by Al K. Line
So, for all Rikka's power and fortitude, he was still nervous about dealing with whatever the zombies had been up to, which meant only one thing: the day was about to get a lot worse.
"Great, goddamn zombies." I drove out of the city and in half an hour I was at zombie headquarters. I'm not a fan, in case you haven't guessed. They're so sad, desperate to stay alive against all the odds. And bitey. Very bitey. Plus the undead are entirely unpredictable. It makes me nervous, and wish I had a scarf, but they never go with the suit.
*
Zombies have to be contained, there are no two ways about it. You can't have people wandering around loose if the first thing they will do is try to eat folk. It's just not right. So they have zones, and there are numerous such places around the country, same as all over the world. They are heavily protected with magic, lines drawn around the perimeter that stop them passing.
I've even helped with a few myself, and they have to be strong as zombies don't feel pain, will happily lose a limb or two if it means brains, and are often pretty stupid to boot. All of it means they are tricky to deal with and mostly refuse to recognize that anyone is in charge.
I took the access road to their compound, thinking it would be better to park at the side of the building then walk the rest of the way, just in case they were out of control and so I could get an idea of what had happened. Pulling up to the spot where I'd been a few times before, because of one incident or another, I checked out the woods to my right and the sloping lawns that led up to their expansive home. All clear.
I got out the car, ignored the rain, and looked down at my shoes as I heard the squelch.
"Great, just great." My winklepickers were covered in mud and that wasn't the half of it. The place was a total disaster zone. The ground was a quagmire, there were bits of goop everywhere, and Rikka hadn't arrived.
Writing off the shoes, I headed across the open ground toward their compound, but it was strangely quiet. That was a very bad sign.
"Shit, shit, shit." I nearly went over as my leg refused to move. I looked down to see a mud-covered ghoul clawing at my suit trousers with his dirty tongue licking the air, getting a taste of my magic and probably a hint of brain.
I kicked with my other leg at his hands but he held on tight, and then the mud erupted into a mass of writhing bodies and I almost panicked.
"Goddamn zombies!" They are sneaky buggers, they really are.
"Do something," I yelled at Oliver. The coward just moved past in a blur, streaking through the mud and away from the carnage in a split-second, then stood up on higher ground.
"I'm not to interfere. I'm to watch only." He grinned and I hated him more than ever.
I dismissed him as unimportant. I had more immediate concerns. The ground was alive, writhing with more limbs than at a vampire orgy, and twice as messy. They would eat me, and I'd be a real treat. Full of magic. My flesh would animate them like they'd probably never been animated before, even in life.
Bodies kept on emerging, slowly getting to their feet, slipping and sliding with their uncoordinated limbs as they gnashed their teeth and moaned for my mental matter.
The tugging on my leg increased and then there were two, pulling at me like insistent children for ice-cream, except they wanted something a lot warmer, preferably pulsing.
I seriously wasn't in the mood. Couldn't believe Rikka hadn't warned me about this, and, I admit, the anger rose a little. I looked toward the large country home that was their very nice compound, and across the neat lawns to the muddy mess I was stood in, wondering what the hell had happened.
All the while, the dark magic welled up in every cell of my body until my tattoos scratched my skin like I was wrapped in a shroud of rose thorns.
My brown eyes darkened, the whites turning black with flecks of silver that put me firmly in my Black Spark zone.
I raised my arms from my sides, lifting them and calling the Empty to me like a lover you hate with all your heart but need more than the pain it causes. Magic flowed through me and outward in a shock wave that almost sent me to my knees as the ground buckled and the mud and zombies rode a tidal wave of Empty energy, collapsing into the churned earth as rain beat down hard and my body fizzed.
They were clambering back to their feet almost instantly—that's what you get for playing nice. I didn't want to inflict more damage on the poor creatures than they already had, if I wasn't going to outright kill them then it was the height of cruelty to blast away, sending limbs flying, knowing they would continue to exist no matter what I did, short of separating them from their heads.
