'Dawn, wake up.' I shrugged my shoulder gently, breaking the rhythm of her gentle breathing. 'Dawn, time to get moving.' I said louder, rolling away from her.
I didn't use my hands to stand, just rolled onto my knees and stood from there. No way was I going to get that God-awful mess on my hands. Even so, I nearly lost what passed for the contents of my stomach at the thought of breathing in dried cat shit all night.
'Morning,' said Dawn, stretching.
'When we get home, we are going to shower for a week, and I'll do a proper Cleansing and make sure that we don't have a ton of cat-shit in our systems. No way am I going to die from sepsis of cat shit. Or whatever bollocky bollocks they call it.'
'Any chance of a fry-up at some point? I'm bloody hanging here!'
I laughed, unable to resist it. Dawn had a way of bringing me firmly to earth whilst and concentrating on the important things. A full English was something that everyone should experience at least once in their lifetime.
'What, sausage, egg, bacon, hash browns or chips, toast, cooked tomato, mushrooms, baked beans, and black pudding?' My stomach groaned at the thought. I couldn't remember the last time we'd eaten.
'Hell yeah, but only if the beans are homemade. Fuck those tinned pieces of shit. And coffee. At least a pint,' said Dawn as she wiped at her mouth. I realised I was drooling somewhat, as well.
'Deal. As soon as we get home, we're stuffing our faces.' And with that, we left the hovel.
'Right, what do you know about Trolls, aside from their poor hygiene?'
'They live in tight-knit families. They have an affinity for water, which means they're susceptible to fire. Fire stops them from being able to heal, and they're mortally afraid of it.' Dawn paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. 'They stand between three and four metres tall, have downward projecting fangs, bone spurs on their knuckles and elbows, and their knees are hinged backwards, like a horse.'
'Very good. Don't forget that their weapon of choice is a club, and they love the flesh of human beings, as well as fish.'
'Ah, that old chestnut. And just how do you think we're going to be able to take on a whole posse of Trolls? I'm fucking chinstrapped. And you look like shit, as well.'
I sighed. One of those long, drawn-out sighs that said bollocks to it all, you've got a point, I really need a foot rub.
'Okay. Tactical withdrawal. We'll head home, rest up and come back for the ratty little prick.'
That got me a very firm set of thumbs up, as well as an effusive, ‘Thank fuck.’
Now all we had to, yet again, was work out where we were and then find the way out.'
We started knocking on the door of every house we passed. After five minutes, my knuckles were sore, and my patience worn thin.
'What you fucking want?'
A door on Dawn's side had opened. An old woman, the sort you'd see selling toffee sweets on television whilst her eyes twinkled. The language didn't match the face. She was a Hag, or a Witch, I'd only be able to tell if we started to fight, and that was something I really didn't want to do as either of them would be more than we could take on in our current state. If I was perfectly honest, either sort would be tough to take I even fully prepared.
'Hello, Granny,' I winced, Dawn was doing her saccharine voice, a sweet little girl voice she only ever used when trying to get her way, 'We're a tad lost. Can you tell us how to get back to the city gates?' [ As you stated earlier, all they needed to do was envision the exit and it would appear. Stay consistent.]
Granny smiled, a great white smile, her teeth matching the white of her hair—no purple rinse for this one—and cocked her head at us.
'Well, well. An Agent and her apprentice lost in the UnderCity after wiping out a Pack. You do realise you've created a power vacuum? They were pretty shitty, but at least there was some sort of order.'
'Sorry about that,' Dawn said, 'but they were trying to kill us. It was self-defence, and so was killing the disco Vampyre.'
Granny laughed, a rich and throaty laugh that made your very smile at the sound. 'That bitch got everything she deserved. She should have been sent back to the dust a long time ago. So, I guess I owe you a little help. I was looking to replace the Pack, anyway. You’ve saved me the effort.'
