Tower’s entrance.

  ‘So what’s the plan now?’ asked Waterson.

  ‘You know, you’re just as annoying as when you were alive.’

  ‘We’re heading to the top of a tower, probably trapping ourselves. Not great, tactically speaking, that’s all I’m saying.’

  The elevator rattled as something bashed against the bottom.

  ‘What was that?’ said Waterson.

  ‘A wild stab in the dark, but I think it’s probably a werewolf.’

  Another crash and the elevator rattled and scraped as it continued its ascent.

  ‘The fuckers must be climbing up,’ said Rita. ‘Well, good. That’s great.’

  Rita hugged the axe to herself, more like a comfort blanket than a weapon, but then remembered what Carlisle had said on the beach. That magic, the Uncanny, was all around them. The axe should be able to tap into it, use it, if she could just find a way to do that.

  ‘Okay, Waters, shut your gob for a minute.’

  ‘I wasn’t saying anything.’

  ‘Is that shutting your gob?’

  Waterson frowned and folded his arms.

  Rita gripped the wooden handle of the axe in both hands and lifted it in front of her, closing her eyes. She tried to ignore the lift’s movement, tried to ignore the howls of the monsters rushing up to meet them when the elevator reached its destination, tried to ignore the fact that she didn’t really know what she was doing or if it would work. Instead, she focused on the axe. The axe was a lightning rod. A magnet. A sponge. She imagined all the magic in the air around her. She pictured the colours that she had seen. The colours of magic.

  ‘Hey!’ she thought, ‘you will do my bidding. I wield the artefact, and you will do as I say.’

  Rita opened her eyes and saw the world around her anew. Ribbons of colour—reds, greens, blues, purples—whirled around her, around Waterson, around the axe.

  ‘Now,’ she said, and the magic rushed into the head of the weapon.

  The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal five werewolves stood waiting patiently for them.

  ‘Hi there, doggos, have this.’ Rita swung the axe forward and colour blasted from the blade, smashing into the werewolves and scattering them like pins in a bowling alley.

  ‘Holy crap!’ said Waterson.

  ‘I definitely agree with that,’ she replied.

  Like when she’d struck the dreamscapes of Mr. Cotton and Mr. Spike, like when she’d taken and used the magic thrown by the now deceased low level wizard Derek Nolan, Rita could read the magic. She was fluent in it. She could see it, feel it. She understood the sheet music perfectly and knew how to handle it, to mould it, to twist it into doing what she wanted. What she currently wanted was to knock anything that might come near them out of the way. She didn’t want any of them dead, the werewolves were still innocent people under it all, doing something against their will.

  The elevator’s floor tore open and more of the werewolves rushed out of the lift shaft towards them.

  ‘Eat this,’ said Rita, and swung the axe. White light rushed out to knock the creatures back, but still they kept coming. Slowly backing away as the two groups joined forces and stalked towards them, Rita and Waterson found themselves at the edge of the room, an open air balcony beyond. Rita turned and smashed open the door and stepped through, the wind whipping her red hair sideways.

  ‘Rita, I really think you might need to start, you know, putting a dog or two down. Unless you plan on having batting practice for the next few hours while we wait for the sun to come up.’

  ‘They’re people, Waters. It’s not them doing this.’

  Iron railings enclosed the balcony, put there to stop anyone from accidentally falling from the tower. In that moment, it also doubled as a cage to keep Rita and the monsters in one place.

  Rita knelt down, placing the butt of the axe on the ground before her, and concentrated. ‘More,’ she said. The magic swarmed her and rushed into the axe. It was exhilarating. Despite the danger she was in, the proximity to hundreds of teeth hungry to tear into her flesh, Rita felt electric. Felt strong. Felt sure.

  Flames rushed from the axe and along the balcony before them, beating back the werewolves that had begun to make their way out into the open air. Flames that somehow continued to burn whilst not harming the Tower itself.

  ‘You know, you’re actually pretty handy with that thing,’ noted Waterson.