Admitting my sympathy, and even admiration, for the undead worked against me though, and I felt the magic dissipate, the sickness taking its place. With little choice if I wanted to escape without having a hard decision to make about my future—to be undead or permanently dead, that is the question—I focused my mind. My tattoos shone through my clothes, black and silver lines flashing like angry sparklers on bonfire night, crackling and hissing like I was nothing but a bagful of angry snakes.
Disruptive power surged hard through my body, lumpy and nasty, spreading down and up, converging at my navel. I pushed out fast with both hands, but with just a touch of mercy.
The zombies were up now, lunging for me, teeth gnashing like hungry hippos, no thought in their heads but to devour me. The force of my magic, my borrowed magic, hammered down on them like a shower of cannonballs. They crumpled like ragdolls, and the ground squashed flat like a bad landscape job, the footprints, the holes, the muddy rivulets all flattened, the undead along with them.
I kept the worst of my annoyance away from them, used just enough to make them docile and harmless, but they would certainly have one monster of a headache, if they had such feelings.
Their simple minds were quiet, shut down for a few precious moments. I wasted no time. With the magic still coursing through my veins, the sickness not yet fully upon me, I ran through the mud and bodies, not caring if I stomped on dirt, heads or limbs, and made it onto the incongruous neat lawn. I dashed up toward the building.
The ground rose as I got closer to the large house, and I collapsed onto the grass, staring back at the scene of destruction. It just looked like the usual side entrance to the compound where it met the woods, but they shouldn't have been there. It was where the pigs ordinarily went about their pig business, and was why it was so muddy. I'd seen no pigs though, although if they had any sense they would have run off the moment they caught a whiff of slowly rotting flesh.
Oliver was by my side, smiling down at me, wiggling an eyebrow. "Nasty."
"Shut up."
The sickness took me over as the magic reluctantly seeped away, leaving me shaking and empty of emotion, the terrible aftereffect of using magic all that remained, all I was.
You know when someone kicks you in the crotch and you get not only the pain, but that feeling deep inside of you as if you will never stand up straight again or breathe normally? And there is nothing else in the world but the hurt and the deep ache in places you never even knew could feel such intense sensation that is something beyond pain? Using magic for humans, especially when you use more than a hint of what it can offer, is like that feeling but in every cell of your body and brain.
You don't just hurt, ache, feel sick and incapable of doing anything but wait for death, it's so far beyond that. You become a non-person, lost in the ferocious payback for what you have done. I've been doing this for almost a hundred years and it has not once got easier—this is the price for messing with things that are not yours by birthright, and it is glorious.
Yes, as I sat there doubled up, my mind empty of everything but sorrow and anguish so deep I would gladly have given my soul to feel anything else ever again, and as my nerves fired off scream after silent scream to my brain that couldn't cope with so many dark and mean signals from every part of my being and yet refused to shut down totally, part of me, the addicts part, reveled in the power and the sheer intensity of such em
otion and feeling. Once more, I was lost to magic.
It sounds nuts, I know. Why would you want to go through such torment? But the power overwhelms you even more than the sickness, and something tells you that in a moment it will pass—not that it feels like it—and that you are something more than human. You are elemental, invincible, and dangerous as hell. Powerful. It corrupts you and you love it and you hate it and you want it to end and you want it to last for eternity.
My breathing slowed as the pressure of insanity receded. My body became my own and my mind cleared.
"No feeling like it, am I right?" Oliver was on a stolen high. His blood lust had risen with my use of magic, a taste for him of the blood magic, the sickness, and the power vampires got from their own perverse twisting of such energies. He was itching for more.
"Shut up. Leech."
I stood, breathing deep of the country air. All that remained were the after-effects, the magic high that was mine and mine alone. Part of who I am, who I will always be.
The zombies were still all down, only moving slightly. They would be that way for a few minutes more.
What the hell was going on?
"Hey, Spark, I see you've been busy."
