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

by David Bussell

  ‘Less of the dilly-dallying, love, go find your boy.’

  I ran from the room, from the memory of Eva, and sprinted down the corridor towards the Gents, barging the door open with my shoulder with such ferocity that I almost fell to the floor as I rushed inside.

  David was curled up against the far wall head in his hands.

  ‘David? David, is that you?’ I approached softly, terrified that he’d look up and I’d see his eyes were on fire.

  ‘David, it’s me, it’s Stella. I’ve come to save you.’

  He looked up and I couldn’t help but smile, my heart jumping. It was the real David. Memory after memory he’d been erased from, but I’d found him again at last. I ran to him and crouched, holding him, scared that if I didn’t he would just blip out of existence.

  ‘I found you. I found you, David.’

  ‘Stella?

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I can’t breathe.’

  I released him from my bear hug, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I knew you’d come. I wasn’t worried for a second.’

  ‘You’re curled up on a toilet floor.’

  ‘Just… having a breather.’

  I pulled him up onto his feet and tried to ignore how scared he looked. ‘I’ve been searching all over for you.’

  He smiled. ‘Yeah. Sorry about that. That glowy-eyed bastard keeps turning up. Handsome guy though, am I right?’

  I laughed. Even here, even now, he couldn’t help himself, but when I looked at him again, I could see the worry in his eyes.

  ‘I’m almost gone, Stella. There’s hardly a thing left of me. I can feel myself getting colder as each bit of me is turned off. How are we going to stop... well, me? Other me.’’

  ‘I can save you, but I need your help.’

  ‘I can already see the flaw in this plan, but I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Somewhere in your memories, somewhere in your mind, is a splinter. A slither of dark magic. You need to take us to it.’

  ‘How am I supposed to know where it is?’

  ‘Close your eyes, try to picture it. To picture the point where this is all emanating from. The paper cut that stings.’

  David closed his eyes, his brow creasing. ‘I’m not sure I can.’

  ‘You have to try. So many people’s lives depend on it; the whole of London depends on it.’

  And you, David. That’s what I wanted to say. You depend on it, and I can’t lose you.

  The Gents’ door burst open and a great blast of air blew us back, pinning us to the wall.

  Other David appeared in the doorway, eyes blazing.

  ‘It’s too late,’ said David.

  I grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes, our faces so close our lips almost touched.

  ‘David, please, you can do this. I know you can. I believe in you.’

  Other David began to walk into the Gents, the fire in his eyes engulfing his entire head. I tried to ignore how my heart was beating hard enough to burst out of my chest as I concentrated on the real David.

  ‘I can’t feel anything,’ he said.

  ‘You can, David. Just ignore what’s happening in this room. This room doesn’t matter. Just open yourself up and feel the intruder. Feel the sharp point that stuck into you when I brought you back to life. Take us to it.’

  Other David lifted a hand and it erupted in white flame as he prepared to remove David from the memory.

  ‘You can do it. David, you can do it, you can save everyone.’

  His eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply. ‘I have it!’

  Other David was yanked back suddenly, as though attached to a bungee cord. Eva poked her head into the room.

  ‘Well go on then, bloody run!’

  David grabbed my hand and pulled me after him as the room streaked and—

  —A forest.

  There were things out there. Hidden things, walking through the undergrowth. Monsters. I knew where we were. The only place that really made sense.

  This was where we killed Mr. Trick.

  Where David died and I brought him back to life using black magic.

  Where this whole thing started.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, not letting go of David’s hand.

  ‘You know he’ll follow us here,’ replied David. ‘He’ll step into every memory I have until they’re all his.’

  ‘Then let’s not waste any time.’

  The splinter hung in mid-air in a clearing. It looked like a shard of black ice puncturing existence.

  ‘This is what was left behind when you saved my life?’

  ‘The dark magic, it rushed through your body, through your mind, and left a trace of itself behind. There’s always a price to pay when you use the black arts, I knew that. But what choice did I have?’

