Hidden Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 6) (2 page)

"Are you? Are you really? Or are you a person born to wield strange, unknowable forces that make you whole? That drive you forward, make you complete?" Kate sighed then reached out and took my hand.

"Look, we all need air to breathe, food to eat, water to drink. And some beings, you included, need magic just as much. It's who you are, Faz, same as it's who I am now. Yes, I know I moan about the whole vampire thing, and look at the trouble we've got into because of it." Kate paused for a moment, bad memories surfacing for both of us, then continued.

"But I've accepted it. Know it's why I'm still here, with you. How, after all this time, can you not see that magic isn't merely a drug you are drawn to, but it is you? You were born to be in the Hidden world, have the ability to harness it, have a special gift to take it away from those that use it dangerously, in the wrong way. That's a good thing, not a bad thing."

"Wow, I've never thought of it like that." I tried to let her words sink in, to process it all. Was she right? Was I to simply accept that this was me, what I was, and to deny my nature was as wrong and futile as denying the magic I'd fought so hard to leave behind?

"You do what you think is best, I'll support you, but do it for the right reasons. Don't stay away from it because you've convinced yourself it's wrong, stay away from it only if it genuinely is wrong. What makes you happy?"

"You do," I said without needing to think about it.

"And?"

"Grandma," I said cautiously.

"And?" she asked, exasperated.

"Magic." It was like a light bulb went off. She was right, I was wrong, nothing new there. Was I being a fool, denying my nature because of all the craziness that results from being an enforcer? The events of Tokyo had left me a wreck of a man. It took years for me to recover, to build back physical strength, body eaten away as I burned through scant reserves of muscle and flesh after using and abusing magic to such a dangerous degree.

But now, now I was whole again. Was I merely being stubborn because of what had happened? Because of the torture I'd suffered and would do anything to never go through again? It's one thing knowing you can recover from being skinned alive, it's quite another to go through the process. It left an indelible mark on my psyche, one that will never be eradicated.

So, maybe I wasn't being weak by stepping back into Hidden life, maybe I was accepting the truth of my nature.

Or, and I get the feeling this is the truth behind the matter, I didn't care what the real reason was and just knew I wanted, needed, to feel alive again. Wild, out of control, powerful.

And there lay the ultimate risk to all I held dear. Rikka had told me I'd crave power, would never be satisfied with being an enforcer, and that was at the root of why I gave it all up.

I would not be like him. I would not let this life pervert me and turn me into a monster.

I looked up and realized Kate had been standing beside me for some time, hand on my shoulder. "You're right, it's who I am. I've just been being stubborn. But you could have said this five years ago," I moaned.

"Like you'd have listened then. You needed the rest, but now the time has come. So, what are you waiting for? Go get your suit on. Dress snappy, show them that Black Spark is back and as stylish and badass as ever."

I hugged her tight, even pinched her bum. What a woman!

Twenty minutes later I was showered, suited and booted, and putting out the porridge before waving goodbye to the most wonderful woman in the world and heading right back into the game.

Look out Cardiff, this discerning dresser is back in business.

The Need for Sausage

You know what I missed the most about removing myself from the Hidden world entirely? Not the tingle of anticipation as magic crackled in the air, not the encounters with all manner of weird and wonderful creatures, not even the esoteric high as magic engorged my ink and my body hummed with power, although that certainly comes a close second. No, it was Madge's Cafe, and all it had to offer a damaged soul like myself.

As I drove down the narrow lane from our home, in a black Outlander with tinted windows I got for a steal, the Land Rover left behind for Kate, all I could think about was Madge's scowl and her mop of frizzy gray hair. Forever linked with the smell of grease, the woman had cooked more fried breakfasts than the population of Wales.

I salivated at the thought of biting into a scalding hot sausage cooked to perfection and doing that weird, "Hot, hot," thing you do when you try to blow on your food while it's actually in your mouth and simultaneously have to tell an uncaring world that you have molten meat burning your tongue because you're an idiot and can't wait even a minute for it to cool down.