Turning, I smiled my best smile. "Hey, Plum. Nice day for it, isn't it?"
"You found them, then?" she said, ignoring my winning smile, and the practically salivating Oliver, nodding at the zombies.
"I didn't know they were missing, not that many. What's going on?"
"Exactly that. Paul lost the zombies so he called Rikka, but I guess you found them for him."
"Yeah, I guess I did."
Paul the Zombie
Plum hauled me to my feet as though I were made of air. I stopped to admire the muscles and the curves—she does wear her outfits tight—and gave her my best, most lovely of smiles. She stared at me with that look she has, like she is all business and what is wrong with you?
Undeterred, I kept at it. If nothing else I am persistent. I cocked my head to one side and waited. There was no question, it was coming.
"Idiot," she said, and laughed. She punched me playfully on the arm and I nearly went down again.
"Hey, if we can't smile then it might as well all be over."
"Idiot," she repeated, smiling. Her smile is beautiful, so is she, and I lust after her and always have.
But you know what? I wouldn't any more go to bed with her than I would one of the zombies. Why? Because of Kate. But also because of the panther thing. Shifters are dangerous, very dangerous, and they stick to their own kind. It's a prerequisite really, totally understandable.
When they get excited, or angry, or just will it to happen, then they shift, and you don't want to be caught naked and helpless in a room with a horny panther. At least I don't think so.
So I admire from afar, or as close as I can risk without getting a slap, but we both know it's just flirting, and that makes it all the better. It's fun. No danger of claws or teeth getting involved.
Still, she is hot. Oh-so-hot, and the tight leggings and vest she wore meant she knew it—it was my problem if I couldn't handle it.
I'm Dark Magic Enforcer, Black Spark, Conqueror of Smokin' Ladies. I can handle a little sexiness. Gulp.
"Ah, Spark, I wondered when you would turn up," said Rikka, stood next to a few goons, with Paul the zombie a respectable distance away from anyone living. Rikka had a few trolls around him, with another next to Paul. Trolls are perfect when on zombie business—they can't bite through the rock, although they still sometimes try. His face darkened when he caught sight of Oliver. The vampire had the sense to nod in greeting, but remain silent.
"What! I've been here a while, where were you?"
"We came through the front, like civilized people," said Rikka, staring at me, bemused.
We wandered around to the front of the building and stood on the gravel drive. I noticed the cars the other side of the large fountain that took center stage in a sweeping sea of pebbles.
"Yeah, well, I thought it best to come the back way just in case. Seems I found your lost zombies, Paul. What happened?"
"I was just explaining it to Mage Rikka when we heard the commotion," said Paul, putting a hand to his jaw to click it back into place—it did that a lot. A sure sign of age and zombie sickness, one of the drawbacks to being undead.
"Well, how about you fill me in, too. Are there any other nasty surprises?"
"There's no need for that, Spark. They are people, you know. Unlike him." Paul scowled and pointed at Oliver loitering by the cars, looking bored, feigning disinterest. Rikka had chosen to ignore him altogether. Lucky for me, he hadn't asked how Oliver arrived. Otherwise he'd be sniffing the SUV like a trained hound.
"Um, okay." I shook off the aftereffects of the Empty and pulled myself together, straightened my jacket, ruffled my hair, and tried not to look at my shoes and trousers. I'd be billing Rikka, no doubt.
"It seems we had another outbreak, but I had no idea until just now how bad it was," wheezed Rikka, clearly wishing he had a chair.
It's always odd seeing him out from behind his desk and away from the gym. He never seems quite as fat—like a slimline version of himself he puts on for trips. He was by no means slender looking, but he seemed more alive, a hint of the man he really was. Powerful beyond compare and more dangerous than a pack of panther shifters in a chicken shed.
When I see him like that I understand why he is Head of both the UK Hidden and Dark Councils—he oozes magic and power more than he oozes sugar and grease.