I tensed, just in case she was playing us, putting us at ease so she could tear us apart with her Magic. Instead, she gave us directions, and a warning that if we ever came back, she'd tear us apart. I said that was that fair enough, Dawn thanked her, and we left as quickly as possible. There was going to be a short but bloody turf war, and I really didn't want to be there once the Spells and missiles started to fly.
It felt good to be home. Even if home was still a little singed from the battle with the Fae. The Merlin clean-up crew had done a good job, but the smell of burned Fae was a bugger to get rid of, even with Magic. They'd left blocks of air freshener around.
One of them must have hated me, as they'd left different blocks scattered throughout every room, more than one in each, and it was like they were competing to see which could be the smelliest. It was fucking terrible in its own way but was still better than fried Fae.
We shuffled around, checking the place to make sure it was secure, resetting Wards and Traps before boiling the kettle for a cuppa. Not much was said, each of us busy with our tasks and thoughts.
The trip to the UnderCity had been far worse than I'd ever imagined, and from the way that Dawn's hands shook as she prepared and poured the tea, I could see it had been too much too soon. This whole Mark was too much.
The odds were completely stacked against us from the start, we just hadn't known it. We were, unfortunately, well and truly on our own. Once a Mark had been taken and the Agents involved named, no further Agents were able to enter into the contract and assist. They could provide knowledge, supplies, even healing, if they weren't allowed to step in and provide the sort of support we really needed; muscle.
'We need backup,' said Dawn as she sipped from her mug. It rattled on the tabletop as she put it down.
'I can't think of anyone we can trust. Especially with John missing. He'd have been able to point us in the right direction. He's got contacts everywhere. Mine are all bloody local, and right now, I can't be sure they haven't been got to.'
'You're not being paranoid, you know everyone's out to get us,' said Dawn with a laugh that sounded like it was a sob.
I reached out, taking hold of her hand and giving it a squeeze. It shook even whilst I held it. 'Executive decision. We know where that ratty little shit is. He is isn't going to be making a move anytime soon. We're going to have a couple of days to rest and recuperate. No work, just us, Preacher, booze, and food.'
'That sounds bloody lush,' she said as she squeezed my hand back, 'I'm going to shower for the next hour. With bleach. I bloody honk!'
The next two days were, as I promised, full of eating and recuperating. I couldn’t relax that much due to worrying about how John might be faring, but I was also honest enough with myself that no matter how ready I felt I was, until I could Cast without feeling like I needed a lie down, I was as useful as a chocolate teapot. It helped that we watched Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead, and World's End back-to-back whilst quoting all the lines and drinking copious amounts of alcohol every time we got a quote wrong. I was utterly peeved when I misquoted Doris and her ‘top down in the layby,’ but it was worth it just to give Dawn something to crow about.
Whilst Dawn was regaining her balance and putting the events of the UnderCity behind her, I was busy planning. There was no way that I was going to be taken by surprise again. We were up against Water Trolls if what we were told was true. That meant fire and lightning would be the best Spells to use against them. Water Spells would be completely useless, whilst ice might do damage but the amount of damage it did would be reduced as it, too, was water-based.
Since Dawn's list of Spells was limited, I put a call through to the Regional Quartermaster, ordering a clutch of Icons for her, as well as wh
at could only be called a fuckton load of rounds for her pistol, as well as getting something she’d been going on about for a long time. A KRISS Vector sub-machine gun. We'd need to put down a barrage of Spells and bullets if we were forced to fight them.
The rounds I'd ordered were a mix tracer, Rapidly Invasive Projectiles—also known as RIP rounds—incendiary and explosive. I'd gone with the 9x19mm version so she could use them in her Beretta 92. I went for some badass rigs, as well, choosing the latest in special forces fashion. She was going to look totally hardcore. Utterly badass.
When the packages arrived in the early morning, I carried them down to the cellar range. They weighed a ton, and I thought that I might have slightly overdone things with regard to the number of rounds and magazines I'd bought. Still, Dawn was going to want to put rounds down the range to get the feel for the way the KRISS handled, so I guessed there would be fewer once she was done.
