Bound (6 page)

Alex sat heavily into the chair opposite. ‘Job?’

Welby looked up from the book for the first time. ‘There are plenty of freelancers around, willing to do work for those less capable. If they can pay.’

Alex hung his head, unsure what to say. It had chosen him?

‘I really am sorry,’ Welby said.

‘Fuck sorry!’ Alex’s raised voice caused several heads in the pub to turn, though they all quickly turned away again. ‘I’m over this. I want out. I don’t want to be
chosen
by a fucking book! I’m returning it to Peacock, I’m going to apologise for any inconvenience and I’m going to tell him he’ll have to find someone else to read it for him. And so will you.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to give it back.’

‘I don’t want this thing, Patrick. It feels alive.’

‘All knowledge lives.’

Alex picked up the book, waved it accusingly in Welby’s face. ‘No. This itself feels like an evil, dangerous, living thing. I don’t want it.’ He pushed the book across the table. ‘Here. Take it.’

Welby took the small, dark book. He ran his fingertips across the leather, opened it and slowly thumbed through the pages. The dense script flickered past. All the time Alex watched the ’sign swirling, twisting over Welby’s hands and wrists before curling back and reaching across the table. Reaching for him.

Welby closed the book with a soft snap, held it out for Alex to take. ‘It’s yours, I’m afraid.’

‘I don’t want it.’

‘I
do
want it, Alex, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it.’

Alex pushed back his chair and stood. ‘I’m not touching it. I’m going to your house to get my stuff and then I’m going to the airport. Do what you like with it and come, without it, to the airport and you’re taking me home.’ He turned and left the pub again. Glancing back from the door he saw Welby slip the book into his jacket and pick up his pint. He didn’t look like he planned to go anywhere.

Knowing what would happen, yet refusing to accept it, Alex walked down the road towards Welby’s house. Within a hundred yards he felt the weight in his jacket. Stopping, feeling weak, he took the book out. The ’sign leapt and danced around his hands, reaching up towards his face. It was something incredible, something so desirable he felt his heart crack, yet so clearly dangerous. Malevolent, wicked in indescribable ways. And he couldn’t get rid of it. He turned and walked back to the pub.

Welby stood outside the door, leaning on the Victorian glazed tiles of the wall. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex.’

‘Did you know this would happen?’

‘No, really I didn’t.’

Alex rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘I don’t want it, Patrick. I don’t want any of this.’

‘I know.’

‘So what do I do?’

Welby pursed his lips. ‘If you want to try one last time to be rid of it, then perhaps you should try to return it to Peacock.’

Alex could see how much it pained Welby to say that. ‘Yeah?’

Welby shrugged. ‘I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I just wanted you to be able to read the book. The quest for knowledge has ever been a double-edged sword. Perhaps Peacock’s wards can hold the book. Return it, explain what’s happened. Ask him to raise as many wards as he can before you leave. Perhaps you can slip out and the book will remain with him.’

Alex sighed, leaning heavily on the tiles beside the old man. ‘You don’t think that’ll work, do you?’

‘Not really. But you can try.’

‘Come on then.’

Welby held up one hand. ‘If I go with you, it’ll only infuriate Peacock. Go alone, blame me, whatever. Try to give it back. I’ll see you at my house and then I’ll take you home.’

‘And if I can’t give it back? If I’m stuck with it?’

‘It’s up to you, Alex. I won’t force you to do anything. If you want to go home with it and tell me to never darken your door again, I will.’

‘Bullshit.’

Welby made a rueful face. ‘I’ll try. I’m so sorry, Alex. This hasn’t gone how I’d planned at all.’

Alex knew someone followed him as he made his way to Peacock’s shop. His senses vibrated, yet everywhere he looked remained stubbornly empty. He slowed his pace, tried to look all around. He was beyond caution. He stopped dead. ‘Who are you?’ he yelled at the dark street.

