Black Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 1)

by Al K. Line

  I nodded. "I know." God she is hot. Plum is the name, and gorgeous skin tone is the game. She is adorable. Perfect blue-black skin, and you guessed it, a panther shifter. Not that I've ever seen her in full shifter form. They're funny like that, the shifters. She is about as lithe and cat-like as it's possible to be and still look human, and whenever I see her I expect to see a tail. I wouldn't mind if I did.

  In case you haven't guessed, then she is seriously out of my league. She's out of everyone's league. She is also one of the best enforcers out there, excluding yours truly, of course.

  There's no racism, sexism, or speciesism in this world. Anyone can be an enforcer, you just have to have the right skill set. Plum has the skill set all right.

  Sorry, that's pretty juvenile of me. I have the hots for her, okay? But she's a nice woman and I think very highly of her, so no offense meant. It's just that her body...

  "He's waiting." Plum nodded toward Rikka and gave me a well-meaning smile. Aah, the pity of a beautiful woman—take what you can get, is my motto. Or it is now, anyway. Plum lay back on the bench, grabbed the bar and, with a grunt, continued benching her three hundred pounds—her warm-up not quite finished.

  "Spark, get over here this minute. What the hell do you think you are doing?" barked Rikka, spitting donut all over his desk.

  "Coming, Mage Rikka." I took one last look at Plum for luck, straightened my back, adjusted my jacket collar, and tried to stop my tattoos flaring up and making myself disappear into the floor. I walked across what felt like an infinity of rubber matting and tried to come up with a reason why Rikka shouldn't just kill me there and then—I had nothing.

  "You broke the Law," he said, wasting no time.

  "I know, but it wasn't me, Mage Rikka." Lame, right?

  I glanced at the chess board and pieces on his desk, our game still only half over. It made me shudder. It was partly to blame for my current situation, after all.

  "Did you, or did you not, beat a Grandmaster in five moves then send dark magic out of your hand and boil his blood and make his eyeballs pop and his heart explode and make the last few seconds of his life, after beating him at chess, his one true passion in life I might add, entirely horrific?" Rikka stuffed a whole donut into his mouth. He obviously felt better for getting that off his chest.

  "Yes. And no," I added hurriedly.

  "You broke the Law," he said again. "And your hair looks stupid. Take it off."

  The Laws—wizards, and those involved in the magical realms, aren't known for their imagination when it comes to naming various aspects of our life and the rules we have—are pretty serious to our kind. Set in stone, you might say, and you do not break them. Ever. There aren't many, but they are not to be broken.

  You don't let Regulars know of the existence of magic. You don't disobey your House Head, Ward Head, any Head above you. You don't interfere with other species' ways unless they break the Law of the Hidden. And you sure as hell don't do it so it gets on TV. There are more, but that was what I was currently concerned with.

  "Somebody set me up. And, um, I can't take the hair off, it's, you know, attached." Rikka looked at me dubiously, but left it at that. Weird. "Look, I wanted to get this all straightened out before I came to see you. Somebody did this to me. You know me, you know I'd never kill a Regular. Heck, I don't kill anyone." Rikka gave me a "look." "Okay, hardly anyone. But whatever happened this morning, I'm not to blame."

  "So somebody else killed that chess player did they? Somebody else is all over the news, and that damn Internet so I'm told. You've gone VIRAL! You were caught on camera, film, phone, however it works. You were SEEN! Using magic!" Rikka hates technology, and he sure as hell wasn't happy about me being "viral."

  "Mage Rikka," formality is always best at such moments, "let me put it right. I can sort this. I just need a little time. Nobody will believe it by the time I'm finished, I promise."

  "Spark, you know better than anyone that this cannot be left alone. I've already had Taavi's Chinese goons over here, and apparently you've already talked to him. Before me!" Rikka gave me a hard stare for that, his eyes full of magic he could unleash in an instant.

  He and the vampires are not the best of buddies. I decided to keep silent about Oliver. "And you know that this cannot be allowed. You have broken the cardinal rule. You've shown us to the world. Do you know how bad this looks for me? Members of the Councils have already been sending all manner of people here to find out what's going on, and some of them have been less than pleasant."