I took time setting up the range. Pop-up steel targets, paper targets, and a pig carcass to see what the RIP rounds did. This was going to be a special day. Dawn was going to have a shit-eating smile on her face. I couldn't wait to see it.
The KRISS was everything she'd ever said it was. It was the most gun-looking gun I'd ever seen and was death incarnate in one of the most pleasingly aesthetic designs I'd ever seen. I'm not really one for guns, concentrating more on Icons, Spells, and martial arts, but as I tucked the stock into my shoulder and took aim down the range, I could truly appreciate the work that had gone into the design.
Dawn's going to squee, I thought as I gently placed the sub-machine gun on the table before me. As quickly as I could, I loaded ten magazines, then lined them up on the table.
Opening the last box, I gently took out the Icons contained within. There was one for healing, a fireball, lightning, and a Shield. I should have done this before, but John had been giving me Marks that weren't as challenging as usual because I had Dawn with me. I'd assumed that this Mark, despite the seriousness of the ramifications should the Hound be released, was going to be easy, that it would turn out it was some nut job who could be easily dispatched.
Never assume, it makes an ass out of u and me. Assumptions also tended to make people dead, and the thought of losing Dawn made me break out in a cold sweat. With Icons, she would be able to channel the power within them without having to know the actual spell. The Spells were far above her level of knowledge right now and, technically, she hadn't qualified in their use. She'd need to do a lot of cramming to take the exams for the licences, but I was hopeful that the Merlins would forgive the transgression if we completed the Mark successfully.
Returning upstairs, I smiled as I heard her snoring, then set about cooking breakfast. When the aroma of fried bacon was in the air, Dawn would be up like a shot. I was impressed at just how quickly she appeared, giving me a good morning peck on the cheek before setting about making a couple of pints of coffee and a few rounds of toast.
Casting not only draws upon the Mana surrounding us, it also draws upon the body's reserves, burning calories far faster than any exercise. As a result, Agents such as myself, and other Magic users who cast on a regular basis, need to eat far more that would be healthy otherwise.
Dawn, as an apprentice, was constantly casting the lower-end Spells she had to prove efficient at. Although they weren't as powerful as the ones I was using, they still drew upon the body's reserves.
We talked about nothing much as we munched our way through breakfast. I kept the tone light and tried to hide my excitement about the training session to follow. It was clear she'd sensed something was up but seemed happy to let me playthings out at my own pace.
'That,' she mopped up some egg and brown sauce with a piece of toast, 'was lush.'
'I have to say that these were the finest sausages I've ever had. God knows what the new butcher is putting in them, but I'm going to be buying a lot more from him.' Our old butcher had retired, selling up to a nice young couple from up country. They'd been an immediate hit, and there were often queues outside the shop. Their meat was the best I'd ever tasted.
'Right, I'm going to hit the shower and get dressed. Then you can show me whatever it is that's got you so excited.' She smiled as she stood, then sashayed out of the kitchen.
She squeed and said ‘Oh, my God’ lots of times and very quickly as she rushed over to the table and snatched up the Vector. In the blink of an eye, she had the weapon loaded, the safety off and was firing rapid bursts at the metal targets, burning through the rounds. Every single one hit, the grouping excellent.
'Try the magazine in the far end. RIP rounds. That's what the pig's for.'
'Oh, you beauty!' She ejected the empty magazine, slammed the RIP-filled magazine into the Vector, took aim, and then proceeded to blow the carcass apart. Literally. I'd seen a couple of videos demonstrating the RIP, but they'd involved shooting ballistics gel.
Fully copper, the rounds had teeth, meaning it would literally drill through a hard target. It also had in-built seams, which meant the teeth then broke away from the bullet, creating a clock-like effect. It should have been more aptly name Rest In Pieces.
'Fucking hell, boss. These rounds are evil. Who the hell invents this sort of thing?'
'Americans. Apparently, it's designed for law enforcement and, get this, self-defence.' I did the whole finger quotes in the air.