  I pulled out the small box L’Merrier had given to me.

  ‘I need to pull out the splinter.’

  I reached up tentatively, unsure what would happen when I touched the splinter. Would it burn me? Would it turn my hand to dust?

  I breathed in once, then let it go. I gripped the splinter. It was cold. Cold enough to hurt. It was also stuck. I yanked at it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Stella,’ said David, pointing past me. Other David, eyes aflame, was stood just beyond the treeline.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, grunting, trying again and again to pull the dark shard free, but it didn’t budge an inch.

  There were more Other Davids with every passing second. Other Davids from every stage of his life. They stepped out of the trees, one by one, a complete circle.

  David began to pull the shard with me, both of us pulling at it desperately. Did it move? Was that a slight give?

  The unseen monsters in the forest howled and the Other Davids grew in number with every breath taken. Tens, then hundreds, then thousands. Other Davids from every moment of David’s life descending upon us.

  ‘It’s coming!’ said David, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth threatened to shatter.

  The Other Davids began to walk towards us.

  ‘Come on, it’s nearly out!’ I cried.

  Stella—

  ‘What did you—?’

  A wet hand on my leg.

  I looked down to see something dark and withered and foul leering up at me with huge, yellow eyes.

  I would have screamed if the realisation hadn’t robbed me of breath.

  It was Mr. Trick, or the memory of him at least. That’s all it could be, surely? That was enough though. I let go of the dark shard in shock and fell to the dirt, bones jarring.

  ‘Stella, what are you doing?’ asked David, frantically pulling at the splinter as the Other Davids stepped closer and closer, ready to remove the last true David from his memories.

  ‘It’s him! Don’t you see him?’ But David didn’t look down, he carried on pulling at the splinter.

  Only you, Stella, I’m here for you.

  Mr. Trick reached up and scratched at my neck with his ragged fingernails.

  ‘Fuck you!’ I yelled and kicked out. As my foot connected, his body crumpled and tore, like I’d just attacked a wet paper bag.

  I felt more hands on me as David pulled me back up. ‘Help me!’

  I glanced down, but the memory of Mr. Trick was gone. I felt my neck throbbing, blood dripping.

  No time for that. Not time for thinking or fear. I wrapped my hands around David’s and we pulled. It was giving! It was moving, a tooth ready to turn and turn and finally—

  —Out it came!

  We both fell to the ground, the splinter gripped tight in my hand. I pulled out the box and placed the shard inside.

  28

  Everything was out of focus.

  I was flat out on a hard floor, body aching.

  ‘Oi, wake up, love,’ came a familiar voice.

  Blinking the world back to sharpness, I sat up. I was still in the safe house that Razor and his eaves family had produced for us, with Eva stood over me.

  ‘I did it?’ />
  L’Merrier stepped into view, holding the box out for me to see. ‘Yes.’ He rolled his wrist and the box disappeared.

  ‘Christ, my head is killing me,’ said David, rubbing at this skull as he sat up. I pushed myself over to him and held him tight.

  ‘You’re okay.’

  ‘I knew you’d do it. Wasn’t worried for a second.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Okay. Maybe for a second, but no longer than that.’

  I laughed as he wrapped his arms around me and we both did our best not to collapse from exhaustion.

  I took David home and helped him up the stairs so he could collapse onto his bed and get some sleep.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to need to do a little more flim-flam on Layland and the others, magic lady,’ he said as he laid his head on the pillow and tried to keep his eyes open a little longer.

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ I told him. I wondered how sharp his memory was now. How many holes the experience might have left him with. But we could sort that out later. All that mattered for now was he was alive. Alive, safe, and no longer a threat to anyone. L’Merrier made sure that information got out fast, so no one would take it into their own hands to try and kill him again.

  I inhaled sharply as I felt David’s hand over mine.

  ‘Thank you, Stella.’