  I could only imagine. Rikka may be our Head, but he isn't the worldwide leader of either of the Councils. There are a lot of countries and a lot of mages. He's one among many, but that didn't help me. If anything, it made it worse, as he had to show he dealt with his House in the correct manner. That meant dealing with me. Not good. Politics, politics, it's the same for us as it is for you. Drives you nuts.

  "Eh, sorry. I was miles away." I'd lost focus, which was stupid.

  "Christ, Spark, what am I going to do with you?"

  "Give me a raise?"

  Rikka glared at me, then pointed at Dancer and said, "What happened to your finger?" Dancer looked at his missing digit and I noticed the little pink stub that was already growing back. He was forcing the issue a little and was probably why he looked so sick, but that was his business.

  "Lost it," he mumbled.

  "You lost your finger?" Rikka was in no mood for sour necromancers.

  "Yes. Sorry."

  "Whatever. You guys are killing me, you know that? You are making me look bad, Spark. I will not stand for it!" Rikka's massive fist slammed into the desk, making the donuts bounce and the chess pieces almost topple. The shock reverberated up his arm and I watched, mesmerized, as his chubby cheeks wobbled like two silicone implants.

  "Give me a little time and I will put this right, I promise. It's not like it hasn't happened before."

  "Yes, but that was before TV and cameras, and this damn Internet. It didn't matter then, it was easy to cover up. Time is one thing you do not have, Spark. You are out of time, you should know that. I've got imps and trolls and seers and vampires and who knows who or what else to deal with, and none of them are happy. Not to mention the other members of the Councils. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

  "That's it, Boss, I didn't even know my name. I didn't know who I was or where I was or what I was doing. Somebody did this to me. Give me a break, please?" I was desperate. He could put me down and not even skip a beat of his fat-lined heart.

  "Okay, Spark, one chance, and one chance only. You have until tomorrow morning. Seven AM, that's when you did it, right? Seven this morning?" I nodded. "You have until then as that's how long I've been given to wipe this from the collective memory of the planet. Do you know what you've started? People, and, er, non-people,"—told you we had an issue with what to call ourselves—"are already clamoring for this to be the beginning of the New Order. If we are to keep them in check you need to deal with this."

  "Thanks, Mage Rikka. I won't let you down."

  "You already have."

  "Did you send me on a job yesterday? I had this slip in my pocket, a receipt, and I wondered if this is what it's all about. Did you send me to see someone? Maybe that's the answer?"

  Rikka stared at me in that scary way of his, his fat face morphing and contorting as he bored into my soul and I felt the sickness rise as the Empty flowed into him. He is so powerful it hardly touched him, but rather contaminated those around him instead.

  He mumbled, then waved a hand over the chess board, our game and connection to each other over all these years now forever tarnished.

  A tiny person danced around on the squares. She was a brown-haired woman, rather nondescript, but even in miniature she had eyes that would devour your very soul and you'd ask for more. She was twirling and shouting, carefree and wild, spinning and totally in the zone.

  "You were supposed to deal with her. Ring any bells?"

  It did
n't. I shook my head.

  The image vanished and I felt a little emptier inside. "You don't remember?" Rikka leaned forward. It was then I knew things were really serious. "You were supposed to deal with her. Don't tell me you haven't?" He actually looked panicked.

  "Who is she?"

  Rikka beckoned me closer with a sausage finger. I got right up to his bloated, sugar-coated lips and he whispered, "Ankine Luisi."

  Oh no, I hadn't realized it was this awful. "The Armenian!?"

  "Of course, the Armenian!" Rikka put a hand to his mouth after he realized he'd almost shouted.

  This was bad. Real, real bad. The Armenian? Ankine Luisi? Damn! "What did she do? Why was I sent after her?" My stomach knotted like I'd licked a goblin's toes.

  "Why do you think?"

  I watched, transfixed, as sugar dropped from Rikka's lips onto his chin.

  "She didn't, did she?"