'Self-defence? From what, rabid rhinos?' There was a schlooping sound as half of the remains of the pig carcass dropped to the floor. 'I only used half-a-mag. Jesus. It actually makes me feel a little sick.'
'Imagine what the Trolls are going to feel once you've hit them with a mixed-round burst. RIP, explosive and incendiary.'
She frowned. This really wasn't going the way I expected. I hadn't expected to be so shocked either, if I was honest. An Agent's work is very often messy work. But I tended to make the mess using Magic, not copper-bullets designed to blow humans apart.
'I'm not going to bother with the explosive. I'll just stick with incendiary and RIP. Probably do a 3:1 ratio. Should be more than enough.' More of the pig dripped to the floor.
'Yeah. Well…' I floundered, 'I got you some Icons. Let's go over those instead.'
I pointed out each one. The Shield was in the form of a necklace, whilst the Fireball and Lightning were rings. They were fully charged, so all she had to do was pick an Activation word. Shazam was out of the question as that was what I used, and I didn't want to risk her being near setting my Icons off. It was highly improbable, but that didn't mean it was impossible.
'Try and choose an Activation word that isn't in common use, something that you don't use normally. Otherwise, you can find yourself in all sorts of trouble.' I was speaking from bitter experience, but no way was I going to tell her about those stories. They were best buried and forgotten.
'Wow. That's tricky.' She tapped her lips with a finger for a moment, frowning in thought.
'No rush, mull it over. We've got time. Once you've picked one you like, I'll show you how to do it.' That said, I left her practice more with the Vector whilst I went finalise my plans.
I'd decided that this time we'd go back to the UnderCity wearing clothes that made it obvious we were looking for trouble. The last trip I'd erred on the side of caution. I knew that I'd been wrong though, if we'd looked like a couple of bad arses who were up for a for a fight, Disco Diva would probably never have been an issue.
'Sweet!' Dawn said as I handed her a set of tactical clothing. Black rip-stop combat pants, black UnderArmour top, body armour incorporated into a molle vest covered with magazine pouches for both her Vector and her pistol. I even gave her a black baseball cap. Only the terminally stupid, or those with a death wish, were going to get in our way this time.
I went for a slightly subtler look. Whilst it was clear that Dawn was a Tank, hopefully drawing people's eyes, I was the Caster of our small party. People would think that I was just some client in need of protection; someone weak. They'd dismiss me as the immediate t
hreat, giving me plenty of time to stop them from wasting Dawn as immolated them. Or similar.
As such, I wore a black blouse over UnderArmour and a discrete shirt of Fae mail which was—according to the seller—proof against all pointed and blunt attacks.
It was the latter I was most worried about as trolls use clubs with which to both kill and tenderise their prey. On top of that, I went for a nice black leather jacket, with loose fitting black jeans.
Whilst Dawn was going to be toting the heavy weapons, I'd decided upon an Indian punch dagger—known as a katar—and a set of brass, silver, and iron knuckles. On top of that I had an Icon of Ogre Strength to make sure any punch I dealt out would leave them reeling rather than laughing.
I also had a set of special cufflinks, which I only used in the direst of situations since that had a limited charge and were bloody expensive. Handmade, they gave me the ability to set my hands alight, whilst only burning people I touched with them. They were bloody handy for creatures such as Trolls. Made me look utterly bad ass as well. I went bareheaded, no need to draw attention away from Dawn.
'Make sure that you know which Icons are which. I don't want you burning the air when you’re meant to be Shielding yourself. And remember, only trigger that Healing Icon when you really need to.'
I was nervous. I'd said the same thing at least five times already, and I could tell by the hugely impressive eye-roll and sucking of teeth that she was getting a mite pissed off with it. 'Fine, I'll shut up. Don't blame me if you fluff it when the shit’s hitting the fan.'
'No Mistress, your Apprentice would never blame you for putting her in danger's way.' Her eyes twinkled as she said it, but the barb still hit home.
'Fine.' I was truly flustered, repeating single words as well now. 'You can lay the stick, Lord.' I pointed at a large pen in which a gaggle of kittens peacefully slept.
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