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

by David Bussell

  ‘Beg all you want,’ I said, ‘You won’t find mercy here.’ I reached out my hands, fire shooting from my palms, reducing the thing to ash.

  Mr. Trick was dead and gone.

  I’d done it.

  I’d started this whole episode seeing impossible things, and now I’d done something impossible myself. I’d destroyed the most powerful creature I’d ever met.

  ‘Stella...?’

  I whirled round to where David’s body lay. He wasn’t dead! Not quite, but he would be. I ran to him and cradled him in my arms, fussing at the open wounds that covered him, the giant gaping hole that Mr. Trick had crawled out of.

  ‘David. Oh God, David, you’re going... you’re going to be…’ I couldn’t finish the sentence, because he wasn’t going to be okay. His wounds were too severe, he was seconds from death. I thought he’d died once, but this time he really would. This time he was really going to die…

  ...unless…

  I looked up at the sparks still swirling around in a confusion of magic. It was forbidden, I knew that. It was the dark arts, black magic. It was especially bad for a thing such as me to use it, and maybe it wouldn’t work anyway. But...

  I stood and lifted my hands to the sky, head thrown back, looking up at all of the sparks rushing around like a tornado. All of those Uncanny souls.

  Was there enough? So much magic in one place, for this moment only, but would it be enough? Would I be enough? Would I be able to harness it and channel it correctly, or would it burn me up and leave me a husk on the ground?

  ‘Sod it,’ I said. ‘Let’s do this...’

  The forms shaped in my head. The forbidden forms. I felt the energy in the forest change. I was a lightning rod, a thing of pure focus. I tensed, tried to ready myself, but as the first spark rushed into me I heard myself begin to scream. All the Uncanny sparks, the souls, entered me one after one; I could feel my bones burning, my flesh twisting; they were tearing me apart.

  No-no-no-

  You will… do what I want… I… I control you… I demand it... I... demand...

  I felt the dark energy I was tapping into, and it terrified me. Whether it worked or not, there would be a price. A Familiar like me can’t play with this side of magic, not without paying a toll further down the line. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. All that mattered was winning; was pulling one life back from Mr. Trick.

  Throat raw from screaming, I lowered my arms and looked at David on the ground before me. I knelt beside him, my body on fire, and I gathered him into my arms, his head lolling back.

  ‘...Stella...I think...I think I’m going to...’

  ‘Shh now, David. Everything is going to be okay.’

  I leaned down and placed my lips upon his and I blew into him. The power, the sparks, the dark magic, rushed from inside me and into him. He jolted from my arms and hung in the air in a brilliant ball of light, the trees around us catching flame, David screaming at the centre. The whole world was screams and fire and blinding light and it was too much, too much, too much—

  And then, it was over.

  He fell with a thump to the ground, the sparks gone, the dark magic gone, and all was silent. I slumped back, every part of me in agony, trying to catch my breath. I was alive. I’d managed to harness all that magic, tap into the dark plane, and somehow I’d survived.

  But what about...?

  ‘Stella?’

  I rolled over and crawled towards David, my head coming to rest on his stomach.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That really, really hurt.’

  I smiled, ‘You’re welcome.’

  29

  A month later, back at the London Coven. Back at my home. My body had just about recovered from everything, though I still walked with a bit of a limp. I’d stopped coughing up blood in the mornings, too, so that was good.

  For a while, it felt strange to come back to this place. To decide I was going to live there still. But it was my home. I wouldn’t let Mr. Trick win by forcing me out. This was my place. This was where I belonged.

  ‘Hey,’ said David as I entered the kitchen. He put a mug of coffee down before me. He’d recovered much quicker than I had. All the dark magic that had saved his life had fixed him up pretty well. I wrapped my hands around the mug and not for the first time wondered what the price would be for my harnessing such black magic. There was always a price. I looked up at David and knew I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  ‘Hey, have I thanked you yet for saving my life?’

