Blood & Magic (11 page)

“I printed off another copy and the secret squirrels didn’t manage to find it when the cleared out the place. Be careful Alex,” Drew said. “I don’t want you to lose your job quite yet.”

Falling. Falling through memories, through abstract thoughts and disturbing nightmares. Dozens of lives lived, dozens of lives lost. Pain, the only constant and repeated through time, again and again. It always ended in pain, yet the dreams continued and reality was lost.

He walked alone in the darkness, the revolver gripped tightly in his right hand, hidden by his coat, the oil lamp outstretched in front of him to guide the way. He could feel it, the Dragos was his.

The shadow in the distance took a right into an alleyway, but it would not elude him. Slowing as he reached the turn, he raised the gun ahead of him, his finger poised on the trigger. He turned ready to adjust to wherever the creature stood, but the alleyway was empty. His back against the wall, he walked into the darkness. Dragos were tricky to hunt, reptilian in their physical and moral attributes, slippery and scheming by their very nature. He reached the end of the tunnel and looked either way, but there was no sign of it.
Damn
. It had escaped.

A drip of sweat fell through the air, forming a perfect sphere before it struck his forehead. He looked up and the shadows fell toward him. He could not raise his gun quick enough as a blade pierced his neck. Blood poured from the wound, like hot water flowing down his body. The oil lamp smashed to the floor with a last flicker of life before it died, the world crashing into nothingness. All was lost, his time was over. Now his thoughts, lay with his son.

Henry awoke with a jolt.

Beep Beep
.
Beep Beep
.

He reached out to quell the noise, but did not find his bedside table as expected. Henry continued to search for it in vain, before realising he wasn’t in his bed, he hadn’t made it that far last night. Last night. The memory of the previous evening hit him and suddenly, he found himself searching for reassurance that his dreams or nightmares were in fact, just that.

But it was real. No, it couldn't have been. But he
was
laying on his couch, in clothes that were covered in mud and grime. He smelt almost putrid, of sewers and worse, a very vivid reminder of his time in the tunnels. Last night did happen. But it was impossible. There was a fall, a green creature, running, unconsciousness, a gun, a tunnel, an explosion, running, more running, a vile drink, sewers, and that
woman
. Except she hadn’t been a woman at all. God, that woman. Then a nightclub, a car and lastly here, falling asleep on this couch.

It
had
happened.

Sure he was strange, everyone knew that, but not you-are-part-of-a-mutant-species-with-magical-powers strange. He wasn’t human, he remembered now.

Henry sat up and finally located his phone in the pocket of his torn jacket, that now lay on the floor. 6pm — where had the time gone? He was late for work, in fact, the time for work had come and gone. Five messages and eighteen missed calls, all from Dixie and Elle. Bloody hell. What would they think, in fact, what would everyone in the lab think? There was another missed call from Matt, which made sense, he had been AWOL all day. He didn’t want to think about him though, he couldn't. The bastard who had slept with Elle, cheating on his wife and forcing Elle to cheat on her boyfriend.
Elle
, what would she think? They hadn’t ended on the best of terms yesterday, he had told her to go away, that he didn’t need her. The truth couldn’t be further from it.

Humans and alternates, that is what Gabriel had said. Henry was an alternate, but something slightly different. He was an Ink, an Inquisitor, because his father had been before him. And his father, his real father, was dead.

Emotions are weird things, stranger still to someone who tries to deny their existence. They sneak up on you and when they decide to hit, there is no escaping the tidal wave. Henry sat and sobbed ashamedly, for he detested such an over the top expression of emotion. He cried for the man he didn’t know and he didn’t know why. He cried for the man who sacrificed knowing his son so that he could be safe, who had tried to protect him. He cried because he was angry at the man who was his real father, for dying and not being there to help him with this. Then he cried because, in some abstract way, he was happy. Happy was a weirder emotion, granted, but it had been confirmed that he definitely was weird. He was super powered, although Gabriel hadn’t put it quite like that. Henry was special and people
needed
him, he had a purpose. True, what an ‘Ink’ actually did was a mystery, but he had a role in life. The gap had been filled.