Nothing. Yet he was sure someone lurked in the velvet shadows. He could feel them, almost certainly the strange, attractive blonde. Since he had admitted his vision was more than he had previously allowed, it seemed to be growing, his sensitivity increased. So why not use it? He closed his eyes. The ancient
chi gung
breathing techniques taught to him by his Sifu always proved useful in his training, his fighting. And in everyday life. Perhaps they could be useful in the less mundane skill set he was being forced to develop. Centring himself, drawing his energy, his
chi
, down into his lower belly, he let his consciousness slip out. His magesign swelled from beneath his shields, seeking out any similar energy. With a gasp he looked up at the roof of a building beside him and caught a glimpse of a surprised face, a whip of pale hair and she was gone. He felt her run and leap over the roofs at a preternatural pace before disappearing from his senses. Who was this girl, so desirable and clearly some kind of magus? Her physical skills were impressive. Why was she following him? Something else beyond his control.

If she meant him harm, she’d had plenty of opportunity to ambush. She obviously watched with another agenda and perhaps he would have to ignore that for now. If this mysterious woman chose to spy on him, so be it.

When he arrived at Peacock’s shop he could see the glow from behind the curtain at the back. He banged on the door. When he got no response he rapped on the glass of the window and banged on the door again. He crouched and pushed open the letterbox flap. ‘Open up, Peacock,’ he called through. ‘I know you’re in there. You want this book back or what?’

The curtain whipped aside and Peacock hurried between the shelves. He threw bolts aside and swung the door open, his face angry. He swept his eyes and mind up and down, rudely trying to pry through Alex’s shields again. Alex sent out a wave of magesign, making Peacock stagger backwards. Slamming the door behind him Alex grabbed Peacock by the shoulder and turned him. Shoving the old man in front he marched them into the office at the back.

‘I didn’t want any of this,’ he barked. ‘I’m pissed off with Welby for getting me into it and you for … for being you and having this fucking book.’

Peacock struggled but Alex’s grip held like an iron vice. ‘How did you take it?’ His voice was high, scared.

‘I didn’t. It came with me. I didn’t even know I had it.’ He took the grimoire from his pocket and threw it onto Peacock’s desk.

The old man gasped. ‘Be careful! That’s ancient!’

‘I don’t give a fuck. I want out. Lock it up, put up your wards, lock this place down. Then let me out and the book can stay.’

Peacock’s animation stilled. ‘Will that work? Can you get past my wards?’

‘Fuck knows. Welby thinks it’s worth a try.’

Peacock looked guilty, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Ah, Welby suggested you give it back to me?’

‘I told him I was going to and he argued against it. But when I insisted he suggested this.’ A cold feeling crept into Alex’s groin. ‘Why?’

Peacock looked down at his threadbare carpet.

‘What have you done?’

Peacock shuffled his feet. ‘I thought you two had managed some elaborate theft. I sent … friends to Welby’s to get the book back.’

‘What kind of
friends
?’

‘My gargoyles.’

Alex was stunned. ‘Gargoyles?’

Peacock looked remorseful, though unrepentant. ‘You came here and then my property went missing. I’m not sorry for sending them.’

‘Gargoyles?’

Peacock became angry again. ‘Yes, yes, gargoyles. You are a child in all this, aren’t you? They’ve gone to Welby’s and they will look for the book.’

Alex pointed to the desk. ‘It’s there.’

Peacock shrugged. ‘That won’t stop them looking. They’re rather dumb and single-minded.’

‘Call them back!’

‘I can’t. They’ll come when the job is done.’

Alex’s mind spun. He simply could not get any control however hard he tried. He imagined Welby fighting against ugly stone, winged creatures. ‘Can Welby cope with gargoyles?’ he asked, the words sounding ridiculous to his ears.

Peacock walked around his desk, sat heavily in his oversize chair. He stared at the book on his desk with trepidation. ‘I doubt it. That’s why I sent them.’

Alex bit down his fury and grabbed Peacock by the front of his shirt. ‘Lock this place down. Hold on to that and let me out. It should stay with you.’

Peacock looked up into Alex’s eyes, trembling, his mouth working silently. Alex grabbed the book and thrust it into the man’s hands. ‘Start putting up your wards or whatever you do to protect this place.’

