Uncanny Kingdom: An Eleven Book Urban Fantasy Collection (Uncanny Kingdom Omnibus 1)

by David Bussell

  But no body.

  No corpse.

  No shredded pieces of flesh this time, waiting to greet me as I entered my coven. And that was the only thing giving me hope. Giving me that terrible sense that maybe, just maybe, David was still alive. That this thing wasn’t done playing just yet. That it was going to keep David alive because it wanted me to come and find him. To try and fight and take him back. At least, that’s what I had to tell myself, because what else did I have?

  I’d dropped into David’s life and turned it upside down. Exposed him to the kind of darkness and danger that no normal should ever have to know about. It was my fault he was who-knows-where with who-knows-what, his life on the line. So this wasn’t just about revenge anymore. I had to find this thing and I had to beat it, otherwise David’s death would be on my hands. Annoying, brave, strong, funny David. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I wouldn’t let it happen.

  ‘Razor! Get out here, now!’

  I stalked forward, the patrons of The Beehive parting before me. They moved back, relief washing over their faces as they heard me call out for someone beside themselves.

  ‘Stella—‘

  I shot Lenny a look, a look that told him all he needed to know. He nodded and turned away.

  ‘Razor!’

  The door to the bathroom squeaked and Razor stepped into the bar. At first he didn’t notice me, instead he looked at the nearest few tables of drinkers, saw the way they were hunkered down, shoulders hunched, ignoring everything.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  He turned and saw me, saw the smile on my face that didn’t reach my eyes.

  ‘You’ve been a bad boy, Razor.’

  ‘Shit—’

  The only exit was behind me, so Razor turned on his heels, almost falling over in his hurry, and bolted back through the door towards the bathrooms. I gave chase, shoving the door open so it cracked against the wall as I ran through. I stepped into the men’s room, the sharp stench of piss burning my nostrils as I padded towards the closed cubicles.

  ‘Get out here, Razor.’

  ‘What d’you want with me? I didn’t do anything!’

  I stopped in front of the closed cubicle door Razor was trying to shield himself behind. He may as well have been hiding under a thin sheet of wet paper for all the good it would do him.

  ‘You lied to me, Razor. You know that’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Lied to you? I didn’t lie to you! I mean, I have done, of course I have, I’ve lied to you lots of times, but not recently!’

  I grunted as the sole of my boot connected to the door, its lock popping under the force. Razor was crouched on the toilet inside, feet on the seat.

  ‘I came to you looking for information, Razor. Information about what happened to the witches of the London Coven. Information about the piece of shit that murdered them. And you spat up a lie.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You sent me on a wild goose chase that left me no closer to finding out who did this to them. To me. And now my friend has been taken.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You’re crazy! Someone help me! Lenny! Anyone!’

  I grabbed Razor by the throat and squeezed until his eyes bulged. He swatted at my face with his hands. I barely felt the blows.

  ‘You’re going to give me something I can use, or you’re going to die in here, Razor. Die in a toilet. Do you hear me?’

  With a roar, I twisted and threw Razor across the bathroom. He crashed into the mirror and fell hard onto the sinks. I smiled and moved towards him as he groaned, rolling and falling to the dirty tiled floor. I was strong. I was born strong. Right now, with the anger and adrenalin coursing through me, I was unstoppable.

  ‘Please… please, I don’t know what you’re talking a—’

  I landed a boot in his side, heard a rib crack. It made me smile.

  ‘Wait, please, just wait—’

  Razor winced and slid back until he was pressed against the wall, one hand to his busted side.

  ‘Give me a name, Razor. Give me something I can use.’

  ‘I swear, I didn’t send you wrong!’

  I grimaced. Even now he was trying to feed me lies. He saw what was about to happen and lifted his hands to try and placate me—

  ‘Stella, wait! Just… just wait a second! Look, okay, I heard about the witches. And this might surprise you, but I’m not happy about what happened! I’m not! The London Uncanny without the witches? Chaos is coming! They held all of this together! Stopped the whole city from falling to bits!’

