Winter Rising: an Urban Fantasy Novel (Coldharbour Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Amos

  I pushed Tony off, scrambling to my feet.

  “Knew he couldn’t be trusted to let you go,” the man said. His voice was gravel, a horrible broken sound.

  My brain was working overtime, desperate to plan the next move. The bastard had a gun, giving himself leverage.

  “Coldharbour,” the man said. “Bournemouth.” He fired the gun.

  I ducked. The bulb of the lamp exploded, plunging the room into darkness. Bullet wasn’t for me—deliberately not for me. What the hell was this?

  The white eye guy was gone.

  “No!”

  I ran into the hallway. Empty. I had to be gone too, well away from this place. Neighbors would’ve heard the gunshot and been straight on the phone to the police. Being caught with Tony and his half-a-head would not be fun.

  Without looking back, I ran down the stairway next to the lift, through the alleyway and out into the street. I dashed across the road, cutting down an adjacent road and into another, rain smacking my face. Getting on a bus or train covered in blood with a cut on my forehead was out of the question, so was hailing a cab. But I had to get cleaned up and fast.

  Coldharbour …

  There was only one place I knew with that name, and that was Coldharbour Lane down in Brixton. Why would the white eye guy say that? Made no sense.

  I slipped into a small car park next to a petrol garage, careful not to get under too much light. The rain was washing away some of the blood and bits of brain, but I needed to fix up the headbutt wound. Leaning against a wall, I pulled out my phone. Raindrops hit the screen. It was just gone ten o’clock. I fired up the internet app and Googled ‘Coldharbour’ along with ‘Bournemouth’. The two didn’t gel. There was no Coldharbour, apart from the south London Street.

  I had to be missing something.

  I trailed through more pages. Nothing. I moved on to train times. There was one leaving at eleven fifteen tonight, due to arrive at one fifteen in Bournemouth, departing from Waterloo. The white eye guy wasn’t in Brixton. He wanted me to follow him, I knew that. So Bournemouth it had to be. Yeah, it was some kind of trap, some game, but what choice did I have?

  Hidden in shadows away from the passing traffic, I listened to the water overflowing from the guttering above me. A decision had to be made. Follow or ignore. I could be walking right into a bullet in my own head either way.

  Michael ...

  This man had cut down the love of my life. Hunting him down had been everything that held me up, the only reason I kept going. Walking away would be a betrayal. Michael deserved vengeance. Payback would come, even if I died in the process. This scum couldn’t walk, couldn’t live. This was me now, my purpose in life.

  Why?

  I didn’t want to get myself tied up again, tortured to death and it all be for nothing. But Michael’s face kept flashing in my mind, over and over again, like strobe lights of heartbreak. This was what I’d been waiting for. Fuck it, this was it. At least I could say I died trying. That was something.

  I drew a deep breath. The wheels of my mind were turning. New Cross Station wasn’t too far—a ten minute walk. I had my bank card, a grand to my name, and a tenner in my pocket. There was a mini-market over the road. Wipes and plasters, if they had them, would help.

  I grabbed some wipes and plasters from the shop, ignoring the raised eyebrow from the shopkeeper, drew a hundred quid from the machine outside, and set off on my journey.

  Chapter 3

  I’d done it, made it to the Bournemouth-bound train from Waterloo. My forehead was tender, but cleaned up and fixed with a plaster. Six quid for a pack of baby wipes and some plasters! Robbery! Still, the wipes had done an okay job of making me more presentable and free of Tony’s blood and pieces of brain.

  The distance of the journey had left me with time to think. I didn’t want to think and fidget, so I lost myself in a game on my phone—some match the colored blobs thing. My eyes were a little gritty but at least it’d passed.

  The train pulled in, and I alighted onto the platform. Distraction-time was over.

  I went through the barriers and stepped outside into the rain. What a miserable night. It was quiet, just one taxi idling, waiting for someone to jump in. Someone did. Not many people had departed the train with me.

  A bloke came walking by, hood up, in a hurry.

  “Excuse me?”