  "She did." Rikka nodded.

  "What? The 'thing?' Really?"

  "Yup. And you were meant to deal with it. Guess she wasn't too happy about that."

  "That's out of our remit though, isn't it? She's, you know, the Armenian. It's their business to reign her in."

  "She's here, so we deal with her if she breaks the rules. And anyway, I got the go-ahead from the Armenian Dark Council, who were ordered by the Worldwide Council."

  "I bet they'll all be glad to see the back of her."

  "So would I. You blew it, Spark. Now you need to put this right."

  I sighed, tried not to show how little I was looking forward to this. "I will, you can count on me."

  Rikka leaned back, seemingly satisfied. Voice back to normal he said, "Until seven tomorrow, Spark, not a moment later. Or else."

  "No problem." It was the opposite. I was screwed.

  I turned; the room was silent. All eyes were on me as I walked across the endless floor of the gym. I was so dazed I didn't even drool over Plum. That's how much the words "the Armenian" had stressed me out.

  Ankine Luisi! Damn! I was screwed. Did I say that already?

  "Oh, Spark?" I turned back to face Rikka. What now?

  "I mean it. You know what will happen if you don't put this right? You're lucky I've given you this long. Anyone else and..." Rikka sliced a fat finger across the place his throat would be if he had a neck.

  "I know. Don't worry."

  "I'm not, but you should be."

  I was gonna die. Horribly.

  Just before the door closed, I popped my head back around. "Um, can I have a car, or a ride?"

  Rikka looked up from some papers. "You know where the keys are, now get out of my sight."

  This time I managed a quick wink at Plum. She ignored me. She was deep into new poundage territory.

  Time for a Ride

  Back at reception, I asked the new girl for a key and after a little to-and-fro, with a few winning smiles from yours truly that she almost seemed immune to, she gave me a set. I headed to the private parking area for Rikka's fleet of vehicles and pressed the unlock button on the fob then got in the Range Rover that flashed its welcome.

  Oliver was nowhere to be seen, so things were looking up already.

  The interior was nice. Quiet, with that new car smell that always makes you feel rich, even if it isn't your car.

  What a mess. I was in this deeper than I could have possibly imagined and it would only get worse now I'd found out exactly why I'd done what I'd done.

  Ankine Luisi. The Armenian. Your worst nightmare come true. And I'd been sent to deal with her. No wonder I couldn't remember what the hell had happened. She was one seriously scary lady, with some serious skills under the strangely plain exterior.

  In movies, the vampires and the female antagonists are always all hot and sparkle. They get up with full make-up on and are always beautiful and shiny, but life isn't like that. Most people from our world are just everyday looking folks, apart from the odd extremely handsome man, of course. Ahem.

  We look like you, like everyone else. Fat, thin, ugly, pretty, super hot, or super gross.

  Those that weren't human at some time, or still human, are a different matter. The only way they can get along in the human world is to have some kind of screen up. It comes with the territory; it's just how it works. That's magic for you. It wants to stay hidden. In fact, it doesn't want to be here at all. That's why it makes you so sick to use it.

  But for genuinely magical beings like trolls, goblins, dwarves, the proper, magical dwarves, and all the rest, then they have a natural filter that hides their true selves when in the company of Regulars. But they can't choose it. So, just like us, some look good, others are a mess, and there's nothing they can do about it.

  The Armenian is different. She can take on many forms as that is her nature, what she is. If you meet her, and pray you don't, you would see a rather unnoteworthy looking woman of indeterminate age, maybe early thirties, maybe late twenties, with mousy brown hair, brown eyes, and rather plain features. That's her secret, her power, how she traps you.

  But look closely, really look, and you find she has this "thing" to her, something that sucks you in, like a spider drawing you deeper into its web, and you are very lucky if you can ever escape.

  Succubus, in other words. A siren, a truly, honest-to-goodness, other-worldly being that simply will not be tamed. She's wild, unruly, unmanageable, and dangerous as hell. The Armenians were as happy as an elf with a park full of children to steal when she decided to come play with us here in the UK.