  ‘I’m not hearing any names, Razor...’

  ‘I didn’t lie to you, or whatever you think I did—’

  My fist met his jaw, blood spat from between his busted lips.

  ‘Stella, please, come on, I haven’t spoken to you in weeks!’

  What was this? A game? Did he think he was being funny? Did he think I was stupid?

  ‘I came in here and I beat a name out of you Razor.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. I’m telling you the truth!’

  Enough. I grabbed him by the collar and threw him back against the mirror again so that his head left a fresh crack and a spray of red. He screamed as he fell, tried to make for the door. Bad idea. I took hold of him, threw him back until the side of the first toilet cubicle halted his momentum, crumpling like cardboard with the force. I couldn’t kill him with magic inside The Beehive, but I could toss him around like a rag doll.

  I stalked towards him as he coughed up a fresh glob of blood.

  ‘Stella…Stella, I’m telling you the truth. It was playing a game with you. That’s all.’

  I stopped. A game. That rang true.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I swear, Stella. I swear on everything my clan holds dear, I did not feed you any false info. I haven’t seen you since this whole thing started! It played you. The thing played you. It pretended to be me and sent you running after nothing!’

  I crouched by the destroyed cubicle and gripped Razor by the balls. He screamed long and high as I twisted.

  ‘Give me a name!’

  ‘I don’t know any—’

  A twist, more savage this time.

  ‘You always know something, Razor! Always! You swim in the filth all day; you taste a piece of every dark thing that goes on in this city!’

  ‘Please, I can’t, I can’t—’

  ‘I’ll tear these things off and choke you with them, Razor!’

  He screamed again, his animal howls bouncing around the tiled room, caressing my ears.

  ‘Please-please, it’ll kill me if it knows I said anything—’

  ‘And I’ll kill you if you don’t! Give me a name!’

  Razor’s chest was rising and falling spasmodically, his eyes pinned open as though they were about to pop out. He was terrified. Beyond terrified. Of me, I could see that, but not just of me. He knew who had killed my witches, knew who had David, and it terrified him.

  ‘Please-! Please don’t make me—!’

  I grabbed a shard of the broken cubicle wall and jabbed it into his thigh.

  He screamed.

  I laughed.

  I twisted the shard in his thigh—

  ‘Mr. Trick! Its name is Mr. Trick!’

  20

  True names hold power.

  In the right hands, a true name can be a useful thing. But was Mr. Trick a true name, or just another part of the game? Another sleight of hand. A tripwire to send me sprawling to the ground, to be laughed at once again as I dragged myself up out of the dirt. To be stomped on and made an idiot of yet again.

  I’d only had to hit Razor a couple more times before I believed what he was telling me, leaving him bloody but alive in a puddle of his own—and various other customers’—urine.

  I’m only a Familiar, I didn’t have the knowledge or capability to do the kind of magic that I needed. Black Magic. Bad magic. The kind of spell I needed was forbidden. It latched onto an Uncanny’s very essence to pinpoint them
, to show the user where they were. I might be too lowly to grapple with such spells, but I knew of one man ancient and powerful enough to do whatever he liked.

  I pushed open the door to L’Merrier’s Antiques, the stale fug wafting over me as I crossed the threshold. I could see dust dancing in the few shafts of light that managed to penetrate the dim interior. Almost every inch of the place was covered in curiosities, large and small. Some were what you might expect from an antiques shop: old lamps, bits of furniture, the usual. But the usual shared L’Merrier’s shop with the unusual. Remnants of the country’s strange underbelly that I was a part of. The Uncanny Kingdom.

  ‘L’Merrier.’

  ‘I allowed you to enter my establishment, little one. Be thankful.’ Giles L’Merrier’s voice rolled from the shadows like silk as he moved into view. He wore a floor length gown over his bulky frame, covered in ancient symbols. Despite his girth, he moved gracefully, seeming to glide rather than walk.