  He stopped, didn’t say anything.

  “You couldn’t tell me where Coldharbour is, could you?”

  “Never heard of it. Sorry.” With that, he hurried off.

  Great.

  Right, so I needed to hit the town centre. That made the most sense to me because then I could get more of a sense of where I was.

  I pulled my coat around me and he caught my eye, over by the bus stops. How hadn’t I noticed him before? He puffed on a cigarette and grinned at me.

  Prick! I charged forward, adrenaline pumping, pushing me across the road. The fact that he had a gun didn’t stop me, even though it made my heart race. A bullet wouldn’t stop me. His face, that grin, the sheer arrogance of him sitting there mocking me—

  “I’m gonna break your fucking skull!”

  He didn’t move, just smoked away. I caught the scent of weed.

  I swung for him and struck the bus shelter window. My knuckles protested in agony, but before I knew it, I had an arm twisted behind my back, him behind me.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said into my ear. The stench of weed wafted over me. A smell I’d missed.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Chase me, baby.” He licked my face and shoved me to the ground. “Dance with me on the sand.” He ran off into the night.

  Chapter 4

  I’d lost sight of him, but I made my way as fast as I could to the seafront, following the signs.

  It took me fifteen minutes to get to the town center, making my way past a hot air balloon and through Bournemouth Gardens, past some lairy drunk people, down to the sand.

  The sea was dark and vicious in the bitter wind. I watched the pier for a moment, wondering if I’d see him standing there. I didn’t, so I followed a pathway lit by gentle streetlamps with the sand on my left, cliffs rising to my right. Eyes on the beach, I didn’t take much in.

  A man grumbled at me from a bench. I spun on him, ready for a fight. The man laughed and swigged some cider from a can. Not the object of my hate, then.

  I carried on.

  Movement, the billowing of a coat, caught my attention from down on the beach. I charged forward, slipping a little in the sand. He wasn’t there. I froze where the sand met water. He was gone.

  It was a different world down on the beach. I couldn’t hear anything but the wind and waves. There was no one there, not even the white eye guy. Over on the weakly lit pathway, I saw nothing but a creepy glow and nothing more.

  No, he was here, somewhere. He had to be. I hadn’t come all this way for him not to be. Not too far away was an oddity I hadn’t noticed before. It looked like a mass of rock, a cut in the shore that … that shouldn’t be there. My brain couldn’t quite make sense of it. I blinked and it flickered. Flickered? I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. It was gone.

  Keep your head in the bloody game!

  “Where are you?” I called.

  No answer but the rolling sea.

  “Answer me! I know you’re here!”

  Still no answer. I was on high alert, scared as hell now. He had a gun, and I had a head to pop. Still, this was the night of retribution where I’d fully exercise an eye for an eye.

  “Face me, prick! Come on!”

  “Boo!”

  I spun to face the voice that’d come from behind. There he was, the thief of all that I’d ever cared about. Even though the moon was swallowed by clouds that white eye needed no lunar ray to make it glint with demonic delight.

  “You piece of shit!”

  I charged at him, losing myself to rage. He shoved me backward onto my arse.

  “You know how to do as you’
re told,” he said.

  “What do you mean? This some kind of game?” With no weapons, I’d have to improvise in his execution.

  The white eye guy turned and ran. “Catch me, pussy!”

  Rage, the volcano inside me cracked open and spilled forth. I roared—a proper lung-burning explosion of fury.

  The white eye guy wasn’t too far ahead. I’d kill him, weapons or not, take that head and crack it like a fucking egg on the rocks. They were back again and they faltered my step. A cliff, a formation of jagged rocks that formed a cove, waves smashing into them. A dark maw swallowed the water—a cave it looked like. This wasn’t right, so out of place with the rest of the beach. I looked back to see Bournemouth as it was, twinkling lights behind me.

  Fuck it. I couldn’t deal with anything else other than taking him down, no matter the level of weird. Yeah, I’d wrestle him to the rocks, no matter how tall he was, or how strong he could be. This wouldn’t be like Tony. This was it, the grand fucking finale.