The recollection that his father had been murdered brought a stop to his tears. Someone had killed his father and he had no idea why. He needed to get out of the house into some fresh air, organise his thoughts. He had had his moment of emotion, now that was over.

When Henry saw his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom, he was appalled. He didn’t like his reflection at the best of times, but his face was marked with blood and muck and his hair was matted, protruding at jointed angles. The clothes he wore were ripped, his shirt torn and blackened. He stripped from his clothes, throwing them into a black bag, and showered with the water turned as hot as it would go.

Redressed, in a dark jacket and jeans, Henry found himself staring at his own reflection again. He had died over and over in his sleep, felt fear and pain, each time personal, yet in someway distant. His dreams were of different eras, of times long forgotten, but he had lived them as if they were now.

There was a knock at the door. Henry ran through all the different options of who it could be and decided none were preferable. He wouldn’t move, just hide in the bathroom until they went away. The door knocked again.

“Henry, open the door you stupid plonker,” Gabriel said.

Go away Gabriel. What did he want? The door knocked again.

“Henry, I know you are in there. I’m not going anywhere.”

Henry opened the door and Gabriel gave him a massive smile, which, naturally, was a little unnerving.

“Come on, let’s go get a drink,” Gabriel said.

“I’m fine thanks, maybe some other time,” Henry said.

“No, let’s go.”

“I don’t want a drink.”

“Okay, you can just have a glass of wine then.”

“Wine is still a drink, you know that right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a real drink. Anyway, it’s not about the drink. We need to have a chat.”

“Must we?”

“
Must we
. You just walked out of a Dickens novel or something? Grab your keys.”

They left the flat and went around the corner to the George and Vulture. It was an aged pub that smelt of old polished wood and beer and, even though it was on his doorstep, Henry had never been in. Gabriel got the drinks as Henry took a seat at the far end of the bar. Two pints of some local ale, not Henry’s normal drink of choice, but a drink was a drink and he needed one after everything that had gone on. The place had a cheery atmosphere, alcohol and the buzz of pointless conversations perfusing through the air in a way you only get in old pubs, no shouting louts or burping floozies to be found here.

“So,” Henry said. “What’s next?”

“No chit-chat?” Gabriel said.

“No chit-chat.”

“Alright then. Tomorrow you go and check in with Rosy, she'll set you up with a system to control the amount of magus you produce. Essentially, Inks have more of the stuff than their body can handle. Acts as some sort of radiation and kills you off if you let it accumulate,” Gabriel said casually.

“What the hell? Nice way to break the news softly on that one! I thought I only produced this stuff when I first got the power thingy. Isn’t that why you injected me with the, well, the stuff you injected me with?” Henry said.

“Yeah, the stuff that reduces the thingy,” Gabriel said with a smirk. “But it isn’t just when you first change. You are producing a lot less now than you were yesterday, but it still needs controlling.”

“Shouldn’t we be somewhere sorting this out?”

“I can’t imagine it will flare up for another few days, by which time, you'll have your injections.”

“Okay…” Henry said, “And I take it the government already know all about me?”

“Yep, they know every detail about your life now and, in exchange, will keep your identity a secret in connection with any of this. For your dad, they once had to cause a blackout at the BBC television centre to stop something being broadcast on the news. Good times.”

Every time Henry met Gabriel’s eye, they flashed a brilliant green. His irises becoming emeralds studded with onyx pupils, as leafy ink spread out in a pulse across his body. Like roots of a tree they thinned and spindled the further from his eyes they got, then, as soon as the transformation had come it was gone again, the ink lines receding with the colour from his eyes.

“What does it mean, what I see when I look at your eyes?” Henry said.

“Glad to see it’s coming naturally to you. I am a first order alternate, which means I have one of the five powers. My ability is to manipulate life energy which, I’m told, technically effects the energy held within living cells. All very complicated and I don’t need to know how it works in order to use it.”

“Neat, so I’m like an alternate detector?”

“That is one way of putting it. Guessing you’ll spot quite a few other alternates in here,” Gabriel said.