  ‘I didn’t feel anything.’ Unlike my coven, or The Beehive, I hadn’t felt the presence of any protection as I’d entered.

  He smiled and interlocked his fingers, resting his hands on the bulge of his large stomach. He stopped in a shaft of light that bounced from his large, completely bald head, almost dazzling me.

  ‘A lowly Familiar such as you? Oh my dear, of course you did not feel it. I create spells of protection on a much higher plane than a familiar could ever hope to exist in. You are a bug. An ant scurrying underfoot, unaware that at any moment I could bring that self same foot down to crush you.’

  ‘I get it, you’re super powerful. Can we move on?’

  His smile twitched into a frown, but just for a moment. ‘Do not test me, little one. I have not taken the life of an Uncanny in many years, but I do so hate the rude.’

  He was trying to scare me, and I don’t mind saying it was working. He may not have killed an Uncanny in many years, but everyone in London and far beyond knew of his history. Of the stories. The true stories of Giles L’Merrier; the man that once strode the globe as though it belonged to him. He had gone to war with the most fearsome black magic practitioners of the age, and had never walked away the loser.

  ‘So, have you come to buy a trinket for your coven? A nice lamp, perhaps? I can do you a very good deal. Mate’s rates.’

  He knew that wasn’t why I was there. The smugness he radiated made me ball my fists, made me want to give him one hard smack to the jaw. That wouldn’t have been my wisest move.

  ‘My masters are dead.’

  ‘Ah, yes. ‘Tis a shame, it’s true. They have served London well for many centuries.’

  ‘I need you to do something for me.’

  ‘Oh, I do not do requests. I’m sorry to say I am not coin-operated.’ He turned from me and began to glide back into the shadows. ‘You know the way out.’

  ‘You owe my coven a debt!’

  He paused, his giant head turning to look back at me. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘My witches helped you a decade back and they never called in the debt.’

  ‘And now you are?’

  I swallowed and nodded, my heart fluttering.

  L’Merrier laughed, ‘The London Coven is dead, with no witches in place to take the reins. The debt is gone.’

  ‘No. The London Coven lives on in me.’

  L’Merrier turned fully towards me now as he arched an eyebrow, ‘You?’

  I nodded and tried to make myself look big. And less terrified.

  ‘Oh little one, that is adorable. But I think not.’

  ‘I will carry on my masters’ work. It is my duty. What I was made for.’

  ‘You are a trifle. A marionette moulded together from dirt, spittle, and force of will to do the bidding of others. Of great women. You are the monkey, not the organ grinder. My apologies to monkeys everywhere for that dreadful slur on their kind. Now, if you do not wish to make a purchase, you will leave.’

  ‘No, I came here to—’ I blinked and found myself outside, looking at the door to L’Merrier’s Antiques. Grunting, I pulled some magic towards me and punched forward, allowing the power to unleash and throw the door open, the handle smashing into the wall and leaving a mark in the plaster. I strode back into the shop, L’Merrier was waiting, his face slightly redder than moments before.

  ‘You dare, Familiar?’

  ‘The debt stands and will only be paid when you do the thing I want you to do.’

  L’Merrier sighed, then swatted one hand back almost lazily; I braced myself as the spell caught me and lifted me from my feet, pinning me to the ceiling, my head cracking back and sending my vision fuzzy for a moment.

  ‘L’Merrier, please—’

  ‘Begging now? My, my. You come into my shop and make demands. Tut-tut, little one. I should dispatch you for showing such arrogance. Pluck your limbs from their sockets one by one. What say you? Shall we begin with an arm? Left or right, hmm?’

  ‘L’Merrier, the witches of the London Coven are dead! Murdered in their own seat of power, and it is my duty to get revenge! Do you want their deaths to go unpunished?’

  I could see him waver, considering my words.

  ‘They were good women, ‘tis true. For witches, that is.’