  ‘Only about ten times a day for the last month.’

  He patted my shoulder and sat opposite me. He’d described what had happened like a sort of dream. He was aware at times that something was inside him, willing him to act in certain ways, but he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. At other times, he hadn’t known anything was wrong at all. Mr. Trick had only used him for brief bits of time, until he’d staged his disappearance. From then on, until Mr. Trick had crawled out of him, he’d been completely cut off and unaware of anything. Like he was in a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ‘So today’s the day?’

  ‘Today’s the day,’ I said, nodding.

  ‘You’re sure? I saw you pretending not to limp as you walked in here.’

  ‘London has been without its witches for too long. Without the protection and order of this coven. Well, I might only be a little Familiar, but I’m of here and of them, and until someone better comes along, I’m going to carry on doing what I was created for. Keeping the Uncanny of London in line.’

  ‘With me by your side, right? Remember, this is my city too. Now I know all of the spooky stuff that goes on, it’s my duty to make sure people are safe.’

  I smiled and nodded. Truth be told, I could do with the help, and he knew things that I didn’t. People, places, ways to go about investigations. What to look for and how to fit clues together. I needed him. Not that I’d say that to him, he had a big enough head as it was.

  ‘Stella Familiar and Detective David Tyler,’ he said, ‘taking on anyone who tries to upset our city. This is going to be fun. Me and you, a crime-fighting duo. Ooh, like Batman & Robin! Bagsy I’m Batman.’ He whistled and began cracking eggs into a pan.

  There was another reason I wanted David close by. Well, another two reasons. He’d been the home of the most powerful creature I’d ever come across. Was Mr. Trick gone for good? Would David now become a weak link, the creature’s way to crawl back into this plane? There was no way of knowing. And then there was the fact I’d used black magic on him. Who knew what the long-term effect of that might be. No, I wanted to keep my eye on him. To protect him. Maybe protect others from him.

  ‘It’s not going to be an easy ride,’ I said. ‘The Uncanny world is a dangerous one, as I’m sure you’re already very aware.’

  ‘Hey, danger is my middle name.’

  ‘I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face.’

  ‘I am pretty much shameless,’ he replied with a grin.

  ‘Oh, and David?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You’re definitely Robin.’

  The witches of the London Coven might be dead.

  And I might not be a fifth of the Uncanny they were.

  But it didn’t matter. I’d walked into Mr. Trick’s world and taken him out, and I’d do whatever it took to see off anything looking to take his place.

  That was my job.

  My whole reason for existing.

  My name is Stella Familiar.

  Created by the witches of the London Coven.

  And this city will be protected.

  The End.

  Nightmare Realm

  1

  Blood sprayed across my face, but the creature kept moving.

  ‘Run all you like, you’re not getting out of here alive!’

  A panting noise at my side let me know that David had caught up to me. He looked at my clenched fists spitting arcs of magical energy from my knuckles, saw the gore cov
ering my face.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Have a wet wipe.’

  ‘Maybe later,’ I replied.

  ‘It’s lemon scented...’

  In the short time I’d known Detective David Tyler I’d become used to his sense of humour and the way he used it most during bad situations.

  This was a bad situation.

  We were chasing down a monster that ate and replaced family dogs. If that doesn’t sound so bad, just wait until you hear the rest.

  This creature—despite looking like an eight-foot-tall skinned orangutan when not disguised—sits in your home being fed and petted like loyal old Rover, panting and wagging its tail, and then, once it’s nice and settled, it gets to work. The creature, known to the Uncanny as a ‘best fiend,’ for hopefully obvious reasons, secretes a noxious gas. The gas is invisible, has no scent or smell, but has a very particular effect on those within your household.

  It gets them pissed off.

  Your family begin to turn on each other. Old grievances sting anew. New grievances are given fire. Even made-up resentments will arise; anything to stoke the toxic feelings and make your formerly happy family scream and shout at one another.