I kept to the speed limits, careful not to spoil what was sure to be a perfect day in Hidden paradise, and played The Royals'
Pick Up the Pieces
album—the sunshine and the warmth of the city the perfect backdrop to some proper, atmospheric reggae.

Madge's beckoned like a siren, and although I knew Dancer was itching to get started on whatever magical mayhem needed sorting, I had to start at the beginning if I was to make this comeback go smoothly. That meant the best breakfast in all of Wales. Scrap that, you can't get better anywhere.

Some may call Madge's one and only menu offering a heart attack on a plate, I call it fried heaven. Add in a cup of tea so thick you have to use a touch of magic to get the spoon to move and you have perfection in perpetuity.

I parked up outside, realizing I'd driven on autopilot, hardly even aware of the journey. Gosh, I really was out of it. I hadn't stepped foot in the city for almost six months—my stupor was such that I'd been nowhere, and I'd missed it. The rain, the smell, the hustle of people, all of it, the city called to me and finally I'd heeded that call.

For a long time I'd stayed away from anyone Hidden, keeping temptation at arm's length, so my trips were few and far between, rushed and nothing but an annoyance as even though I used no magic I was still the everyman. That part of me seemingly stuck in limbo, ensuring I was nigh on invisible to Regulars because of a hint of protective magic that hummed away in the background now whether I liked it or not.

And Madge's. It had been five years without a single visit. Not a sausage had passed my lips, not a hash brown had tempted me with its potato-based goodness. Not a perfectly runny fried egg had I devoured, and not a single encrusted ketchup bottle had winked at me, inviting me to taste the sugar-laced goodness.

Boy was I gonna splurge. Double rations and extra sugar in my tea.

I got out of the car and locked it, head still lost in the clouds, and grabbed the door handle to Madge's without really taking any notice, knowing it would be as it always was. Timeless, air thick and weighty with grease, making you gain a few pounds just by breathing such a heady mix of molecules.

Almost beside myself, I opened the door with a flourish, winklepickers tapping on the lino as I made my way across the floor, smiling like a kid in a toyshop after being given an empty trolley and told, "Go forth and fill your boots, it's all free."

I stopped halfway across the small room, lungs empty, saving it up, anticipating the first deep breath more keenly than a troll given a new bridge and a herd of goats waiting to cross.

I spread my arms wide, face angelic, and breathed in until my lungs nearly exploded. "Aah, the smell of... New paint!" I coughed and spluttered, gagged and took short, sharp breaths to stop myself getting any dizzier, and took in my surroundings for the first time.

It was the stuff of nightmares. No, no, no. This could not be. Not Madge's, anything but that. The lino was new, and it was red and white, not black and white and sticky and torn like it should have been. The walls were smooth and painted a soothing lilac, no sign of the grease-encrusted flock wallpaper I'd grown to love.

Tables and chairs were modern steel, not mismatched and rickety, and there was a stranger behind the counter. The place was utterly deserted and it smelled of paint and not a lot else. I read the sign behind the counter above the head of a smiling, and very eager looking woman that kept trying to catch my eye. It had things like paninis, brioche, taster platters, and unknowable words for coffees that sent shivers down my spine.

"Um, what happened? Where's Madge?" I croaked, addressing an alarmingly pretty, young woman with beautiful auburn hair and a spotless white apron.

Her face dropped, inviting smile gone. "She's next door," she sighed. "I really thought this would be a good spot, offer healthy options to everyone, but the only visitors I get are people that come in the wrong door."

I felt sorry for her, but couldn't hide the spreading grin on my face as I said, "Sorry, didn't mean to be rude," and got the hell out of there as fast as my shaking legs could carry me.

Outside, I took a few steps back on the cleaner-than-usual frontage and checked out why I'd made my mistake. To the right of Madge's Cafe was the new place, Delilah's Delights, sign all shiny and new, paintwork pristine. In stark contrast to Madge's where the sign and the paint were so peeled on the woodwork you could read the entire history of the building. Delilah's windows sparkled, Madge's so steamed and grubby you couldn't see in.