Magesign wafted lightly off Peacock and Alex felt the protective shields overlapping each other all around him. He opened his vision, looked through the normal range of sight and watched for magic. He saw the wards, shimmering in a plethora of impossible shades. He could see the impenetrable bubbles of magic yet at the same time he could see where they pressed together. Using his own ’sign to cleave a path, he slipped in and among Peacock’s wards, letting them close tightly behind. He heard Peacock’s gasp of surprise but ignored it and left the shop. He turned towards Welby’s house and ran as fast as he could.

He managed to flag a taxi and gave the driver an extra ten pounds to jump every red light back to Welby’s. Standing in the street outside, looking up through the witch’s fingers of the leafless trees, he could see movement in the supposedly invisible third-storey room. A lead ball of dread sat in his gut.

The front door stood damaged and ajar. As he tentatively stepped into the hallway, he could see the remaining impression of massive bursts of magic, visual echoes of an arcane struggle. He felt a coppery charge in the air. As he stalked through the house, evidence of fighting lay everywhere. Broken and turned-over furniture, scorch marks on walls and ceilings, torn, smouldering carpets. He tried to sense ahead of himself.

As he climbed the stairs, he felt Welby moments before he saw him. Sprawled on the first-floor landing, twisted unnaturally, the old man’s eyes were wide and quite blank. Blood pooled darkly around his head, soaking into the luxurious carpet. Alex could feel the creatures up above. He crouched, double-checking what he already knew to be a fact. Welby was dead. Swallowing his fear and anguish, Alex closed Welby’s eyelids and looked up the stairs to the secret floor.

As carefully as possible, he reached into Welby’s shirt. The locket on its leather cord still hung there, burning with magic under Alex’s palm. It was like the book, had the same urgent desire to be held, owned, used. Alex recognised another tipping point in his life. Upstairs or down? Take the locket or leave it? A fundamental moment of choice and probably his last opportunity to get away. Or was it?

He lifted his hand slowly to his chest and pressed. The small hard rectangle of the Darak Uthentia sat hot and desperate in his pocket. Alex’s head dropped. One hand on the book in his jacket, the other on the locket inside Welby’s shirt, the power of those unfathomable objects coursed through him. Muffled as they were, they made the magic in him expand, swell.

And the creatures that had killed Welby had been sent to get what he held. Alex’s eyes crept up to the top of the stairs. In the shadows he saw two pairs of deep, red eyes staring back.

His heart raced, adrenaline dumping into his system. His stomach felt liquid, his mind suddenly wrapped in cotton wool. And his training kicked in. Centring, gathering his energy and his focus, he slipped the locket from around Welby’s neck without taking his eyes from the malevolent silhouettes above. When he dropped the leather cord over his head the stone sang out to him, a crystalline song of belonging and joy. The book in his pocket cried out, sending desire across subconscious airwaves he couldn’t begin to explain. A flood of power washed through him like an orgasm. He gathered that power, along with his adrenaline, breathed it through his flesh. He let his shields down, let his ’sign wash forth, and stood. ‘Come on then, you fuckers!’ he yelled.

They burst from the shadows with a rush of leathery flapping and snapping of grotesque, tooth-filled snouts. They reached for him with black-clawed hands, sinewy muscles beneath dark, warty, thick hide flexing, twisting, fast and strong. He’d expected them to be made of stone.

Alex stepped between them as they swept down. His vision enhanced, he saw their intentions with ease, read their shades effortlessly. He grabbed one by its reaching arm and used its momentum to send it past, tumbling and squealing down to the ground floor, cracking stairs and tearing the wall as it went. As the first fell, he drove his elbow into the snot-riddled snout of the other. A satisfying crunch and wail made up somewhat for the impact-blossom of pain that lanced through his arm. They didn’t look like stone, but they felt like it, tough leather stretched over moving boulders. Pushing the creature across the landing, Alex made space and powered out a front kick, driving his heel up under the gargoyle’s chin. Its head whipped back and dirty ivory fangs snapped and spiralled into the air. The creature howled.

Alex heard the other scrambling to its feet, clawing at the walls and stairs as it rushed back up to him. The voice of his Sifu rang in his memory.
When the fight isn’t fair, be sure you fight dirtier than them. When there is more than one enemy, use them against each other.