  ‘Oh, it’s easy when you get the knack,’ replied Rita, blowing the axe’s blade like the barrel of a smoking gun.

  A sudden, blinding light erupted behind them and Rita and Waterson stumbled back as a ball of bright white rose into view beyond the railings. At the centre, raven hair billowing, was Magda, her blue eyes piercing through the glare.

  ‘Get behind me,’ said Rita.

  ‘Already there,’ replied Waterson.

  ‘Rita, you rejected my gift,’ said Magda. ‘You could have been something so beautiful. So alive. I cried for your loss.’

  ‘Thanks. Bit weird, but thanks. To be honest, I just don’t think I could take all the fur. I can’t even sleep fully under a duvet at night. I’m like my own personal hot water bottle.’

  The railings screeched as they were torn aside, Magda floating through the gap before settling down on to the balcony.

  ‘Magda, it’s not too late to stop this,’ said Rita.

  ‘Why would I stop? This is what I want. What they made me want.’

  ‘But those people back there, those people you turned, they’re innocent. They didn’t ask for this. They don’t have a grudge to settle with any wizard.’

  ‘Did I ask to be persecuted? Did I ask for my family to be murdered? Did any of my people ask to live a life of fear? Of hiding in the shadows?’

  ‘Good point, but still, this isn’t the way.’

  ‘I am the wronged one,’ Magda snarled, ‘all of my kind are. Who cries over the body of a wizard?’

  Rita lifted the axe, ‘Look, I don’t currently see a way out of this that doesn’t involve me killing you to save all those people you cursed, all those people you’ve dragged into your vendetta, and I really don’t want to do that.’

  ‘I have no choice,’ replied Magda, almost sorrowful. ‘Look at what they made of me.’ Flames erupted around her, her hands throbbing with magic, ready to be unleashed. ‘I allowed myself to be tainted, allowed my soul to be someone else’s property, just so that we would no longer live a life of constant fear.’

  ‘I’m a detective, I’m not a killer, please don’t make me do this.’

  ‘I have no choice,�
�� replied Magda. ‘There is no going back—not after all I’ve done—and even if I could, what would that mean? Back to hiding? Back to being hunted like vermin? Put down under a wizard’s boot like we are nothing? I will not be ashamed and I will not hide. No more. No more!’

  Not waiting to be attacked first, Rita swept the axe in an arc and blue flames rushed towards Magda. The magic was meant to concuss, but unfortunately, Magda was not as easy pickings as her kin, and the flames around her reduced the spell to nothing before it struck home.

  ‘Well, shit.’ said Rita.

  ‘A thought occurs,’ said Waterson, holding up a finger.

  ‘A thought is good.’

  ‘What I did to you, jumping in, controlling you, maybe I should try that with her?’

  ‘Do you remember how?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of. Mostly.’

  ‘Well then, what are you waiting for? Go get some, stud.’

  ‘You are disgusting,’ said Waterson, then turned and ran at Magda, leaping into her body.

  The flames around Magda faltered and she staggered back.

  ‘What are…?’ she said, as the ghost of Waterson struggled inside of her, attempting to wrangle control.

  ‘Take her down, Waters,’ shouted Rita, turning to the burning balcony behind her to see the werewolves milling on the other side. Sooner or later one of them was going to try and rush through the fire to get at her. ‘How’s it going, Waters? Now would be a good time to call off the dogs.’

  ‘I-and-what-will,’ babbled Magda.

  ‘Okay, that was gibberish, Waters.’

  Magda screamed and Waterson was ejected, arms windmilling from her body.

  ‘How dare you,’ cried Magda.

  ‘She’s too strong for me, I barely know what I’m doing in there as it is.’

  ‘Yeah, you always were terrible with women.’

  ‘Hilarious.’

  Rita leapt to the side as fire blasted from Magda – fire that would have reduced her to ash in a second.

  Rita willed as much magic as she could into the axe, but looking at Magda, she knew she was outgunned. She was going to have to try and fight her way back down the Tower to try and escape, otherwise she was a corpse.