  What's worse was now it seemed she was in Cardiff and I'd been tasked with dealing with her once and for all. I didn't need to ask why, everyone knew. She was a wildcat, would answer to no-one, and had to be stopped. Rikka had finally been told that she had to go, and that had been passed on to me. As you can tell, I wasn't doing a great job of it so far.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  The bang on the window scared me nearly half to death and sickness blanked my mind as the Empty surged through my veins, instincts primed to fight in an instant.

  "Bloody Oliver," I moaned, then turned.

  Nope. It was Barrack, one of the goons from the gym, and a real pain in the ass. I sighed. The window wound down with a press of a button.

  "What do you want, Barrack? I'm busy."

  "You broke the Law, Spark, you gotta pay."

  I was amazed I'd lasted so long without someone trying to beat the magic out of me, so it was kind of a relief. It made life a bit more normal. I dealt with this every day, his type of attitude and posing.

  Let me tell you one thing now, and I've learned it from experience so it is definitely true. It doesn't matter how big they are, the little guy can always win. He just needs to be smarter, or faster. Well, I was faster than Barrack, and definitely smarter. Heck, his dumbbells were smarter than him.

  Actually feeling relieved to have a distraction, and a way to release some nervous energy, I stepped out of the car. Barrack took a few paces back to let me out.

  "Look, mate, I'm seriously not in the mood. If you want to go at it, then fine, but the Boss won't be happy if I can't deal with the current situation." I knew he wasn't listening. He wanted to fight. Whatever.

  "I've never liked you, Spark. You and your stupid suits, and what's with the hair? You look like a mop."

  "Ooh, scathing. You been thinking that one up the whole time I was in the gym?" By the look on his face he had, and it was the best he could come up with.

  "Shut your face, you, you, stupid wizard."

  "That hurts, Barrack, that really does." This guy is such an idiot. He's what you would call a genuine goon, used to do the less than savory work all mages in Rikka's position have to deal with when they are trying to run a business and also run a rather unruly magical menagerie.

  Barrack lunged for me, huge body rippling with muscle like he'd been force-fed steak and steroids for years. If he got me in that bear hug I'd disappear into the slabs of meat like a gnat. He wasn't just big, he was freaky huge, looking eve
n more so outside with his training vest and shorts on—a true freak of nature.

  He is also a shifter, and it didn't take a genius to take one look at his monstrous frame, bushy beard, and coarse hair all over his arms and chest to guess what he shifted into. At least for me anyway. Even dopes like Barrack manage to control themselves in public places, so if a Regular was watching all they would see were two mismatched guys fighting.

  His features rippled and the grizzly bear's teeth snapped at my head as the now seven foot beast tried to wrap huge, hairy arms around me and throttle the life out of me. Claws that would rip through flesh like butter were bent, ready to rip me to slices of raw protein, and you could bet he'd eat me in his current state.

  Blackness enveloped me. I felt my eyes turn dark and flecked with silver, as my right arm shot up, heel of my hand punching out with the power of the Empty behind it and I connected with the wet, squishy nose of the bear-man. No point using much magic on the idiot, it wasn't needed.

  He howled like a baby and the shifter shrank, replaced with a goon clutching his broken nose, tears streaming down his face.

  "You bwoke my dose," he moaned as I opened the car door and settled myself again. Aah, new car smell.

  "That's what you get for being such a muppet," I said before slamming the door. I started the SUV and was gone before he managed to set his mangled nose back into place.

  Barrack isn't a bad guy, just dumb. A good goon. But I'm not an enforcer for nothing. We are quite good at what we do. The sickness passed as my tattoos settled down and my eyes became my own. I turned on the headlights as the rain came down again. Bloody rain, it's like summer was in denial—it always is in Cardiff.

  As I drove, a plan formed in my mind. It was stupid, dangerous, could go badly wrong, but I had no other options or ideas. And besides, if I didn't sort out this magic faux-pas soon it wouldn't matter if I dealt with the Armenian or not. I would still be the most hated man in magic-land, so I had to put it right.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed the last person I wanted to speak to: Dancer.