Alex grabbed the gargoyle he had kicked and swung around behind, slipping one forearm under the creature’s chin. He cranked up, bracing with his other arm against its back. It stood up taller, trying to shake him free. As its fellow appeared, Alex shifted the gargoyle in his grip and used it as a shield, his muscles straining with the effort. The rushing horror slammed into the chest and belly of its mate, snapping and clawing around it, reaching for Alex’s face.

Driving forward, thighs burning as they worked, Alex forced the creatures to the top of the stairs. His chokehold had no effect, the gargoyle thrashing in his grasp. With a roar of rage he used all his strength and pushed the creature away. He pumped out a leg and kicked hard in the centre of its spine. It arched in pain as something cracked and the momentum carried both abominations down again.

Grabbing a leg from a broken table on the landing, Alex leapt down behind them, gathering all his own energy and wrapping it up with the power from the stone at his neck. He could see with such clarity, feel every mote of dust in the air around him, every sensation of the monsters below. He could smell the leather of the furniture, musty books, his own sweat. He could hear every sound. He was alive with the instant, knew everything. The gargoyles fell into a tangle of pustulent flesh and Alex landed on them, stamping down with both feet, desperate to break whatever bones these things might have. As they struggled to part, he lifted the table leg high and drove it down, broken end first, flooding it with energy from the shard of the Darak, directly through the eye socket of the gargoyle on its back beneath him. It screamed an ear-shattering wail, scrabbling at the wooden table leg, before spasming and dropping still. Alex felt the stone against his chest singing out in joy again as he utilised its power. He knew the book’s insane elation at the murder, not revelling in the magic, but in the death, and it was dark. He concentrated on the Darak, as though it were a part of him, its energy flooding through his veins, invigorating and terrifying.

The second gargoyle twisted and pushed away, knocking Alex over. He landed with a grunt of rushing breath and the thing dropped onto him, grasping for his throat. He grabbed both its rough, hard wrists and tried to force it up. It snapped and spat at him, turning and pressing. Alex had the strength of years of training, but nothing compared to this. He knew he had only seconds before its might overwhelmed him.

Bucking up, using his hip to escape the weight of the creature, he slipped free, keeping a grip on one of the gargoyle’s wrists. He stood and turned the wrist, wrenched the creature’s arm up and back, forcing it to move sideways. His muscles screamed in protest at the effort. Without letting go of the wrist he stamped hard into the hideous face. Twisting the wrist further, using the creature’s own shoulder joint against it, he kicked again. Hanging on against its thrashing desperation, Alex twisted, kicked, punched, again and again. Teeth and claws swiped this way and that, but Alex refused to release his grip, doggedly hanging on to the one small advantage he had. His abilities gave him extra milliseconds to move, yet even then he couldn’t avoid every blow. Bruises thundered into his body, burning welts from flailing claws danced across his chest, stomach, legs. A leathery wing cracked into his head, made his vision cross. His hands and feet felt battered and broken as he repeatedly struck the stone-hard creature’s head and body.

The strength began to wane in the gargoyle’s thrashing defence. Its head lolled dizzily and Alex let go of the wrist, leaping into the air, drawing up both knees and landing with a double stamp on the creature’s skull. He drove down as much power as he could muster, letting the force from the stone rush through him, and the gargoyle’s head cracked with a sound like a gunshot.

Alex stood panting, shaking, bruised and bleeding. He looked from one gargoyle corpse to the other as they both lost colour. Pale grey seeped across their skins and in moments they were broken granite grotesques. They shivered and shattered into dust and gravel.

‘Defeating two gargoyles barehanded? Impressive.’

With a gasp Alex looked up into the blue eyes of the blonde. His vision swam. She stepped forward, reached out for him. ‘Easy there,’ he heard. ‘Looks like you …’

Strange sounds washed in Alex’s ears, a soft whump, whump, whump. Keeping his eyes closed, breathing deeply, he realised it was his heartbeat. Every inch of his body burned with pain, as though he had been flayed. The image of the blonde swam into his mind and his heart rate increased. As his senses came online, he knew he lay on something soft and she was still there, right beside him. She felt strong.