I practically ripped the door off the hinges and entered greasy paradise, this time for real.

All is Not Lost

"Hold it right there," barked Madge, looking like a scornful angel in her dirty apron as she paused her wipe-down of the counter. I was sure she was still using the same rag from five years ago.

My lungs were struggling under the weight of air thick with the promise of steaming sausage and burnt toast, and all eyes turned to me as I heard the door creak closed behind me.

"What? It's me. It's Spark, I'm back."

"I know who you are, you fool," Madge scolded, giving me the evil eye. "What were you doing next door at that... that hussy's deli, you traitor?" Madge actually shivered as she spoke such a blasphemous word. As far as she was concerned, if it wasn't fried it wasn't real food. Even then it would probably have to have butter added before it passed her strict guidelines.

None of this "Continental" mush for Madge, she was a traditional witch through and through, and would stand for none of that nonsense. She isn't racist, you can't really be prejudiced when half your best customers aren't even human, but she has her ways and she's sticking to them, just like I was to the lino.

"It was an accident, I swear. I was looking forward to a fry-up so much I wasn't taking notice of where I was going."

Madge studied me for what felt like an eternity, and I heard the snickers coming from the crowded room. I turned and gave them a look until each and every one of them focused back on their food.

Seems my hiatus hadn't stopped the rumors and the tales about my expedition to Japan and what went down there. I could see it in their eyes behind the mirth. The respect, the fear, the sympathy, and the downright feeling sorry for me.

Most of all there was awe that I'd come through the other side of such torture and remained intact. At least I think I did. They all knew what happened with me and the fat man, everyone did, and it gave me a newfound respect even though I'd kept away from almost every Hidden and had spoken to nobody about it apart from my family and Dancer.

Madge gave a, "Hmm," then came to her decision. "Nice to see you, Spark. What do you want?" It was almost friendly. Almost.

I made it to the counter, nodding at those I knew, not stopping to get into a conversation. Mithnite Soos was there, looking all kinds of sorry for himself. I'd have to have a chat with him, poor kid had been through the ringer lately from what I'd heard. He hardly even acknowledged me, and it was then I knew it was bad. Normally, he'd be in my face, keen to show off his magic skills and try to best me at raising demons or blasting cans of beans with the dark arts for practice.

"You are a beauty in an apron, Madge. The world is a better place for your runny eggs and your friendly welcome. May I please have one of your lovely fry-ups and double-up on everything apart from black pudding."

Madge gave me a half scowl, half sneer—she must have been practicing a new look as it was very good—then asked suspiciously, "What's wrong with the black pudding?"

"Nothing," I protested, holding my hands up to proclaim my innocence. "It's just that there won't be room in my belly because I'm out of practice eating such a fine repast." I have to tell you, I was loving the banter. Madge's rudeness was as welcome as an ice-cream on a hot day, which this was. But I ignored the sweat, would suffer gladly in order to get my breakfast.

"Fine. Don't you go eating next door," she warned as she shouted through to the back, giving my order.

"Wouldn't dream of it. What's the deal, anyway?"

"Stupid woman. She's a wikkan, apparently, whatever that means. Thought it would be a smartass idea to try to steal my customers. I'm a real witch, none of that mumbo-jumbo, and I told her it was a bad idea. Proper men eat sausage, not panny ninnies."

"It's paninis, not panny..." I faltered under her glare and said, "You're right, panny ninnies it is. Why here, though? Seems a bit odd."

"Cause the rent is cheap,"—like she pays rent—"that's why. And this is how people operate now, apparently. Try to poach your regulars. She's been here for months and probably had about a handful of customers."

"Oh, right. Poor thing. Um, I mean, stupid woman."

"I knew you'd be back," said Madge, studying me far too closely for comfort. "It's not an addiction, Spark, it's what we are."

"So I've heard already today. But I needed the break, anyway. I crossed the line, Madge, pushed too hard."

"That's the sign of a good wizard. Here's your tea. Get your own milk." With that she was gone, disappearing into the back where I caught sight of the girl that had taken over from her kids a while back.