  As long as I didn’t take a bullet.

  So close now, feet gliding over the sand, putting all my energy into one final burst of speed.

  This is for you, Michael!

  My feet left the ground. This was it, soaring through the air toward my target, ready to fight to the dying breath.

  It all came to an abrupt halt. One moment I was practically on him, his back turned, me about to bring him crashing to the sand. In the next, I was snatched out of the air as if I were a Frisbee.

  The white eye guy held me by the scruff of the neck with one hand, grinning madly. I kicked him, but it didn’t make a difference. This bloke was freaky strong, me nothing but a ragdoll in his hands. I kicked some more, going for it on his ribs.

  “Get the fuck off me! You killed him! You killed him!”

  “You think you know, Jake.”

  I spat in his face. “I’ll kill you!”

  White eye guy tossed me. I hit the sand, barely missing the rocks. “You know shit!” he roared, stomping toward me. He kicked sand in my face.

  “I’ll kill you!”

  Grains stung my eyeballs, and I frantically wiped at them, getting to my feet and spitting out the sand in my mouth. Eyes half-closed, I saw he’d gone.

  “No.”

  He couldn’t be gone. Not again. What the actual fuck?

  “Stop playing games! You’re the fucking pussy for hiding and making me run after you like some bloody kid’s game. Come out and fight me. Come on!”

  One line, need a line, needalineneedalineneedaline…

  “No! No! No!” I yanked off my hat and threw it, grabbed my hair and screamed until my throat burned. “No line! Come fight me! Fight me!” I fell to his knees, tears rolling down my cheeks. “Fight me …” I shuddered with sobs. “Michael …”

  The white eye guy was nowhere to be seen.

  This couldn’t be it. This was supposed to be a showdown. Why else would the man get me here?

  “Games,” I said aloud, barely a whisper.

  I really wanted a line. If only the angel dust—such a pretty name—was going up my nose and making all this shit fade away. It always did. Bliss, that was what I wanted. Bliss … or death.

  The tears kept on coming. I’d failed. I waited and waited, but nothing—no movement, no attack, nothing. It was over. The bastard had got me down here, to what, leave me sobbing in a state on the beach? I wiped at my eyes—useless against the onslaught of crying.

  The voice in my head was silent, nothing else to say or crave. I chewed my nails. There was no desire, no rage, only sadness—the wretched sadness that smothered everything. May as well go and throw myself in that sea and be done with it.

  No …

  Guess that voice wasn’t so silent.

  I wiped uselessly at my eyes again, watching the power of the sea. Waves smashed into the rocks, spraying foam. There was a cave, water sucked into the dark maw, spat back out again to repeat the cycle over and over. It was almost hypnotic, my sobs lessening. This was good, I needed to calm down. The night wasn’t over. No giving up now. I had to go hunting.

  A flash of gold caught my eye from the cave that shouldn’t be there.

  I sniffed, crying pretty much done with now.

  The flash came again.

  I got to my feet, curious and alert once more. Was this part of the game? Get me in a cave, cut me up and give me to the fishes? Didn’t stop me from climbing over the rocks as the golden light flashed a third time.

  Was I dreaming? Was I gonna wake up any moment as I climbed these rocks that seemed to flicker under me? No matter the answer, it didn’t stop me from climbing.

  Footing was key, not losing it imperative. The rocks were slippery, and the sea in one pissed off mood, churning and spraying and taunting. Falling in would not be fun, much like taking a spin in a giant washing machine.

  I got over safe, climbing onto a ledge in the darkness of the cave. No light, nothing but blackness. The air beyond seemed warmer to the freezing breeze at my back, as if I was on the precipice of a transition of temperature.

  As a light bulb sprung to life, so did a tiny golden ball. Its gentle glow lit the rocky walls and the glistening dark of the ground beneath my feet. A tiny crab crawled over my right boot, making a sideways dart back into the shadows so rudely disturbed by this orb.

  Shit was getting weird.

  The golden ball moved away a few feet. Did that mean follow?