  ‘My masters did a lot for you, even in the short space of time I had the pleasure of being their Familiar. Do you not want their killer found? If they could take down the London Coven, who’s next? Who’s safe? Maybe they’ll pay this shop a visit!’

  He twitched his hand and I fell to the floor, my head jarring as the wooden floorboards caught me. I groaned and rolled onto my back, L’Merrier gliding into view as he leaned over me.

  ‘What is the animal's name?’

  ‘His name… his name is Mr. Trick.’

  21

  L’Merrier was stood in the centre of a pentagram. He had chalked it freshly whilst muttering strange words even I had never heard before.

  We were in the basement of L’Merrier’s Antiques; at least that’s where I thought we were. In truth, he hadn’t allowed me to walk there, he’d clapped his hands and suddenly this was where we were. For all I knew, this inner sanctum was at the centre of a mountain in Tibet. Or underneath a betting shop in Ealing.

  L’Merrier turned to me, his face drained of colour. ‘Familiar, using a name to find an Uncanny’s location is one of the black arts. I am friends with the black arts, the dark plane, the shadow realm of screams, but you may be…. upset by some of the things you see or hear.’

  ‘I can take it,’ I replied, trying to ignore the prickle of sweat on my neck.

  ‘Very well, then we shall begin.’ He clapped his hands together and it sounded like thunder, shaking the room.

  ‘Ruma-Chk-Ella-Ruma-Chk-Ella—’ His voice rolled out, deep and powerful.

  The temperature in the room immediately dropped twenty degrees and I shivered as my breath began to fog in front of me.

  ‘Hear me. Know what I want. What I demand. Hear me.’

  Something skittered across the floor, just out of view. I pressed my back to the wall as my magical sense began to recoil at the unnaturalness flooding into L’Merrier’s sanctum. My first instinct was to pull in the magic surrounding me, ready to defend, to attack, but the room was no longer bathed in ordinary magic. It was flooded with black magic. If I soaked that up, there was no telling what it might do to me. What I might do to other people. Whether I’d be able to walk out of the sanctum alive at all.

  ‘Chk-Ella! Chk-Ella! I, Giles L’Merrier, the wonder of mankind, have a name for you. A true name!’

  There was a shape in the room. It looked almost like a person, but wrong. Stretched out. Bent. Its flesh was crisp and blackened, as though burned and diseased. It didn’t have a face, just a giant mouth, full of teeth; a snake’s tongue lazily slithered out to lick at the air. Two horns curled and wound from its forehead.

  ‘I am here,’ it said, its voice a harsh whisper that made me wince; fingernails down a chalkboard. It made my stomach a fis
t, and I felt like I might throw up.

  ‘I need to know an Uncanny’s place in the world. You will tell me, foul beast.’

  The creature wasn’t listening. It was looking at me.

  ‘I know you, little thing. Yes I do.’

  It stepped towards me, its movements twitchy, unnerving, as though watching a film with frames cut out.

  ‘Beast, I command you!’

  My back was coated with sweat. I wanted to run, but as I looked for a place to escape I realised for the first time that the sanctum had no door. No window. No obvious place in or out. I was trapped in there. Trapped with a thing of the dark.

  ‘You don’t know me,’ I managed, my voice a childish stutter.

  ‘Do not speak with the thing, Familiar!’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes, I do. I have. Have yet to. Will. We all will. The dark knows you.’

  A sonic boom as L’Merrier clapped his mighty hands together once more. The creature winced and turned from me, its attention caught.

  ‘Yes, look to me, thing.’

  ‘The magic man seeks our council once again.’

  ‘I have a true name in my possession; I demand you show me the Uncanny’s location!’

  ‘Why should we bend to you?’

  ‘Do not play games or speak falsely with me, foul creature. You know me. You know this sanctum, the shapes I have drawn, the words I have spoken, the magic that flows through this place is without question. In here, with me, you are bound to tell me answers.’

  The creature took one long finger, the nail ragged, and drew it down its cheek. Black, thick blood oozed from the wound and the beast giggled.