  The words caught in my throat for a second, tongue dry. ‘It’s my job, detective.’

  He smiled, eyes drooping. I wondered if I’d ever have stopped him if I hadn’t been able to prevent him going critical. If I’d have done the right thing and put the city first. Could I have done it? Would I have killed him? As I watched him drift off to sleep, his hand still upon mine, I thought I already knew the answer.

  ‘Where is it?’ I asked as I stepped into L’Merrier’s Antiques, which now showed no signs of the huge fight that had taken place just hours earlier.

  ‘The shard is destroyed,’ he replied, sliding out of the gloom, his hands resting on top of his stomach as shafts of light danced upon his large, shaved head.

  ‘People died because of you. Innocent people in my city.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  ‘And you almost killed David, too. All because you thought you knew best. Knew what was right. Knew what to do without ever even stepping outside of this fucking shop to find out for sure.’

  I wondered what he would do. Would he attack me for speaking to him like that? Me, just a lowly familiar.

  Instead, he bowed his head, for once unable to look me in the eye.

  ‘I made… a mistake.’

  ‘That’s not all you made,’ I said, stepping to him. ‘You made a new enemy too.’

  L’Merrier opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t wait to listen. I turned, disgusted, and walked out of his shop.

  Eva was waiting for me back at the coven.

  ‘You could stay,’ I said.

  ‘Could I?’

  ‘London is a big place, and I don’t have any witches. The two of us could keep the city safe together. We could be the new London Coven; two familiars protecting millions.’

  She smiled as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep drag, then blasting the smoke out of her nostrils.

  ‘Nice idea, love, but I don’t belong here. If all this has shown me anything—if you’ve shown me anything—it’s that I’ve been avoiding my responsibilities for too long. I need to go home. Which is a real pisser, believe me.’

  Part of me was sad to see her go. Another friend, another familiar, it would make life… fuller. But how could I argue? The very idea of running away from London for ten years, like she had from Cumbria, made my heart skip out of rhythm. A familiar belonged where she was created.

  ‘Thanks for eventually helping,’ I said, smiling.

  ‘Pleasure. Well, mostly. Apart from all the nearly dying bits.’

  I walked with her to the door. As she stepped out into the blind alley beyond, she turned back and winked. ‘Thanks, love. Thanks for showing me the way home.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  She wavered and squinted at me. ‘By the way, that looks nasty, you should get it seen to,’ she said, pointing to my neck. As the door closed I ran to the nearest mirror, pulling down the collar of my jacket.

  Four red lines were scratched into my neck. They ran at an angle, one next to the other.

  Only you, Stella, I’m here for you...

  My legs began to wobble and I pressed a hand against the wall, lowering myself down until I was sat on the floor, other hand to the scratches that now throbbed.

  It wasn’t possible.

  That had just been my astral form in an old memory.

  ‘When Mr. Trick comes to town, all the uncanny shall fall and frown…’

  I curled up on the floor, and closed my eyes.

  The End.

  Ghosted

  Deathday

  Fresh Hell

  Something Rotten

  Twice Damned

  Deathday

  1

  My name is Jake Fletcher and you’re joining me at the point it all started to go wrong: the day I showed up at the Mitchell House.

  In case you haven’t heard of the place, the Mitchell House is an affluent, family home in Camden overlooking Hampstead Heath. A five-mill, five-bed detached, hidden behind a set of wrought iron gates that could keep out a Sherman tank.

  It was night-time when I got there—five past ten in the evening—and I was stood at the building’s entrance with my partner, Damon. It was chilly, and a stooping crowd of cedars shaded us from what little moonlight there was. The door to Mitchell House was pitch black, the same colour as my suit, which I wore with a plain white shirt and a neutral tie. Simple, smart, and timeless. I’m a firm believer in that old saying: Always dress better than your audience. Of course, that’s not hard when your audience is a rabble of snot-nosed kids with skid marks in their dungarees.