"Oi," grunted Stone, the troll next to Paul. Stone is small by troll standards, only half the size of a house rather than a full one. Still huge, in other words.
"Oh, sorry. I do apologize, Stone. Old habits, I'm afraid." Paul put his jaw back again and stepped away from Stone. He'd gone in for a bite, getting nothing but a lick of mineral-enriched rock for his trouble.
"Watch it. Stone understand though. Got hunger."
"Yes, well, this is all very nice and everything," said Mage Rikka, "but if this is all, Paul, we will be on our way. I trust you can clean up the mess out there?"
"Yes, of course. But could you, you know, strengthen the barrier a little? My comrades seem to be getting a little unruly of late. I don't know what's got into them." Paul looked worried, more worried than usual, and I couldn't blame him. He had an unenviable job on his hands.
"Fine, I shall do my best. Shall I bring it in a little, to ensure the pigs stay safe? If they haven't been eaten, that is."
"Oh, yes please, Mage Rikka. Although, they will be fine, I am sure. Probably off in the woods snuffling about like pigs do."
"Hmm. Maybe some refreshments then, while we wait for you to clean up a little. Get your, er, people back into the grounds. Yes?"
"Absolutely," beamed Paul through green teeth—those he still had. He signaled to his staff and I tried not to groan out loud. He shuffled away at the usual zombie pace—this would take a while.
"What happened here? I've never known this many of them to get out before. Sneaky buggers were lying in the mud." It was odd behavior. Usually they'd be wandering about all dazed like, arms out in front, doing the usual moaning bit and making you feel sorry for them.
"Seems the guards kind of forgot about them, didn't put them in last night. The poor things must have been after the pigs so ended up down in the mud. Paul needs to get his act together or I'll replace him." Rikka isn't really a fan of having to deal with things like this himself, but it comes with the job and if he wants to maintain his position, as he has for a very long time, then he has to get his hands dirty now and then.
"Paul's getting on a bit now, but he's a good guy," I said. "He might just need a vacation."
"Maybe, we'll see. For now, let's just go relax and wait for them to get the zombies back inside."
Rikka's eye twitched as he stared at Oliver for a moment, then turned and walked toward the entrance to the building. It had once been a luxury spa resort but the Dark Coun
cil had taken it over to make a zombie enclave. They deserved some comfort, even if it was little more than a prison.
We walked through the open doors into the cool interior, and I couldn't help but marvel at the marble floor. It's amazing. Massive tiles laid out in a simple black and white abstract pattern, but somehow coming together to make something stunning. It's kind of wasted on the zombies.
As we entered, Paul came from one of the large rooms with a number of more together—they had all limbs and features—undead, and they left to herd their fellow kind back up to the building.
We went into the dining room and myself, Rikka, and Plum sat at the table and admired the spread Paul had laid on—food was a prerequisite of such a visit by Rikka, everyone knew that. You didn't forget if you valued his help, his protection, his magic.
"Please, help yourselves," said Rikka, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth and slurping tea.
I didn't need asking twice. Dark magic use really takes it out of you, not to mention the adrenaline rush that depletes your energy like a cave-man comedown. I'd also cut my lunch short, for obvious red bum reasons.
Rikka nodded at me appreciatively as I munched on the sandwiches and absolutely did not think about what meat the zombie kitchen staff had used—they wouldn't use human meat, as they would see that as a waste, but when invited to lunch by the immortal-until-you-rot undead you can't blame a guy for feeling a little anxious.
"You did well, Spark."
"Thanks, Rikka. I had a little help."
"Yes, I heard from Dancer. He seemed to have enjoyed himself. It's always good to keep your hand in. Er, not too deep, though."
I wasn't sure what he meant by that, and didn't ask. "Yeah. He's not so bad. He did well, actually. Real pro job."
"Dancer may be many things, but an amateur he is not. So, the Grandmaster lives, for now, and that takes the heat off. And the other stuff, the Internet and video thing, very inventive. I assume it wasn't all your idea, or work?"