  And then worse. Much, much worse.

  Someone, at some point, will be pushed over the edge. Maybe it will be your father, it often is. It might even be your youngest daughter, braces still on her teeth. The best fiend will sit, quivering, in the corner of the room, pumping out more and more of its gas, until finally one family member creeps up on another, kitchen knife in hand. A rolling pin. A pillow to force over a sleeping face. A match and something flammable.

  The family will be found—what’s left of them—and their neighbours would be shocked and tell the papers that they seemed so happy. So content. Such a nice household.

  No one will pay any mind to the family pet sat on the pavement, watching as the police arrive, the fire brigade, the TV news. Not even when it wag-wag-wags its tail and takes off down the street.

  So, why does the best fiend do all of this? Apart from being a complete bastard of a monster? There are a few theories on that, the most popular being that it somehow feeds on unrest. On anger, and pain, and fury. It sits on the edge of things, a raw pink nightmare, soaking up every shout, every narrowed eye, every dark thought that bubbles and brews in its presence. Drinks it all in until the family are dead and its belly is full, and then off it goes to sleep it off for a few years, before waking up and seeking a new family to destroy.

  Well not this time.

  This time I’d received a tip-off about one of the best fiend’s hibernating spots, and had arrived just as it woke and twitched its way out of the sewers.

  I thought it would be an easy job. Thought the creature would be dazed after its years of sleeping, its belly grumbling and defences down. Using the Amulet of Kanta—created to cleanse a house of such a creature—I would focus a spell onto it, and hey presto, end of problem.

  But no one warned me just how tough and vicious these things were.

  So, yeah, it hadn’t quite gone to plan, hence David and I running through the streets at night, me slinging spells at the fleeing thing as he puffed and panted by my side.

  ‘Do you see it?’ I asked.

  ‘Three o’clock,’ he replied.

  I turned, ‘I don’t see it!’

  ‘Other three o’clock, uh, nine o’clock,’ he yelled, pointing in the other direction. ‘Sorry, I’m more of a digital watch man.’

  We ran.

  I don’t mind admitting I had a huge grin on my face as I readied for the attack, heart beating, body coursing with magic as I soaked in the area’s natural reserves. This was what I did. What I was created for. To hunt monsters and keep the normals of London safe from the worst the Uncanny world had to offer.

  ‘Over there!’ yelled David.

  I followed his hand to see the best fiend pressed against a wall, desperately looking for a way out.

  ‘It’s run into a dead end,’ said David. ‘Not the brightest bulb, is it?’

  I thought otherwise. This thing had—at a conservative estimate—six-hundred deaths to its name, spanning more than nine centuries. Whatever it was, it wasn’t stupid.

  I held out my hand as we approached the best fiend and David tossed me the amulet. The metal was cold but fizzed with energy, needling my skin like static.

  Best fiends were catalogued centuries back by a warlock who had taken it upon himself to rid England of the vile creatures. Unfortunately, the monsters could withstand a great deal of magic, which allowed them to escape even the most accomplished magicians. It would sometimes take six or seven concentrated assaults to see the things off, so the warlock went to his workshop and created the Amulet of Kanta: a tool fashioned from the remains of one of the creatures and designed specifically to combat the best fiend problem. Instead of focussing his magic on the creature itself, the magician would focus their spell into the amulet, which would redirect the spell towards the monster in a concentrated form, ending it once and for all. Don’t ask me how it works exactly, or why it only works on best fiends. All I know is that, according to the warlock’s instructions, it does the job.

  David and I stood a few metres from the monster, its black eyes flicking every which way, desperate to find a way out. Except there was only one way out this time, and it wasn’t going to like it.

  I held out the amulet and concentrated. The surrounding magic flowed towards me as I placed the correct word form together and fed the result into the amulet.

  It began to glow.

  Dimly at first, then brighter, and brighter still, until it hurt to even look at the thing, though it remained cold in my hand.