“I’ll take a look in a minute, but first, I want to know everything about my father and how he was killed. It’s been a day now, you must know what happened?”

There was the sound of glass shattering by the bar, resulting in the familiar sudden silence as people gaped and stared. Gabriel fixed his gaze on the young barmaid who had dropped the tray of bottles, either he thought she was cute or he was just avoiding answering the question.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Henry said.

Gabriel shot him a dirty look and finished his pint.

“I’m going to spend a penny and get some more drinks for us,” Gabriel said, walking away.

Run away, great tactic. Who was Henry kidding? He’d used that technique for years, avoiding social occasions like the plague. His anxiety was worse than loneliness, so he chose to avoid the stresses that filled his life. He kept that a secret, of course, nothing worse than people feeling sorry for you.

The bar maid came over to collect the glasses and Henry pulled a fake smile. The barmaid flashed an equally fake sign of gratitude in return, momentarily catching Henry’s eye. A splinter of cracked green and purple formed in her iris and she transformed. Her skin turned mottled and virescent, sagging around her limbs as her face transformed into something that closely represented a pug, bar the fact it was green and with pointed hairy ears. She broke eye contact and her form returned to normal. He had recognised her change, it was like the one from the bathroom the night before. What had Gabriel had called it? A
Grol
. The second time seeing one, although it was weird, wasn’t quite as panic inducing as he had imagined. Henry’s heart was beating fast, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t about to have a heart attack.

Gabriel returned with more beer and a resigned look on his face.“Your father, my friend, was murdered. That much you know. Who by, we ain’t got a clue. There is a serial killer who has been murdering humans, but the police have got no idea how to catch him.”

“And last night, he killed my father?” Henry said.

“Maybe. We have lost a fair few Inquisitors recently, but we assumed that was Deliverance, their bodies were never recovered. Things seem to suggest that the person responsible is Grendal, who is probably just a rather powerful alternate with an agenda.”

“As opposed to?”

“Grendal is a creature from our history, he lived a long time ago and so, must have died a long time ago too. This guy is very good, hence why he has been given the name of a... well, a legend really.”

“A creature?”

“Let's not get hung up on that. I meant a very powerful alternate, far stronger than you or I, killed dozens of Inks back then.”

“So do we go after him?”

“You? I'll be happy if you don't die on your first assignment, let alone take down a killer who has bested eight fully trained Inquisitors. Anyway Henry, there has been a further development today that I don’t quite know how to tell you, so I’ll just come out with it. Mark’s body was abducted from the morgue.”

“It was taken?”

“Stolen, we don’t know who by yet. We’ve got lots of people looking into it, but so far — no luck.”

“How can a body get stolen?”

“Who knows.”

“And there is no information on-”

“There is nothing kid. Right, as you aren't going to be able to look into this, best we probably change topic.”

“How was he killed?” Henry said.

“Or not, I guess. It’s not nice, although you’ll need to get used to that. Lots of cuts, slit his throat and…” Gabriel stopped himself. He was holding something back.

“And?”

“And we need to get you trained up, at the moment you are easy pickings.”

“But nobody knows I’m an Inquisitor. How can I have any enemies? I haven’t done anything yet and won’t be producing stuff for them to track me like they did last night.”

“The government knows and the Inquisition knows. I can’t guarantee you can trust either of them, your father sure as hell didn’t. Not that it did him any good in the end.”

Gabriel turned his attention to his pint, he had obviously cared for Mark, but this was the limit of his emotion on the topic. Henry appreciated that, he never quite knew what to do to comfort people when they cried. According to Elle, saying, ‘there, there’ and patting their shoulder didn’t constitute emotional support.

“Do you have a picture of him?” Henry said.

Gabriel searched through his phone, finally passing it to Henry.

“The guy on the left is your father, the other man is-”

“You.”

Henry looked at the photograph. In it, a tall thin man, his features painfully familiar, stood in a long black coat outside what appeared to be a bar. His pale face was illuminated in shades of green, amber and red by the pulsating light of a neon sign. Standing beside him was Gabriel, his jacket torn and blood visible on his shirt, his arm wrapped over Mark's shoulder in a friendly embrace.