  I’d come to the Mitchell House packing a briefcase. Inside of it were metal hoops, packs of playing cards and a black and white wand, among other magical doodads. I’d come to perform a show, and I was running late.

  I went for the doorbell but hesitated, my index finger hovering before it teasingly.

  ‘Are we going in or not?’ Damon muttered in his distinct Irish brogue.

  Damon’s only a few years older than me, but that doesn’t stop clients mistaking him for my dad. My annoying, perpetually pissed off, forty-cigs-a-day dad. Just like me, Damon was also suited and booted, but he was only dressed that way on my insistence. After all, it wouldn’t do for a magician’s assistant to show up dressed for a night down the pub, would it?

  ‘What are ye waiting for, ya eejit?’ he asked. ‘They’re not gonna bite.’ He ground the stub of a cigarette under his heel and shoved the front door, which opened with a lusty creak. ‘Your missus is right, fella,’ he added, ‘ya are a big baby.’

  No manners, that woman, but what a critic.

  Damon entered and I picked up the pace to stay on his heels. The house was absolutely ambassadorial inside. The period detailing was Elizabethan, all wood panels and ornate chandeliers. The place stank of money; of oil paintings of horses and mounted animals.

  We heard a commotion in a room off the main hall, and headed that way. There, in the largest sitting room I’d ever seen, were a dozen kids in party hats and fancy dress costumes. There was a Teenage Turtle, a couple of Spider-Mans (Spider-Men?) and no shortage of Princess Elsas. The birthday boy was done up like a little devil, with an ‘I AM 8’ badge pinned to his horned, blood-red onesie.

  Damon and me carved out a bit of room in the corner of the room and set up for the show. Once I’d gathered my things and set up the old tabletop on a tripod, I called the proceedings to order.

  ‘Good evening, ladies and jellyspoons,’ I told the audience. ‘Gather around, one and all, and prepare to witness a spectacle that will astound your mind and excite your senses.’

  Somewhat begrudgingly, the k
ids stopped what they were doing, sat down and formed a crescent in front of us.

  With the stage patter out of the way, I got to work. I guessed cards. I turned a wand into a bunch of flowers. I made foam balls jump from cup to cup. With Damon’s help, I even conjured a dove from a handkerchief.

  The kids couldn’t have given less of a shit.

  They talked over us. They played video games on their iPads. The birthday boy even used his phone to look up solutions to our tricks before we could finish them. We were dying on our arses.

  Soon the kids were united in one angry chant. ‘Boring! Boring! Boring!’ they cried.

  Damon leaned into my ear. ‘Come on and blow them away already,’ he said, nervously fingering the crucifix around his neck.

  ‘No,’ I whispered back. ‘We stick to the plan, okay?’

  I went to the briefcase for the final prop. From inside I produced a round, black disc, which I placed on the table in front of me.

  I said the magic word, ‘Abracadabra!’, and the disc went pop and stood up straight to become a magician’s top hat.

  That got their attention.

  ‘Now, which one of you fine young people is the birthday boy?’ I asked. The kid dressed as a devil (seriously, a devil at a kids’ birthday party?) stood up. ‘Please, come and join me on the stage,’ I implored him.

  The brand new eight-year-old met me and Damon in the corner of the room and did an annoying little bow.

  ‘Welcome,’ I told him, shaking his sticky, chubby little hand. ‘Tell me, young man, how would you like a birthday cake?’

  ‘I dunno, can you can afford one on the money my mum’s paying you?’ asked the precocious little shite.

  I ignored the snide comment, turned the top hat upside down and passed it to him.

  ‘Let’s make you that cake,’ I said, and into the hat I cracked two eggs, then poured in some flour and a bag of sugar. Next, I pulled out a bottle of milk and checked its sell-by date.

  ‘We have to be careful not to use spoiled milk,’ I explained, ‘or instead of a birthday cake, we’ll all end up with... a stomach ache.’