  I think the best fiend screamed. I hope it did. Hope it recognised the tool in my hand, burning fiercely, and knew what was about to happen.

  ‘Goodbye,’ I said, and the amulet unleashed the intensified power.

  It surged in red and blue molten lines of furious energy that smashed into the creature, pinning it to the brick wall, then coiling round and round, over and over, in ever-tightening circles.

  And then the best fiend exploded.

  I hurled myself to the side as blood and chunks of bone and flesh shot in my direction, landing with a jarring thump.

  I stood, smiling and wiping the gore from my face, sliding the empty amulet into the pocket of my leather jacket.

  ‘Eat shit, monster.’

  ‘Wh-wha…?’

  I looked down to see David looking up at me, dazed and laid flat.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘When the monster exploded a chunk of it hit you and knocked you out.’

  ‘Oh. Which bit?’

  ‘A big wedge of torso I think. Mostly stomach.’

  David nodded.

  ‘Okay. Well, it’s probably about time to get drunk then, right?’

  I smiled. ‘Oh yes.’

  2

  ‘Fill these up if you would, Lenny,’ said David, sliding the two empty pint glasses across the bar.

  ‘Don’t I get a “please,” Detective?’ asked the giant barman and owner of The Beehive, the most popular Uncanny drinking hole in London.

  ‘I’ll put a little sugar on top if you throw in a bag of cheese and onion.’

  Lenny grunted and went about his business.

  My name is Stella Familiar and I belong to the London Coven. Once upon a time it was home to Kala, Trin, and Feal, the three most powerful witches in the country. Together we were, for want of a better term, the “police force” of the Uncanny in London. I was their familiar. The blunt tool they created to deliver warnings and—more often than not—beat the hell out of monsters. We were winning the battle until the most powerful creature I’ve ever come across, Mr. Trick, murdered them and left their bodies in bloody pieces.

  ‘To another monstrous turd, successfully dispatched,’ said David, raising his pint glass.

  I reciprocated, then glugged a third of my drink in one go.

  ‘Whoa,
slow it down, booze hound.’

  I answered with a burp.

  ‘How are you still single?’ asked David, rolling his eyes and digging into his bag of crisps.

  It had been three months since I’d taken out Mr. Trick. Three months since I’d discovered the creature was hiding inside David. Getting rid of it had almost killed him; I’d had to tap into the dark realm to save his life. That was a big no-no. A witch’s familiar using black magic? There’d be a price to pay for that, that was for sure. But right then I had other things on my mind. Since my coven had been destroyed I bore the responsibility of protecting all of London on my shoulders. The rightful protectors of the city were dead, and now here I was—their simple, blunt instrument—trying to fill their shoes. Was I up to the job? I wasn’t a tenth of the Uncanny they were. I was just a creation, something they’d conjured into life sixty years ago to do their bidding. Was I even really a person? I had no parents, no birth certificate. One day I hadn’t existed, and then the next I just had, exactly the same as I looked in the mirror today. No growth, no childhood, no ageing, Always this. Always the same.

  Then there was David.

  The effects of my black magic aside, there was also the matter of him having unwillingly hosted the most powerful Uncanny I’d ever met. I’d dealt with Mr. Trick. Killed him. At least I hoped I had. That’s the thing with magic, with the Uncanny – nothing can ever be “for sure.” Maybe David would turn out to be a weak link. A toehold for Mr. Trick to cling onto and pull himself back into the world. Back into existence. There was no way of knowing for certain.

  So many questions and dark thoughts fighting for space inside my mind. I’d never had to cope with such worry and responsibility before. Not like this. The only way I could keep my thoughts from going to dark places was chasing monsters and drinking beer.

  ‘Penny for them,’ said David, pouring the remaining crumbs from his crisp packet into his mouth.

  ‘I was just wondering at what point tequila slammers might make an appearance.’