  I couldn’t help but laugh This was ridiculous, but I wasn’t about to pinch myself or none of that bollocks because I was clear on the fact that I was standing in this bloody cave, mere feet away from the rolling flotsam and jetsam.

  The golden ball moved away some more, so I started walking. Every step was cautious, the rocks wet and slimy—plus, I didn’t want to squash the crab.

  Step by step, I followed the orb of light. After some feet in, I turned a corner into a tunnel, leaving the sea behind. If the white eye guy had anything to do with this, then the man was one screwed up bastard as well as being a murdering one.

  Another corner, another tunnel. The air was growing humid, reeking like a fishmonger on a summer day. More crabs climbed the walls and crawled around my feet. Tiptoes were required at most points around the little creatures.

  After one more corner, I stepped into a cavern. The orb drifted up into the center and flashed, bursting into a golden light which filled the space, not dispersing, providing a clear vision of the area.

  There was no sign of him. But his gun was on the floor. I considered it for a moment, then grabbed it, stuffing it into the back of my jeans. Great, now my fingerprints were on it.

  Still, it’d now given me some leverage of my own.

  A large boulder covered in green moss sat in the center. There was nothing else in the cavern. A white piece of paper was fixed to the rock with a metal peg, much like the kind used for holding down tents but beefier. There was a carving in the rock, faded, yet clearly a five-pointed star.

  What the hell?

  There were symbols at each point of the star, worn and indecipherable.

  I approached the boulder. Butterflies suddenly came to life. I should just turn and leave, to hell with this bollocks. But curiosity, just like a bloody cat, was getting the better of me.

  I licked my lips, my mouth dry. Scrawled across the white paper were three words:

  Hi there, Jacob.

  “Bastard.” Never had I gone by that version of my name!

  I grabbed the note, pulling it off the boulder, scraping my knuckles on the rock.

  The boulder started to glow.

  I backed away, dropping the note. At first it was white light, shimmering across the boulder. It changed to green, then yellow, then blue, red, and finally back to white.

  “Is this you?”

  The light died.

  A gust of wind ripped through the chamber, followed by black smoke. It twisted as a tornado above my head.

  Oh, shit.

  I had to get out.
But what was that? What the bloody hell was that?

  It fell over me as some messed up version of mist. I got a lungful of it before it faded away to nothing. The wind dropped until the chamber was as it had been before.

  My head swam, and I stumbled over to the wall under the thrall of dizziness. I steadied myself against the jagged surface, double vision making my stomach churn. My lungs burned, and the coughing fit that came was as if I’d smoke sixty fags in one go.

  Poison … That was my first thought. This had been the trap. White eye guy had been well in the know about my searching for him, a man with his ear to the ground—if only I’d seen it before. Bollocks! I wasn’t ready to die, not yet, not when I’d barely done the scum any damage!

  The dizziness relented and dissipated.

  Part of the poison’s process? While I felt better, I made my way out, turning just before leaving the cavern to get a glance at the boulder. It was just a lump of rock.

  As I moved to leave, my boot crunched on the note. I scooped it up. I actually gasped at the three words—three new words.

  Welcome to Coldharbour.

  Chapter 5

  Back on the beach, there was no sign of the white eye guy. And I could see I wasn’t in Bournemouth anymore.

  What the actual hell?

  I considered myself open-minded, not an atheist because too much weird stuff happened in life to truly know a solid answer on the way the world worked. But this was really pushing that. How the bloody hell could I not be in Bournemouth anymore? All I’d done was gone inside a cave.

  A cave that shouldn’t have been there.

  Maybe that black smoke had done something. I still felt fine, no more ailments after it’d hit me. But that had been after seeing the rocks.

  You think you know, the fucker had said. No, I didn’t know.

  He knew my name. He’d said my name. This was seriously messing with my head.

  Pentagram, that was what those five-pointed stars were sometimes called, like the one carved into the boulder. That was witchcraft stuff—what I knew about it anyway. What did that have to do with anything? What piece of the puzzle was it?